#snippets from nowhere

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Outdrawn

f/f contemporary romance

two cartoonist who’ve been rivals since uni, and now have competing webcomics online, have to work together on the relaunch of a cult classic at the comic press they both work at

they both struggle with art-related physical and mental health issues, and complicated families

[sweetandsourcookies]

lying here in bed and thinking abt how alienated out i feel in the cookie run fandom. and then theres a polish sitcom playing in the background from a different room.

[athenasparrow]

An official ✨ coming soon ✨ announcement because I'm back to writing and this is over half way drafted now!

Premise

A young redhead author escapes the shackles of a doomed relationship and a toxic friendship to settle into the tranquil embrace of Chateau Gryffindor. As she reclaims her joy, she gets caught in a dance of temptation with the charming man in the neighbouring cabin. If only her past stopped turning up...

Snippet One

"Sirius, for goodness sake, hurry up!" Euphemia hisses. Keeping quiet is necessary; the two men asleep upstairs would try and instil things like logic and propriety into the situation and really - where is the fun in that? "We have a mission to accomplish!"

Sirius finally manages to zip up his costume, his eyes peeking out from behind the ill-fit ninja mask. "I swear these things were designed by a sadist," he mutters, adjusting the fabric over his groin. “Tell me again why we can’t just change there?”

Snippet Two

“Don’t go,” Lily whispers in panic. James’ face grows even more concerned, but to his credit he doesn't question her again, instead, he makes to slide out the window.

“No, don’t come down, help me up,” Lily says frantically, glancing behind her again before tucking her towel more securely between her breasts and reaching her hands up to grasp his forearms. He's strong. Under less stressful circumstances she may have appreciated the muscles flexing under her fingers for longer than a moment.

If you'd like to see more, send me an ask with a word to search and I'll give you a line from this WIP 😘

[winterandwords]

✍🏼 Silent snippet tag

Thanks to @writingamongther0ses and @inseasofgreen for the tags!

📝Post a snippet of your writing without dialogue. Internal thoughts are okay, but no speaking is allowed.

This is from Name From Nowhere...

My last job of the day pissed me off, or maybe I was pissed off to start with and the job coincided with that. Still, the asshole I was picking up from tried to start shit and I didn’t have the patience to deal with it, so I might have got a bit more hands-on than I should have. Fuck him. He learned a lesson for next time. If you use biometric security for your money transfers, a fingerprint is still a fingerprint if the bones in the finger are broken. Or if the finger isn’t attached.

Tagging @calicohyde, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, @chayscribbles and @charlesjosephwrites if you'd like to do it, with an open tag for anyone else who wants to join in 🩷

Reblogs, replies etc on my tag posts are always welcome, but if you're doing this tag yourself, please make your own post instead of using mine to start a reblog chain.

[opheliajupiter99]

Innocence (Lovecraftian Snippet)

A word that brings to many people’s minds images of purity; of one whose heart is yet untouched by the sins for their elders and those that came before them, of a young soul skipping through a field of flowers with nothing in their mind but peace and tranquility. But what is often unspoken is the two sided coin of innocence - that in truth, innocence is not purity, but rather, chaos. Purity implies that one keeps themselves pure via knowledge, knowing what sinful acts are and how to avoid them, and choosing not to do them for the sake of their purity. But innocence is not this; it is being without that knowledge, not quite ignorance, but rather the inability to understand those darker portions - which means that one can easily find enjoyment and even comfort in horrific acts, as these horrific acts feel like little more than games.

[nieranddear]

Rereading the dialog that is said during suppressions. Abel specifically says 'Loved Ones' as he speaks about those in the upper layer's demise and their struggle and urging to stop as continuing on is futile. Abram says 'colleagues'. 'Coworkers'. He does refer to them as 'Friends' once as well. But every other dialog is about Carmen or generalizing and saying 'everyone' rather than specifics. It just feels odd a bit to where he uses less strong terms when referring to relations with people and then afterwards only refers to Carmen by name rather than those still existing beside him. Even when it was stated by a facet of A and others (I can only remember Hokma off the top of my head. It may be only him which would make sense) refer to A having seen them as specifically 'Loved Ones'. Which is a far stronger showing and expression of emotion to those around you.

It makes me think of how he, Abram, expressed his desires, the desire to die [see: 'sink'/'sleep' for he explicitly refers to death consistently as slumber and when bringing the dead back 'waking them up'] and stop, in that moment. He constantly brings up, in general terms, self punishment and Carmen. Guilt that is carried with Carmen. Memories of her death, her passing. Of how she left without a smile. Of how she can no longer bask in the warmth of the sun she loved to do so frequently. Yet only of Carmen in name. Never anyone else or specifics of people, generalizations when referring to others and referring to them all inside a group, as a collective. Them and then Carmen. Focused on only that. On the fact he cannot move forward. Urging to just shut the eyes and to simply Sink. To Sleep. To die. It reminds me of when one goes ahead and becomes so interlaced with suffering and grief and despair that one simply stews inside of it, spiraling down further into that single train of thought. Holding onto the image of a dead and deceased one. It feels as if, in a more crude way of saying it as I cannot formulate a different way currrently at the moment, searching of 'justification' and a fitting reason to commit suicide. [I say Justification as what I really mean to say a 'fitting reason', that reason and end seeming to Be the Only way to continue, or lack of continue, at that point to him.] Rather than saying the names or specifics of those around him, of his loved ones still inside those metal boxes, he becomes enveloped in grief and only on Carmen. Abram's mistake which he fixates the most upon. Holds deep guilt for. Blames himself for. Saying he drove her to her death. That he is leaving her behind [I didnt save the exact quote but it was generally that]. When those inside the facility are people he also so clearly values and wished to bring back as well he, at this moment, primarily focuses on Carmen. Even when he does address the others it's in a more brief manner, having two pieces of dialog on the Sephirot specifically and it only relating to his Faults relating to them than the people themself when he speaks of Carmen in a more in depth manner. Perhaps it's still the wish clinging of to not hold trust in anyone. But it feels reminiscent to when a person tries to push themself and gain 'courage' to commit suicide. Of focusing only on the guilt and regret and the mourning of one already gone, who was so near and dear whom he did all of this for in the first place his desire only stemming from her and not the project itself, especially one who also killed herself, to go ahead and die as well. Perhaps it's not even an active thing he does in his mind. It's just become so overbearing that he has now gotten stuck in that never ending loop. Using far more stronger language of the woman dead and gone who he wishes to rejoin than of those currently alive and near to him, making them feel far more distant than they actually are mentally – at least in relations and connections wise. Depression does tend to tear down what one feels towards their loved ones and how they process and view relationships causing for people to exhibit such a thing by feeling distant in a room or alone with a loved one nearby as commonly known – and physically. I'm not saying that's 'totally what it is' or the sort. More of that reading it over again just reminded me of such a thing. Nothing revolutionary but more ramblings to process it all after it ended

[thegreatyin]

What has the Yearner done since then. I'm getting revs vibes from her tbh

she's a certified vake-hunter!

The Yearner smiles. She looks at the Scoundrel. It is in that moment that he realizes her face is melting- no. Melted already. Unrecognizable horror. The Yearner's Parabolan self is not a distinguishable individual. Her body is diffuse, unidentifiable. Devoid of self and identity. The only thing that is clear, the only thing that is present- are a set of scars in the snow. Large gouges, claw wounds healed wrongly, very similar to the scars Veils left on their own bandage-covered skin. Those are present, they are the anchor of her self. "I'll kill it." she whispers. "I'll kill it kill it kill it kill it kill it..." her voice becomes a whine. "He's dead. The Scarred Naturalist is dead, dead, dead. I thought he was my friend but he was working for the Vake and now he's dead. Dead..." The Scoundrel falters. Just a bit. "Yes." he swallows. A furred paw runs along the melted remains of her face, tracing her (their) nose and her (their) eyes and her (their)- They pull away. Their voice strains. Their claws, their wings- they don't shiver. They don't. It's just a trick of the light. "That's, typically what happens when one tries to fight Veils. You're lucky you aren't dead too." She's not them. She's not them, and therefore this does not matter, and does not affect them. Their eyes are not caught on where hers are supposed to be. He is not- An inhale. He is not.

[marsbotz]

OKAY SO LIKE. for the heist scene for meeee its bad bc like. they gave dru wayyyy too many ways to fumble it. and not many r even in line w his characterisation up until that point

[ciboriaadastra]

Eventually I'll get to reading all the comics Duke appears in solely to be more justifiably irritated at [nonblack] folks who keep calling him "insane" and "crazy" for choosing to be a vigilante hero in a world with entire networks of vigilante heroes that take in and train protégés who also choose the life of crimefighting. Maybe I'm just missing some context that I'm not getting from all these posts with snippets of "examples" from the comics of said "insane" and "crazy" behavior...but nothing I've seen so far of his behavior is particularly bizarre nor an unreasonable series of decisions.

Also it's Gotham; if you're expecting people in a literal cursed city that gets gassed with various toxins constantly and has one of the worst police departments in-universe to not have eventually developed programs to teach their youth survival and self-defense skilks to increase their likelihood of surviving frequent supervillain crime, producing kids like Duke who have ideas of what they need to do when they organize and take matters into their own hands just like the child vigilante hero(es) they modeled their movement after...what is the thought process?

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

The Principle of Moments

start of a scifi space opera series

a teen girl in the far future where humans are oppressed learns she has a destiny & a lost sister and escapes

and a young time traveler who’s given up trying to find his father through time, and is about to settle in 1812 with the prince he loves, but is unwillingly thrust into the future

they both learn their fates are entangled by a prophecy, and have to race across the galaxy, followed by a galactic emperor and the legacy of heroes from an ancient religion

[philamotrising]

truly wild that my best blorbo playlist I’ve ever made is for an FR character for whom I’ve shared like 2% of his backstory

[slamminslamminmcgill]

Can you pretty please write a fic where Logan and Deadpool are having an argument about how they should be fucking the reader, like going over techniques while the reader is just drooling and mindless like “whaaa”

hell YEAH i love getting fucked stupid by big strong men >:3333€

this is a rly good prompt btw so i could GLADLY expand on this but for rn here’s a snippet 😌

warning: dp, painal, sadomasochism, mild transphobia, slurs, degradation, overstim, dubcon, daddy kink

anatomical terms: cunt/pussy/bussy

They talk about you like you’re not even there.

Well, physically you were right there with them. Mentally you were nowhere to be found, certainly not on their conversational level. Wade had been bouncing you in his lap for god knows how long. His cock in your cunt had thoroughly fucked your train of thought off the tracks. Your internal monologue was nothing but bitchy whimpers and primal burning for more. Welp. What do you expect? Back to back orgasms will do to that to you. You couldn’t even recall how the argument started, and context would’ve really been helpful.

“Wow! Okay! That’s a shitty thing to say to our guest! Wanna apologize and maybe try that one again, JK Rowling?”

"Oh, get fucked. That's not what I meant and you know it." Logan kept his firm hands on your shoulders, assisting your bounce, since your legs were damn near liquified.

“Mmmmm, ah, gah-fuuuck… Wh... Wha? Huh?”

“How is that not what you meant?" Wade, questioned, maintaining his steel grip on your ass. He felt that he had to protect you from the big bad wolf and his transphobia. "You just said he’s not a real man because he has a pussy. A tight, sweet, JUICY pussy that feels like a fleshlight full of microwaved angel dust. And yet SOMEHOW this makes him not a real man to you? Maybe you’re just not man enough for HIM, sugar-tits!”

"I said you gotta fuck him like a real man. You’re being too good to him. It's gonna fuel his ego, and I’m not letting you turn him into a spoiled brat. Fuck him in the ass, that'll teach him a lesson. Show him this shit ain't a joke."

"No way! Ass is ass is ass is ass. Everybody's got an asshole, peanut, and newsflash? They all feel the same. But this boy's pussy? This hot buttery premium A5 wagyu bussy that's—SQUEEZINGmyfuckingdicksotight, oh, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, angel baby, sweet boy, you feel so GOOD! Making your Daddy feel so good, good boy!"

Praise was easy enough to process. It didn't require any cognitive effort on your part. You didn't have to weigh in and have an opinion, you just have to take it, and be grateful for it. "Hah, fuck! Thank—thank you, Daddy! FUCK! Wade! WadeWadeWadeWade—WADE! WadeWadeWade..."

But Logan wouldn't let it go. "I'm serious. Make him take it up the ass, or I will."

“Un-be-lievable. You know something? You must be the one guy in this universe who could see a whimsical forest path that leads to a magical unicorn fountain, and says 'Oh, no, none for me. Let me go spelunking in the poop-chute, thank you very much!' And if that's not the single gayest thing I've seen in my entire—"

"WADE, SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"Eeep!"

Oh, you poor thing. He nearly gave you a heart attack! It's terrifying when someone yells out of nowhere, especially when that someone has you naked and vulnerable in their hands. Logan had slammed you down on Wade's cock when he yelled, completely stopping the scene and trapping you between them. Woah. Time out. Shit has officially just gotten real. You and Wade held bated breath, and traded a glance that said "We're cooked. Nice knowing ya."

But Logan just laughed at you both. Delighted by the atmospheric tension he had just created.

"Heh... heh heh heh..."

Then he relaxed his grip on you, and those big strong calloused man hands started to explore. They massaged your shoulders, rubbed your neck and jaw, and groped and squeezed wherever they pleased. All the while, his hot breath, tinted with whiskey and malice, ghosted over the shell of your ear as he talked. He spoke very firmly. Targeted. Slow. He wanted you to get every fucking word.

"Listen, bub. I’m not about to question whether or not you’re a man, okay? But I’ll say this. When real men wanna take cock? It hurts. Oh, it hurts real bad. And most of ‘em don’t get the luxury of a cushy little cunt that’s meant to take a pounding. No, son. Real men get ripped apart by cock. It makes them cry and scream and sometimes their tiny little rims even bleed because of it. And you know what? They love it. They love how much it hurts them. Cause they’re men. Strong men. And you’re no fuckin’ better than them, you know that? You think just cause you got another hole that you can take the easy way out? Everything's gonna be peaches and cream, huh? Nuh uh. Not on my watch, you little shit. You wanna act like you're such a fag? Well then you’re getting fucked like one of us too."

…

…

…

“Jesus fucking Christ, babycakes, if you don’t want him up your ass I’ll GLADLY take the heat for you.”

[athenasparrow]

Fingers

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Here is your tasty morsel! Since it's so tasty, I shall pop it under smut-cut xx

“I’ve wanted to taste you since I first laid eyes on you,” James confesses roughly as he looks up at her. She’s beautiful. “You taste delicious, love.”

She opens her mouth to respond – presumably with words – but only a whimper escapes as he chooses that moment to curl his fingers inside her.

[vydumaj]

I’m so annoyed I read a little blurb in the university student magazine talking about how quickly music trends these days move, songs stay on charts for short amounts of time and people only know 15 second snippets from tiktok and the author concluded it with “good for those of us who can’t remember song lyrics” ??? girl what……

[zepskies]

More of This

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: Welcoming Russell home, where he belongs.  

AN: Here it is - bonus drabble time!~ This can be a stand-alone, but it’s really a snippet missing from Lost Time in the Every Second Counts-verse. Using the GIF above from 2x02 specifically for the hair flip. It did things to me... 😮‍💨 (But there are NO spoilers for 2x02).

Shoutout to @impala-dreamer who helped inspire this in our @jacklesversebingo chat. 😂

Word Count: 900

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Smut and feels, small tinge of angst. Russell's hair. Tattoos. Everything really.

💜 Series Masterlist  

“Welcome home,” you whispered into his mouth.

All Russell could offer was a breathless sound, caught somewhere between an agreement and a groan of pleasure. He was being treated to a feast of the eyes as you rode him slow in the comfort and safety of your bed.

Your lips didn’t quite manage to connect with his in a kiss, with heavy breaths in between and a deliberate roll of your hips against his. He’d been letting you control the pace of him sheathing home with your every drawn-out thrust.

He was enjoying the show—your hair wild, your pupils blown wide with arousal, being able to palm at your breasts and tease your hardened nipples, kissing your flushed, dewy skin.

But you could feel him getting desperate. His hands moved down your body over soft curves, just for his fingers to squeeze into the flesh of your hips and ass, trying to ground himself in you. His eyes shut and his head fell back into the pillow. You bent down and fastened your lips to his neck, kissing and sucking hard there. He slid a hand up your back and buried it in your hair.

“Takin’ me so well, baby,” he said, his voice deep and rough, and a bit strained. “But you’re torturing me a little bit.”

You giggled breathlessly into his neck. Your tone was playful and coy when you replied, “What do you mean?”

You made a show of raising your hips, letting his hard length slide out of your wet heat all the way to the tip, before you slowly sunk back down. You shifted your hips along the way, until the thick head of him was nestled deep and pressing against your cervix. You both panted for breath. Even your arms were shaking while holding yourself above him.

“Yeah, think you’re trying to kill me,” Russell uttered. “Suppose there’s worse ways to go…”

“Fuck,” you muttered, releasing into a moan. The languid drag of his cock against your inner walls was good, but nowhere near enough at this point.

Maybe you were done teasing him, as well as yourself. Maybe you were done punishing him for taking one contract job after another, taking so long to get back, and making you worry about him and his safety. Your lips made their way back to his cheek, laying a sweeter kiss there.

“Okay.” You smiled against his skin. “How about you fuck me like it’s been three months, not three weeks. I wanna feel you come hot inside me—”

Russell wouldn’t even wait for you to finish the dirty whispers already setting his blood alight. His tattooed arm wrapped around your back and pulled you flush against his chest. He manhandled you seemingly without much effort, twisting you onto your back and having you laid out underneath him.

You let out a huff as your back met the mattress and made the springs squeak. Your head barely made it onto the pillow where his head had been, but your boyfriend wasted little time in grabbing your thighs and angling you just right, guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist. (You didn’t need any encouragement.) He took you hard and deep, making sure he hit that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust.

You gasped and clung to his broad shoulders.

“Right there, sweetheart?” he said near your ear. His voice was rich and gravel. A shiver ran through your body, goaded along with every other sensation he was drawing out of you. You couldn’t even speak. Just a nod and a broken, desperate whimper. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip.

You were holding on for the rest of the ride. If nothing else, Russell had precision, and he was a master of his craft. And that was whatever he set his mind to.

His hand slipped between your bodies for a moment, his fingers searching, and finding, then massaging your swollen clit between thrusts. You cried out in his ear and damn near choked on your own breath, your nails biting into his shoulders. It didn’t take much longer for that tightening coil in your core to finally snap, your inner walls throbbing around his cock.

A curse and a ragged groan fell from his lips as his body locked up on him as well. You felt his body stiffen and the warmth of his release deep inside you. The sensation elicited another shiver down your spine.

You were on birth control, but it still made you feel a bit wild sometimes, whenever he came inside you. You relaxed underneath him with your knees bent, your thighs a soft cradle for his hips.

Russell kept himself upright with his forearms resting on either side of your head. His long hair had slid forward, the brown silky strands tickling your forehead as his panting breaths mingled with yours.

You attempted to brush some of his hair back behind his ears, but it fell forward again, tickling your nose. Russell allowed it on purpose, making you laugh lightly. He grinned in response, but he lowered further to capture your lips in a kiss. He didn’t mind this one being nice and slow.

Even when he parted from you, you still craved more of him. More of this.

You slipped a hand over his bearded cheek, an affectionate caress. A softer smile drew across his lips. He rested his forehead against yours, and he chuckled a little.

“It’s damn good to be home.”

AN: 🫣 Lol hope you enjoyed this one! ❤️‍🔥

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@samanddeaninatrenchcoat

[charliemwrites]

…. So Mister(s) steal your girl, huh?

Content: Unhappy Relationship, (Brief) Gaslighting, Sad Reader

Bombshells, you always thought, were supposed to making a whistling sound before landing. A high pitched warning of impending doom. Too late to escape the incoming devastation, but at least it wouldn’t come out of nowhere. There’d be some time to brace, for all the good it would do.

Maybe you watched too many movies.

Three months. That’s how long you got to enjoy the bliss of engagement before the world began to fall around you.

Your fiance came home and sat you down, his hand around yours. You thought he was breaking it off for some reason. What he did instead was worse.

In the aftermath you can only remember snippets of the one-sided conversation. Like tinnitus, an awful running in your ears left over from a dropped bomb.

Things like,

Still young, I want to explore…

How will I know you’re my forever unless I know what’s out there?

Last bit of freedom before being tied down…

If you love me and our relationship…

You love your fiance and your relationship. You don’t want to lose it just because you’re selfish. He’s still coming home to you, after all. You’re the one with the ring and all the plans for the future. So what if he wants to… explore? He’s even offering the same to you.

An open relationship, he calls it, like it’s some innovative idea.

You’ve heard of them before, never had much interest. Still don’t, honestly, but it was that or the desolution of 4 years.

You insisted on a long engagement. Your fiance promises that you two can revisit the open relationship when you’re married.

Within a week of agreeing, he’s leaves for the weekend. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going, who he’s meeting. He comes back Sunday evening smelling like someone else’s perfume with a hickey on his collarbone. When you refuse any advances, he sighs and says he “understands that this is a transition” and goes to shower.

It’s like that for six months. Weekends without him. Sometimes sending him off Friday morning and not seeing him until Monday evening. Lipstick on his collars, strange perfume invading the laundry. You start doing his clothes separately.

Six months. You spend months suffering in silence, sniffling through Saturdays and drifting through Sundays. Adjusting meal plans to cook for one.

The last straw is when you try to make plans on a holiday. You and your fiance haven’t done on a proper date in months. You want to go out, have all his attention on you, not shared with his phone.

“Ooh, sorry dear, I’ve already got plans with Malorie. Rain check, yeah? We’ll do something next week.”

You decide to go out anyway, sick of feeling sorry for yourself. Nothing fancy, just a bit of self care. You buy yourself a cute new outfit, put on a bit more makeup than usual, do your hair. Find an interesting little late night book shop. They serve wine and food and have comfy booths for people to read or talk or play board games.

The perfect place to be out but alone.

You’re debating the merits of a romance novel when a voice comes from your left.

“Love that one.”

You blink, glance up. Find a handsome man with eyes simultaneously so dark and so warm. Coals, you think. There’s a cheeky little quirk to his mouth as he nods at the novel.

“It’s good if you like will-they, won’t-they.”

You hum. “I’m more in the market for something… easier? If that makes sense.”

He hums, gives you a solemn look. “It does. Here, you might like this then.”

He plucks a book off the shelf and offers it for inspection. You feel awkward reading it the summary thoroughly, especially when you can feel his eyes on you. But you skim it, it looks promising, and a hot guy just suggested it, so…

“Read a lot of romance?” you ask curiously.

He ducks his head a bit, endearingly shy. “A bit, yeah. Call me hopeless.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, but can’t help saying. “I think it’s just romantic.”

His eyes light up. “Yeah? And what kind of books d’you usually like?”

Before you know it, you’re talking thrillers and horror novels with him. Recommending your favorite spooky novel and then following up that you always read a comedy afterwards as a palette cleanser.

You end up touring each other around the shop, talking books and authors and genres. Yet you’re somehow surprised when he asks if you’d like to sit with him. But you agree, a little thrill in your stomach that you haven’t felt since… a while.

You each buy a stack of books, then claim a booth and proceed to read none of them. He tells you his name is Kyle, that he’s in the military but on leave right now, stocking up on entertainment for flights or long spans of hurrying up and waiting.

You’ve never met a military guy before, and you trip over your curiosity. Trying not to pry but interested in what he does. He’s polite and patient, admitting there are a lot of things he can’t tell you but he’ll answer. You don’t stay on the subject long, figuring the last thing he wants to talk about it work.

He gets you back in the department of uncomfortable topics when he notices the ring on your finger. You’re quick to explain the situation, hot with shame all over again, eyes stinging despite yourself.

Instead of mocking you or just getting up and walking away, Kyle sits back looking flabbergasted.

“That’s fucking mental,” he says, “excuse me for saying.”

You burst into laughter. Haven’t told anyone any of this out of embarrassment, but hearing someone on your side is… good.

“I thought so too, but… he’s happy,” you admit.

Kyle frowns. “What about you?”

You blink, can’t look him in the eye. You know the answer but make a show of thinking about it.

“I’d… like to be again. This — the open relationship thing — seems to be working for him. So… maybe it’ll work for me too?” You shrug. “Worth a try.”

Kyle reaches across the table, a big warm hand enveloping yours. There are callouses you’re not expecting. Tantalizingly different.

“Would you like to try it with me?” he asks. “Don’t have to put a label on it or anything. But my schedule is a bit… it’s hard to keep up a traditional relationship, you know? But I like you, and I think your fiance is a knob.”

You snort, but flip your hand around, thumb brushing over his.

“Yeah…” you muse, and after saying it, a surge of confidence infuses you. “Yeah, I’d like to try this with you.”

His smile is absolutely brilliant. You won’t admit — not even to yourself for a long time — but you fall in love a little right then and there.

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