#like this is the sort of thing you do either right before you end the show or write the character off

[danthropologie]

Re the previous ask about blake holding camera = he knew

1. He has his camera in every race. I don’t know if Blake holding it meant anything.

2. He had his parents out in AD22. With SG being closer, his parents would have made it even if it was by flying private. His gf wasn’t there in AD22 either, so not making that comparison

3. Compare his pre-race interview (not even the media day one) during the parade. Complete change from the post race interview. Complete change in demeanour

Combining 2 & 3, if he knew earlier, the earliest could be right before the race. Then why would management do sth like that before the race? (Then again why does rbr do anything atp?) That man knew nothing concrete going into the weekend, just like he predicted nothing amiss before the summer break. That hell video wasn’t for nothing - no one can make me believe otherwise

Alternatively, he himself might have given rbr the ultimatum hoping to force their hand and when they didn’t get back, he finally realised he was done playing this game. He was finally disillusioned. ofc helping max was one part (i genuinely believe that played in his mind when he was asked for the FL) and sticking to mcl was another part, but at the end if the record breaking lap was what he could take away in what he believed was his last moment in the lap, he put his entire ricussy into getting it.

As much as I want to remain delulu, i think (with extreme sadness) this is it for him. Not because it’s over, but HOW it’s over. All because they decided to keep a bum like Checo. I’m ambivalent towards Yuki, but heck I am even angry on his behalf too. Genuinely gutted that rb did DR dirtier than mcl and that’s saying sth, considering all he had done for rbr and how CH and rbr paraded him around as their family member. Will never forgive them. Rbr’s downfall is gonna be something else altogether and you best believe that I will be there to witness and bask in it.

so what you're saying is that clip of helmut going over to daniel just before the race, he was actually inflicting psychological torture on him saying "you better fucking beat that guy or you're out of the sport. good luck! 😉"

no but seriously, i was with you right up until the end bit 😭😭😭 even the idea of giving them some sort of 'red bull or nothing' ultimatum that sent him spiraling i could get on board with. but i don't agree that it's over.

the crazy thing to me is that for as far as it ended up spiraling out, to ME it really just feels like a complex series of misunderstandings and miscalculations (not including the media's part in it cause i think they WERE malicious in their handling of it).

the daniel of it all is the worst part to me because obviously by the end of the weekend he HAD been convinced that it may in fact be the end. i don't believe that that was ever actually the case, but between the confidence in the way the media was reporting it, the lack of clarity from red bull, the trauma and insecurities left from 2022 mclaren and maybe even rbr over this past summer break, and the mental and emotional toll the race itself actually took on him, he was clearly worn down and left in a very vulnerable state where he drew the only real conclusions anyone in his position COULD draw.

meanwhile you have vcarb who apparently didn't know a single fucking thing, so they COULDN'T say anything because there's nothing TO say.

and then you have red bull. now clearly they DO hold some responsibility for the whole thing. they knew what the narratives were going into the weekend, and it should have been easy for them to just clarify that all drivers are going to see out the season, 2025 decision to come later. BUT that being said, i truly do not think they had any clue whatsoever just how big this thing was gonna get. i think they miscalculated in thinking a) it wasn't going to be that big and b) daniel would be able to handle it. he's done it so many times before! why wouldn't he be able to do it again! but then obviously by the time daniel's having his little menty b in the middle of the media pen, it's too late, there's not really anything they can do.

like jenna @accio-ricciardo brought up this idea the other day that it's almost like...have you ever been in a situation where someone in your life accidentally made you cry because they didn't realize you were at the end of your rope emotionally and some tiny little thing they didn't think was even a big deal sets you off and sends you sobbing? it kind of feels like perhaps that was red bull/christian/whoever with daniel. they figured he's a trooper, he'll let it wash off his back like he always does, he can handle it, not realize that he very much COULD NOT handle it because all these different factors were boiling up into the perfect shitstorm to make him absolutely lose his mind.

and if this is the case—it really was just a bunch of misunderstandings and miscalculations compounding and multiplying on each other—i've said it once, i'll say it a million times, i DO think there's a way back and way for things to continue on as they were meant to before all this shit happened. it's just a matter of apologies and reassurances and making things right, and hopefully everyone can set aside their pride enough for that to happen.

[junedenim]

2008

beneath the boardwalk, part 6 (series masterlist)

dance little liar

warnings: angst, fluff, smut, drugs, etc.

word count: 12.3k

I don't think Alex and I do birthday presents too well. We don't do fancy things, and while Alex is easy to get gifts for because he'll never dislike anything you get him, he's difficult because he doesn't want anything either. Anything he could want, mostly in the music department, I have little idea of what the best thing out there is. He also can just buy it himself.

So, for our birthdays, we've usually given homemade things, a tradition stemming back to the first few we spent together, but specifically our 22nd birthdays together.

The day before, I had just started back at work again after the holiday break and being hungover for a few days after New Year's. I had asked Alex before Christmas what he wanted (another issue, his birthday is right after Christmas) and he said a shelf for his records, which is really just a gift for me because it got his records off the floor where I kept tripping over them. Then, he said, "I don't know, just give me something sweet."

Sweet lands in a lot of categories. Candies, alcohol, desserts. Or sex, flavoured condoms, candy panties. Or sentimental, heartfelt, handmade. So, I combined two categories and made a cake from scratch. It wasn't much of a gift because Alex made the cake with me.

"I want to do it for you," I insisted, trying to pull him out of the kitchen.

He stood with his hands on his hips. "Well, it's my birthday and I want to make it with you."

We made the cake—chocolate—and it sucked. I blame Alex. Eventually, he did eat the whole thing. Whether out of pride or politeness. 

Before he ate the cake, I lit the two "2" candles I had purchased and we sang "Happy Birthday" together because I felt too embarrassed to sing it solo, so he sang it with me. We ended up breaking out into laughter before the end of the song and Alex could barely blow the candles out through it.

At the end of the night, when we sat eating cake in bed, curled up, far away from January blues, I gave Alex a picture book I had made. When I was younger, my mother would go through all her old photos from when she was around this age up until Stacey was born. This was before Tommy died and things like that were a joyous act to do. She had this one photo of her, just her, alone in a photo booth. She couldn't have been older than 10 and she had a beaming smile on her face. She looked just like me. I asked her if I could keep it and she let me. I have it framed on my dresser. 

The whole act inspired me to capture the time Alex and I were living in. The book wasn't packed full of pictures. That was sort of the beauty of it that years after this birthday, that book would be filled by our future. But of the pictures in it, sat the very first photo I took of Alex in his room, scribbling away in his notebook up to a photo Georgia had taken of us on New Year's with me sat in his lap. They weren't all of Alex and me, some had the band in them or Miles. Robert even appears in one photo, taken after one of their Astoria gigs. But the majority of them chronicled the life Alex and I had lived up to that point and putting it all together I felt like my mother longing for a time that had passed, except I was living in that time. It gave me a kick of excitement.

When he unwrapped the book, he gave it a questioning look before we thumbed through the pages together. I imagined he looked like I did when my mother and I thumbed through the pages together. He pointed out little details and marveled at the photos he didn't remember being taken. At one point, he pointed at a photo of me and exclaimed, "You looked hot there! I mean, you're always hot, but va va voom."

I threw my head back in laughter. "Who are you? My grandpa?"

He turned to me quizzically. "Your grandpa talks to you like that?"

I slapped his arm. "Both my grandpas are dead. Now, shut up, and continue."

We flipped our way through the whole thing and I gave him a little birthday card that I wrote a long note in. His fingers grazed carefully over it all. His delicate touch was like he was fearful one wrong move would set fire to it. He closed the book and placed it cautiously on his tiny bedside table. 

Alex turned back to me rather emotionally. He sniffled and just said, "I loved it. Thank you." His arms wrapped tight around me, his hug capturing me.

I rubbed my hand up and down his back in a soothing motion. "Thank you," I whispered in his ear.

"For what?" He whispered back in mine. "All I had to do was stand for pictures."

I giggled into his ear. I didn't pull back from the hug. If I looked at him at that moment I would have cried. "Loving me. It means a lot."

"How do you think I feel? I got you for a girlfriend."

It was all sweet.

*

About a week into January, Alex and I both became sick. He was fine because he didn't have to go to work. He could just lounge around all day, propped up on a pillow, watching TV (in fact, he did, this is when he started watching Breaking Bad, a fixture that would overtake his life for the next five years). I, however, had to go to work.

"Don't go," he whined. I was dressed for work, runny nose, and my big winter coat on. His head was shoved into the pillow and he was wearing the same clothes for the past three days.

"I have to go to work."

"Don't go," he whined again.

"I'm not going to sit here and take care of you all day."

He sat up slowly, his head adjusting to the new altitude. He placed his feet down on the ground and looked like he might get out of bed if his head wasn't weighing him down. "I don't want you to. You're sick. I'll take care of you."

"You're sick," I countered.

"Then, we'll be sick together," he argued.

"I have to go to work." I turned on my feet when he stood and wrapped his arms around my waist, tugging me back into him before I could rush out the door.

"Don't go." He sounded much clearer now with no obstructions in the way. "You'll be no good there."

"Hey, I am always good," I defended. "If I were bleeding out I'd still be of use, or in labour, or dead—" I sneezed then. "Urgh. Look. I can go to work, I can function, I'm fine."

He softened and pressed a lingering kiss to my flushed cheek. "Drink a lot of water, would you? And call me if you feel worse. I'll come get you."

I pushed his growing hair behind his ear. "You can't come get me. We don't have a car."

He kissed my cheek again. "I'll come get ya. I'll walk over and carry you on my back on the way home."

"You're a dork." I tugged on his ear. "I have to go."

"Okay," he conceded. "Call me on your lunch break."

I kissed his cheek. I felt like I was the working husband and Alex was the stay-at-home mum. I was the breadwinner (even if I totally wasn't but I was going to the offices and my "wife" was staying home). I stepped out of his grasp and finally made my way to the front door. "I will. Eat good foods."

"Oh, Janie, you know I'm going to eat all your ice cream while you're gone."

I stuck my tongue out and left. Even with a stuffy nose and a rainy London, I knew walking down Myddelton Street I had everything I ever wanted, at least for that age because work sucked that day and I almost quit because I'm a lazy son of a bitch who was sick and desperate to go home to her boyfriend. But I managed because I loved that job with all my heart. I felt privileged. Georgia was suffering through late-night poetry readings and I had an established career. It wasn't exactly what I wanted to do because editing has never been my strong suit but it was a step in the right direction for my life. I loved that job.

When I returned home, Alex was relaxed in bed with a cup of tea. "I'm sick," I announced, dropping my bag on the floor.

"We can all tell, sweetie. I made you some tea." He pointed to the kitchen counter where he left it out to cool, just how I like it. "How was work?"

I groaned and dragged my feet over to the kitchen, slipping bits of my attire off as I went. My shoes were tossed about and my coat was thrown on the floor. "Not worth it." 

I moved over to the bed, wriggling to settle between his knees, cup of tea in my hand. He was gentle, placing his hand over my burning forehead. "How are you feeling?" He took my cup out of my hand, setting it down.

"I'm so tired," I moaned. He undressed me in the most non-sexual sense. We were sniffling and his motions were slow and tender. He undid my bra and it gave me the same relief as when I did it at the end of the workday. With each passing day, Alex and I were becoming more conjoined. He was an extension of me as I was of him. We were completely intertwined and part of one another. "And I feel so shitty, and my whole skeleton aches, and—stop laughing at me, it's not funny."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says, kissing my temple to make up for it, running a hand up and down my spine. He gave me a shirt to wear, a clean one of his, and from that point on they were my preferred nighttime wear because it was exactly what Alex would pick for me to wear. It was that comfort after a long day, his hand soothing, up and down my spine.

He handed my tea back to me and it healed me as soon as I sipped it. "What have you been up to today, mister?"

He sighed. "Nothing. I took a shower."

I smirked. "I can tell."

"Hey!" He couldn't sound upset if he tried; a big smile and a voice that tipped with laughter. "I had a valid excuse."

"I know. I know." I pinched his cheek. "And I'm very proud of you for being a big boy and doing it without me telling you."

He whacked away my hand but tugged me closer. "What do you want to do now?"

I grumbled and laid my head in the slope between his neck and shoulder. "Sleep. Watch TV. I don't know."

"Why don't we sleep?" He suggested.

I sat up straight and placed my tea on a flat surface after nearly spilling it on Alex. "You just want to nap."

"Uh, yeah. Come on, I need it, you need it. Let's sleep."

"It's too early."

"It's never too early to nap."

I rolled my eyes. "Then, it's too late. I'm hungry."

"Do you want to order something?"

"It's too early."

"Oh, come on, Janie. Don't make me force-feed you."

I laughed. "And then snuff me out with a pillow."

"Yeah." He laughed in return. "Come on, let's eat."

We ate and passed out after. We both woke briefly around 10 PM and fought because Alex did eat my ice cream. He promised to get some tomorrow and that it would never happen again (liar) and then we went back to sleep, both snoring and sounding in desperate need of a sleep apnea mask. But we had the other and I called out sick the next day.

*

A few days before the Brit Awards, I was informed we were going. The band had never attended before and I had obviously never gone before. Alex listed out the whole plan of the boys dressing as old English hunting men.

"You can join us," he said as we ate dinner in bed. We often did this when we ate at home, which wasn't very often. We didn't have enough room to put a dining table in and I preferred the comfort of our bed to that of a chair. We ate out most nights anyway. It seemed like every night we were out somewhere. That mostly had to do with Alex finally getting a hefty paycheck from album and tour sales. We still ate at McDonald's quite often.

I rolled my eyes. "I am not dressing like a boy for an award show."

He tugged at my waist, making me slosh my salad around. "You'd look hot in anything. You know that."

"Well, maybe, but I want to dress nice. How many occasions will I have to wear a beautiful dress?" I was slowly falling in love with fashion. London makes you want to dress your best.

"You could wear a beautiful dress every day if you wanted."

"I work as an assistant at a publishing house, not Vogue. Besides, I want to look like a proper English lady for my English gentleman. Where else would we do that?"

"A wedding," Alex suggested.

I scrunched up my nose and shook my head. "We've already done that."

"We've already done the award show thing too," he pointed out.

"Yeah, and you wore a rain jacket. NME is different. I want to be fancy dress for the Brits. You'd wear jeans to our wedding if you could."

He raised an eyebrow, questioning, but not trying to be apparent about it. "Our wedding?"

I hadn't realized the slip of the tongue. "Ew. I don't know why I said that."

"The thought of marrying me disgust you?" He joked. 

"Well, yeah, I mean—I don't know, shush. I don't want to talk about it." I was flustered. Alex has that effect on most people and he's good at using it. He doesn't make it obvious but he'll make you feel like he's studying you.

He shrugged, turning his eyes away. "Neither do I."

"Weddings are gross," I groaned.

"Yeah." He looked over at me, sparks in his eyes.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

I slapped his arm. "Stop. Let me eat my dinner in peace. God, Alex."

"I didn't say anything!"

I didn't respond. I poked away at my salad and the conversation returned to the Brits. "We're just taking a piss out of the whole thing, you know."

"You want the free alcohol."

"Fuck yes and that's why you'll go with me."

"I'd go with you even if it wasn't." Although, alcohol always helped.

"Aw, you must really love me." He leaned out, puckering his lips.

"Oh, shut it, you."

He washed the dishes that night and then he joined me in the shower. Under the water mist, after we had sex and while I washed his hair, he said, "I'd marry you, you know."

I didn't know. We never talked about things that heavy. "I know," I said.

"We're too young for that kind of thing," he said.

I nodded. "It's a cheesy thing to do anyway."

Alex didn't say anything but he had always known every thought I had as it passed through me. My need to mock it meant I really wanted it.

For the Brits, I didn't go all out because even if it felt more official than NME, it wasn't the type of event you wore a ballgown to. I wore a midi black dress whose attractive quality was a low-cut neckline, not that I had any cleavage to show off. But the fabric framed a necklace Alex had gifted me over Christmas. It had a tiny flower pendant that fell on my sternum. He purchased it somewhere in Germany, he can't remember.

Alex dressed as an old English hunter was much more attractive than I thought it would be. He had a newsboy hat with a twig sewn into it that he gave me as soon as we arrived at the afterparty and I wore it for the rest of the night. We lost it at some point on the way home. I can't quite remember. We got really drunk.

The Brits made the mistake this year of allowing guests to drink alcohol at the table, worsened by the fact they gave a pre-ordered liquor cache under the table. It was almost a bet to have us drink it all. I read out the program they gave us to Alex. It hadn't gotten too rowdy yet, we were actually planning on eating dinner if we hadn't arrived after the main course period. We managed to snag a piece of dessert before the main show started. 

"Oh, lookie here," I said, pointing to a photo of the band displayed in the program. "Cutie patootie."

Alex scoffed, "I look like I just wet meself."

I cackled. He wasn't far off. He was sitting with his nervous bug-eyed gaze and his hands stuffed between his knees. "Well, I think you look cute."

I continued flipping and Alex slagged off, "All that Brit School nonsense."

"But Adele." I held up the spread of Adele with a BRIT Trust check.

"Yeah, but you don't see me whining on about Barnsley." He sipped back another glass of alcohol. He was deeper in than I and he would remain far more drunk than me the whole night, a rare exchange. 

I snorted. "I don't think anyone is whining on about Barnsley. I liked it though."

"That's because you were the most popular lass there."

I laughed at the idea. "No, I wasn't."

He sat back, his look completely serious. "What are you on about? Everyone loved you."

I continued flipping through the pages, skimming through the text. "I was an easy lay, Alex, you can say it."

"Stop with that nonsense." He had been sensitive ever since some Mirror story had come out about my behavior in school. I didn't know why people would care so much about what I got up to in college. I had admittedly been hurt by the article but I didn't feel any different than when Will would call me a slut. You know, except the whole national scale about the whole thing. I was partially honored by the whole thing that someone would deem me popular enough to publish in a tabloid. It was like I was a soap star my mother would read about. That was the bad part. My mother read it. She brought it up at Christmas dinner, a sly "Jane's famous enough to be called a loose woman."

I tore my eyes away from the program and looked at Al. "It's not nonsense if it's true."

"You don't have to be down on yourself."

I laughed though I didn't find it funny and shook my head in annoyance. "I'm not down on myself. I'm not ashamed of it. I'm not a virgin. Shocker." He could tell I was slightly ticked off, looking back down at Adele.

"I know. I guess...I just didn't know how you...felt toward the whole...I don't know...thing...I just..."

I snapped my head up. "Are you interviewing me?" I laughed.

"Huh?" He was cute, brows furrowed under the brim of his hat.

I pushed his hat down over his eyes, forcing him to readjust it. "I'm choosing to embrace my sexuality this year."

"Oh. Okay." He waited a few seconds before saying, "Does that mean we're gonna fuck in the bathroom?"

I gasped and slapped his chest. "Alexander. I am a lady and you a gentleman, slow your horses."

"Well, then, come hither madame, and let's copulate in the loo."

I laughed hard, "Please never say copulate again. I can tell why people thought you were a weirdo at Barnsley."

His face dropped. "Did people really think that?"

I snuffed a chuckle. "No, Alex, geez, you still care what those bums think of you?"

"No, but, I guess, my impression was that I was liked."

"Alex," I placed my hands on his shoulder with complete sincerity in my voice, "everybody loved you. Except maybe Will and that group."

His eyes squinted. "Will didn't like me?"

I crossed my legs and turned back to the program. "You bagged the hottest lass in school, what do you think?"

Then, we drank, drank, drank. Any leftover alcohol we had went to spraying the boys when they won. For their first award, Alex was over on Jamie's lap and I was charged with making sure the wooden duck wasn't forgotten at our table amongst the champagne chaos. I handed it over James Ford and Richard Hawley amidst the chaos. Alex held a horn and a flask, which showed no shame in the obvious inebriation as he said, "We are the Arctic Monkeys and we are the most fantastic" before blowing the aforementioned horn into the microphone.

In the span of heading on stage and returning to the table, the lads must have drank more because they came back even more wasted. It was an easy coping mechanism for the slow pain of the award show with brief breaks of relief as Mark Ronson and Amy Winehouse performed and the Osbournes hosting, who also had obvious intoxication. 

I laughed so hard I almost peed myself as Vic Reeves and Sharon Osbourne fought over who got to read the winner of the Mastercard British Album of the Year (this is very important because Sharon also got pissed at Vic for not remembering the award he was presenting). The whole ordeal had me drunk laughing into Alex's arms and the only thing keeping me upright was his side, which of course meant the moment they were announced the winner and Alex left my side to go onstage I fell on my ass, nearly tugging him down with me.

"Are you alright?" He asked with a tone of laughter. He reached down to pick me up. 

"Yeah." I tried to hold more laughter back but it was unbearable. "I'm so drunk, Alex."

He laughed just as hard as me. "I think I am too."

"Oh." I laughed some more. "I think you have to go get your award."

"I think so too." We laughed some more until Alex was pushed away toward the stage where he walked up very slowly making Sharon yell that they didn't have enough time making me laugh even more. Thank god for Katie, now keeping me upright with her tiny frame.

Nick took my place onstage with Alex as they leaned into one another, twin poles keeping each other standing. Alex's speech went as most speeches had that night: a thank you to the BRIT School in the style of Adele, Kate Nash, Leona Lewis, and the audience of BRIT School attendees. Except for the obvious credential of going to the BRIT School. It was all very tongue-in-cheek drunk hilarious. Luckily the band made it back in time for Paul McCartney and for that, I will always be thankful as I risked my ankles swaying and jumping to "Live and Let Die."

At the affiliated after-party, I danced in my heeled boots with Katie and used the toilet so many times I must have set a Brits record. Alex became rather tired early on and slumped in a chair around 1 AM. We left soon after that, sloppily drunk waiting for a cab, leaning into each other silently. We had our photo taken and it is the first time I can recall visibly having photographers snap pictures. All before then had been sly shots and from that point on some barrier had been broken. I didn't mind it as much as Alex did. I wasn't thrilled by it either but I liked the idea of looking back on memories of that night that I was too out of to remember.

In the back of the cab, going home together, we fiddled with each other's hands and talked softly. Such a loud night had winded down and it was just us (and the driver) together. "You know your speech got cut off?" I asked him. 

"Yeah." He nodded slowly and his eyes fluttered. "Guess The BRIT School weren't happy with their proud graduates."

I chuckled. "Do you know how happy I am I went to Barnsley?"

He laughed and shook his head. "You might be the only one."

I moved closer to him. "I better not be. I'd have never met you."

Alex stared at me in disbelief. He looked like he was slowly processing the information into his system. His touch was soothing on me as he leaned his forehead to mine. "I love you. You got that, right?"

I smiled so close to him. "I know. Love you too. Did you know?"

He tilted his head slightly. "I had an idea." He kissed me then, close, tight, in the backseat, on our way home, with each other.

*

For my birthday—the 22nd one—Alex and I held a mild party, which turned into a bigger one. Amidst the chaos, Alex and I escaped outside and had a smoke break. Up against our building's brick wall, we soaked in our hazy drunkenness. We laughed ridiculously but we were still able to stand up straight.

"Should we get a cat?" I asked him. Georgia and Kyle had just adopted one.

"Who would take care of it?" Alex asked.

I laughed, even if I was plotting ways to steal Georgia and Kyle's cat. "Fair enough."

Alex looked away and his demeanor had changed, just an inch. His face had dropped to a neutral tone, other than his lips, slightly downturned. "What's wrong?" I asked. He shook his head, avoiding my eyes. I reached out and brushed his cheek. "Tell me. It's not right to be sad on my birthday. It's the most magical day of the year."

He smiled at my enthusiasm, always happy when I was happy. I worried that meant I brought him down when I was sad so often. He looked up, holding something back in himself. "Are you happy?"

My brows furrowed, completely lost. "Don't I seem happy?"

"Yeah. I just worry. I don't know what I'm thinking." He looked away, down at his hands, fistfighting each other.

"You're doing the second-guessing thing," I told him. I leaned closer, sliding my arm between his back and the wall, holding onto the middle of his spine. "I'm not gonna up and leave. I hope you trust me."

"Of course," Alex insisted. He reached down and squeezed my other hand. "I struggle with trusting meself."

I brushed his hair behind his ear, rubbing that spot to calm him. "Well, I trust you. That should count for something."

He stood silently and I watched as a small smile grew on his face. "It means everything." He looked up at me, eyes shiny and piercing. "I always want to be here for you."

"You are," I promised. I leaned my forehead against his. "Now, can we stop rehashing old mistakes and enjoy my party?"

Alex put on a happier face, even if I didn't fully buy it. "Yeah. Sorry for being a bummer."

I laughed. "I'm not one to talk. But I'd much prefer you laughing and making crude jokes all night than this."

He stood off the wall and smiled with a promise to not be a party pooper. Then, he made out with me outside our flat's door until Georgia caught us. She wagged her finger at us and we laughed even harder. Throughout the night Alex made jokes about my boobs and tried to fondle me. It was the most glorious display of a man grabbing a woman's ass. 

I loved every second of it because he'd grab my left cheek making me yelp before asking my opinion on the song playing. He cared every bit what I had to say about it. I had never felt that with anyone before and I've never felt it since. Every second, every mumble, every movement captured him and he didn't let up for a second, he never has. 

I wrapped my arms around his neck and tugged him closer because I have always wanted him closer. Closer to my lips, closer to my heart, closer to my city, closer to me. I had moved past my problem with public displays of affection in the last year. I don't know what flipped, I think I just was sick of not having him touch me. We didn't usually fondle each other this much (alcohol-afflicted) but not holding his hand felt ridiculous. 

Later, after I had blown out the candles and we were all eating the red velvet cake, Alex and I sat on the edge of our bed like we did most of our eating. We were sitting in the middle of the noise but it was quiet enough to hear each other, music turned down and people's mouths full of cake and I had to ask what had been eating away at me. "Are you happy?" I asked. "I mean, here in London."

Alex leaned away from me. He fought a smile, wanting to seem sincere and not cheesy. "Are you kidding?"

I shifted closer to him, leaning my arm forward to him. "I've kind of figured how you feel but since you asked me I wanted to be sure."

His hand reached out and he pushed back a chunk of hair that had flopped forward, holding onto my shoulder after. "I love being here with you."

"I know that." Alex's affection was never easily hidden. For me, it was always easy to tell if you liked something or not and I always knew he loved me, even when we weren't together loving each other. "But if I weren't here would you live in London?"

Alex looked down at his cake, playing with the fork, thinking to himself. He hummed. "I don't know. I think so." Then, he shrugged, took a bite of cake, and looked up at me, leaning close to my face. "But I just want to be wherever you are."

I rolled my eyes. It was too much for me to handle. I pushed his shoulder and couldn't prevent a grin. "Stop it."

He chuckled, pleased with getting me flustered. It has always been his favourite hobby.

*

The Age of the Understatement came out a month later and while the Puppets were rehearsing for Later with Jools Holland, I listened to it in full. I had heard most of it by that point, through bits at Black Box and things Alex had strummed, but fully mixed, I was struck with the fact that I didn't know how to feel about it. I loved it but the subject matter was hard to digest because despite being together when the album was worked on, the majority of songs were written during our break-up.

It was interesting to get his perspective on these things and to hear his longing and even his bitterness toward me. I had always been so interested in this part of Alex because he never showed it to me during our separation. I had worn my heart on my sleeve to an almost embarrassing degree while he stayed silent other than small encouragements. 

I wasn't very upset over it. I always wondered why or how I became numb to these things. I blamed my parents for most of it. I ignored that nagging thought in my head that said it was something else. I ignored it for a while.

*

In April, Alex's parents came down to London for a week. On the second day, we went on a tour of the Tower of London and ate at Rules for lunch. Penny and I shared oysters and I drank A Kiss for Lillie because I loved the name so much.

"How's it feel being shacked up?" David asked us, drinking a London Pride.

I giggled, covering my face with my napkin while Alex ridiculed, "Dad." I've always felt like a little kid under the Turners' stare. I am frozen at 17 eating Sunday roast in the dead of winter when I dine with them. In front of them, I felt like Alex and I were playing a game of house and his parents were asking us how the game was going.

I dropped my napkin and looked over at Alex. He had a grin and was sipping his London Pride, the boys were alike with that. His occupation with his drink made me answer. "I think it's going well. Alex leaves his wet towels on the floor," I tattled.

"Hey!" He put his drink down, the remnants of liquid cornering his mouth. "Jane doesn't do the dishes."

Penny and David both looked on amused. "That does sound like it's going well," Penny said with a chuckle.

We dug into our meals and recharged from our walking and poor weather by chatting. Penny and David told us the news in Sheffield, which per usual was very light and boring, but it was still interesting to know what back home was like.

"How are your parents liking Bath?" Penny asked me.

"Oh, um." I didn't really know the answer. I don't know if my parents liked anything. "They've settled. Stacey's not a big fan but she'll be headed to college soon." She'd certainly been counting down the days. I was freaked out. How was I old enough for Stacey to be going to college? At least, I wasn't my mother. I think she was having panic attacks over that realization.

"Have they visited here yet?" Penny continued to ask.

I took a swig of my drink to clear the food and anxiety in my mouth. "No, no. I think Stacey wants to but my parents wouldn't let her make the journey on her own."

"If they do, I would love to come down and meet them. It's strange to have not met them yet."

I laughed. The idea of Penny and my mother in a room together felt physically impossible like forcing the ends of a magnet together. "Oh, no, I don't think you'll ever meet my parents. I wouldn't subject you two to that."

They both laughed but the air felt awkward or maybe that was just me. I clasped my hands and placed my elbows on the desk, leaning my chin on them. "I just think..." I tried to think of an explanation. I really did. Nothing came to mind. I would say I had lost any thoughts but I don't think I ever had an opinion on the matter to begin with. My parents with Alex's parents felt like a fever dream and if it were ever to occur I'd make sure Stacey was in the room. "Anyway, should we get dessert?"

*

In the summer, I attended my first Last Shadow Puppets gig with their secret set at Glastonbury. Since it was a weekend and it was Glastonbury, I took off work Friday to attend. The Puppets weren't performing until Saturday but Sinéad O'Connor was on Friday so I made it my mission to see her. 

In addition, Matt came out to play drums with them (and Jack White too on guitar) so per usual the whole weekend turned into a booze-filled extravaganza. Though I mention drinking a lot here we didn't do it very often (well, as often as any Brits in their 20s convincing themselves they're not alcoholic). Simply, this year's more notable points occurred over a pint. I blacked out during Jay-Z's headlining set on Saturday, but other substances might have been involved there too. I mean, we also got to see Amy Winehouse again and Leonard Cohen on Sunday for which I cried during "Hallelujah" because I'm a cliche, what was there not to love?

After this, Alex and I returned to London unchanged, slipping back into our old habits, just like I have always wished for. We returned to even older habits of writing together, although less planned. At night, I would write in one of my notebooks and Alex would sometimes join in. Neither of us said anything about it, fearful it would ruin the magic.

Around this time, Alex started bringing up Los Angeles. He started small, one Saturday or Sunday afternoon in July, while I was fixing one of the holes in his trousers. My sewing skills were minimal back then (I pride myself in saying they have improved in recent years) but far better than Alex who struggled to thread a needle.

He kept me company as we sat on the floor, my eyes concentrated on the fabric, poking the needle through it. "I was talking to Matt about LA recently. About going out there," he said.

I hummed. "Well, you know I've always wanted to go."

"We were thinking at the end of the year. After the Puppets' tour. Recording out there at Josh Homme's." My eyes were too focused on the needle and thread than looking at him. Alex had talked about Homme before, slowly getting to know him through the years. Homme had become a common name rather than Queens of the Stone Age's Josh Homme.

"I could probably get off for a week or during the holidays," I told him nonchalantly (mistake).

I looked up and he handed me the scissors, smiling bright and wide. "We'll do all the hikes you want."

I stared at him narrowly. "I just like nature."

He held his hands up. "I'm not knocking you for it."

A few weeks later, we had Jamie, Katie, Matt, and his new girlfriend over for dinner. (Nick was in Sheffield for his mum's birthday). We got a foldout table for us all to sit at and Alex cooked something, I don't remember what but it smelled and tasted good. I was very impressed.

We had seen much of each other in the past few months but this had been the first time we all sat and just talked in a long while. There was catching up and getting to know this girlfriend of Matt's that didn't last for long, but I remember her being nice. 

We had finished eating long ago, but we were still sitting with our empty plates, chatting away when LA came up again. An unknowing Matt asked, "What are you going to do with this place when we're in LA?"

The only way I made sense of what Matt was asking was to assume he was referring to someone house sitting. I shrugged. "I mean, Georgia has a key to check in if we'd need it."

"Two places. Swanky, swanky," Jamie uttered.

"What?" I furrowed my brows and tried to get some understanding from Alex. His face was hidden away, his hand rubbing his face, and that was clear enough for me but I still asked. "Why would we need two places?" I asked sternly. "We're only going to be there for a week."

"Al told us you were coming out with us," Matt said, a little lost.

I tried to look at Alex but he shied away and it became clear that he had bent the truth when he told me about LA. "For how long?" I asked Matt.

"We're all thinking of moving out there. At least for the next album."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm getting the impression you didn't know this."

"Uh-huh," I uttered. I stood up and began to clear the dishes. 

"Should we go so you guys can fight?" Matt asked.

I walked to the kitchen, only a few measly steps away from our makeshift table. Everything too close. "We're not fighting," Alex said, always quick to deny a fight, horrible at diffusing one.

I didn't want to bicker in front of them so I put the dishes in the sink and asked if anybody wanted dessert. The remainder of the evening was tense but I leaned closer to Katie than Alex and when they left I was sad to see them go because I didn't want to fight and I didn't want to do the dishes.

The door shut and Alex stared on at me. I choose dishes. I turned the faucet on and Alex said, "I can do them."

"Will you or will you say that and then not do them?" My back was to him but I could picture him clearly, awkward standing between the foldout table and our bed.

"Look." He sighed harshly, I could hear the aches of it ring in my ear. "Things got bigger and I did a shite job at keeping you informed."

My boiling anger couldn't cool down with him talking so I figured to just out with it. I quickly turned off the water and turned to look at him. "I always thought that once we were finally in the same city as one another—let alone the same house as one another—that all those old problems we had of half-truths and not telling each other things was over with but you seem to have a hard time with it."

"I knew if I told you, you'd get pissed—"

My eyes widened. "You're a fucking idiot. I'm even more pissed now 'cause you lied to me."

"I didn't lie to you. I was trying to work things out and I knew you wouldn't go if I told you about moving out there," Alex tried to explain.

"What were you planning on doing? Kidnapping me out there?"

"No, I was just trying to work things out. Can't I work things out before telling you about them?"

"Why can't we do that together?" All our habits had been hard to break. I thought we had broken away from this one. We told each other all the details only for our ears and those walls, just like in my childhood bedroom, but just like back then things were always omitted. I can't lie, I'd done it too, but mine were much smaller, not life-changing.

"Oh, come on, Jane, because I know you. You would have shut the idea down right away even if I came to with some grand presentation. You only want things your way."

"Because it's my turn! I get to pick! You said that, not me." I held it over his head because I had the right to. Of course, I wanted things my way, I had bent to people's will for so long that I wanted them to bend toward me, but that just didn't happen.

"You're right and I'm sorry. Nothing's definitive. It's not like we're leaving tomorrow." His dissipation angered me and I was no longer open to accepting apologies.

"If you move out to LA, I'm breaking up with you." It was final in my mind and it hurt but it would hurt more for him to go.

He stepped back. His head moved around, rattled and confused. "What?!"

I pointed to myself. My face was hot and my fury was on fire. "It's my turn! I get to decide! We're not going."

"You don't get to decide that."

"Uh, yeah, I do because it's my turn."

"So, what did you think you'd have jurisdiction over for the rest of our lives?"

"At least for a year!"

"When we leave it will be a year."

I let out a breath and couldn't even look at him. A realization ticked over me. "And our lease will be up. Are you conspiring against me or something?" I scowled. Hard.

"No. I'm talking about doing things we talked about for years. We're fucking off to America."

"Don't use my words against me." Alex likes to do this.

"You're using mine against me." I like to do this.

"I don't want to fuck off to America anymore. You're asking me to give up my job, my friends, my flat. It's not like you'd do any of that for me." That's what hurt most. Those tallying of sacrifices. Maybe because I was willing to do it and I know he'd never be. There is something more wrong with me than him but he was well-adjusted and I was a petulant child.

"I'd do a lot for you and you know it."

"Then do this for me. What's so wrong about London? You recorded a whole album here when we weren't together. Now that we are, you have to go to another country."

"For a few months. Not the rest of your life and you don't have to come!" He emphasized that part.

"I know that! I know that, you fucking idiot. I want to be with you. That's the difference but you seem awful desperate to get away from me."

"Fuck off with that, Janie. You know that's not true. I'll go out there for a few months. I'll come back. That's it." He seemed to want to put an end to the fight, didn't want the fireworks to keep going and I was determined more by that to keep it going. To stretch it out for as long as possible.

"Then, we're breaking up. I'm not doing this coming and going shit for the rest of my life."

"Don't be so dramatic."

"Why does it matter? You're moving away to sunny Los Angeles with all the models."

"Do you think I'm gonna cheat on you? Let me remind you who cheated." Touché.

"Oh, fuck that. We were barely together when I went to Aruba and god knows what you were doing. And I'm not threatened by some model. Shockingly the one thing I don't have doubts about is that you love me."

"Good!" He said it so harshly it almost made me laugh. "Stop with all this break-up talk then."

"Why can't you just stay here?" I argued it, even though I knew it was no longer an option. It was as if he was already gone.

"Why can't you come with me? You'll write, you'll hike, you'll be the coolest chick in all of LA."

"Did you just call me a chick? Who are you?" I laughed at the ridiculousness and Alex joined in but I was laughing at him, nowhere near with him. I returned to the argument quickly. "I like my job. That might shock you since you just sit around here all day but I like going to work."

He rolled his eyes and didn't address my dig at his career. Alex works hard, he knows he works hard, he knows I know he works hard. There was no need to pointlessly defend it. "You tolerate your job. You want to be an assistant for the rest of your life, fine, but I think—I know you'd rather be doing the writing. Come on, you'll be Joan Didion or whatever."

"I prefer Eve Babitz," I stalely said, crossing my arms.

Alex shrugged. "Fine. Eve Babitz. Or Patti Smith. Or fucking Steinbeck. Just give me a little."

I scoffed, "I give you a lot." I walked around but he kept following. The place was so fucking small.

"I know. I just know you'll love it or you could get a job out there with Simon & Schuester, and ask to be transferred."

"They're not gonna transfer an editorial assistant and their US offices are in New York." I felt he didn't even care enough to research that part. It was plain and simple that I would just follow him around always.

"Then work at the bajillion other publishing houses out there. Or get published yourself. You're worth more than some dumb assistant."

"I like my job and will you stop chasing after me?" He stopped his movement and I walked to the opposite wall, still not too far away. I muttered, "I fucking hate this place."

"Then, come to LA, we'll get a big place where you can hide out in the guest room when you hate me," Alex offered. But it didn't matter. I just wanted it to end.

"Will you stop?" I was just exhausted, slumping down on our bed.

He sighed. He was over fighting too. We didn't kiss and make up, but he tossed me the TV remote and went and did the dishes. I fell asleep before he came to bed.

We avoided the topic for a while. Alex wanted me to have some distance to think about it and I did. I pictured living in a warmer climate, having that tan on my skin I so desperately loved. I wanted to make him happy most of all. But, for once, at first, I wasn't willing to give up something that made me happy. My job wasn't glorious but it was stable and I needed that stability. Alex had been the most reliant thing to lean on up to that point in my life and as written and seen he was often coming and going, even if emotionally he was always there for me.

In August, before he left on a string of Puppets dates, Alex asked me if I thought more about it. I had but I didn't have any answer. He reassured me of his return and a promise that I would love LA, even if I just came for a week. I didn't doubt that part, but I didn't want to give in.

*

When autumn approached and Alex returned for his September-long break, we fell back into step but not back into comfortability. LA always hung over our heads and Alex didn't bring it up again but I know he was waiting for an answer just like I was waiting to come to an answer. It was a debate between heart and head. Georgia shamed me for the whole idea of leaving England. Stacey cooed at the romance of it all. One was my peer, the other was my 16-year-old sister.

Late one night—it must have been around midnight, either Tuesday night or Wednesday morning—Alex and I played gin rummy, drinking wine. We were silent other than the record playing quietly in the background. I could tell he was getting sleepy.

I drew a card and asked, "How do you think we'll be when we're older?"

He quirked a small smile. "Does gin rummy get you sappy? You've asked me this before."

I wasn't asking him this in the same way, not fishing for a compliment of being an old married couple. I need assurance. "Do you think we'll be together?"

He waited and looked at his card like he was trying to find a match, trying to make sense of his hand. Then, he looked up, smiled, and said, "Yes."

His earnestness was shocking, blunt, plain, and simple. "You've got a lot of faith." With every passing day, I believed Alex and I could work forever, if we got past this hump of young adulthood then we'd be okay. Every day I doubted we could get past that hump. 

But then, his smile grew bigger and sleepier and he said, "It's you and me. What's there to doubt?"

I laughed. "Do you want the list?"

He shrugged. "You're never gonna know unless you try."

Alex won that round and we decided to call it a night. I took a shower and he did something during that time, I don't know what, but he managed to stay awake for me to slip under the sheets and into his arms. I nudged closer to him and nozzled my head in that crook of him.

"You smell nice," he told me. His hand scratched my damp hair, tender and careful, the best kind of massage. 

I felt everything in me relax. I shifted my head to speak and breathe clearly. "I'll come with you. To LA. I'll come."

His movements stilled like if he changed anything I would turn around and reject him, spit all over him. "You sure?"

I sighed. "I think so. But if not I can just live off you for the rest of my life." I feared that but still joked. Coping mechanism.

Alex moved away from me, shuffling me down his arm so he could see my face, a small kiss between my brows. "It would be an honour."

I ducked into his neck and said, "I'm gonna have to be my own person one day." I don't know if I was saying it to him or to me.

I squeezed my arm with some reassurance. "You know, one day you'll understand how cool you are."

"Nah," I shook my head, "I'm just Plain Jane."

*

I have wondered what it would be like if Alex wrote this book and how his perspective might change the impression of the story. I think that most about LA.

We left in November. Alex spent the month of October playing the final dates of the Puppets' tour. I gave my notice at Simon & Schuster and though my decision displeasured Georgia, she took me out to drinks, just the two of us. My parents had approved of the move, even if it didn't matter much where I lived, but they took me out to dinner and Stacey was excited to visit. 

There wasn't much to pack, and I left behind memorabilia that would cost a lot of money today, monetarily and sentimentally. Alex got a small house, bigger than our flat, but smaller than future homes. We weren't sure how long we'd be there so staying modest with our space seemed proper, especially when we were renting.

Truthfully, past my slight resentment against LA for ripping me away from London, I took to California quickly. I liked the heat and the ocean, even if it was winter. It was just a more lukewarm winter. 

Josh Homme's studio being in Joshua Tree was the cherry on top. Alex's memory was always intact and he made it his mission to get me into the national park as soon as possible. Smart move. Throughout winter, we must have hiked every inch of it, seen Gram Parsons memorial too many times, and stargazed at the Milky Way a thousand times. 

We always had fun at night. The speculation of what went on in the desert isn't far off and, though it wasn't a constant thing, partaking in psychedelics wasn't rare. I quite liked it. I think we all did. Joshua Tree at night was definitely a good place to do it. I'm pretty sure that town is founded off of it. 

I looked at the sky when we did it but more often than not I enjoyed looking at people. Like everything else, people usually meant just Alex. His hair was shaggier, but not long, more Beatles mop-top with curly ends. His eyes looked brownier and felt more puppy-dog, paired with a pout. He hadn't been wearing a heavy coat or long sleeve too often and I liked seeing him in short sleeves, fitter than ever. I liked watching him do it more than anything. 

He'd turn to me, notice me staring, scruff my hair in his hands. "Look at us two. Observers." We simply liked watching each other. Always have, even through the rough times. I just found him intriguing and interesting to look at. He tempted something in me that made me so desperate to stare on just like when we were 17. I asked him once if I had that quality too. He laughed, finding the question ridiculous because "Of course. Who wouldn't look at ya?"

Parts of me wanted to return to London where I felt like the one in control. Being unemployed didn't help. Alex would come home to me, which was lovely, but I wanted something to come home from too. Alex brought me to the studio occasionally but I wasn't a fan of being the girlfriend, sitting on an amp, waiting around. I didn't have any friends either. That might have been the worst. Sitting around doing next to nothing grew boring quickly and though I wrote I didn't know what I was writing for.

But I did write something and I wrote often. My days of notebooks were gone and I switched to typing. Something I was dreadful at, sticking my index fingers out and pointing. Alex taught me how to type. He'd drawn up a diagram for me to memorize where the keys were and I always laughed because I could've just looked at my keyboard. He thought staring at it on a piece of paper would be easier.

Eventually, he unlocked the true thing that would make me learn how to type properly and quickly: a competition. It was on one of those stupid typing websites that I had tried out but got sick of typing "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog." However, one day, Alex said, "We've finally found something that I'm better than you at." (This is a clear lie because he's better at almost everything than me but he indulges me so you must too). It became my mission then to be better at typing than Alex. I achieved this by the second week in California because he's not that good of a typist either. 

So, I began typing instead of handwriting, which meant I was writing a greater quantity than ever. To get out of the house, I would go to a cafe and type and type and type. Drinking way too much coffee, which led to my sleep schedule getting completely fucked up (along with those acid trips). Sometimes, I would sleep the whole day while Alex left and returned from the studio. It worked out kind of nicely. It's like I wasn't even missing him. However, it wasn't highly advisable for a healthy lifestyle so I tweaked it just a little, staying up a whole day, and passing out at 9 PM. I blamed jetlag. At that point, we had been there for a month.

That's about when I became bored of California. Early December. I loved being in California, I loved being with Alex & the band, but I didn't have much of a life. It was recreational play with my boyfriend and his best mates. I didn't have any friends of my own to go out drinking with and shit-talk about how Alex didn't pick up the wet towels. When I voiced this to Alex, it never came from a calm standpoint. That has always been my issue.

I told him, "I have no life here. I'm just doing whatever you do and you don't do anything so I do nothing." It was late and we were going to bed but I had to start something.

Alex—clad in his pajamas and tired from actually doing things all day—leaped quickly to frustrated aggravation. I had changed that calm demeanor in him. It killed me. He stood up and walked to the door with his back to me. Not even a bother of wishing me good night.

"Where are you going?" I scoffed at him.

He sighed before turning around and spitting, "I'm not gonna be your punching bag. I love you but I'm getting tired of this shit. If you're going to blame me for every bad feeling you have, then leave. I'm not making you happy then go."

He watched my fury dissolve. I regretted and despised my need to ruin a perfect evening with anger. He did nothing wrong and a pit would develop in me, forcing its way out, fighting its way through me before I was firing away. 

I swallowed that lump. "I'm sorry."

My eyes downcasted, he walked over to me on the edge of the bed, sitting beside me. "It's fine." His arm came around me and I turned into him, hugging him properly. He squeezed back tightly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Talk. Like adults. "Yeah," I said in his ear. "I'd like that."

I told him every emotion that had festered. Praised California for its inspiration and blamed it for my loneliness. I went on and on never-ending and he listened, held my hand, and didn't say anything. I cried at one point, not heavily, but enough for him to squeeze my hand tighter in reassurance. "I don't do too well with change. Clearly." I brushed it away, sniffling.

Alex looked over at my face and realizing I had come to my conclusion, he finally spoke and asked, "Do you want to go back home?"

I laughed and looking at him I felt the answer should be no, but my eyes fell down, and soon did my smile. "Maybe."

"Okay." I wanted so badly not to disappoint him and he knew that. He tugged me close and hugged me. "It's okay. You'll go back and I'll be back for Christmas and we'll do something special. It'll be okay." I cried hard into his shoulder, probably getting snot over him, but he didn't care. His hand soothed my shaking shoulders. "I'm sorry I'm selfish."

I pulled away, rubbing my nose. "Stop. You're doing something wonderful and I love being here, I just think it's too soon. Maybe in a couple of years, this would have been better and I could've gotten a job out here but something happens to me when I'm not occupied. I feel like I go crazy. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, don't be sorry."

I shook my head. "Don't do that. You don't deserve all the mean things I've said. You're so loving and caring and I'm a bitch."

"Stop it. It's okay to not want to do everything I want to do. I love that we butt heads, that you put me in my place. I know that I broke a promise to you and you have every right to be pissed at me for it. I just want you to do what's best for you."

"Yeah," I said with a shaky breath. He rubbed his hands up and down my arms. I was the beating waves crashing onto his harbor. His lighthouse stayed put.

*

The following night, we went to Ivar, a nightclub in West Hollywood. I was still debating if I would return to California in 2009 and with that, I decided to enjoy the time we had left before we returned home for the holidays. The club was packed, I was dressed slutty because that's what you do when it's 70ºF in winter. 

A little black dress is key. Along with a nice pair of heels, which I usually didn't dare dance in but that night I wanted to feel glorious. Paired with the gifted flower pendant, I felt drunk happy. I've always felt happier drunk and since I became aware of this fact it has worried me.

However, that night, I felt well-paced and among happy people. Alex was smiling and Alex hated these kinds of things where people were all squished together, drowning him, so that must mean it was a really good night. I clung to him, arms around his neck, swaying amongst the loud bass beats from the DJ. 

"I love dancing," I told him.

He chuckled, lighter than me. His nose nudged my cheek. "I can tell. You're always happy when you're dancing."

I pulled away from him, shimming my hips. "Well, the music tells me to move and I listen. You're stiff as a board."

"Me nature, I suppose."

I shrugged, moving back to him. "You're cute when you're watching me."

"I'm always watching you. I can't look away from you."

I giggled because it was too much sweetness, his sugar was rotting me from the inside out. I tapped his nose. "You're a charmer. You're my little guy."

"Yeah." He smiled. "I like being your guy. Your fella."

"Fella!" I exclaimed, swaying, unbalanced in my heels. "You're my fella. And I, your lady." I moved my feet side to side, singing into his ear, "You are woman and I am man."

He laughed, right back into my ear, like a game of telephone. "Don't go all musical theater on me, Janie."

I messed with his hair, my fluffy puppy dog. "I balance you out."

"I'd be that shy boy up against the wall if it weren't for you."

"Yes, but you'd have all the girls wrapped around your finger," I reminded him. All those armchair girls he used to have.

"I only want one girl and I'm wrapped around her finger." I suppose to him, he favoured a dancefloor girl (and maybe this is when I started to fall in love with that song, remembering that tiny boy who wrote it).

"Who?" I requested to hear him utter it. My name on his lips.

He chuckled, looking up at the ceiling, strobe lights flickering. "Don't make me play that game."

"But I want to hear you say it," I whined.

Alex looked down, those brown eyes close to mine and he kissed me. We were transferring heat back and forth to one another, capturing each other within the madness as the crowd swelled around us. "You've got me wrapped around your finger, Janie. All yours." It was the greatest gift a girl could ask for.

It felt like we were stuck inside a speaker, the whole place pulsating and booming. The vibration ate away at my soul and it soon became unbearable, which meant it was time for a smoke break. We snuck outside and shared a cigarette because it felt more romantic. I held the lighter and Alex held the cigarette to my lips.

"I want to see a movie this weekend but everything that's out right now is depressing," I told him.

"We could go see Twilight." The movie had come out two weeks prior and Alex couldn't stop joking about it. He would comment on the reports of diehard fans and I would say it's no different than his fans but he counters this by saying that Twilight is a shittier movie than their shite music. Yet, he kept bringing the movie up. Almost like he wanted to go and see it...interesting...

"Landmark is doing Harold & Maude." Landmark had been our go-to activity with retro movies galore. It is now Vista Theater owned by Quentin Tarantino, no relevance here. I just thought I'd mention it as a fun fact.

"Aw," he cooed, leaning the side of his body up against the bricks. "I love Harold & Maude."

I smiled an impossible-to-resist smile. "I know you do. It's 'cause you look like Harold."

He sneered. "I do not. His eyes are all far apart."

"But you've got the same hair." I brushed my hand through his head of hair.

Alex didn't believe me for a second. "We do not. That makes you Ruth Gordon."

I placed my hand over my heart. "I consider that to be an honor."

"I know you do, Rosemary's Baby."

"'Anyone! Anyone! It didn't have to be a no-good slut straight from the gutter. Just as long as she is young, healthy, and not a virgin!'" I quoted.

He laughed, throwing his head back in delight. "You've seen that movie too many times."

"It's 'cause I love John Cassavetes so much."

"You want a guy like Guy Woodhouse?" Hmm, a satan-worshiping husband or Alex?

"No, I want a guy like John Cassavetes. You look like him a little. If you got a little facial reconstruction."

"A little facial reconstruction?" He laughed.

"Well, I see more of him in you than Harold. Besides, Cassavetes was an alcoholic and died 20 years ago, you're much more my taste."

His laughter continued. "That's good to know."

Then, we were kissing and we kissed for a while, long enough that we needed time to separate and breathe. Though we had less air to breathe inside the club, we decided it was an appropriate time to head back inside, at least to let the boys know we were still around.

On our way back inside, we walked by a woman. She stopped me, taking my arm and saying, "I love what you're wearing."

A stranger had never complimented my outfit before. I've had unknown men whistle at me but never a woman telling me, "And that necklace, it's stunning." She was platinum blonde with a short bob by her ears. She was dressed in a white babydoll dress and had pearl bracelets on both her wrists. 

"Oh." My hand went up to it and I fiddled with it, looking over at Alex. His hands were in his pockets and his eyes watched on, nudging me forward with his gaze like I was a child on their first day of school. "He got it in Germany."

"Foreign. You and the necklace."

"British," I told her.

"I've loved British people ever since Harry Potter. Are you British too?" Her eyes turned to Alex.

"Yeah."

"Are you here on vacation?"

"No, he's recording an album," I explained.

"An album? Cool," she praised for a moment before turning back to me. "What do you do?"

"I was an editorial assistant for Simon & Schuester back in London but, I guess, I'm unemployed right now."

"She's a writer," Alex spoke for me. Always my cheerleader.

She squealed. "Oh, my god! I'm an art director for ELLE magazine! You know, I could tell you were a writer. You have that look to you."

I laughed and partially thought that Alex had paid this woman to approach me. "What look is that?" I asked.

Her eyes trailed up and down me, X-raying me and examining the image. "You just seem astute. Maybe it's the British thing."

"You don't know many British people," I told her and she laughed and laughed and at some point, Alex slipped away back to our group but I didn't notice. We talked and she gave me her phone number and her name: Opal. I'd comment on the peculiarity of it but I'm Plain Jane so who am I to pass judgment? Actually, I quite like the name.

Later in the evening, after we had drunk sex (Alex and I, not Opal and I), he hugged me to him and I hugged back. I possess a great need to be near Alex as much as possible, but drunk me would die without it. That part of me will always love hanging off of him. 

My brain was foggy but we were both clear-headed enough to remember the exchange. "I like you a lot, Alex."

He laughed at me. "I figured."

But I was serious, both now in writing it and then when saying it. I turned, sitting up on his chest, elbows on his ribs. "No, like I really like you."

Alex pushed my flyaways back, a funny smirk staring me down. "I really like you too, Janie."

I moaned dramatically. "Like that when you call me 'Janie.' Do you know what that means to me?"

He wiggled his eyebrows. "You want to go for round 2?"

"No!" I shouted, furrowing my brows. "This isn't a sexual thing, it's a loving thing."

"Liking thing," he corrected.

I nodded, pouting my lips. My face felt fuzzy. "I always hated when people called me that. I felt like I was being babied or something. Maybe it's something to do with my dad or Tommy or a stupid guy. But then you call me that and it's like an angels' chorus." I was stupid drunk and stood up on my knees, flapping my arms like I was a bird, and fell beside Alex on the bed. Though I demanded this was a serious thing, I wasn't very serious. My drunk words were my sober thoughts. Luckily, they were pretty sweet.

Alex looked over at me, turning onto his side. His eyes were soft and shiny, staring into me. I was like a baby and started pulling at his face, tugging on his cheeks and tapping his nose. He laughed at my actions but was rather emotional, pulling my hands away from his face, and pushing them down to rest on his chest.

"I'm glad I can be not a stupid guy for you." The idea of stupid guys seemed long ago, almost foreign to me. Maybe I chose to block it out or maybe I had a hard time believing that I lucked into Alex. Even if he faulted and he faulted a lot, I never doubted his care for me. He was the first person I felt that unconditional nature from and it transformed something in me, giving me the belief that nothing should ever be less than this, but perhaps nothing will ever be as good as this. As good as him.

"You are, but you're my stupid guy." I giggled, pleased with my insult. I turned onto my side too, placing my arm over his body, pulling myself closer to him. "I really like the person you are and the person you're becoming. I like every version of you. I'll love every version of you."

He was silent for a while. I was able to stay quiet and still. I could tell he was thinking of what I had just said. It was rare that my words bested Al's in the romance department, but maybe once in a blue moon. 

Then, he nodded, swallowed hard, and tried to force something down; emotions, tears, a laugh—I don't know. "I'm a lucky guy," he said quietly.

I shook my head, adamantly insisting, "You're a deserving guy."

*

a/n: i swear i didn't just post this because @goblinontour praised it. but i will keep mentioning the compliment.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[OLD ART ALERT] A COLLECTION OF SCENES FROM THE GILLIONS CATSCRATCH ARC THAT BROUGHT ME GREAT JOY. i love fishy chips especially when its just gillion being delirious and violent and hostile

[anna-scribbles]

h-how do you ever finish any of your work? genuine question because you seem to be productive despite your agreste syndrome and I need to learn your ways. but also how do you ever finish any of your work

unclear. last night i stayed up and finished a report worth 25% of my grade at about 5am, arrived on time for my 9am lecture, and spent about half of it zoned out while thinking about seventeen year old emilie agreste. and i was one of the most active participants in the class discussion

[thedrotter]

I have a gift for y'all today !!! 😊 Ever wanted to find a line in Re:Kinder in a single place for the sake of reference?? How about multiple chunks of lines. how about all the little variations that arise in the text with it's many endings, item descriptions, text that comes from interacting with the enviroment, and character info from the menu without having to boot up the game and go through it at long minutes!!???

well i sure did😊 Since I do a lot of fanart and think up my own silly theories and thoughts that need me to reference the game lines a lot, i have made a transcript for it for convenience's sake. A weirdly thorough transcript handwritten and proofread by me including all character lines available in-game. And I'm sharing it with you all today for anyone that wants it !!! :3 To use as a reference for creative fanworks or a quick search for a line in-game, whatever you wish to use it for!!

It uses the english translation of the game by vgperson. So naturally all credit for the game lines available in here is to her and Parun who made the game.

I did my best to organize it in a way easy to digest. Do note that I'm still human, and there's still the chance for mistake in it no matter how much I've proofread it, since I'm not even an english native speaker ^^. But I hope it serves you well nonetheless if you wish to use it.

That's my gift for today!!! Not the usual art, but still a project I'm proud of. Enjoy!!! 😊

[phantajam]

my hot take about descendants is that NONE of the core four were ready for a relationship until maybe like, the third movie (rant in tags)

[mars-ipan]

i do love my family very dearly but the internalized ableism the men in here struggle with is. so much

[burinazar]

It's a bit funny that to parts of my circles I'm 'the fandom one'/'the fanfic one'/'the shipping one' as the person they know most prominently into such things

because as much as i love writing my fics and shipping my ships my interest in both of those things is, I think, very narrow and specific compared to most people who are into them? due to my habits being like. very particular

[teaboot]

On of the less intuitive things about love, I've found, of any kind, is the importance of needing things.

I didn't realize it until recently, but I've always seen love as something requiring sacrifice, selflessness, patience, and generosity- to ask for nothing is to be the best person I can be, small and quiet and never in the way, always happy and helpful, self-sufficient and present when desired.

It's only as an adult, now, that I'm beginning to see the selfishness of wanting nothing.

I cut my friend's hair in my kitchen the other day. They wanted a trim and I had the skills, so I offered, and was genuinely excited when they stopped hesitating over "bothering me" and took me up on it. It was a peaceful afternoon, and we had tea and chatted for an hour or more.

My brother and I shared popcorn at the movies a while ago. When I came time to pay, I pulled my card out like a wild western sheriff and slapped it on the machine before he could fight me for it first. The satisfaction was delightful.

Someone called me crying on the phone the other day. Kept apologizing for disturbing me at work, talking about how they were bothering me on my lunch break. I was telling the truth when I told them that really, I was flattered and honored and relieved, knowing that if they were hurting I would know, that I didn't have to worry in silence. It felt good to hear them slowly come down, and to know that they knew it would be better soon, and to hear them laugh wetly on the other end. We're getting together for a visit next week.

It's hard to need things, if you've trained yourself not to. It's hard to want things, when you don't know how to want anymore. Trusting people is difficult, and so is relying on them, but I don't know where I'd be without the people who rely on me.

I've heard a lot of people say, "Nobody will love you unless you love yourself". I've had a lot of thoughts about it. It's not right, but it's not wrong, either, I think.

"Nobody will love you unless you love yourself"... I've always taken that to mean, "You will not be lovable until you develop a positive view of yourself as a person".

Now, I think it's sort of inside-out.

"Nobody will love you unless you love yourself"... because nobody can show their love to you in a way that you can accept until you treat yourself kindly, and learn what you need, and what you want, and how to ask for it, and then give that vulnerability away.

Love, for me, is someone I ask for a ride to the airport. Whether they end up doing this or not is irrelevant.

It's not needy, or selfish, or taking up energy. It's giving the gift of being wanted, and needed, and thought of. It's giving someone the security of being part of someone's life.

[football-in-tuxedos]

What's distressing, but also important to understand, about JK Rowling hitting the "Denying trans people were targeted in the Holocaust" point is that it's kind of the last stop before she just goes full alt-right weirdo.

Joanne is denying the Holocaust (if a group was targeted, denying they were targeted is Holocaust denial) and that's going to lead to pushback from historians and experts. But Joanne is too deep in to believe what anyone who disagrees with her says, so she's just going to dismiss what those historians and experts tell her. And once she's disbelieving them about that one thing, well it's just a tiny step to start disbelieving them about other things.

This isn't by accident either, transphobic circles are swarming with far right agitators, ready to use hatred of trans people as an in to recruit people into their causes. They have handbooks for this sort of thing and they are, unfortunately, good at it. I suspect Joanne will be spouting coded versions of Great Replacement stuff by the end of the summer.

This is not a plea to try and pull Joanne out. She's too deep in, and even if she wasn't, she's already demonstrated an inability to examine her own prejudices, an unwillingness to hear criticism and a weakness to flattery. She is perfect recruitment bait for people who know what they're doing, and my impression is she's surrounded herself with people like that.

No, this is to understand two things: First is to use her as an example, to understand how a well meaning liberal can chase their own prejudices down a very dark rabbit hole. We are none of us immune to propaganda and even if we can't change what's happened to her, we can at least use it to protect ourselves.

And second is to understand that one of the main reasons you can't pull Joanne out of the transphobic pipeline is cause she is the pipeline now. She is the transphobic banner bearer now, she is funneling money and attention to these groups, she is their most famous celebrity and she is helping recruit people. Being able to show people how far she's gone, how deep into the right wing rabbit hole she's going, is important to help other people who still think she just "Had some concerns" know where her path leads.

[seddair]

.

[tonycries]

Prettier When Messy!

Synopsis. They aren’t afraid to get messy while making a mess of you, in fact, they love it - in all sorts of ways.

Pairing. Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, bréeding, really messy, light pússy-smacking (Nanami’s), spítting, cúmplay like a LOT of it, squírting, oral (female + male receiving), fíngering, overstím, jealousy (Gojo’s), some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 3.6k

A/N. Wrote this n’ then had to have a run in the rain for a spiritual deep-cleanse. 

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Big n’ scary? No problem!

Now, Toji wouldn’t consider himself to be a nice man. But to be honest, the way you’re looking up at him with such adorably teary eyes, lips wobbling so nervously at his rock-hard cock, has got his heart lurching ever-so-slightly. And as does his swollen dick. 

“What’s wrong, doll?” he caresses your cheek, like the shameless bastard he is. Heavy balls twitching at the way he catches your sloppy pussy clenching in- anticipation? Fear? Both? “Nervous?”

“I um-” And oh if Toji thought he was painfully hard before then he wasn’t ready for that delirious little nod you give him. 

Ah, it never gets old. He loved this effect on you - how cute it was that you were so cockdrunk already, letting out a few whines. A few complains about how he was too big. And he knew exactly what to do about it. 

“Spread those legs some more, pretty.” 

And you barely even get the time to react before Toji’s impatiently wrestling open your legs so shamefully for him. Taking in one long look at how perfect you were for him - quivering and leaking so sinfully onto the sheets below - before spitting once. Twice. Thrice. 

Missing on purpose to let a steady stream of saliva and slick trail filthily down your quivering thighs. So debauched and wet for him - and if Toji was any less of a man he’d just fuck your pretty pussy right then and there. 

But, no. Oh no, instead, with a low hiss, he rests his swollen dick on your stomach, letting you gape at him in awe. How he was so hot and heavy on you. 

“See?” Toji muses, voice so infuriatingly even for someone that was leaking thick, hot precum all over your stomach. “Nothing to be afraid of. In fact, m’just gonna be right-” He traces his finger down your tummy, resting right above an invisible line where his fat tip was. “Here.” Pressing down. Hard. 

You jerk at the pressure, jolting - God, you should’ve known that Toji would fuck so mean. Playing around with the pretense of “comforting you” to tease you. To watch the way you keen and gasp at his movements. 

“But-” your breath hitches as he smears his precum all over your skin. So fucking sloppy, having way too much fun than he actually should - all at your expense.

“No buts, jus’ told ya, m’girl.” Toji chuckles darkly, leaning down to whisper hotly against your ear. Cock twitching so ferally on top of you at the way your voice cracks so adorably at the end, tinged with desperation. “N’ now, I’ve had enough of being nice so are ya gonna take it am I gonna have to make ya?”

And nothing more is said - by either of you. 

Because with that, it seems the last bit of Toji’s patience - or his restraint - has snapped at the sight of you splayed out so deliciously, too much for him. You, his favorite meal - gaping at his thick cock, all needy and messy with his precum - how could a man possibly say no?

“Oh! Fuck fuck fuck- s’too-” you squeal deliriously as he slides his angry tip between your swollen folds. 

Stretching you to your limits. Mindlessly pushing in quick, purposeful little grinds to bully his massive cock inside your tight pussy. Each movement getting more and more erratic than the last. More desperate. Sloppier. 

So debauched and dirty.  

And Toji - oh he’s just in heaven - letting out a deep, guttural groan as he just barely bottoms out. Heavy balls smacking your ass, those tufts of hair at his base scratching your throbbing clit just right. Thumb stroking that sinful little line of precum he’d made - and where he could feel himself bulging inside you. 

“Hey, doll, ya think I can go even deeper?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - To clean

You don’t know what makes you flinch more - the way Nanami was buried dizzyingly nose-deep in your cunt, lapping so greedily at your sweet sweet juices, or the way he just stops.

“K-Kento?” you whisper breathlessly, mind reeling from both the way you were so close and the final, deep kiss your husband gives to your swollen clit. Grinning at the way your hips jerk mindlessly in protest as he pulls away. “Why did you-”

And whatever disappointed whine dies in your throat at the heavenly sight before you - and oh it was so hard to look at Nanami without wishing he was back in-between your thighs. Hair ever-so-slightly disheveled, glasses sliding down his nose, venturing dangerously towards where your slick was glossing so prettily over his lips, all the way up, up, up-

“‘Why’, my love?” 

That snaps you out of your little reverie, and no sooner are the words out of Nanami’s mouth before he’s leaning in - capturing yours. So sloppy and desperate. 

You let out a muffled moan at the way you were tasting yourself and him and you. So sweet that you wondered which one of you tasted this addictive. 

“Now now,” and then he’s pulling away, angry cock twitching so painfully at your broken little whimper. “Don’t get too greedy.” As if you could be anything but. 

And maybe if you were in any better state of mind, you’d have said anything about the pure disrespect shining so uncharacteristically in Nanami’s eyes. About how utterly mean he was being as he slid his fat, weeping head up and down your swollen folds. All the way from the base, just grazing your throbbing clit. 

“I dunno if you deserve this, my love.” Nanami gives your quivering pussy a little smack! as if it was a little punishment, letting your slick smear all over his fingertips. “You’ve just been so messy- just look at my glasses.”

And oh, you can’t look away. 

Because your juices were blurring his glass, dripping so enticingly off of it that whatever rational little part of you thought it was on purpose. Absent-mindedly, you wondered how Nanami could see a damn thing. Seemingly moving on sheer instinct as he slides a long finger along the frame. Slowly. 

“I- want it s’bad, Ken- Give it to me.”

Several things happen at once, and before you know it, Nanami’s shoving his fingers inside your mouth. Muffling your fucked-out moan as he immediately presses into your heavenly pussy. Not even bothering to ease you into it this time before he’s thrusting into you. Rough. Again. And again and-

“They were expensive, y’know.” Nanami presses right in the back of your tongue, just loving how adorably you gag and moan around him. “The least you can do is clean me off.”

And you don’t have to be asked twice - or at all, really. 

Because you’re sucking and swirling your tongue around Nanami’s warm fingers like they’re your favorite candy. Looking him right in the eyes with such a deceivingly innocently, matching the pace of his hips in and out in and out in and- “Such a cute lil’ slut f’me, my love. When you’re all done with that, take care of m’cock too, y’got it very, very messy.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Hairband.

When Geto ties his hair back, you know you’re not going to be let off easy. Why would you?

It just means he’ll have no mercy - have you folded in half and stuffed full of his thick cock, begging and crying to just let you cum. It felt pathetic, really, but at this point you were too far gone - babbling delirious little pleas while he rocked his dick into your plushy cunt. Relentlessly.

“Please please please- hngh- Sugu- m’so close.” you whine, hips bucking wildly. Tears streaming down your face, your snug pussy clenching so tight that some part of Geto almost wanted to tease you for it. 

“Awww, poor baby. You wanna cum?” he coos, voice so mockingly innocent. Barely audible over the blood roaring in your ears. “Y’know what I always hah- say…”

And despite his words, Geto sounds as fucked-out as you - because, hell, he’s been torturing himself just as much as he was your poor cunt. Cock rock-hard and so so angry inside your heavenly pussy, teasing his orgasm while he waited for you to explode with yours. 

Sobbing out, “I- hngh- I know!” Breath hitching at the way his heavy balls sting your ass with each thrust. Sure to leave marks for tomorrow - his fingers on your hips, yours running down his sculpted back. “Wan- me to- hah- squirt, f’you. I wan’ to.”

God, it was so hard to not paint your pretty pussy white already. 

Instead, Geto’s capturing your swollen lips with his - partially because they were irresistible, partially because he really needed to shut up those cute lil’ whines right now.

“Not just squirt.” he moans against your lips. Fingers frenzied - almost painful - on your throbbing clit now. “Wan’ you to fuckin’ cover me in it- fuck-”

And he seems so content, smug about the way you flinch each time he yells out little profanities into your mouth. At the way you’re so cockdrunk, barely even realizing the soft ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time he hit your poor, abused g-spot. Finger frenzied on your clit - not even bothering to draw those steady little circles anymore, just lewd little patterns to get you off. 

He wanted this. Needed this so bad - needed to have you cover him with your sweet sweet juices until it’s glistening all over him. Unforgiving. Geto Suguru was absolutely unforgiving. 

And, well, cover him you do.

Because no matter how much you might babble out those adorable little protests, Geto knew your pretty pussy well. Almost too well. 

Well enough to know that you’ll have your orgasm crashing through you. So hard and borderline violent that it’s all you can do to claw at his back in an effort to get him to fucking slow down. That familiar little song and dance. 

Because Geto didn’t stop until he was all glistening with your essence - absolutely depraved in the act. His pretty girl was so gorgeous squirting all over him. Only milking his painfully hard cock on your trembling pussy harder. 

Everywhere. See, the hairband always comes in handy. And Geto wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here right now, letting your juices smear all over his aching dick, to his abs - darting all the way to his lower face.

It was so messy. So debauched - it sends Geto over the edge as well. Pumping thick, hot ropes of cum that paint your pussy white. Loving how fucking sloppy your pretty lil’ cunt was as it sucked up everything so greedily. Again and again-

“Hey, gorgeous.” Geto mutters, tongue darting out to get a taste of the slick coating his lower lip. Honestly, he doubted you could even hear him with how fucked-out you were. “Can y’ do it on m’tongue, too?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - You look good in white

“Fuck fuck fuck, open wider f’me, baby-” Choso groans, angling his head just right to catch the way your throat bulges so obscenely around his swollen cock. Watching the way it goes in and out in and out in and-

You were so gorgeous like this - you always were - but here on your knees, nose pressed firmly against the small tufts of black hair at his toned pelvis, he thinks you’ve never looked better. 

Now all he has to do is hold off until the best bit.

But it was so difficult when you’re shoving yourself down inch by fucking inch. Milking Choso’s aching cock for all he’s worth. So greedy with the way you were gagging and choking so prettily around his thick cock. Swirling your tongue under his sensitive slit just the way you knew he liked. 

And oh it has Choso feeling like he could just pass out. He could just feel the way you were smirking - knowing exactly what you were doing.

“Sh-shit.” he gasps, fingers trembling on your hair as he fucks your mouth like his own personal fucktoy. “Ya hngh- like this, huh?” Thighs quivering, hips stuttering deeper into your hot mouth. “Like me using that s-smart mouth like ha- this?”

The only response he gets are your nails dragging down his milky hips, leaving angry, red marks in their wake. A warning - a request. One that Choso knew was a sign that you needed to taste him - to have him. 

One that had him speeding up his sloppy thrusts, over and over- Abs aching with the movement, veins throbbing at a maddening little thump! thump! thump! against the roof of your mouth. 

“Oh- Oh fuck! Feels s’good-” he babbles, hips bucking up involuntarily into your slutty mouth. “Shit shit shit oh-.” 

Faster. Deeper. Sanity held together only by a delicate tether - one that snaps when you look up at him with those beautiful eyes, moaning around Choso’s cock like you were begging him to ruin you. 

Oh and then Choso’s cumming and cumming so hard he thinks he might’ve just died and gone to heaven right there. And you - you were such an angel, tears stinging your eyes, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth. 

Mixing with his cum in such a sinful combination as he spills desperately into you, shooting thick, hot spurts of seed down your waiting throat. 

So fucking filthy. 

Only getting filthier when that feral, debauched part of Choso really can’t help but pull out ever-so-slightly. He chuckles at the way your eyes widen in surprise when he smacks his weeping dick all over your face.

Ah, this was his favorite part - always was. And he can’t even think to bring himself to be disgusted as he smears his seed all over your face. Twitching angrily in his fist at the way it drips down all over your chin, forming a lewd little pool on the floor. So, so pretty for him. 

“Now now,” Choso lets out a guttural grunt, balls squeezing so painfully at the ruined state of you. “Wan’ see if I can hah- mess up this cunt jus’ the same, baby.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Wipe those tears!

Your only problem was that Sukuna was as mean as he was absolutely filthy. 

“Aww, pretty baby.” Those words would be reassuring - but you knew better. Because his tone was just dripping with something so dangerous - something that had you feeling more and more like Sukuna’s little toy. “I thought you could give me another one.”

“B-but-” you gasp. “S’too much, Kuna, don’t think-”

“You will. Or-” he cuts you off, fighting that feral, cruel little urge to shove his entire dick in your snug cunt. No care or concern for those big, frustrated tears welling up in your eyes. “I’ll just make you. Your choice.”

God, you could almost sob - maybe from the way Sukuna was chuckling at your expense. Maybe from the way he was pushing in shallow, determined little thrusts to fit inside your tight pussy. Trying to fuck out- which number orgasm was this again? Ah, you don’t even know - and Sukuna doesn’t care. 

He’s had you creaming around his fingers- his tongue- his thigh. And now, all he wants is for you to cum on his dick. You could almost feel his weeping tip graze your cervix already and- was he even halfway in, yet?

“Nope.” Sukuna hums, leaning down to those tears rolling down your cheek. Shit, did you say that out loud? “Maybe m’not even a quarter inside your pretty cunt. Why don’t y’take a look for yourself, brat?”

And it seemed like Sukuna was well and fully intent on driving you insane. Because no sooner have you craned your neck to take a glance, you’re met with the most sinful sight you’ve ever seen - your swollen folds stretched so obscenely around his weeping tip, soaked with precum and sucking him up so eagerly. Sukuna’s fingers toying deftly with your sensitive clit, rolling it between his fingers.

Which really made sense why he loved this little routine - have you pathetically pretending you couldn’t cum for him again, acting like your slutty lil’ pussy wasn’t trying to fucking milk him dry. He loves it. Loves the way your mind is telling you to run away but your needy cunt wants more more more-

“Enough of the games now.” he tuts, wrapping a hand around your neck, pulling down down down onto his thick cock. 

And you can only keen in response, tears streaming down your face faster because his cock too big. The stretch too sinful. Prominent veins grazing your plushy walls in a maddening  bump! bump! bump! you were losing your mind to. 

Sukuna wants you to cum- he needs you to. More badly than he wants to cum. Thumb just erratic on your clit, so sloppy and needy.

And then you’re cumming and cumming so hard that sensitive little tears roll down your cheeks. Not even realizing it at first, barely registering the stars behind your eyes, white-hot pleasure shooting up your cunt. Over and over-

Sukuna quickly darts out his tongue to lick them away. Long, languid stripes up your face. So fucking sloppy with it on purpose. But you can’t even bring yourself to be disgusted. Mind reeling with how good you felt and those sharp fingernails resting right over your racing pulse. 

Dangerous. A warning. 

As if Sukuna would kill you if you didn’t take his cock - when he was the one that actually felt like dying right now. 

Because you were too cute like this, cockdrunk and milking him greedily inch by fucking inch. So fucking tight. Enough to give the king of curses heart palpitations, honestly. 

A full-on heart attack when he finally bottoms out. Ramming the rest of his length in one quick, harsh thrust. 

He smacks his lips, savoring the salty taste of your tears. Some tiny part of his cold heart so fucking proud. He knew his lil’ slut could give him another one - you always do.  “Dry up those tears, brat. Because I haven’t cum yet.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - “To think of me~”

“T-Toru, I really need to go-”

“No no no- fuck m’so close, sweetheart.” Gojo gasps into your mouth. Hips so frenzied and sloppy against yours, squeezing his throbbing cock in you like a man possessed. The idea of stopping not even close in his pussydrunk mind. 

It’s been this way for so long now, and you’d only been halfway out the door before Gojo was pulling you back into the bedroom. That lil’ sundress was way too pretty that he just had to hike it up your hips and pull aside your drenched panties. Making sure to stuff your pretty pussy full. 

And, well, the fact that you were going to meet one of your old guy friends might have had something to do with it, too. 

Hey, even the strongest gets jealous sometimes. And Gojo is so sloppy when he is. Hips stuttering and bucking wildly into yours. All filthy desperation where he was usually so suave in bed.

He just can’t help but make a mess of your dripping cunt, reeling back to watch the way your sloppy hole struggles to take all of him. Glistening and trying to milk the soul out of him in the dim lighting. In and out in and out in and-

You’re letting out such a pathetic whine, “But- m’so-”

“Close?”

“Late.”

Of course, Gojo rolls his eyes with the audacity of someone that wasn’t the reason you’ll have to make up some excuse about traffic being awful this time around. Instead, he’s rolling his thumb over your sore clit , breath hot against your ear, “Guess m’gonna have to hurry up then, hm?”

It’s all that’s said before he’s fucking into you deliriously. Faster. Deeper. Bouncing you on the plush mattress like some slut. 

Scoffing, “Y’should just stay home.” Hips snapping ever the more mercilessly with each word. “Stay with me insead. I’m sure she-” He gives your pussy a quick, sharp smack! laughing at the way you’re moaning breathlessly. “-definitely agrees.” 

“Shit- feels s’good hah- shit shit-”

So fucking sloppy. Like he was trying to fuck the idea of staying home into you - each thrust so harsh. Running on pure jealousy and the feeling of your heavenly cunt wrapped around him. Unforgiving. 

“Toru- m’gonna cum- I’m so-” And it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. Nothing but white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, and it’s so good that you’re pulling Gojo closer by his toned hips. Being late be damned because you’re cumming so hard you’re sure you see the pearly gates of heaven itself.

Or maybe that was just Gojo - tears pricking his eyes as he cums with such a strangled gasp of what sounds like your name. Thick, white ropes that gush out of your snug pussy, smearing all over his sensitive balls. 

It feels so heavenly that Gojo really can’t help but check if it looks that way too. 

Thumbing apart your folds to watch the way his seed spills out of you, so fucking filthy as it pools on the fresh sheets. So bloated and messy with him. Pulling out ever-so-slightly like he was torn between milking out every last drop of cum on your cute pussy and making a mess of your panties.

The latter wins, apparently. Because he’s painting your panties white, shooting out thick spurts of cum that smear all over your legs. So drenched and flimsy that it was almost difficult for Gojo to snap them playfully back in place.

“Something to remember me by when you go. Have fun~”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[shanastoryteller]

i know supernatural is the show of missed opportunities but man. the trials really get to me - what a perfect way to reboot and reset this show that you're artificially extending for ratings. it could have been really, really good, actually

so the trials of god is a way for someone to gain the ability to seal the gates of hell and the gates of heaven

they have the translation for hell, they know that slamming the gates of hell shut means calling all the demons back home and locking the key. it's logical, then, to for them to believe the same is true of the one for heaven - that it calls all the angels back home and locks them away where they can't do any more damage

peace, for the people of earth, outside of the influence of angels and demons. that's got to be worth it, right?

so while sam is completing the hell trials, they get the angel tablet, kevin gets translating, to figure out the angel trials. or maybe metatron helps nudge them along to figuring it out, since him being the big bad here isn't really relevant and they are in a bit of time crunch

canon doesn't tell us what the heaven trials are, except that the first one involves a ritual using the heart of a nephilim. they make it sound like they're carving it from their chest, but what i would do is

have a nephilim offer you their heart from their chest (gain their loyalty in a binding ceremony)

create grace from freshwater (there is no rain that falls anywhere on earth that is safe to drink and god said let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters)

find a human soul to guide you to heaven (babel fell but the stairway was built and those with wings have no need of stairs)

so sam is in the midst of the hell trials when dean sort of accidentally on purpose completes the first heaven trial and then the brothers are on parallel train tracks heading in the opposite direction

sam works to close the gates of hell

dean works to close the gates of heaven

demons and angels both working to stop them

sam completes the trials. he restores crowley's humanity and he dies and the gates of hell are closed

but that's not the end

metatron says they can close the gates if they're willing to pay the price. canon says the price is sam's death, but frankly that doesn't make any sense. what's the death of one human against the horrors of hell? and remember, metatron doesn't know the winchesters. maybe another angel would make this comment, knowing how the winchesters have weighed the safety of the world against their brother and left the world out to dry, would think this a price worth warning for. but metatron wouldn't bother, wouldn't even think of it, if that was the only price

the gates of hell close and malevolent spirits explode across the globe, evil spirits and angry ghosts causing death and destruction everywhere

hell serves a function and now the gates are closed and every evil human soul is forced to stay on earth, causing as much destruction as it can

that's the price for closing the gates of hell

except. except. aren't the hell trials interesting?

kill a hellhound. rescue an innocent soul and return it to heaven. purify a demon and restore their humanity.

the trials are not to prove if someone is worthy of closing the gates of hell. it's to prove they're capable of setting hell to rights

the trials are if things got too out of hand, if things were taken too far, and hell had to be put back in it's place. sam dies and ends up exactly where azazel wanted him - ruler of hell. all the demons and souls are trapped with him and what he has to do, while he has them all there, while they can't escape, is exactly what he did to get there

he kills the hellhounds, leaving only those meant to patrol hell. he releases every innocent soul bound there. he purifies the demons one by one, who he either releases as innocent souls or who to pledge to do their job as demons of hell - punishing evil, containing evil - in penance for what they did before (how do i even begin to make up for what i've done, crowley had asked, and this is the answer)

meanwhile, dean, heartbroken, completes the heaven trials and dies

and the gates of heaven slam shut and all the angels are stripped of their grace and expelled from heaven and dean finds himself in charge of an empty heaven

the trials are for when things have gone too far and heaven must be rebuilt, after all

good souls pile up, no one who dies able to truly leave earth, and given enough time they become twisted things that must be hunted along with the spirits of evil men and women who cause chaos from their last breath

dean has work to do. he has one angel - the nephilim whose loyalty he earned in the first trial - and this is what he has to do. he recruits more, to replace the ranks, he creates grace and hands it out judiciously. he sends them to guide the good souls home, using the stairway that the former angels wouldn't be able to use even if they wanted to, and each good act and deed earns them a little more grace. former angels throw themselves into the fight for humans, because they know it's the only way that dean will return their grace to them and lift them back into heaven

and in fighting for them, in living like them, they learn to love these creations of their father that they'd despised. they see what he saw and the thought of destroying this place in a civil war becomes unthinkable to them. they are once more the angels god intended them to be

in this, dean and sam fulfill their destiny as lucifer and michael's vessels. not in letting them in, but in pushing them out, in doing the work each was intended for but refused

only when there is only evil human souls being punished and caged, only once the demons are once more working to run hell and earn their release to heaven, does sam reopen the gates of hell

only when there's a full choir of angels once more, committed to their cause, only once there are souls working with reapers as it once always was, does dean reopen the gates of heaven

they're called the god trials for a reason. above and below, sam and dean act as god, putting things back in their intended places

they could stay. they should stay. keeping house, making sure it all goes smoothly, eternally keeping earth safe from angels and demons both

they're called the god trials for a reason. not even god could resist the paradise inbetween that he'd created

dean doesn't know if sam is going to return to earth. he might stay in hell, and if dean becomes human once more, then what's the point? he'll live and die a human, get stuck in heaven, and be forever separated from the brother he loves

sam doesn't know if dean is going to return to earth. he migh not be able to, might be stuck doing his work - sam assumes if the hell trials did this to him, then the heaven trials did the same to dean, and the idea that dean could have failed the heaven trials after he dies doesn't even cross mind. if he returns and dean's not there then he loses it all, he never again gets to see the brother he loves

but when, exactly, haven't they been willing to risk everything for each other?

dean falls as lucifer fell, throwing himself towards earth

sam rises as michael did after the fall, pulling himself towards earth the same way michael once pulled himself to the top of heaven

what's the use of being a god without his brother, after all?

dean and sam are reunited on earth, human once more

no more angels, no more demons, heaven and hell functioning once more as they should. we're back to basics, a clean slate, all of the rest remade and set aside by their own hands (it's literal and a metaphor, the way the show could have remade itself with the trials, after setting aside kripke's plan while at the same time recognizing that the design of it - two brothers who love each other going across america and fighting evil - is the thing that made it worth watching to begin with) and now it's them again, brothers forged in blood and sacrifice and love, and a new appreciation for the humanity they gave up and returned to

and then we get my beloved monster of the week with no stupid too high stakes, convoluted bullshit involved, beyond the occasional angel who dean refused to reinstate and demon tracking down miscreant souls and, every once in a while, a person or creature or something in between squinting at them and going - weren't you two gods?

nah, they say, all corn fed grins and the dimples their momma gave them, we're brothers

[waffled0g]

Everyone gets “The 90s” look wrong and I hate it

Couple years ago I saw these two board games at the store back to back. Well, not saw them per se, but ya know. Spied them out of the corner of my eye. And for a moment without reading the text, I couldn’t tell you which was which decade at first. Funny. Either they were in a rush to get these out the door or they wanted their throwback trivia game boxes to look uniform. I didn’t think too much of it.

Only, from then on I started seeing it MORE. Every time someone markets a 90s or 80s throwback...

Goddammit they’re identical! What??! How did we let this happen? As a 90s survivor and a designer, this drives me up a wall.

Look, I know I’m late to the party to complain about “the 90s look” when we’re just starting to get sick of the Y2K nostalgia train. But c’mon, the 90s were not The 80s: Part Two™ 

Trust me when I say that we weren’t all wearing neon trapezoids up until the year 2000. The 90s look being peddled is so specific to the tail end of the 80s and an early early part of the 90s - a part of the 90s when it wouldn’t stop being the 80s. This is Memphis design being conflated with the wrong decade.

Keep reading for a long ass graphic design history lesson and pictures of old soda and fast food.

Specifically, the look is Memphis Milano, self-named by the Italian design house Memphis Group. Starting in the early to mid 80s, they made all sorts of furniture, fabrics and sculptures that were like a Piet Mondrian grid painting under heavy radiation. Their whole deal was defying the standards of existing industrial design up to that point on purpose. Chairs had weird arches, bookcases would be in strange alien colors, unusual materials like plastic or elastic were used in place of metal or wood, that sorta thing.

Memphis quickly became the signature look for the decade. You can tell something’s influenced by Memphis design from it’s telltale trademarks:

Clashing, neon colors.

Use of diametric shapes.

Contrasting patterns like zebra print stripes, confetti squiggles and checkerboards.

It wasn’t long before Memphis Milano-inspired design was everywhere in 80s pop culture:

It was a special time, yes.

I was a kindergartener at the tail end of the 80s, so I knew Memphis mostly through the lens of kids media. Toys, clothes, games, tv shows used it like candy colored catnip. Cable channel Nickelodeon more or less adopted the Memphis aesthetic as their signature in-house style and practically built a monument to it at a Florida theme park:

I think this is why folks mistake what decade Memphis is representative of - 90s staples like Nick, Saved By The Bell, Fresh Prince - they all stayed around much longer than the design trend’s expiration date. 

Couple that notion with the fact that companies are slow followers to design trends. Something gets popular and they want to get on the bandwagon? Gotta wait for the ink to dry, gotta wait for the production molds to be made. It would take a few years for them to completely work Memphis outta their system.

Now, this is not to say Memphis is bad! Personally I’m a fan of the aesthetic, if my neon-drenched artwork wasn’t a tip-off already. But it is a trend, and trends never last forever.

So what took the Memphis Milano look down for good? This part’s up for debate, but I personally think it had something to do with this dude:

It’s that grunge music from Seattle that’s so popular with the kids these days dontchaknow.

Once Smells Like Teen Spirit hit in 1991, the Nirvana tone drove the rest of the decade. Clean geometry became weathered, grainy and organic. Bright neon pastels became more bold. Bubblegum pop music sounded fake and manufactured. Attitude and apathy was authentic. Whatever.

Things got grungy. Things got grimy. Olestra was invented.

I think the best way to visualize this transition is how Cherry Coke entered the decade and how it left it:

1992 Memphis on the left, 1998 grunge junkie on the right. Fitting that the 90s would end with a design that looked like Darth Maul’s lungs.

Okay, so what should 90s retro design look like?

Continue on to PART TWO! Spoilers: No VHS filters or vaporwave needed, but maybe bring an antacid.

[pankomako]

dude not me thinking about post-gang war arc gang's bay aughghgh the character design ideas i have are so GOOOODDD

[cake-writes]

Just This Once

Pairing: Kakashi x Female!Reader

Warnings: smut, breeding kink, he gets lost in the sauce frfr, situationship… ish?, this man wants to RUN, disorganised attachment style (primarily avoidant), penis in vagina sex, teasing, edging (accidental), unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Kakashi discovers that he has a breeding kink. It's kind of a spiritual experience.

Inspired by @rookie98writes's fic Leave It On

—

Kakashi isn’t used to the strange sort of domesticity that comes with being in a... whatever this is. It’s not quite a relationship. A situationship, maybe. He’d say it’s something more than friends-with-benefits, but the two of you aren’t really friends, either.  

You come together every now and then. That’s all. Like two passing ships in the night. 

So why is he standing in front of your stove, cooking dinner while you sort through the pile of unopened mail on your kitchen table? Why did he offer to water your plants while you were gone? Why does he want to do anything for you? 

Kakashi knows what it’s like trying to play catch-up after some time away from home—two months, in your case. He’d knocked on your door a few minutes ago with the intention of returning your key, and he must have caught you right after you got back from the store if the two bags of groceries on your kitchen counter were any indication. 

You looked so dead on your feet that Kakashi took over from there, unprompted. But now, as he stirs the pot of flavourful soup simmering away on the stove, his mind sees fit to wander.  

What the hell is he doing?  

He’s getting too attached. That’s what he’s doing.  

It’s that time again—time to cut and run, just as he always does when things start to become complicated. Kakashi makes a habit of ending any potential connection before it can even start, because he can’t afford to lose anyone else. He can’t get hurt if he never lets anyone in. It’s easier that way. 

“I need to schedule my injection,” you mutter to yourself as you read through one particular letter. Then you sigh and toss it back down onto the table, before you lean back in your chair and rub your tired eyes. “We should probably get used to using condoms again until I can book an appointment.” 

Your birth control must be overdue, then.  

“Sure,” Kakashi answers, feigning unbothered. The two of you used condoms in the beginning, but after a particularly gruesome mission that nearly saw him home in a box, Kakashi stopped reaching for the bedside drawer, and you stopped asking him to.  

He should have known then that he was getting too attached. 

Still, it’s your body. Whatever you want. He’ll end things in the morning either way. 

As Kakashi samples a bit of the soup he’s minding on the stove, pausing for a moment to add a bit more salt, it suddenly sinks in – really sinks in – what could happen if the two of you aren’t careful.  

He could get you pregnant. 

A jolt of arousal shoots through him.

Kakashi doesn’t want children, not now, not ever, which is why it doesn’t make a lick of sense that such a thing would turn him on. He likes the idea of his seed taking root inside of you. He might even enjoy it, the imagery his mind conjures—you bent over for him, begging him to give you a baby, your pretty yukata hiked up around your waist…  

His clan crest embroidered on the back of it.  

Kakashi swears.

You startle, looking over at him in alarm. “What happened? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he lies. Then he proceeds to play it off like he burned himself, but he isn’t fine. No, that single thought, that single fantasy, scares the complete and utter shit out of him—but it turns him on even more, and that’s so much worse.  

He’s already too attached. 

—

Kakashi doesn’t do feelings. He has them, of course, much like any other person, but he doesn’t let them show very often, and he certainly doesn’t talk about them. He won’t say in so many words that he cares; instead, he shows you through his actions alone. 

His knees brush the underside of your thighs as he settles between your legs, bracing himself with one hand beside your head.  

What a vision you make, spread out for him like this.  

Your lamp had blown when you went to turn it on, leaving the streetlights to illuminate your features in a sickly hue of yellow-green. It isn’t romantic in the least, but he can’t help thinking that you’ve never looked more beautiful than in this moment—maybe because it’s the last time he’ll ever get to see you like this.  

The sight of you, so needy and wanting, fills his chest with something bittersweet.  

The tomoe of his sharingan spins lazily as he memorises the curves of your body, the muss of your hair, the rise and fall of your chest as you work to recover from your first orgasm of the night. His fingers are still tacky with your essence, and he smears the residual wetness over the head of his cock.

“You should wear a condom,” comes your breathy whisper, but you make no move to stop him. Your eyes almost seem to glow as you peer up at him in the dark, worrying your lower lip between your teeth. 

“Mm. Do you want me to?” 

His question hangs heavy in the air. The only things Kakashi can hear are your soft breaths and the sound of his own steady heartbeat, which quickens with every silent second that passes.  

You want to say no, he realises.  

He wants you to say no. 

“I like it better without,” you answer quietly, and the implication isn’t lost on him. Not when you look up at him with those big doe eyes, like you don’t know the risk. 

Because there is a risk, and he knows it. Kakashi hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it all night—wicked thoughts, terrible thoughts—thoughts of filling your fertile womb with his seed, thoughts of watching your belly grow round with his child, thoughts of seeing his clan sigil stamped between your shoulder blades like a mark of ownership. 

His.  

Against his better judgement, Kakashi does exactly what he shouldn’t do. He agrees.

“Just this once.”  

Just like he says every other time—except every other time, there's never been a risk.

Your coy little smile prompts him to lower down onto an arm and settle more of his weight on you. Kakashi dips his head to kiss you indulgently, savouring the taste of you, the feel of you beneath him. He kisses you like he hopes to convey just how much he missed you while you were gone, like you might be able to taste the unspoken words that linger in his mouth. 

He kisses you like he means it—and he does. That’s why he needs to go. 

As his tongue twines with yours, Kakashi fills you in a slow, beautiful glide that wrenches a whimper from your throat. He knows he should go easy on you, but he relishes in the rapid flutter of your walls as you struggle to adjust to him after so much time apart. A surge of masculine pride washes over him, tinged with a hint of guilt for stretching you open like this. He isn’t exactly small, after all, but you take him so well. 

To ease any potential discomfort, he smooths his hand up the silky skin of your thigh in a soothing caress, before he trails gentle, placating kisses along your jawline. “Is this okay?” Kakashi asks, voice low, only to be rewarded with a particularly strong contraction that makes his toes curl. 

“More than okay,” you sigh. 

As a test, he shifts his hips. When Kakashi hears your breath hitch, he knows that you can handle more.  

He starts slow, rocking into you sensually, but he already knows that he isn’t going to last. It’s been just as long for him, and you’re tighter than you’ve ever been.  

“God, Kakashi, you feel so good.”  

So do you. Kakashi sucks a bruise on your neck in response, if only to muffle the sound of his own pleasure when your perfect cunt clenches around him again.  

He needs to pace himself, or he’ll finish too soon—but then you ask him for more, and what else can he do but oblige you?

He speeds up, not overly so, just enough that both of you can hear the slick, sloppy sounds of your lovemaking. The smell of your arousal permeates the air, and he’s tempted to have another taste. 

Later. 

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs into your ear. “Did you miss me that much?” 

Maybe he’s reassurance-seeking – just a little – but your answering whine tells him what he already knows. 

He’ll miss this. He’ll miss you. That’s why he needs to go. 

Kakashi doesn't want to think about that. He just wants to enjoy what little time with you he has left.

“Stay with me,” you rasp. You’ve always been good at noticing when he’s stuck in his head, but right now, Kakashi can’t help but wonder if you’ve just read his thoughts. You see through him so easily. It’s one of the things he likes about you. 

“Sorry,” he says with genuine apology, leaning in to capture your lips again. You let out a pleased hum into his mouth and lift your thighs up a little higher—an offering, one he’s more than happy to accept, even if he doesn’t plan to reciprocate your vulnerability.

It’s selfish, he knows. 

The new angle does something to him, or maybe it’s because he's well aware that it would be even easier to fill you up this way. He reaches deeper like this, and the tilt of your hips would perfectly hold his cum in place, increasing the chances that it’ll take. 

He wants it to take. 

Kakashi exhales a long, shaky breath. He shouldn’t want that as much as he does. He shouldn’t want it at all.  

“Close?”  

Yes, but he’s not going to tell you that. Kakashi pulls back to look at you, only to find you gazing up at him like he’s hung the moon. It makes his heart ache.  

He stamps it down. “I could be,” he teases lightly—a non-answer. “Are you?” 

When you open your mouth to respond, however, he snaps his hips forward suddenly to make you trip over your words. “I—shit,” you swear, and his eyes shine with silent laughter. Your own narrow playfully as you add, “I could be too, if you keep that up.”  

“Really?” 

To pick on you a little, Kakashi withdraws from your tight heat more slowly than he has all night, agonisingly slowly, until only the head of him remains inside; and then he lingers there, purposely, until the stirrings of impatience start to take you over.  

It’s cute, the frown you give him, the pout he sees beginning to form. “Don’t be mean,” you tell him sulkily. 

His lips tug up at the corners, revealing a hint of prominent canine. “Maa, I didn’t realise you were in a rush,” Kakashi drawls. “And here I wanted to take my time with you.”  

Before you can read too much into what he’s just said, he slams home. Hard.

Your startled gasp brings on a flicker of self-satisfaction deep within. Kakashi relishes in the knowledge that only he can make you feel like this—especially when he starts to fuck you in earnest, prompting you to fling your arms around his shoulders.  

“F-Fuck, Kakashi, oh my god—” 

“That’s it,” he encourages gently. “Hold onto me.”

He likes the closeness of it, the intimacy.

You cling to him like your life depends on it, which brings about a funny feeling in his chest that he can’t quite shake—something warm and gooey and affectionate.  

Kakashi stamps that down, too, and traces the line of your neck with his tongue, kissing and sucking at your sensitive skin until you shiver. Seeing your throat so littered with love bites unearths something within him, something primal that he’s always refused to name. He likes seeing the marks he’s left on you. He wants them to mean something.

He wants them to mean that you’re his. 

He’s too attached. 

To distract himself from what he intends to do in the morning, Kakashi picks up the pace, flesh smacking against flesh as he drives his hips into yours, fast and rough, exactly how you want it.  

It won't last long. He’s too worked up. 

Kakashi knows he’ll come before you do if he continues like this, but when he tries to slow down, you dig your heels insistently into his ass. 

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, please—” 

“I’ll have to pull out soon,” he says raggedly, even though the thought of finishing in you already has him ready to blow.

When Kakashi feels you lock your ankles behind him, he nearly does.  

“I want it inside,” you whine, your breath fanning hot over the shell of his ear.  

His thoughts screech to a halt. You want him to come inside you, knock you up— 

“Fuck,” he curses, stopping abruptly, buried all the way to the hilt. His cock throbs wildly, desperate for release, forcing him to tightly grip the the sheets above your head in order to stave it off. 

If he moves right now, he’s done for.  

When you make a quiet, frustrated sound deep in your throat and wiggle your hips, Kakashi barely manages to hang on. He can feel that tell-tale flutter inside of you, the one that indicates exactly how close you are, but he’s closer. His breaths come out in short, sharp pants as he tries to hold himself together.  

You finish first. Always. 

“Don’t be mean,” you say again, but you sound a little more petulant this time.  

Kakashi lets out an exhausted sort of laugh and presses a wet smack of a kiss against your cheek, making you giggle. “You like it when I’m mean.”  

“I like it when you’re nice,” you clap back, voice breathy. 

Kakashi hums knowingly. “All right. I can be nice.”  

Then he pulls back just enough to pepper your face with kisses, and you squeal in delight, though it soon tapers off into a moan when he starts to trail them down your throat, each one more sensual than the last. He palms one of your breasts, gently squeezing, tweaking a nipple— 

“Come on,” you whine, digging your heels into his ass a second time. 

No more teasing. You want him to be nice.

You inhale sharply when Kakashi picks back up where he left off, this time with quick, shallow thrusts that target your g-spot. He smooths his hand down your side, savouring the softness of your skin, then he slides it in between your bodies to rub your clit in just the way you like—the way he remembers you like, because he’s too fucking attached. And sure enough, when your hips buck from the added sensation, he knows that it’s working for you. 

“If you—If you edge me again, I swear to god—” 

Upon hearing the indignation in your voice, Kakashi laughs softly. “I won’t.” 

Then he remembers that he won’t have a chance to edge you again. Not after tonight. 

His jaw tenses at the reminder. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you gasp, holding onto him, needing him, which pulls him right back into the present. “Come with me. Please?” 

Kakashi bites back a groan and slides in deeper, readying to do what his body craves. 

No. He can’t come with you. He’d have to finish inside in order for that to happen. 

And just like that, he’s back to teetering on the edge. The filth his mind conjures nearly proves to be his undoing—a vivid image of your tight, wet cunt wringing out every drop of his cum until it takes, tying you to him, making you need him. Making you his. The threat of it simmers under his skin, but it’s starting to feel more like a guarantee. 

Get her there, then pull out. 

Kakashi repeats those words in his head like a mantra, over and over, like it’ll ensure that he lasts, and it works—at least until you start to move your hips in time with his thrusts. You meet him at the perfect angle, sucking him deep on every stroke, allowing him to slide just beyond your cervix and into that spot that sends your voice into a fever pitch. 

A choked sob escapes you as you rake your nails down his back, leaving red lines in your wake. The sting of it only sends him higher, and he sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder to prevent himself from blowing too soon. 

“Right there, Kakashi, right fucking there—” 

Right there, so deep within you that if he came right now— 

He groans when he imagines what would happen, and it all ends with his baby in your belly and his family crest on your back. It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does, yet he fucks into you with purpose, now—hard, deep, powerful thrusts that knock your headboard into the wall. 

Kakashi knows exactly what that purpose is. The primal part of his brain won’t let him forget it. 

“Yes, just like that, fuck me, make me fucking yours—” 

He kisses you to shut you up, because if he hears another syllable, he’s sure to fill you to the brim. It’s not a gentle kiss, not now. He holds your head in place with a firm grip on your jaw, shoves his tongue into your mouth, and still, he recites his mantra. 

Get her there, then pull out.  

Get her there, then pull out.  

Get her there, then—  

You jerk your head away to gulp in a breath of fresh air, chest heaving from exertion, and Kakashi’s eyes sweep over your face for any sign of discomfort. What he finds is the opposite, and he drinks in the pleasured scrunch of your brows, the hazy flutter of your eyelids, the kiss-swollen state of your lips. 

Watching your muscles tense and strain as you struggle to keep your eyes on his is one of the most intimate things he’s ever experienced. “Come inside me,” you beg, and he can hear the desperation there, see it written all over your pretty face. “I need it, I fucking need it, Kakashi, give me your cum—” 

“I’ll give it to you,” he chokes out. Anything for you. Anything you want. 

The way your fingers wrench into his hair belies a hunger that matches his own as you drag him down for another kiss, messy and insistent, demanding that he make good on his promise to pump you full. He can feel the ripple of your inner walls as you come undone, feel the painfully tight squeeze of your legs around his waist, holding him there, ensuring that he stays; and never in his life has he felt so overwhelmed.  

He can’t pull out. Not now. Not when you’re so willing to milk him dry. 

Kakashi kisses you with everything that he is as he shoves himself impossibly deep inside of you, acting solely on instinct to drown your cervix in hot, sticky spend. He lets out a sound of pure male satisfaction that you eagerly swallow down, your tongue massaging his in tune with every erratic jerk of his hips as he empties himself inside of you, painting your insides white.

It feels good. It feels right. 

He’s too attached. 

He doesn’t care. 

As he comes down from his high, all Kakashi can think about is how fucking risky it is, what he’s just done, which only ruins him more when the post-orgasm clarity finally hits. 

Why the hell did he do that?  

What the hell did he do?

Your thighs tremble and shake, a sign that he’s done his job well, though he feels no pride in it—just a growing sense of panic.  

He needs to go. He needs to go right now. Not tomorrow. Now. He needs to get the hell out of here and never look back, right fucking now.  

Then he hears your quiet sob, and his heart leaps into his throat. Kakashi jerks his head down to look at you, and when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks, he actually does panic.  

“Did I—Shit,” he quickly pulls out to check on you, more attentive than he’s ever been, “Did I hurt you?” 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s accidentally hurt a woman during sex, but he really should have taken it easier on you. He probably went too deep, hit your cervix too hard. 

“No,” you sniffle. “I’m fine. I just... I really missed you.” 

Fuck. Don’t say that. You’ll make him want to stay.  

His eyes soften as they trail over your features – the colour of your irises, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips – and he gently smooths your tears away with the backs of his fingers. “I didn’t hurt you?” 

You shake your head and offer him a watery smile. “I also came really, really hard,” you add matter-of-factly, and he huffs out a relieved laugh. It’s hormonal, then. “They’re happy tears, Kakashi. Calm down.” 

Teasing or not, someone telling him of all people to calm down is an otherworldly experience. The phrase lands strangely, and for the first time since he came to see you tonight, his thoughts quiet down to a dull background murmur. 

They’re happy tears, you said. 

You’re happy with him. 

He’s happy with you, too. He doesn’t want to go. 

You frown, then, and lean up onto your elbows to look at him more closely. “What’s wrong?”  

Kakashi can’t be sure what you see in his expression to warrant that sort of question, but the fight finally leaves him. He sits back on his heels and drags a hand down his face, feeling defeated for a reason he can’t explain.  

“I was just...” Happy, for a moment. Happy to be with you. “Worried,” he finishes lamely. He can’t look at you, not when he feels the heat of a blush creeping up his neck. 

You laugh and gently cup the side of his face, turning him back towards you. “Okay. Well, I’m fine,” you pat his cheek in playful reprimand, “but I am leaking all over my clean sheets, and it’s your fault, so...”  

That draws his attention. When Kakashi sees the creamy mess spilling out of you, his flaccid cock twitches with interest even after he remembers why his stomach is in knots.  

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely, transfixed by the sight. 

He wants to do it again.

He shouldn’t want to do it again. He feels fucking crazy for having done it once already, when the two of you aren’t even in a relationship, let alone in any way prepared for a child. But again? A second time? He’d have to be certifiably insane. 

“It’s fine,” you reassure him, and Kakashi wonders how the hell you can possibly be taking it so in stride. He came a lot. There’s so much of it dripping out onto the sheets that it’s starting to create a small puddle under your ass, and there’s even more inside of you—a lot more, judging by how hard he came. 

It might take. It might seriously take, and you think it’s fine? 

“You’re doing it again,” you tell him, and his eyes snap back up to yours. He’s in his head again, you mean. Then you chew your lip for a moment, hesitation evident, before you ask carefully, “You’ve been acting a little… off tonight. Is everything okay?”  

Every single one of his instincts is telling him to run. That’s where this conversation always leads, but he’s not ready for it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

He swallows the lump in his throat. “I’m fine.” 

When you frown at him, skeptical, Kakashi shifts uncomfortably under your gaze.  

“Okay. I won’t pry. But, um, I’m here. You know. If you ever need to talk.” You say it a little awkwardly, like you aren’t sure if he’d be offended by the suggestion, and the worried crease between your brows only grows at whatever you see in his expression. “Or... Or not.” 

You laugh nervously, then, and shift away from him, only to wrinkle your nose when more of his cum oozes out of you.  

It’s cute. You’re cute. 

“You said it’s fine. Why?” The question leaves him before he even thinks it through, but it’s too late, now.  

“What?” 

This wasn’t the first time he’s come inside of you, not by a long shot, but it’s certainly the riskiest. “I finished inside. Aren’t you upset?” 

“What do you mean? You finish inside me all the—” Then you stop, and your brows shoot straight up onto your forehead. “Wait, is this about my birth control?”  

“Well, it’s overdue, isn’t it?”  

You stare at him for a prolonged moment, and he can almost see the gears turning in your head. Then your nostrils flare. “Are you kidding me? You thought my birth control was overdue, and you still—” Scandalised, you slap him on the arm. “Kakashi!” 

Oh. Well. It must not be overdue yet, then. 

Of course you wouldn’t let him come inside if there was a chance that you might conceive. He’s a fucking idiot. 

“That’s so bad! What if you got me pregnant?” 

A lick of heat shoots up his spine upon hearing you give voice to what’s been on his mind all night. Kakashi stares at you, wide eyed, and blushes all the way to the tips of his ears.  

You study his face for a moment, before you purse your lips, looking a little troubled. Or pissed off. He can’t really tell. “I mean... Did you want to get me pregnant?” 

“No,” he rushes to say, his cheeks burning hot because yes, he did, but not for real.  “No. Not at all. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, and...”  

And how the hell is he supposed to explain himself? Neither of you are exactly vanilla, you’ve explored a number of kinks together, but this is something else entirely. Then again, a breeding kink would make the most sense out of any, considering it stems from a biological urge to procreate. 

But would you even believe him if he said he only gets off to the fantasy of it, and not the reality? Because if a woman ever said that to him, he’d get the hell out of dodge as fast as he could. 

A sly smile tugs at your lips, then, a knowing smile, and Kakashi quickly averts his eyes to the window, embarrassed. 

“You like it, don’t you?” you hum, seductively walking your fingers along his bare shoulders. “You like the idea of knocking me up.” 

Refusing to look at you, Kakashi clears his throat, trying to ignore the arousal that comes on from your suggestive tone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“No?” The sheets rustle as you reposition yourself, and then, when your fingers delicately wrap around his cock, he inhales sharply and bites the inside of his cheek. “Then why are you so hard?”  

And he is, too. He’s already fully erect and ready for another round, and he knows that there’s no way to lie his way out of it anymore. As you start to work your hand over him in slow, sensual strokes, up and down, coaxing the answer out of him, his head drops back. “Because,” he rasps.  

The sheets shift again, and then you crawl into his lap. He welcomes you gladly, splaying his hand over your lower back to steady you, though he still can’t meet your gaze. He’s too embarrassed. 

“Because why?” you hum. Kakashi lets out a pleasured sigh as you kiss and suck your way up the side of his neck, stroking him steadily, before you purr into his ear, “Because you want to give me a baby?” 

A soft sound of approval rips out of his throat, and his cock twitches into your palm. “Don’t—Don’t say that,” he pleads. 

“Hm? Why not?” 

To hell with it. No sense in hiding it anymore. “Because I might actually do it.” 

“Yeah?” Your teeth tug playfully at his earlobe before you pull back to look at him, and Kakashi finally wills himself to meet your sultry gaze, humiliated though he is. “You know,” you muse, “I don’t like condoms for a reason. I wonder why?” 

The breath leaves his lungs with a whoosh.

Oh, he should have known. You’re just as filthy as he is. Of course you’d have a breeding kink, too, though he’s exceedingly grateful that you’d kept it to yourself until now. You’ve never been shy about sharing the things you enjoy, which means you probably figured out how he’d react. That’s the only explanation. 

He likes that you understand him as well as you do. 

He likes you.

“I think I might be able to guess,” Kakashi says knowingly, a smile playing at his lips. When he leans in to kiss you again, all he can think is: maybe it’s not a bad thing to be too attached. 

-

Snippet #1:

“You said it was overdue,” Kakashi tells you pointedly.

“No, I said I needed to make an appointment,” you correct, and he can see that you’re struggling not to laugh. “I still have, like, a week left on it. Ish. It doesn’t hurt to be careful.” 

While you cook breakfast for the two of you, Kakashi wraps his arms around your waist from behind and traces the shell of your ear with his tongue.  “What if I don’t want to be careful?”  

He feels the shiver wrack your body, but then you do laugh at him. “Down, boy. Three rounds wasn’t enough for you?” 

“Oh, I don’t know...” Kakashi pulls you back against him, allowing you to feel the answer for yourself, hard and insistent against your ass. “You tell me.” 

-

Snippet #2:

Kakashi hides his face in your pillow, feeling distinctly vulnerable without his mask. “Don’t tease me,” he groans, muffled. “I have a delicate constitution.” 

You cackle at his discomfort, like the cruel woman you are. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I’m really, really curious.” Then you hum thoughtfully. “Do you want to know one of mine?” 

He lifts his head just enough to reveal one curious eye. 

You squirm a little, then, like you’re finally starting to realise exactly how embarrassing it is to talk about. “I, um...” A pause. “So, you know how...” Another pause, and you take a deep breath. “Okay. I like to imagine that I'm being used to—to repopulate a clan, I guess. Just, over and over. Lots of kids. But not for real.” 

He feels another jolt of arousal at your admission. 

Looks like you’re on the same page, then. 

Then Kakashi leans up onto his elbow to regard you properly, and then he lifts an eyebrow, as if to point out how closely that particular fantasy hits to home. 

That’s when you seem to realise who you’re talking to – the sole remaining member of a clan that could probably stand to be repopulated – and your eyes go wide, before you nearly trip over yourself to add, “It—It has nothing to do with your clan, specifically, Kakashi, it’s just—” 

“A fantasy,” he finishes for you, amused. 

 You worry your lip between your teeth and nod. 

“Well,” Kakashi says, considering his answer for a moment, “I might have imagined that, too. Specifically.” Then he gives you a roguish grin, intending to pay you back in kind for your teasing. “How many children do you think would be enough for my clan to be sufficiently repopulated, hm? I’m thinking eight.” 

Mortified, you bury your face in your hands. “Oh my god! Eight?” 

Payback’s a bitch. “Well, I was originally going to say ten, but—” 

When you squeal in embarrassment and yank the blankets over your head, Kakashi barely manages to stifle a laugh.  

—

A/N: This is the first thing I've posted in a hot minute, so your feedback would mean a lot - please let me know what you think :)