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junedenim · 9 days ago

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2016

beneath the boardwalk, part 14 (series masterlist)

used to be my girl

warnings: ...i don't know at this point. let it be a surprise.

word count: 8.5k

January turns me into a bitter, restless being. I feel a need to be everywhere, yet I am too cold to move. I stay under my bed covers and rot. Unlike past winters, I had a watchman to make sure I didn’t slip into complete hibernation, and though I grew my hair long and had less care for what clothes I wore under my coat, I didn’t feel the need to set my apartment on fire.

George’s look hardened in winter, but his spirit didn’t. His smile glowed like the star on top of the tree. He shovelled the snow off my apartment steps, granting me favour with neighbors I previously thought hated me.

Mr. & Mrs. Sanders, who lived below me in the grand apartment on the first floor, gifted me a peanut butter fudge. Mrs. Sanders was quite disappointed to learn George didn’t actually live there. I was terrified she would revoke the dessert. I already shoved one in my mouth and nearly moaned at the delightful taste. Thankfully, they left the dessert with me and invited George and me over for dinner.

After the mouth-watering dinner, when George and I ascended the stairs to my apartment, I told him, “I can never break up with you ‘cause I think she’ll kill me if I do.”

He kissed my cheek. “Good.”

Should I have feared losing him or Mrs. Sanders and her kitchen knives?

My New Year’s resolution was to read more. George was the kind of man who believed in those wishful things. He had everyone who worked at the bookstore write one and pin it to the wall. He pinned mine next to his and cited me as an honour member. It felt like too much pressure not to uphold, especially when he gave me free books.

I started big, so I didn’t have to worry what he thought of me for not making it through a 100-page book. So, I cracked War & Peace open on the 10th.

I was two pages in when Alex called me.

“David Bowie died,” he told me.

It felt like every piece of news we exchanged that year was wrapped in somber tones. It wasn’t intentional. These were somber years. It was like god had died. We had to discuss everything. Nothing felt real until I knew what he thought about it and vice versa, I suspect. Unfortunately, Bowie was the first of these phone calls.

When I told Alex about my reading, he uttered, “Fuck. Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“If I accidentally drop the book, it could take off my foot.” The nearly 1,500 pages weighed around a newborn baby. “If I start now, I might be finished by the time I’m in a nursing home.”

He laughed at me. “Why didn’t you start with something lighter?”

I stood to grab a snack from the kitchen. My stomach rumbled. We’d been on the phone for a while. “Because I’m trying to be impressive. I might Anna Karenina myself.”

“See,” he said, “you’re already a Russian lit expert. When did you read Anna Karenina?”

George was due to come over in less than a half hour after work. He was making me a Greek chicken with cucumber-feta salad for dinner. I don’t know a single person who is healthier than George. I suppose none of them live in New York and smoke cigarettes like all my friends do. I snacked on a bag of chips. “I watched the movie.”

I could picture his smile. “I think War & Peace has a movie if you feel like giving up.”

“It’s alternative viewing, not giving up,” I reasoned. He was amused by that too. “Is it warm there? It’s freezing here.” I never named LA; it was simply there for me. New York was here.

“15 degrees or something,” he told me. No one I knew spoke in Celsius. It felt like order was restored. “The sky is crying a little. Been inside all day.”

I sat on the edge of my bed and placed the throw blanket over me. “It’s below freezing here. It’s crazy how different it can be when we’re in the same country.” Things were different when we were in the same city. I don’t know why a whole country between us would be any different.

“It was above 30 on me birthday.”

I stilled. “Shit.”

“It’s okay.” He laughed, but I wasn’t finding humour in the situation. I didn’t call him. No text. No “Happy Birthday.”

I clutched my hand over my head. “No, it’s not. I feel awful! I’ve barely been able to keep track of what day it is. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care, Jane. I got to avoid your relentless jokes.” Alex last cared about a birthday around 18. I guess after that birthdays matter less and less.

“Oh, my god!” I pained myself. “I had a boatload of 30-year-old jokes. I even wrote them down.”

“Skipping your mocking was birthday present enough. It gives me a chance to come up with some for your birthday.”

I pouted. “That’s not very generous.”

“Boo woo. I’ll give you In Search of Lost Time for your birthday.” 3,200 pages. I’ll be reading it in the grave.

George and I followed a screening of Brooklyn with lunch at his favourite delicatessen where he ate a huge hoagie and I had a bagel. “When she goes back to Ireland it makes me miss England,” I confessed to him. “You forgot how much you miss it until you’re back.”

“I couldn’t imagine being that far from home.” His parents lived an hour away in Yonkers. He visited one weekend a month. His family was close in a way I had never seen with any other family. He didn’t have the happiest of childhoods, yet he still adored his parents.

“It hasn’t been home for a while. I’ve been in the States for almost a decade. It’s weird to think about.”

“Do you think you’ll live here forever?”

I said, “I think so,” but I didn’t really. I couldn’t imagine having children who have American accents. It’s a grim thought.

Womb launched on Valentine’s Day because Opal thought it would be cute and an excuse to say she had plans for the day as a single woman. We had a small party at George’s bookstore and on the tispy walk back to my apartment, Alex called me. I picked up the phone and squeezed George’s hand.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hey. I like your Womb.”

I snorted uglily. “You’ve been waiting to say. I can tell.”

“Low-hanging fruit,” he conceded. “But I do like it.”

(For the briefest of moments, I thought he meant my actual womb. I was a little slow from the wine.) “Really?”

“Yeah. How could I not? I like everything you write.” He was always sincere in the practice. He never strayed.

We were stopped on a street corner. “I don’t know. It means a lot coming from you. You know that.”

“You never fail to impress me,” he said. “You know that.”

I ducked my head down and hoped from the icy air to chill my burning red cheeks. I hoped to turn them pink from the wind and hide this secret of mine. “Thank you,” I whispered. Too pure to acknowledge above a whisper.

We listened to each other’s breathing. Then, the moment passed. “Well, I’ve got to head out.”

“Valentine’s Day plans?”

“Yeah. Just a nice dinner.”

“Have fun.”

“You too. Night, Janie.”

I put my phone back in my purse and laughed. I thought of how we both had wished one another to have a good lay. Oh, how far we’ve come.

“Was that Alex?” George interrupted my giggles.

The light turned green and we began to cross. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

He looked straight ahead. “You always talk different when you’re on the phone with him.”

“How so?” I crossed my brows, but I wasn’t confused by what he was saying. I knew how I talked. I knew how my tone toward Alex could be ever since Stacey teased me about it in our youth.

George shrugged. “I can’t decode it, but I can tell.” He put a smile on and looked at me. “Should we stop for dessert?”

I had a rubbish 30th birthday. I found another decade to be disagreeable. I didn’t think turning the big 3-0 would affect me so deeply and I don’t believe it really did. Really, the better part of three vodka martinis (it felt like an adult drink, okay!) and the aged rotten thought that I was too old to still be having nights like this was what ruined 30 for me.

On the morning of my 30th—a Saturday, the best day of the week to have a birthday—I indulged in the pleasures of a cigarette indoors. It was my gift to myself. George had a late night at the bookstore and decided to stay there, but we had plans for the afternoon into the night.

Stacey called me while I nursed a cup of coffee and I laughed at all her jokes about me being a sorry old cunt now. She was living in London with her boyfriend. She had a job as an actuarial analyst, not that I really knew what that was (or is). She had always been above my head in smarts, let alone in maths. When she laughed, I felt like a riptide had pulled me away from her. My joints ached in the non-arthritis way, and part of my soul cried, but I laughed instead because she has the most infectious laugh. You just have to hear it to feel it.

I decided to treat myself to a pastry from the corner cafe. My birthday was reserved for plump sugar delights that I would later find regrettable, but they tasted so sweet going down. While finishing off a cinnamon roll, I unlocked my mailbox.

I think one of the best parts of your birthday is getting mail that isn’t bills. Of course, there was still some mixed in with the handwritten notes. I had already received most of the cards early and they lined the shelf by the front door.

Fennel and Kaka had sent me one. Like most gifts from them, it was too much—a beautiful card I would get framed and $100. When I (lackadaisically) tried to refuse it, they insisted I keep and said sweet things about me being their surrogate daughter and then I cried because I was 30 and drunk.

With sticky fingers, I came across a blue envelope with that scrawl I knew too well. I waited until I was sitting on the middle of my bed to open it. I was delicate with it until I spotted 100 in big, bold red letters. The card’s print read, “At 100, you're still playing with a full deck, you just shuffle slower.”

I laid back with a giggle and no longer felt so painfully old. On the inside, he wrote, “Saw this and thought of you. I’m afraid we need a gin rummy rematch. My record is in dire need of repair. I hope to recover before we’re 31. Happy birthday, Janie. I think you’ll find 30 to suit you. Love, Alex.” In different penmanship right below was “& Taylor & Scooter.” She wrote it in a red pen, which I found mildly offensive from my days of failed tests and edited manuscripts, but the gesture was nice considering I had no clue when her birthday was or how old she even was.

Scooter was her dog, which now seemed to be their dog, and to the untrained eye, it could seem like a family. I placed the card on my chest right beside my heart. I waited for the beating to calm or at least to get used to this uneven breathing.

I didn’t place the card on my shelf. I stuffed it into the bottom of my bedside drawer like it was a bad omen. The card would appear more guilty in my drawer, and yet I felt that’s the only place it could be placed. I didn’t want to toss it, for some reason, but I couldn't bear to stare at it.

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

It sounded itself every time my heart pounded against my ribcage.

I called George. He sang “Happy Birthday!” I placed my phone down on the bed while he did it. I waited until the faint sound of his singing voice had finished. “So,” he said, “how’s it feel?”

“30, flirty, and thriving,” I sighed.

He began to talk about our plans for later in the day, but I could only hear the beating of my heart. He was still talking when I said, “I’d like to get a turtle.”

“A turtle?”

“Yeah.” I grabbed my laptop for further research. “I would like a turtle for 30. I’ve always wanted one, and now I want to have what I want.”

“Alright, Veruca,” he declared.

I met George on Atlantic Ave where we grabbed lunch at French Louie’s, which is really just American food pretending to be French. There was a PetSmart down the street where I picked up Louie, my turtle.

Louie became my best friend in an instant. Turtles don’t tend to be viewed in the same light as dogs or cats. They aren’t affectionate figures, but that’s what I like. Louie felt like me. He swam around his tank and bit everyone’s finger except mine. I ate when Louie ate. Louie deserved everything, and I believe Louie thinks I deserve everything. He became a tracking device for me to take care of myself adequately.

But first, we had to set up the tank with the basking lights and filtered water. I had no issues doing this, but then again, George was the one who had to carry the tank up the stairs because I was in charge of Louie. When Louie was away swimming, I kissed George for all my thankfulness.

Admittedly, it was irresponsible to leave Louie alone on his first night in a tank and I would not repeat this behaviour, but for his first night, he was left with plenty of care and the lights on. Louie doesn’t need me to take care of him. He’s always been a self-sufficient creature.

The plan was to have a rocking night. George had a friend who owned a bar in DUMBO and he sectioned off a corner of it for my birthday gathering. It wasn’t very many people because I was over spectacle but I still loved the thought of getting a shit pile of gifts for simply making through another year.

Nonetheless, all my friends were considerate with their gift giving and Opal had a friend who baked these delightful cakes because she has a friend for every occupation. It was a strawberry lemonade cake with a scattering of sliced strawberries on the top. I was spared of numbered candles, instead, there were just five candles on the cake because my birthday is on the 5th. I don’t recall what I wished for, but I hope it came true.

I sat in a corner wooden booth with Opal and Kaka. George and Fennel were talking to his bar owner friend, likely about the architecture of the building, you know, support beams and load-bearing walls, man stuff. The three of us sat with drinks in our hands and laughed at them.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Alex that read, “Has your back gone yet?”

I wrote back, “No, but I’ve only had two drinks and I already have a headache.”

A minute later, he pinged back, “Just wait until tomorrow and the day after and after that. You’ll feel normal in about a week.”

I nearly wrote back what I perceived to be a witty comment on mixing drugs and alcohol but I was distracted by Mina taking a picture of us and I never wrote Alex back, which is probably for the best. The text wasn’t so funny in the morning.

On the walk back to my apartment, I dragged my feet and laid my head on George’s arm. He was too tall for me to lay it on his shoulder. He was taller than any guy I had ever dated and I was still adjusting to how he towered over me.

I was tired and it was only around midnight. I hadn’t slept well the night before—pre-thirty jitters. I was hoping to get an Uber or taxi back to my apartment since there were no subway lines from the bar to my apartment but George insisted it wasn’t very far and a walk would do me good. He wasn’t wearing heels.

I was tempted to ask him to carry me. He was my strongest boyfriend and I believe he could have sustained the eleven-block walk with me on his back. I didn’t because I was wearing a short dress and worried my underwear would show when he lifted me.

“I’m sorry for hanging all over you,” I said to him.

He squeezed my side. “You’re fine. You’re a lightweight.”

I laughed at the inaccuracy. “Just tired. You should have seen me in college. I drank more than anyone you’ve ever met.”

“You were a party girl?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah, sort of. Aren’t I still?”

He shrugged. “I guess. Galas are different than house parties.”

I stood up straight. My hand lowered off his shoulders to his upper back. “Yeah. I was queen of the kegger.”

He looked elated by this, laughing with fervor. “Guess it’s the Brit in you.”

I took my shoes off the moment we entered my apartment. I tossed my body on my bed and felt like maybe my back had gone out on the walk home. “What did you do for your 30th birthday?” I asked George.

He was still by the door, taking off his shoes. “I went to Disney.”

I shot up in bed. “You went to Disney?!”

“Yeah. My girlfriend had family in Florida and my family flew down. We spent a couple of days there.”

“And did what?”

He was bemused. He filled up a glass of water for himself. “Went to Disney.”

“For a couple of days?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty big. We should go. I mean, we could even go to the one in California so you can see all your friends.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“I mean, you talk about Alex all—”

“No, go to Disney. Why would I do that?”

“‘Cause it’s fun.”

“But it’s overrun with people and cheesy and I’m the most impatient person you know.”

He chuckled disingenuously. “Relax. I didn’t book any trips yet.”

“I’m tired,” I complained. I stood and looked at Louie swimming around his tank. I wondered if he was tired too. I wish I could swim. It was too cold in New York.

I wanted to go to England. I’m not sure where in England. Probably London with Stacey. My father was in Bath. My mother was between places. I know she briefly stayed at Greg’s house in Birmingham. Maybe I’d do a tour of England, everyone was so separated. Harper lived in Leeds. She had a baby in February, her fourth, a girl named Asha, who I had yet to meet.

I was cold. We went to bed within the hour and I woke up the next morning with a migraine and that was 30.

I had little connection with Everything You’ve Come to Expect. I listened to it when it came out and I complimented Alex and Miles on it in a shared text. My favourite song is “Miracle Aligner” but maybe that’s because of Alexandra Savior and my fear of admitting I liked “Sweet Dreams, TN” or a deep relatability to “The Bourne Identity.” Both were too personal to Alex for us to discuss.

So, later that month, when he called me to tell me Prince died. I said I liked “Miracle Aligner.”

It might be the only song from the album we ever discussed. When the music video came out about a month later, I told him I found it funny and asked why he was so tan, and that was that.

Baseball is boring. I don’t know much about any sport, but I know that’s true about baseball because even baseball fans say it’s boring. Not that I know many baseball fans. George liked baseball. He rooted for the Mets, which I thought was weird because I figured New Yorkers rooted for the Yankees but I don’t know much about baseball and I probably don’t know much about New York—the state.

We went to Citi Field for their first home game of the 2016 season. George, three of his friends, one of his friends’ girlfriend, and me. The friend’s girlfriend, Rachel, was 22 and finishing her last year at NYU. This friend was 12 years her senior and I found this to be quite Leonardo DiCaprio predatory, but she was nice and didn’t know anything about baseball either.

I sat between her and George, who attempted to teach me baseball, but I don’t like men explaining sports to you because it never makes sense and they always seem to have a way of explaining it in a misogynistic way. Besides, I’ve seen A League of Their Own.

George spilled his beer on me when a double hitter occurred. The sun was out but the day was cold and it left a chilly splash on the front of my shirt. I left to clean myself up and grab a hot dog. It was awful. I texted Alex, “Hot dogs at Mets game suck. Isn’t that baseball games’ thing?”

I went back to my seat and talked to Rachel for the rest of the game. I didn’t see any of George’s friends again but Rachel and I are still friends. To quote an immature man, “She keeps me young.”

When The Last Shadow Puppets came through New York, George and I went to the concert. After the show, we chatted with the Puppets and company, but we didn’t hang around for long. They were playing Coachella that weekend, so I don’t believe they hung around in the city for an endless bout of time. In the time they did, they spent with one another. The city had been where Taylor and Alex both once lived, so they went to all of their old spots. Either way, I got the feeling George didn’t want to hang around with them for hours and hours, so we said our goodbyes. The show was mighty lovely though.

Rome is beautiful in June. When I was 14, my family spent a month in Italy and San Marino, the latter for its casino. Our first week was spent in Rome, where I dreamed of falling in love with an Italian boy and moving to Italy. I didn’t find any Italian boys and a move to Italy doesn’t seem likely, but I did fall in love with Rome.

Villa Borghese is where I first felt struck and connected to nature. I sat on a fountain and wished I was able to draw something beautiful enough to capture the sight of the floral and fauna. I didn’t own a camera and my drawing skills were as bad then as they are now, but the sight has been committed to memory.

George and I revisited it on our first day in Rome. I took pictures this time and while it was still as beautiful as I remembered, I don’t believe the photos captured what my mind has. It was something only the divinity of the seeing eye can behold.

We did all the other touristy things too. George had never been to Rome because his family spent holidays going to places like Disney World. I guess I’m not one to talk. My family spent holidays going to booze-filled casinos but we did fit in a historical sight every once and a while. Plus, I got a nice tan. George said he always got sunburnt at Disney.

We were in Rome for a wedding. It was Matt and Breana’s, and while destination weddings are a lot of work to attend, they are the most beautiful to witness. I’m quite jealous of theirs because the venue was a near-beauty to that of Villa Borghese. But Matt and Breana did always have a keen eye in their photography, so wedding planning, especially with a nice amount of funds, isn’t hard to imagine.

I wore a nice pink dress and it was one of the few times I have been immensely thankful to be a woman because I didn’t have to sweat in a suit. George complained of the heat the whole wedding ceremony. I reminded him I told him to dress light and to shave before we travelled, but he did neither, which is fine by me because I was proven right in the end, as always.

I met their baby, Amelia, for the first time. She had this cute little dress on and these booties and I wish I could wear her outfit and get fussy in the middle of the ceremony too, but alas, that’s inappropriate for a 30-year-old. I thought age was just a number.

The reception was a nice big hall where my heels clicked on the tiled floor. Each table had flower arrangements as centerpieces that I would’ve stolen from if I knew the flowers wouldn’t die on the way home. The food was divine and others at our table were nice but kept to themselves, leaving me to mainly talk with George through dinner.

After dinner, I went to have a smoke and George accompanied me out into the gardens. I felt sorry for polluting the smell of the air but craving, digestion, and all the rest. He stood with his hands in his pockets as I flicked away. “It’s a lovely wedding,” he said.

I smiled. “Without a doubt. Thanks for coming with me.”

He threw his hands up like it was no big deal. “Who could pass up a trip to Rome?” He bought his own plane ticket, something I felt tried to insist against, but he said we’d make a vacation out of it. He’d never met Matt or Breana, but I had told him stories of my college days with Matt and how sweet, gorgeous, and funny Breana was.

A smattering of people occupied the pavilion, and the sun was still out, though setting, when Alex and Taylor popped out with fancy glasses in one hand and holding each other’s hand with their other hand. They chatted with a few others before approaching us. Alex knew far more people here than I did and the way he moved through the crowd would give off the impression that he was the host. That he was the groom with his bride.

He stopped in his tracks and tilted his head back when he saw us as if we were in a Western and I was the villain and he was Clint Eastwood. He cocked a smile slowly, almost deviously. “What are you doing here? Popping out for a smoke?”

I laughed, though I didn’t know what I found funny. It was a vague impersonation of some television character I had no idea about; I knew that much. Alex has a tendency to pick the obscure. I felt he was referencing an inside joke I had been shut out of. Maybe because Taylor laughed vocally.

“Digestion,” I replied. George breathed a laugh. Alex and Taylor hugged us both.

Taylor and I shared a look when George and Alex “bro hugged.” It was the epitome of girls sharing a secret language. We were passing a note to one another that women had done for centuries. Men are childish fools, and we girls, though on different sides of the exchange, are forever bonded by standing in the same position. I think Taylor and I would’ve been good friends had I met her before she met Alex. Or maybe it was our fate to stand on different sides of the exchange, sending secret messages with our eyes. A different language than the male one of bro hugs and dabbing each other up.

“You both look great,” George said. “Taylor, your…” he gestured to the top of his head. Taylor had cut her hair short. It was a little pixie cut, like I imagine a fairy’s hair might be. A Tinker Bell for the modern age.

George had a typical male response, as if maybe her hair isn’t something he, as a man, should address. He sounded like my father after Harper had gotten a nose ring (her one act of rebellion). He asked her if she had something stuck in her nose, a joke she never laughed at no matter how many times it was told.

I stepped in, the woman explaining her man’s faux paus. “I like it a lot. I’ve always wanted to shave my head.”

“You should totally do it,” Taylor encouraged. “It’s quite freeing and so much more manageable.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to shave your head,” George said. He had only known me with long hair, the kind that fell delicately on my chest in loose curls.

Alex knew. “Yeah, she wanted to be like Sinéad O’Connor.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know if I’ll ever do it. I think I’d miss my long hair too much. Maybe I’ll dye it blue or something. It’s pretty dull.”

“Ugh, are you kidding?” Taylor gushed, “I’d kill for your hair.” I didn’t find it to be all that special compared to hers. I’m a brunette with eyes that have been trained to admire bright blonde hair, Taylor’s natural gift. I’ll be envious of blondes until the day I die, but I’d look ugly with blonde hair. I’m sure of this due to my mother’s phase of blonde hair when I was 12. She looked like Kate Gosselin.

An awkward silence fell over the group. I puffed away at my cigarette and waited for someone else to speak. I felt eyes on me but stared at the ground at the way my pink heels looked on the cobblestone ground. I decided to blurt out, “I still haven’t finished War & Peace.”

I was greeted with stares. Taylor, obviously, had no idea, George had no idea why I brought it up, and, slowly, Alex cracked a smile before he laughed. “Have you even finished the first page?” He quipped.

I bolded my eyes at him. “Yes. I didn’t bring it on the plane ‘cause I feared it would set me over the weight limit.”

His face was warm. I imagine somewhere back in his lineage, you would find the Sun. He was one-half star and it came out best in the first few days of summer when the sky shined in just the right way upon his face. “Are you guys heading back to New York after this?”

“No,” I sighed. “We’re paying a visit to my family in Bath. Stacey is coming in for the weekend and my parents have agreed to tolerate one another for one meal together. Oh,” I realized, “they’re getting divorced. I forgot to tell you.”

His face was split because the news was shocking…but was it really that shocking? It was the inevitable that neither of my parents had the guts to say it out loud. “Wow,” he voiced. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Kind of wish they did it earlier. Better late than never, I suppose.” We hadn’t included George and Taylor in the conversation for several minutes now. I turned to Taylor. “Back on the road after this?”

“We were in Florence before this,” she said. “I miss it already and then there’s Glastonbury in about a week.”

I nodded and I was pretty sure George wasn’t listening by this point. “Glastonbury is fun.” I almost brought up memories of when I was there in 2007, but it was too personal and too long ago to utter. I finished my cigarette and it was enough conversing for the rest of the night.

“You guys heading out?” Alex asked. He was alone and so was I. The hallway was mostly empty with the exception of a few people at the other end. He was headed to the bathroom and I was leaving it. There were many jokes I could’ve made about being in this position again but all were flirtations. Things that would get us naked.

��I think so. We’re both pretty tired and our flight is tomorrow.”

He nodded. His eyes were fixed on the floor. He felt so far away. A rift set in the middle. He took a step toward me and looked up. “Well, good luck with your parents. Tell Stacey a hello from me.”

I agreed to but never did. I think Stacey would have made fun of me relentlessly for any mention of Alex. She was a grown-up but will forever be an immature little sister. “Good luck on tour.”

“Thanks,” he muttered. We moved closer and hugged in jolted, jagged-end movements.

I had walked several paces before he called out, “Janie.” I turned and he stood right outside the men’s bathroom—a hesitation in leaving. “Take it for a ride. For me.”

It’s a miracle the beetle wasn’t broken down dead. I think my mother drove it to the grocery store sometimes but it mostly sat idle in the garage. My father barely knew of the presence of the car, and if he did, I’m sure he would have gotten rid of it. He didn’t care for things taking up space.

The inside of the car was barely changed from the 2000s. CDs were still filed in the center console, all of them belonging to my teenage tastes. While I drove around Bath, George looked through the collection. “Why don’t you just toss these? You could probably get a few dollars for them.”

“I like having CDs.”

“But these have been collecting dust in here. Who are Sugababes?”

I chuckled but didn’t tell him all the memories that would explain why. “It’s the same as you having all those picture books in your childhood bedroom.”

“But I’m gonna give those to my kids.”

“Well, I’ll give these to my kids.”

He put the CDs back and closed the console, leaning back in his seat. “CDs are obsolete now.”

“People said it about vinyl and now it’s back and when CDs come back, I could probably be a millionaire.”

He chuckled. “I don’t think you’ll be a millionaire with your cracked Britney Spears CD.”

“You never know. I bought it on the day it was released. It could be a special edition.”

He shook his head, guying me. He began to search the glove compartment, filled with old napkins and the old car manual. “What’s this?”

It was a paper that looked like it had been folded up a hundred times. It was wrinkled and looked like it was a blow of the wind away from being torn in half. The ink on it had endured water damage. The entirety of the paper was covered with pen markings, making it impossible to discern what it was without taking the paper close to your eye.

I pulled over to have a look at it. I laughed at the first notes I spotted.

J A 275 195

“It’s gin rummy scores,” I told him, though there was much more to it. “Alex and I used to play all the time. This must be from the winter of 2005 or something. An ancient artifact.”

The paper was covered in words that I had never seen before. They were explicit and things I couldn’t utter aloud to George. I found two that were suitable for the situation and read them to him. “‘Sometimes, though, angels smoke-in their sleeves. But when the archangel goes by, they throw their cigarettes away: This is what falling stars are.’” I was beyond impressed with the words and taken aback by the carelessness. “I wonder why he threw it away in here. I might steal it. Doubt he remembers it.”

“Don’t,” George said.

I looked up at him with a giggle. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to actually plagiarize him. Not that he’d care.”

He chuckled at me. “I’m sure he wouldn’t care. He didn’t write it. It’s Nabokov.”

My mouth formed the letter ‘o’. “That makes more sense.”

George, as a member of the literati, nodded. “Letters to Véra. Good taste.”

I looked back at the smudged-up page, recalling back to the books of years past. I folded up the page to act uncaring and stuffed it back in the glove compartment. “I’ll have to see if he wants it. I guarantee he doesn’t remember it, but maybe it has some secret code on it.”

We continued our drive. I showed him the sights I knew and we walked around a little. It was nice weather and we sat outside for lunch. We returned home a bit before dinner with my family, which was shockingly boring.

Later that night, when we were ready for bed, I claimed to have forgotten something in the car. I sat in the passenger seat and took the page out.

On one corner of the page, in tiny writing, he penned “Jane” like that was all he needed to state.

I was taken back to the icy feeling of January in Sheffield, parked beside Charlton Brook and thinking that was the whole world. The words on the paper imprinted onto the walls of my heart, etched themselves in the marrow of my bones, and tasted sweet in my mouth as I chewed away at them. “It's cold today, but in a spring way, and I love you.”

“I am a very boring and unpleasant man, drowned in literature... But I love you.”

I wondered if he still had the book and if these parts were underlined, accompanied by words and thoughts that associated him with me. If there was a possibility every time he saw this book he thought of the winter he spent reading it beside me. If he saw Nabokov on the spines on his bookshelf and thought Janie. It was toe-curling madness, but I read on.

“The thought that you exist is so divinely blissful in itself that it is ridiculous to talk about the everyday sadness of separation—a week's, ten days'—what does it matter? Since my whole life belongs to you.”

“I love you, my sun, my life, I love your eyes-closed—all the little tails of your thoughts, your stretchy vowels, your whole soul from head to heels.”

“Without you I wouldn’t have moved this way, to speak the language of flowers.”

“Kisses, my love, deep ones, to the point of fainting.”

And the one that struck me the most that had me lying awake that night: “I will love you tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and still many more, so very many more tomorrows.”

Awfully, befitting for this book and for me.

Then came a line that I knew was his creation (or stolen from an old joke book with a title like Witty Remarks for Intellectual Conversations): “Why did Shakespeare only write in pen? Pencils confused him: 2B or not 2B?”

I felt like crying, but instead, I was overcome by laughter and the overwhelming memory of that distant time. I still felt it, still sore in my muscles. I felt him all around. The memories felt so close to me that I couldn’t quite believe how long ago they had occurred. They felt as recent and vivid as yesterday’s venture.

On the other side of the page, there was more writing with lines scratched out so harshly it almost ripped a hole through the page. It was nearly all unreadable, besides a handful of words that were written out, “My mouth hasn’t shut up about you since you kissed it. The idea that you may kiss it again is stuck in my brain, which hasn’t stopped thinking about you since well before any kiss.” The rest was more nonsense for me to pine over. Silently.

I only seem to like the beginnings of things. The thought of that has terrified me to an unbelievable degree for most of my life. The start of the school year would seem so sweet, but then around October, I felt like dropping out. Every idea felt like a form of genius at the first line, but by the second page, I was a failure, a fraud, and a phony.

I cherished the getting-to-know-you stage. I like mastering each nook and cranny of a person and then I discovered the petrifying knowledge that they were getting to know me too. When I was younger, this made me change into a mysterious being, or at least try to.

Most people didn’t care to pull back the layers anymore. The rare person came along, and when they saw the center of me, it felt impossible to let them go because then I would have to expose myself to someone else to fill the void they left, the center they scooped out like a ball of cantaloupe.

I believe you invent people in your head. Everything is perspective and I will never be viewed under the same light that I view myself. For some occasions, I am thankful for this, but I know I don’t get to control the narrative, no matter how much I write and spew my own view of things out into the world.

One night, on an early September night, I was struggling to write. I had to contribute a piece to Womb. I had neglected it for most of the summer and needed to have a piece of work in the September issuing. Opal comes from the fashion world, where Vogue’s September Issue is the Bible you swear upon.

It was still hot in the city. I cracked open a window and allowed the midnight breeze to try and penetrate the sweat. The cursor blinked at me and I felt like my brain was being cooked. When I had previously had these rots, I called Opal, but she had already heard from me that night, and we were in the middle of a spat where she was right and I was wrong, so I didn’t want to get another whiplashing from her or to ruin her night anymore.

George was at a friend’s bachelor party at a billiards club, which I thought was old-fashioned guy stuff. I thought about writing about that, but it was a stupid idea. I barely know anything about pool.

I won’t delay further like I was trying to delay the inevitable that evening. I called Alex.

The tour had finished about a week before and I hadn’t seen him since the wedding. I wouldn’t say I was avoiding him (though I did notably choose to go out of town the weekend they played Terminal 5), but I didn’t confront the matter either. We texted him about the Olympics and I called him when Gene Wilder died and we quoted Young Frankenstein insistently to one another.

That evening, he didn’t pick up when I initially called him. I considered the night awash for writing and decided to go to bed, but then he called me back before I could brush my teeth. “Who died?” He greeted me.

I slumped back in my desk chair. “No one. Do I have to kill someone to talk to you?”

“No, it just worries me like Pavlov’s dog or something. You’re the bell that beckons death.”

I snorted. “Well, don’t go on associating me with the Grim Reaper.”

He could hear his smile in the quiet hum of his voice. “What’s up?”

All roads lead back to Rome and I’m stuck on the wishful thinking path. It’s filled with the autopsies of conversations from years ago. It took me too long to muster a reply and when I did I sheepishly said it like I had been caught doing something I shouldn’t, which probably was true. “I can’t think of anything to write and I’m a step away from throwing myself out the window.”

“Don’t do that,” he chuckled. “You’ll probably only break your legs.”

“I think my brain is fried and I wouldn’t care so much, except I’m letting Opal down by not writing anything. It wouldn’t be the first time but I’m trying not to be such an arsehole friend anymore.”

He sighed and whatever weight he was taking off by doing it was shoved onto me. I felt burdensome and the phone felt too heavy in my hand. “I wouldn’t be much help,” he said. “I’ve got nothing to write about either.”

I groaned. “Lame.”

“Call it empathic.”

I scoffed. “Men aren’t supposed to know about that.”

“You’re very difficult; you know that,” he joked. “You could always read War & Peace. Find some inspiration there.”

I looked at the tome gathering dust on the floor beside my bed. “The only thing it’ll provide me is strained muscles.” My eyes trailed up to my bedside table and I thought on the other book hidden away, the one I hadn’t told anyone about. “I’m reading Letters to Véra now. You read that years ago, right?”

“Yeah. It’s good.”

“When we were in Bath, George found a sheet you wrote all these quotes from the book on. It’s been sitting in the glove compartment for a decade.” The confession felt like sacrilege. I had brought another man into holy ground.

It’s hard to predict Alex’s responses to these discoveries. I was timid and resisted revealing it to him for months. I figured he’d escape the notion of it too, instead, he breathed out, “Jesus. I forgot about that. There’s probably all kinds of shite like that tucked away somewhere. Whoever lives in your old bedroom now is finding scraps all over the place.” The knowledge that there was other scripture like this just lying around somewhere made me even hotter. Like he had just scattered his love around like Hansel and Gretel through the years, waiting for me to find my way back.

“Well, I have this one, if you want it,” I offered.

“You keep it,” he told me. I wanted to see his face. It was hard for me to read the situation. “It was supposed to be for you anyway.”

It made my head spin. I was almost certain I had to have taken some drug before this conversation. I felt dizzy and faint. “It had gin rummy scores on it too.”

His laugh sliced through the silence. “I’m sure you kicked my ass.”

I wish he could see my smug smile. “Up by nearly 100.”

“You should write about that,” he suggested.

“Gin rummy?”

“All those little things. I find that writing about Sheffield can be a good palate cleanser. Returning to the days of youth.” He hesitated, still trying to work out the thoughts that ping-ponged in his mind. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“I know what you mean,” I reassured him. “I know.”

I wrote a piece and stuffed it away in a drawer. It was about college, Alex, and smoking. It’s the first section of this book.

The following morning, after sleeping on my sullied writing, I decided to reach back further in the days of Wakefield. It was about a trip to the shopping centre I took with my mother when I was 11. We were looking for a dress for my year 6 leavers ceremony and she made me try on all these different dresses until I found one I fell in love with, but she didn’t like it so she ended up picking this scratchy old dress. It might be small, but I still think about that dress. I thought about it long enough that I couldn’t stop writing, and thus, I began my next book.

Christmas was coming. The first snow fell halfway through December, but it didn’t stick, just leaving an ice fog. George had spent the night at my place. We stayed huddled in bed and decided it was best for him to stay simply because it was too cold.

He cooked bacon while I showered. I had a towel wrapped in my hair when he handed me my coffee and a plate of cooked pig belly with some berries on the side. We ate at my tiny kitchen table and talked about the weather. Then he said, “It would probably just be easier to live together at this point.”

“Yeah,” I thoughtlessly said while chewing away.

“And my place has more room and is right above the store. It’s in Manhattan too, which seems more your scene than Brooklyn.”

“Yeah. I think so.” It was going over my head. The bacon was really good.

“We could do it in the New Year.”

I squinted. “Do what?” He stared at me. “Move in together?”

“Yeah.” He smiled.

“Oh.” I hate myself. “But I like my place.”

“It’s nice, but you’re always complaining how you wish you had more space and—”

“How would I have more space living with you?”

“I at least have a wall between my bed and kitchen.”

“But I would be sharing all that with you now.” It was a pointed comment. It was obvious my concern wasn’t over having a new roommate but who that roommate would be.

He began looking crossed. “What’s wrong with sharing?”

“I like having my own space,” I reasoned with a half-truth.

“Well, we could make space for you at my place.”

“Your place.”

“Our place,” he corrected.

“What’s wrong with my place?”

He laughed at me. “Nothing’s wrong with your place. But, come on, let’s pull the trigger.”

I rolled my eyes like a bitch. “How affectionate.”

“Jane.” He was scolding me.

“Let me think about it.”

He nodded, and we went back to eating, but this time in silence. He finished his coffee and decided for us. “You’re not gonna move in with me, are you?”

“I don’t know.”

He sighed. “Don’t kid me, Jane. At least give me that.”

“I just like having something of my own.”

“Okay.” He looked around. I feared he was X-raying the apartment and seeing all the things I was hiding. Then he stared at me so strongly I thought he’d burn a hole through me. “We’re never gonna go to the next step with me.”

“I’ll allowed to think about it.”

“No, I mean like we’re not going to live together or get married. All those dreams you told me about with the garden and your husband cooking you dinner, that’s not me, is it?”

I didn’t know what to say. “It could be.”

He shook his head. “It’s not.” He was soft and he broke my heart because I knew I was breaking his. “It’s okay.”

We finished breakfast and we talked about our individual plans for Christmas. When our plates were empty, he stood up and kissed my cheek. “I hope you come do an event for your new book.”

I nodded, and then he left. I cleared the table and did the dishes.

a/n: i'll try and figure out how to include pickles in the next part. it might be a bit before the next part because a) it'll be longer, b) i want to try and write something else in the time being to clear out my long list of in progress works, and c) there's not that many years left of this and we must cherish every second. thanks :)

#alex turner #alex turner fic #alex turner x oc #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n #alex turner smut #junedenim #beneath the boardwalk

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paybackraid · 5 months ago

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An Ice Cream and Fudge Kind of Chat

Summary: Jack might be a little confused, but he's got the spirit. In more ways than one. Or, Jack so aggressively supports Danny as a trans boy that he gives him the wrong sex talk. Mentioned grayghost

Rating: T

Words: 1994

Trigger warnings: none

---------

Danny walked into the kitchen to see his dad scooping copious amounts of ice cream into two bowls. A tray of fudge sat between them. Danny knew what was about to happen deep in his bones. His body went stiff and his insides felt cold, even for him.

Uh oh.

“Danny boy!” Jack cheered happily. He tossed the ice cream into the freezer and took a seat in front of one of the bowls.

“…Awkward father-son chat?” Danny guessed, hoping against hope that wasn’t it.

Jack gave him a warm smile, softer. “Awkward father-son chat. Come sit.” He patted the empty chair beside him.

“…Do I have to?” Danny asked.

Jack didn’t verbally answer, merely patted the seat again. Danny got the picture.

With a heavy, nervous sigh, Danny moved forward. He adjusted his binder carefully, since it was pinching his underarm. He needed a new one, a bigger one. He’d grown. That comfortable, Danny dropped into the empty chair and picked up a piece of fudge. Peanut butter bacon. Delicious.

“So… what’s going on…?” Danny asked. Half of him hoped that Jack had forgotten all about Phantom and was about to confront him about it. That father-son chat—not the first one they’d had and obviously not the last—had gone almost remarkably well. It had ended with his dad scooping him in his arms and squeezing him so tight he thought he was going to break every rib. Danny had come out as half-dead and Phantom late last year, and it had gone so well that Danny was basically ready to do it again. Better that than… whatever Jack had put together.

What else was left? The gay talk had come first, until Danny realized that it wasn’t the liking of the same gender that had been the problem rather than not being that gender, actually. Mom and Dad had handled both of them so well, even when Danny switched it up not three months later. There had been no you’re faking it, no you need to stop changing things on us. They’d taken each in stride. Next had come the bi talk when Danny realized that yes, boys were hot too, thank you. Dad had organized the next one, when he thought Danny had a girlfriend. When Danny almost did. Two years later and he finally had that girlfriend. And Valerie was a fucking treat. Finally came the whole half-ghost, being-Phantom awkward chat that had come up last year. That had gone well, obviously. Since Danny was still (half)alive, free, and very well.

If all those awkward father-son chats had been had, what was left?

“It sounds like things are getting serious with you and Valerie,” Jack started, voice still warm. “I hope you’re not secretly spending the night at her house when you say you’re at Sam’s or Tucker’s.”

He had. Exactly once. To be fair, they had a project to work on, and there was a ghost fight and he’d come back so tired afterward. There’d been some kissing, some snuggling, but Danny had retreated to the couch like a right gentleman when the time came.

…Oh, wait.

Oh, no.

Danny was sure he wasn’t prepared for this sort of awkward father-son chat.

“I want you to know,” Jack continued. “Your mom and I really like this Valerie. She keeps you in line. Both of you.” Jack winked.

Danny winced. That was one way to put it. Him being a ghost and his girlfriend being a ghost hunter certainly did put a level of keep-in-line-liness into their relationship from both ends.

“And I’m glad you’ve gotten so comfortable with her, and with both of your halves. I’d be happy to see her over here more often. She’s someone I can blather on about ghosts to!”

He had. So many times. Valerie took it in stride. She really was an incredible girl.

“Okay…” Danny urged, face flushing red. He hoped Jack got to the point so this chat could be over.

“Eat your ice cream before it melts,” Jack encouraged. He took a bite of his own and then snatched a piece of fudge. “All that being said, I expect responsibility from you.”

“Responsibility?” Danny didn’t think there were many kids his age more responsible than him, actually! Danny fought ghosts daily! He’d had the weight of the world on his shoulders since fourteen. He didn’t think there were many more responsibilities to have!

“Now,” Jack continued. “You are nearly an adult, and your mom and I can’t monitor you all the time. That wouldn’t be fair to you or to us. I would rather that you got up to the more adult things under our roof, where we know you’re safe and can help you handle whatever repercussions arise. So.” Jack reached for the seat beside him and grabbed two things. A banana and a… a…

A condom?

Danny’s blush left completely. He was so pale his face felt like everice, staring at the horrible combination of items right there in front of him, grim horror and amusement dancing across his face hand in hand. Granted, his dad didn’t know that Valerie wasn’t a trans girl or otherwise, but…

“I understand they’re teaching this in schools now,” Jack said, setting the banana between them, “and that’s great, but I want to know that you know how to use this anyway. If the two of you start having…” Jack practically gulped aloud, his face coloring, “if you start having sex, I expect you to use condoms every time, and I expect the two of you to have a conversation before and after. Fenton men are gentlemen.”

Danny smiled blearily. His dad was so fucking goofy, and maybe that was something Danny loved about him. “We drink respect women juice every day,” Danny agreed with a nod. It was an old joke, but a good one.

“What?”

He laughed. “Nevermind.”

“Right,” Jack said, plowing forward. “So show me you know how to use this.”

“Dad, me and Val really won’t need to use th—“

“Enough of your teenage invincibility,” Jack said. “You don’t know what could happen. Show me you know how to use this.”

Danny’s face went back to red, but he was struggling to hide his smile. It was embarrassing for sure, but if Danny understood exactly what was going on, it was nice.

Knowing he wouldn’t get out of this, and kind of really loving his dad in the moment, Danny reached over and opened the condom. He rolled it over the banana like they’d shown in health class then set it over by Jack to inspect. Jack approved but asked suspiciously if they’d already started; Danny seemed pretty smiley for something like this.

Danny flat out denied it. There’d been some… under the clothes stuff, but nothing like that.

“Good, that’s good,” Jack said, leaning back. His ice cream was mostly gone, but he was starting to stack fudge in his bowl. “But Danny, even condoms only work ninety-nine percent of the time. So when you do start having sex, you need to be prepared for… possibilities.”

“Dad, I really don’t think the possibilities you’re thinking of—“

“Danny,” Jack interrupted. “I expect responsibility from you. That doesn’t mean that Mom and I won’t help you out, of course not. But if you get that girl pregnant, you will be sticking around for it, whatever Valerie decides to do with it.”

And there it was. Pregnant.

Danny was not physically capable of getting anyone pregnant. He didn’t have the equipment, and he wasn’t sure that was a surgery he’d ever want to have, anyway. Dad knew that. Jack had taken Danny to pick up his first pads and tampons—they’d gotten so many sizes, it had not been handled as gracefully as Mom had handled Jazz’s. Hell, Jack had sat with Danny at the doctor’s office when they’d said words like puberty blockers and hormone replacement and address mental health first. Was Jack being goofy? He couldn’t entirely tell. Jack seemed far too serious to be playing some weird long con of a prank. It was too serious a topic for Jack to do that for, he hoped.

“Danny-boy,” Jack said firmly, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Do you understand me? You will support that girl if and until she aborts it, but if she decides to keep it, I expect you to be a present father, too. Am I clear? No skipping town because of it. Mom and I will help you.”

Jack was serious.

He was so, so serious, and Danny realized that he really, really, really loved his dad.

Danny might try to get the real sex talk out of his mom, later on. The one he needed with his body. But he could sit here and be embarrassed while his dad plainly and actively forgot that Danny used to be his daughter, so long ago.

“Yeah, Dad,” Danny said with a laugh and a smile. “I hear you. If something somehow happens, then I’ll be responsible with it. You can count on me.”

Jack’s smile was warm again, and so, so proud. Danny’s heart felt light in his ribcage, like it might turn intangible and phase right out of him. “I know that, Danny-boy. We can always count on you.”

The rest of the chat was, if a little awkward yet, smooth. Jack forgot three more times that Danny didn’t have the same stuff to do much with the talk, but Danny was kind of okay with it. By the time Jack seemed satisfied with the conversation, Danny’s grin split his face right down the middle even if he was red as a tomato.

“And if you’ve got anything else you want-or-need to know about, you come right to your old man,” Jack was saying while Danny cleared their dishes from the table. “I’d rather you safe and embarrassed than sorry down the road.”

Another smile that Danny buried in his shoulder. “Yeah, okay,” he said, turning back to his dad. Jack was standing and stretching his back, muttering something about sitting for too long. “I will.”

“Good,” Jack huffed. He reached out and ruffled Danny’s hair. “See that you do. Got any questions for me right away?”

“No!” As much as Danny loved his dad—and he did, so much—there was only so much embarrassment he could handle before he had to close that particular spigot. “Thanks for the talk though, Dad. Thanks for caring.” Caring in more ways than one. Caring about Danny’s identity so much that he forced out of his brain any impression of Danny not being the man he was.

“Of course, Danny-boy,” Jack chirped. “I love you.”

“Yeah,” Danny agreed. He approached his dad and put his arms around his neck, squeezing him as tight as Jack would—and did. Although he was careful to avoid that poor, abused banana. “Yeah, I really, really love you, too.”

Jack released him after a moment and ruffled his hair again. With a farewell, Jack headed down the stairs to the basement—probably to tell Maddie just how well that talk had gone. Hopefully Maddie would correct him and fix his mistake later, but wouldn’t be upset.

Danny decided to do the same, although upstairs to his sister and then to his room. Jazz laughed goodnaturedly and gave him a hug, but luckily didn’t make any promises about giving him the sex talk he was supposed to have. Danny flopped back onto his bed and quickly called up a conference call with Sam and Tucker, excitedly telling them about the horrible, wonderful conversation he’d just had.

Valerie would come later, he thought. Probably after he’d had the talk with his mother. So Valerie wouldn’t have any thoughts that couldn’t go anywhere yet. She would find it funny, probably—she was as supportive as his family and friends—but he didn’t want to disappoint her. Not about that, anyway.

#my writing #creative aces #dp #dp fanfic #danny phantom #danny fenton #jack fenton #danny is a trans boy #jack is SO supportive of him. best dad.#gray ghost #sex talk #sex ed

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draganwhorror · 2 months ago

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May I Have This Dance?

Note: This is my attempt at a cute, fluffy "first date" fic involving James from Failure! and an OC. I hope it doesn't suck. 🫣

Also, I'm dedicating this fic to @elklounge. I hope you like it!

Inspo gif:

Elle sighed as she pulled her car into a parking spot at the grocery store. She’d finally finished getting herself settled in her new apartment, and now it was time to stock up on the things she needed (and wanted) so she wouldn’t have to rely on takeout anymore.

Shutting the car off, she got out and closed the door, locking it with her key fob. Entering through the automatic doors, she grabbed a cart and made her way into the store, deciding to start over in the produce section. Elle told herself she’d work her way through the aisles, go check out, and head back home. Then she could relax for the rest of the day.

Maybe I’ll order a pizza so I don’t have to cook anything.

Elle placed a variety of fruits and veggies in her cart, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment. After her awful breakup, moving to a new city had felt like the right choice, even if it had been a bit…stressful. But now, here she was, adulting like a pro…or something like that.

She left the produce section and made her way to the snack aisle, grabbing a bag of pretzels. Once they were placed in her cart, she wandered through the rest of the store, picking out things she thought she might need along with things she absolutely wanted.

As she was finishing up in the frozen section, Elle decided to be a little indulgent and get herself a pint of ice cream. She paused in front of the freezer, eyeing her choices. There were so many flavors! After a moment of indecision, Elle opened the door and grabbed a pint of vanilla fudge swirl, figuring she couldn’t go wrong with something simple.

She placed the pint in her cart and turned, ready to head to the checkout. But she hadn’t anticipated that someone would be coming up behind her, and she bumped into whoever it was, a small squeak of surprise falling from her lips.

“Oh, excuse me,” a man’s voice said, his tone apologetic.

Elle blushed as she looked at the man, taking in his appearance. He was tall and had dark brown hair with a hint of gray on the sides. His eyes were also a very dark brown, and she found herself wanting to get lost in them. Oddly enough, he was also wearing a suit. She’d never seen anyone grocery shopping in a suit.

“Oh, um, sorry,” she said, pulling her gaze away from the man. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

The man chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "No worries. I wasn’t looking where I was going either. Too busy focusing on finding the perfect ice cream flavor.”

Elle glanced at the freezer behind her, then returned her attention back to the handsome stranger. "Uh, what flavor are you looking for?”

He grinned, running a hand through his hair. "Well, I was hoping to find something with chocolate and peanut butter. It's been one of those days.”

"Bad day at work?" Elle asked, gesturing to his clothing. She immediately regretted drawing attention to it, feeling her cheeks warming as he glanced down, as if just now realizing what he was wearing.

The man’s face fell for just a second before a smile replaced his frown. "Oh, yeah… You could say that. I'm James, by the way."

"Elle," she replied, offering him a return smile.

James's eyes landed on her lips before moving away, his gaze going to her cart. "I see you've already found your flavor of choice."

Elle glanced at her vanilla fudge swirl, suddenly feeling a bit boring. "Um, yeah. I couldn’t decide, so I went with something basic."

"Nothing wrong with that," James replied, reaching past her to open the freezer. His arm brushed against hers, sending a tiny shudder through her. "Are you new to the area?”

"Is it that obvious?" Elle asked self-consciously.

“Let’s just say I remember venturing out on my own as a young man…”

He seemed wistful, and Elle wondered what that was all about. She didn’t want to pry, though, so instead, she blurted out, “I, uh, just got out of a relationship. Together for about…three years, but things ended badly and… I just needed a change.”

Stupid! Why did you just say that?

James nodded. “Understandable.

He pulled out a pint of chocolate peanut butter swirl and held it up with a grin. "Success! This is exactly what I was looking for. Hopefully it will help me forget what a crappy day I had today."

Elle couldn't help but be charmed by his excitement over ice cream. "Good choice. I hope it does help. Maybe I’ll try that one next time."

"You should," James said, his eyes lighting up. "Life's too short for boring ice cream flavors."

Elle laughed, surprised by how easy it was to talk to a man she’d just met. "You’re right. Life is too short."

They both stood there for a moment, neither one knowing what else to say now. Finally, James cleared his throat. "Well, I should probably...go check out. It was nice meeting you, Elle."

"Nice meeting you, James," Elle responded, feeling strangely disappointed as he turned and started to walk away.

She watched him go, wondering if she would see him again. A sudden urge to do something bold came over her, and as he started to turn the corner out of the aisle, she called out, “James?"

He paused, turning around to look back at her with a curious expression on his face.

"Um, do you happen to know of any good pizza places around here?" Elle asked. "Since I’m new to the area and all, I, uh, I thought you might know where I could get a slice or two."

James made his way back over to Elle, his ice cream clearly forgotten for the moment. "You know…" He trailed off, seemingly in thought. “Why don’t I take you to dinner? I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman, and we can…get to know one another a little better? I can even give you some suggestions for places around town that are worth visiting.”

Elle bit her lip, her mind racing with various reasons to turn him down.

He’s a stranger. You don’t know him. You just met. What if he’s actually a serial killer?

Something about his smile and his kind eyes made her want to take a chance, though. Isn’t everyone a stranger until you get to know them better?

"That...sounds really nice," she found herself saying. "But I should probably check out first."

James glanced at her cart of groceries and gave her a nod. “Of course. How about we both pay for our things and… Would you like to exchange numbers?”

Elle fumbled for her phone in her pocket. “That would be great.”

They exchanged numbers, and as they both made their way to the checkout, she felt…excited. Maybe moving to a new city to start over hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. Sure, James was a little bit older than her, but that didn’t matter to her. After paying for her groceries, Elle waited by the store entrance for James to finish. She watched as he chatted with the cashier, his smiling lighting up his whole face. When he joined her, his eyes crinkled with happiness.

“So,” James said, holding up his lone bag with the container of ice cream in it. “What do you say we drop our things off and meet up in an hour? I know a great little place not far from here.”

“That sounds perfect,” Elle replied, surprised by how eager she felt. “Should I meet you there?”

“If you’d feel more comfortable, I can text you the address, and you can meet me there when you’re ready.”

“Great,” Elle said, feeling both relieved and slightly disappointed. It would have been nice to have him pick her up, but she knew he was trying to be kind by offering her a chance to do things on her own terms.

“So… I’ll see you in an hour then?”

James offered her a smile. “Absolutely. I’m looking forward to it.”

He wandered off to wherever his car was parked, and Elle got her groceries settled in the trunk of her car before she started the trek back home. She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about James. He was handsome, and he seemed quite nice and charming, but a small part of her still wondered if she was taking too much of a risk by meeting up with an older man for dinner.

Shaking that thought out of her head, Elle parked and gathered her bags of groceries, lugging them into her apartment. Once she got them all put away, she made her way into her bedroom, suddenly worried about what to wear. Would the restaurant be more casual or somewhat dressy?

Before she could let herself get too stressed out, her phone buzzed with a text. Elle glanced at her phone, reading it, and felt a sense of relief wash over her.

Looking forward to seeing you soon! Here’s the address: 722 N Main St. The place does have a dress code. I hope that’s okay. Wear something nice for me?

Elle blushed, but she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. She opened her closet and pushed aside her more casual clothes, finding the small handful of dresses she kept on hand…just in case.

Pulling out a simple sleeveless black dress that landed at her knees, she decided to pair it with her flat wedge heels with the ankle straps.

Glancing at the time on her phone, Elle realized she had about 45 minutes to get ready and get to the restaurant to meet up with James. She felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach as she got herself ready. She slipped into the dress, made an effort to do something nice with her hair, and applied some light makeup. As she put her shoes on and went to grab her bag, Elle paused to take a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this excited about a date. Was it even a date? She shook her head, not wanting to overthink things. She just wanted to enjoy herself tonight.

Grabbing her keys and purse, she headed out the door, locking up behind her. She plugged the address into her GPS, not wanting to worry about getting lost, and made the short drive to the restaurant.

Elle arrived with a few minutes to spare, so she parked her car and took another deep breath before getting out.

As she approached the entrance, she spotted James waiting outside. He was still in a suit, but this one looked slightly different. Elle's heart fluttered when his eyes met hers, and a warm smile spread across his face.

"Elle, you look lovely."

She felt her cheeks warm at the compliment. "Thank you. You look nice too."

James chuckled. “It’s not the same suit I wore to work and the grocery store. I did change, I promise.”

He offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

They entered the restaurant, and Elle was surprised by how cozy and intimate it seemed. Soft music played in the background, and the lighting was low and warm. A maître d' greeted them and led them to a corner table.

Once they were seated, James leaned in slightly. "I hope this place is okay. I wanted to take you somewhere nice, but I wasn’t sure if it would be too much too soon."

"It's perfect," Elle told him, glancing around. "I've never been anywhere quite like this before."

James looked relieved at her response. “I’m glad you like it. I come here sometimes when I want to treat myself.”

Elle picked up her menu, her eyes widening at the selection. Everything sounded delicious, but the prices… This place was way more expensive than she’d anticipated.

James must have noticed her apprehension. “Order whatever you’d like. It’s my treat.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to—” Elle started to protest, but James cut her off. “I insist. Consider it a welcome to the neighborhood dinner.

Elle felt herself relax a little. "Oh, well, thank you. That's very kind of you."

They spent a few minutes looking over the menu, and when the waiter came to take their order and bring them some wine, Elle decided on the salmon while James opted for the filet mignon.

As they waited for their meals, they eased into conversation, and Elle found herself opening up about her past relationship and her new job working for a graphic design firm. James was a good listener, but Elle realized after a moment that she’d been prattling on about herself and felt bad.

"What about you?" she asked, wanting to get to know more about him too. "You mentioned having a bad day at work. What do you do?"

A shadow passed over James's face, but it was gone so quickly Elle thought she’d imagined it.

“I…manage a factory. Plastics.”

There was a subtle change in his demeanor as he told her what he did, and Elle wondered if she'd touched on a sensitive subject.

"Oh, that sounds...interesting," she said, trying to keep the conversation light. "Is that what you've always wanted to do?"

James scoffed and shook his head. "Not exactly."

Elle shifted awkwardly in her seat, trying to decide if she should change the subject when James took a sip of wine and continued on, as though he’d finally gathered his thoughts and needed to get them out.

"Life has a way of taking unexpected turns. My father owned the factory. When he got sick, I stepped in to help out temporarily. But then he passed away, and I felt…obligated to keep the business running. It's been...challenging, to say the least."

Elle reached across the table and placed her hand on his. "I'm sorry about your father. That must have been really difficult."

James looked surprised by her touch, but he didn't pull his hand away. "Thank you. It was tough, but I've managed. Some days are better than others."

Their food arrived at that moment, interrupting their conversation. As they began to eat, Elle couldn't help but feel drawn to James. There was something about him that intrigued her. He presented himself as a successful businessman, and she knew he probably was, but beneath all that—the man he was at his core—seemed almost…forlorn.

Their conversation turned to lighter subjects while they ate their food. Elle found herself laughing occasionally when James made a witty comment, and she was surprised by how comfortable she felt being around him, considering they’d only just met. Unable to resist any longer, she let her curiosity get the best of her.

“So…if you hadn’t taken over the factory, what would you have wanted to do instead?” she asked, turning the subject back to work. “Was there a career path you would have preferred to take?”

James sighed, setting his fork down. “I used to want to…be a writer. A novelist. I would jot down scenes in a notebook whenever I had a free moment at the factory. But nothing ever worked out. Now, my notebooks just collect dust.”

Elle looked at him, surprised by his admission. "A writer? That's really neat. Have you ever thought about picking it up again?"

James shrugged, a wistful smile on his lips. "Sometimes. But running the factory takes up most of my time.” He sighed. “I'm not sure I have it in me anymore."

"I bet you do," Elle said, reaching across the table to take his hand and give it a squeeze. "Maybe you just need some inspiration."

James gazed down at their entwined hands. "Maybe. Or maybe I just need someone to believe in me for once."

He looked up, and their eyes met across the table. Elle felt a spark—almost like lightning—pass between them. She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling flustered. "Well…” she began. “I know I just met you, but… I believe in you. For what it's worth."

"It's worth a lot," James said softly. "Thank you, Elle."

They finished their meal, chatting about random things, and as the waiter came to clear their plates, James ordered them each a slice of chocolate cake for dessert.

"I hope you don't mind," he said. "But their chocolate cake is to die for. I couldn't let you leave without trying it."

Elle grinned. "I will never say no to chocolate cake."

When their dessert arrived, Elle took a bite and let out a small moan of pleasure. "Oh, wow, this is amazing!"

James laughed. "I told you. It's my favorite thing on the menu."

As they enjoyed their cake, Elle found herself stealing glances at James. Even though he was older, she couldn’t help but feel drawn to him. His enthusiasm as he talked about some of his favorite spots around the city made her wonder if the hopeful younger man he’d been before his father died and work obligations had taken over was still trapped somewhere deep down inside, just waiting to be released.

"You know," Elle said, setting down her fork. "I'm really glad I bumped into you at the grocery store today."

James smiled at her. "Me too. I’m almost glad I had a terrible day at work today. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have gone to the store for some ice cream to indulge in, and I never would have met you."

They lingered at the table, sipping their wine, neither seeming eager for the evening to end. When the check came, James insisted on paying despite Elle's protests.

"Next time, you can treat," he said with a wink that made Elle's heart skip a beat. “Now… how about a dance to commemorate our first date?”

Elle blushed. “I, uh… I don’t dance.”

James just chuckled. "Everyone can dance. You just need the right partner."

He stood up and offered his hand to Elle. She shook her head, feeling nervous about making a fool of herself in front of this sweet, charming man.

James pouted, then began waltzing by himself between the tables. He had a natural grace, and even though she didn’t trust herself not to stumble or step on his toes, the desire to be in his arms, swaying along with him, had her standing and moving towards him.

James saw her coming and grinned. He held out his hand again, and she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to a small dance floor near the back of the restaurant.

A slow song began to play. James pulled Elle close, placing one hand on her waist while holding her other hand in his. Elle's heartbeat thundered in her ears as she rested her free hand on his shoulder.

"Don’t be nervous. Just follow my lead," James murmured, beginning to sway gently to the music.

Elle stumbled a little, her feet feeling clumsy and uncoordinated, but James was patient, guiding her with the hand on her waist. After a moment, Elle felt herself relaxing, letting the music take over as they moved together.

"See?" James said softly. "You're a natural."

Elle laughed, her cheeks pink. "I think you're just a good teacher."

As they continued to dance, Elle found herself getting lost in James's eyes. Even though they’d only just met, there was something about him that made her feel… well, she wasn’t sure what she was feeling yet, but she liked it. Everything around them seemed to fade away, the two of them wrapped up in their own little bubble.

When the song ended, they stayed in each other’s arms for a moment, neither wanting to be the first to move away.

Eventually, Elle took a step back, her cheeks flushed. "Thank you for the dance," she said shyly. "And for dinner. I had a wonderful time tonight."

James gazed at her, a small smile on his lips. "The pleasure was all mine. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

They made their way out of the restaurant, James placing his hand on the small of Elle's back as they walked. The cool night air hit them as they stepped outside, and Elle shivered slightly.

"Here," James said, shrugging off his suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders.

"Oh, no, I'm okay. You don't—" Elle tried to brush him off, but James shook his head.

"I insist. I wouldn't want you to catch a chill."

Elle pulled the jacket tighter around herself, inhaling the subtle scent of his cologne. "Thank you," she murmured.

They stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, just looking at one another, and then James cleared his throat. "Can I walk you to your car?"

Elle nodded, and they set off across the parking lot. When they reached her car, she turned to face him, sliding his suit jacket off and handing it back. "I guess this is goodnight," she said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

James took the jacket, his fingers brushing against hers. "I suppose it is," he replied. "But I hope it's not goodbye."

Elle's heart fluttered. "I'd like that.”

James leaned in, hesitating for a second before pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. Elle’s eyes widened and then closed, and she kissed him back.

When they finally pulled away, Elle felt a bit breathless, her lips tingling.

“I hope that wasn’t too forward of me,” James said, looking embarrassed.

Elle shook her head. “No. No, definitely not. It was… It was really nice.”

James grinned, looking relieved. “Good. I’m glad. I’ve been wanting to do that all evening.”

Elle blushed and ducked her head. “I’m glad you did.”

He took a step back as she fumbled in her bag for her keys. “Can I see you again this weekend? Maybe we could…go for a walk around town? Grab a coffee?”

Elle’s heart skipped a beat as she glanced up at James, her keys almost falling from her fingers. “Oh, um, yes. Yes, I’d like that very much.”

James nodded, watching as she unlocked her car. Before she could get in, he gently pulled her closer and kissed her again, his lips soft against hers.

“Drive safe,” he murmured when he pulled away.

Flustered, Elle nodded and slid behind the wheel. As she went to close the door, James called out, “Thank you for taking a chance on me this evening. I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”

Butterflies took flight in her belly as she smiled softly at him. “I’ll see you this weekend. Goodnight, James.”

He gave her a little wave as he watched her drive away. “Goodnight, Elle.”

#fanfiction #my writing #james x oc #gift fic #one shot #short story #failure! fic #first date #fluff #romance #i hope it doesn't suck

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a-court-of-lust-and-stardust · 6 months ago

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Love on Ice Chapter 7: The Bakery

Thank y’all for all the support on this fic ❤️ Please check out my masterlist for prior chapters and artwork!

39 Days before Competition

“Now, I’m no expert, but do skating practices typically end with almost fucking your partner on the ice?”

The plate of raspberry tarts almost slipped out of Elain’s grasp. She recovered, thankfully, placing them inside the display case before shooting Nuala an incredulous look. “What?”

From the other side of the bakery, Cerridwen chuckled softly, shaking her head at her twin sister’s antics as she filled the shelves with fresh bread loaves.

It’s been two years since Elain set foot in Sweet Sensations Bakery after noticing the Help Wanted sign on the window. It was a bold move on her part. Not only had she been discouraged from working when Mama was alive, every shift deprived Elain of precious ice time she could’ve used to rehearse a routine.

But Mama had passed away and Elain thought she should at least figure out how to support herself in the event she never stood atop the podium, even if Mama would be disappointed in the decision to work at a place she viewed as ‘lesser’. Disheartened to know she was working at all.

That’s all it was, though. A way to accumulate income. Wake up, clock in, do your job, clock out. It wasn’t much different than skating. She was professional and efficient, keeping the twins at arm’s length. A job she could manage–maybe–but friendships were off the table. No matter how persistent Nuala and Cerridwen were. She’d already declined the invitation to their 30th birthday celebration two times.

“Well, with the way you just described the last week of practices, color me shocked that none of them ended with your clothes off,” Nuala said, restocking the peanut butter brownies in the display with a shrug. “I haven’t found a kinder way to say it, but you will be a fool if you do not let that man take you to bed and–.”

Elain gaped, half shocked she didn’t end up giving herself whiplash from the speed she turned her neck. The older twin was the more brazen of the two. Elain still hadn’t got used to it, even living with Nesta all those years. “Nuala!”

She licked peanut butter from her fingers, poorly suppressing a dimpled grin.

“He is quite handsome, isn’t he?” Cerridwen muttered to no one in particular. While Nuala was shameless, Cerridwen was more reserved. She mostly spoke only when spoken to. Elain supposed this conversation was the exception.

“That is…horribly inappropriate,” Elain scolded, emerging from the kitchen with a small fudge cake. And also entirely too close to what would be considered friendship talk. “Us having chemistry is important. It means our performances will be more emotional and believable.”

It was incredible what they had been able to accomplish in a little more than a week of practices. They were tough and long and she walked away sweating half the time, but she never felt mentally exhausted by the end. She took them seriously, but also allowed herself to giggle at all of Azriel’s terrible jokes and weird dance moves. Sometimes she joined him, and impromptu dance breakouts were slowly becoming a crucial part of their practices. That, and documenting their skating journey with photos and videos in her phone’s camera roll.

Their chemistry was most impressive and had only grown stronger in a minimal amount of time. She wouldn’t say friendship, not yet, but it was slowly starting to feel that way. Azriel shamelessly shared some of his most embarrassing teenage memories, and Elain offered a few happy ones from her childhood back in the Village. Azriel insisted on spending time together outside of the rink, and she normally shut him down. Her compromise, however, was that they could exchange numbers and message each other throughout the week. He’d taken full advantage of the opportunity, always making sure to send her a message before bed and a kind greeting when she woke up. More than once, she caught herself smiling at her phone.

Everything was natural. Nothing was forced or fake or awkward. Having him in her life was refreshing. He wasn’t afraid to grip her hips or hold her in his arms or playfully pinch her cheeks. And she wasn’t as hesitant to clutch his shoulders or stroke his face or jokingly bump her hip against his. The past few days were proof enough that their chemistry was alive and burning. And also strictly professional. At least, that's what she was still telling herself.

“You’re saying if the opportunity presented itself to you, you’d decline?” Nuala scoffed, but it was easily wiped off her face when she noticed how quiet Elain had become. How rosy her cheeks were. How her eyes looked everywhere and nowhere. It clicked. “Oh shoot. You haven’t slept with anyone, have you?”

Elain rolled her eyes, occupying herself with counting the money in the register. “Would you like to scream that to the entirety of Prythian, while we’re at it?” A long pause, followed by a dispirited sigh. “No, I haven’t. I didn’t exactly have boys lining up to date me, not when Mama scared them away. Not to mention, practice kept me busy. It still does. Sex is the least of my concerns.” But damn, wouldn’t she like to experience it just once. To give herself to someone she trusted. To let someone make her feel good. To make someone else feel good…

“Speaking of sex…” Cerridwen whispered, and not even a second later the bell over the door dinged, signaling the first customer of the day. Elain glanced up from the register, hands gripping the wad of cash.

“Azriel,” She breathed, kicking Nuala’s ankle when her shoulders shook with laughter. The older twin made herself useful by checking on the batch of blueberry muffins currently in the oven. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he greeted, flashing her a smile before dipping his head toward Cerridwen.

“Where are you headed this morning?” Easy and light. Not too eager or curious.

“A friendly scrimmage game against the Adriata Rays,” he explained, readjusting the backward cap on his head. Waves of black hair curled over his ears and down the back of his neck.

“Why are you playing a scrimmage in the middle of the playoffs?” Elain snickered, sliding the bills into their allocated slots in the register.

“You can never play too much hockey,” He cleared his throat, asking, “Ever been to a playoff game before?” She shook her head. “I have not, but–.”

“If you ask me, I think she’d love to go to one sometime,” Nuala chirped, emerging from the kitchen with warm, toasted muffins. Her brown eyes sparkled wickedly.

“Well, no one did ask you, Nuala,” Elain huffed, turning her attention back to Azriel. His grin stretched wider, amused by the exchange. “But no, I've never been to one. Skating prevents me from doing anything else.” “Maybe it shouldn't,” Azriel suggested lowly, knuckle rapping against the glass display. “The best seats are right up on the boards, and the energy in the building is unlike anything you’ll experience. You might even get lucky and see Cassian fuck someone up in a fight.”

Elain chuckled, fingers delicately brushing over the keys on the register. “Tempting, although he really can’t afford to lose any more teeth.”

“Or I could flip you a puck,” Another attempt at convincing. “I’ll even sign it for you,” He winked playfully.

She rolled her eyes, not fighting against the upward tilt of her mouth. “I will…consider it for the future. I make no promises, though.”

“Good luck,” Nuala snorted, biting into an extra muffin. “She won’t even attend our birthday celebration at Rita’s.”

Elain huffed. “I will consider attending that, too.”

The twins’ eyes sparkled in delight.

Azriel’s efforts had hit a brick wall, it seemed. Another time, he’d try again. “What’s your favorite thing here?” He asked curiously, one arm leaned casually against the display. It took every ounce of willpower for her eyes to remain politely on his face and not track the swirling ink on his arms and neck.

His neck.

She blinked, eyes the size of saucers at the discolored bruise. It wasn’t too large, but big enough for her to spot it without really trying. A hickey. There was a damn hickey proudly displayed on his tanned skin.

Elain’s mind spiraled before she could stop it. Did he have a girlfriend? That would have been imperative to know, lest she be uncomfortable with their proximity on the ice. She didn’t want to appear disrespectful by intimately touching another woman's man.

Or maybe it was a fling, someone he’d met at a bar and taken home for a drunken fuck.

Elain didn’t know which scenario was worse.

Or why her teeth ground together.

Or why her skin felt hot.

Or why she even cared.

Realizing he was still waiting for an answer, she choked out, “Raspberry tarts for breakfast, oatmeal cookies when I’m upset, and strawberry shortcake for a late night treat.”

She mentally slapped herself at the unnecessary word vomit. What the fuck, Elain? Luckily, he didn’t appear phased, head dipping toward the treats.

“Then I’ll take a tart. Oh, and two slices of fudge cake for Rhys and Cassian, even though it’s nine in the morning. I don't feel like hearing them run their mouths for not bringing them anything.” With a curt nod, she packaged away a fresh tart and generous pieces of cake, sliding it toward him. Up close, Azriel beamed at the sweets. “These look incredible, Elain.”

“I dabbled in a few recipes when I was young before I really started to take skating seriously,” she shrugged off the compliment, ringing up the order. “Croissants, breads, cakes, you name it. I sometimes made dinner for my family too, though Mama wasn’t thrilled about it. My beef stew was a hit and Nesta always liked when I cooked–.”

She caught herself, shaking the rest of the thought from her brain. Why in the world would he even care about this stuff? He didn’t need to hear more of her life story.

Azriel frowned, urging her to continue, but the bakery door had opened five more times since his arrival and she couldn’t hold up the new customers.

“Well, I hope you gentlemen enjoy the treats,” Elain said, handing him his change. Her eyes fell to the chocolate frosting on his finger that had transferred from the cake container.

“Oops, sorry,” Elain gestured to the frosting. “Before you go, let me grab you a napkin.”

He didn’t need a napkin–apparently–because his tongue did the job quite well. In one fluid motion, Azriel sucked the chocolate off his finger, holding her gaze as he did so.

Cerridwen gawked.

Nuala whistled lowly.

And with the way his soft, satisfied moan shot straight to her core, Elain knew she was in so much trouble.

ARTWORK FOR THE CHAPTER BY @chachachai17: Here

DIVIDER BY: @saradika-graphics

#elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #elriel #elriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic #elriel fic #elain archeron x azriel shadowsinger #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #elain archeron fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel fic #elain and azriel #elain fic #elriel endgame #pro elain archeron #pro azriel shadowsinger

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my-castles-crumbling · 1 year ago

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New Fic Recs!

Hi guys! I wanna start posting fics recs every once in a while that are newer- that either were just posted or haven't gotten the love they deserve! I'll do my best to tag the authors if I know them/if they have a tumblr! Here are some for today! (Authors, if you want me to remove you/your work for any reason, please lmk!) NSFW fics below the cut!

Edit: I just focused on completed works here, but I'm more than willing to recommend incomplete works if you guys want!

If You Stayed - Jegulus - rated G - 5k by @t1oui

After leaving his family for good, Regulus Black moves in with James Potter, who agrees to give him a place to stay as long as he looks after James's six-year-old son, Harry. Even though they haven't talked about it, Regulus knows that he'll have to leave when Harry goes back to school, no matter how much he wishes this wasn't the case. Between spending time with Harry and Luna, the weird girl who lives up the street, and the more-than-friendly feelings he's starting to have for James, the summer can only end badly. Right?

Funnel Cakes and Peanut Butter Fudge - Wolfstar ft. Background Jegulus - Rated T - 5.5k by @onehundredflamingos

Sirius grinned at him. “I came for the Rocky road fudge,” he whispered back, and the man gasped in mock offense. “Good thing, because I think I bought the last of the peanut butter fudge.” Sirius let out a startled laugh, amused by the fact that he had suggested something to Sirius only to yank it right back from beneath him. “Oh, I would have been wildly disappointed if you had managed to sway my fudge preferences.” “I would’ve gladly shared, if I had managed to sway you,” he said with a smirk. “Alas, I’ll have to eat it all myself.” “A tragedy, I’m sure,” Sirius replied. The other man shrugged. “Suddenly feels a bit like one.” Or Sirius wins more than he bargains for when he meets Remus at a carnival fundraiser, ft a very much already-in-love Jegulus

So Kiss Me - Jegulus - Rated T - 3.7k by lairyfights

Regulus Black is in love with James Potter and he'd bet his entire inheritance, if he still had one, that James does not feel the same way. It's lucky that his parents suck and the inheritance is no longer something he can gamble

Let Me Put My Lips to Something - Wolfstar - Rated E - 2.3k by si11iestg00se

remus can't help it---the moon makes him possessive. he wants to mark his territory.

here's to my baby - Wolfstar - Rated E - 3.2k by @emlovessid

“It’s our last night at Hogwarts, our last hurrah, you don’t want to spend it down here with our friends?” Remus asks, a hand coming up to toy with Sirius’ hair. Stretching up on his toes, Sirius’ lips brush Remus’ ear as he whispers, “It’s our last night at Hogwarts, and I’d much rather spend it with you fucking me into your mattress.”

All amazing fics! Hope you guys enjoy!

#marauders #harry potter #marauders era #fanfic #marauders fandom #harry potter marauders #the marauders #marauders fanfiction #ao3fic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #ao3 #fic rec

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call-of-daydreams · 7 months ago

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✩°𓏲⋆🌿. ⋆⸜ 🍵✮˚˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

𝓦𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓢𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓻𝓪’𝓼 𝓑𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓻𝔂!

How can I take your order? Just pick a dessert, drink and a member of your choosing. Please indicate who you want me to write about or I won’t do your request.

Fandoms: Stray Kids, Ateez, BTS, Enhypen, P1harmony, Seventeen, TXT (I am open to other groups! Just specify thegroup and member you want!!)

I do accept polyamourus relationships (member + reader). Up to 3 or 4 members! It makes it manageable on my end and however, occasionally I do write full group fics.

You can order in the inbox of @milk-tea-sakura I’ll get your order out asap, just check to make sure that I am taking orders before you order. Also let me know if you want it sweet or spicy!

And big thanks to @bunnys-kisses for giving me the inspiration for this. If you want non kpop character I recommend checking them out. And don’t forget to check their order list because we don’t have the same meals.

Order list below the cut!!

❀ꗥ～ꗥ❀ 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 ❀ꗥ～ꗥ❀

Cheesecake - “Baby, don’t make me spell it out for you… you know I want you.”

Castella cake - “I can give you a list of how you make me feel.”

Swiss rolls - “Oh my, what have I done to deserve such a beautiful smile.”

Apple pie - “I must be in heaven”

Mochi - “If you don't behave I’ll let the boys handle you.”

Dango - “How can you still look so attractive while crying?”

Miso butter cookie - “You’ve never even touched yourself?”

Crepe cookies - “What if I told you I’ve been in love with you since we were kids?”

Nama Chocolate - “You know, I could get you off right here, right now.”

Purin - "If he fucks with me again, i'm finishing inside of you."

Tiramisu - “I wonder if the boys would also like to see this cunt. Would you let them see it?”

Strawberry shortcake - “Why are you being so gentle with me? I like it when you’re rough.”

Fluffy pancakes - “Your thighs are shaking so much.”

Watermelon Sorbet - “How about you put these lips to work instead of just talking all the time?”

Zebra cake - “You taste like heaven, and I can’t get enough.”

Lemon slice - “Be good for me and I’ll untie you.”

Pull-apart bread - “I know you said no marks… But what if I put them where nobody except for me will see them?”

Ice cream sandwich - “You act all innocent and look so sweet, but I know what a dirty mind you really have.”

Chocolate cake - “We have to be quiet. If you make a sound, I’ll have to stop!”

Souffle - “When I tell you to sit on my face, I want you to sit, is that clear?”

S’mores - “I know baby, I know. I’m right here just breathe.”

Belgian waffles - "I've been waiting for this kiss since the moment I laid eyes on you."

Shortbread cookies - "You kissed me! You kissed me, how's that not a big deal?"

Angel food cake - “You know, I’m holding back from fucking you over this kitchen counter, don’t push your luck.”

Red velvet cake - "Why do we keep pretending we don't want to kiss each other?"

Croissants - "No goodnight kiss for me?"

Crepes - "If you wanted a kiss, all you had to do was ask."

French toast - "Just because I'm drunk doesn't mean I don't mean it when I say I want you to kiss me."

Churros - "On a scale of one to ten...how mad would you be if I kissed you right now?"

Eclairs - "I think I deserve a kiss."

Bagel - "You can't just kiss me and expect everything to be okay."

Peanut butter bars - "The only way this is ending is you getting pregnant."

Scones - "You're so much more agreeable when you have something to occupy that mouth of yours."

Fudge - “You know, a hug can be like medicine and make some of the pain go away. Wanna try?”

Chocolate mousse - “Is it okay, if we just lie down and watch a movie? I’m not feeling so good.”

Hot cross buns - “If you want to keep sitting on my lap you have to stop wiggling around like that.”

Brownies - “I see you’ve started without me.”

Cinnamon rolls - “Are you trying to turn me on right now? Because it’s working.”

Mango sorbet - “You have my full attention.”

Carrot cake - “C’mere, Sit down, tell me what’s going on.”

Pastry braid - “There’s no one else I’d rather bother for the rest of my life than you.”

Sourdough bread - “I would run out of breathe trying to describe all the reasons why I love you.”

❀ꗥ～ꗥ❀ 𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞 ❀ꗥ～ꗥ❀

Misutgaru - Bondage

Banana milk - Cuckolding

Strawberry milk - Food play

Chocolate milk -Gagging

Omija tea - Breeding

Chrusanthemum tea - Public/Semi-public sex

Bacchus - Temperature play

Citron tea - Wax play

Green plum tea - Voyeurism

Barley tea - Cockwarming

Matcha - Doggy style

Genmaicha - Oral sex

Sakura tea - Rough sex

Royal milk tea - Vanilla sex

Melon soda - Jeaoulsy

Yakult - Spanking

Ramune - Orgasm control

Sake - Daddy/Appa kink

Soju - Mommy/Eomma kink

Coffee - Praise kink

Bubble tea - Sub! Reader

Vodka shot - Dom! Reader

Coconut water - Sub! Character

Sparkling water - Dom! Character

Energy drink - Aftercare

Champagne - Pregnancy

Red wine - Size kink

White wine - Strength kink

Espresso shot - Body worship

Lemonade - biting/hickies

Latte - Sugar daddy! Character

Water - Film/recording

Milkshake - Unprotected sex

Chai - Protected sex

Root beer - Degrading kink

Earl grey - Age gap

Americano - Big cock

Light roast coffee - Drunk sex

Medium roast coffee - Accidently launching relationship

Dark roast coffee - Lingerie

Hot chocolate - Cowgirl position

On the house - Author's choice!

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vastastral · 27 days ago

Note

used to work at coldstone. peanut butter cup perfection shake made with sweet cream instead of chocolate ice cream, + extra fudge and extra reese's sauce, is the highest calorie shake you could get :)

I feel so honored right now 😉. I Love Coldstone, they are the best. I am going to drink (Funnel) this ASAP. It sounds delicious! If you have any more amazing ideas I would love to taste test.

#feedee encouragement #male feedism #funnel feeding #please #feed me

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mirdance · 3 months ago

Text

Of Monsters and Fudge

Shadow Monster x OC

Rated: PG or PG-13 (there is a make out scene) extremely brief mention of animal abuse, it's not a focus at all. The story is fairly comedic.

Background: I wrote this draft for my stepmom for Christmas. I had to hold back and not write smut. So there will be smut at some point in a different feature. It's original work, so if you enjoy it, please share. 🙏 If you like monster romances and sarcastic monsters who enjoy pop culture, this is for you!

...

Teri had hoped for a dark and stormy autumn day to avoid going out for the evening. Unfortunately, the sun's rays beamed softly, dancing across the bronze gates that led to one of the many alleyways downtown. The old pizza parlor’s rusty sign thudded against the red brick wall in the gentle breeze. Most downtowns in the Midwest looked similar. Nonetheless, the familiar smell of bread from the bakery, the sound of shoes on cobblestone, the river’s rhythmic waves, and the boring historical signs decorating the old Pentecostal churches made the place feel like home.

She clutched a package of warm fudge. The heat wrapped her fingers like a blanket against the chill autumn wind. Once a year, she could be found making this same trek, holding the same type of peanut butter chocolate fudge from the local bakery. It was probably one of her top ten least favorite times of year, but the town’s fate supposedly depended on that fudge, so she begrudgingly bought it with her meager paycheck every time.

On Halloween, it was said that the spirits of the dead came closer to the waking world to visit their loved ones. People often laid gifts or flowers on memorials to honor their deceased. However, this sacrificial fudge wasn’t meant for any typical spirit. Honestly, she wasn’t sure what that thing was, but it claimed to be an otherworldly beast hellbent on destroying the town. Upon first seeing the shadowy creature, she’d instinctively done the only thing she could: thrown the packet of fudge she was holding at it in self-defense. And that’s how their mortal-immortal friendship began.

That was five years ago. He still didn’t have a name, nor did he desire one, despite her best efforts to convince him. If she had to adopt a local monstrous being, she at least wanted to name it. From their conversations, she’d gleaned that he enjoyed masculine pronouns, so she stopped calling him "it." Alas, she couldn’t uncover any history about him. There weren’t any local legends about this boring town, and he refused to talk about himself. The only things he wanted to discuss were pop culture, YA novels, and fudge. He claimed he could only remain in this area and only materialized once a year.

Teri took a deep breath and turned into one of the many alleyways hugging the dilapidated shops. It was still too early for trick-or-treaters or unruly teens looking for a place to smoke and tell scary stories. Halloween was one of the few days people roamed downtown, so she tried to arrive early in hopes of leaving quickly. That probably wasn’t happening, considering she was the only source of conversation this monster had all year.

She stopped beside an empty dumpster and leaned against the brick wall. Even after her short walk, the sun had begun to glow pink and orange. It never ceased to amaze her how quickly the skies darkened this time of year.

Moments later, the sky grew darker still, and a breeze whipped around her, pulling the hood of her hoodie back. She closed her eyes and waited for him to finish his grand entrance. When the wind died down, she opened her eyes. The skies had cleared, save for the shadowy blob now materializing before her.

He spoke. “Must we always meet beside a dumpster? This is hardly the place for conversation.”

“You say this every year, and every year, we decide this is the best spot. It’s discreet and gives us the most time to talk. I can’t help that the buildings are falling apart more each year.” She had suggested other locations before, but he always declined. On the one occasion they’d gone for a walk, he’d refused to cross downtown’s border. She suspected he couldn’t leave this part of town.

He hummed in agreement. “Indeed, as right as always. Let us cut to the chase, then. Show me the sacrifice.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Here’s your peanut butter fudge, still fresh.” She held it out, and the shadow quickly snatched it, drawing it into himself. To any onlooker, it would have appeared as though a dark dust cloud was holding a floating package.

The white wrapper unraveled, and a small bite disappeared from the fudge. “Amazing, though it tastes a tad different this year. I wonder if they changed the type of peanut butter?”

“I didn’t think to ask,” she replied honestly.

“No matter—it’s still wonderful as always. What news do you bring me? The pizza parlor shut down, so I can’t even watch my shows through the window anymore.”

She’d mentally made an outline of topics to discuss throughout the year. When he stated news, he didn’t really mean anything politically charged. He wanted gossip, popular genres, tropes, and such things she’d expect out of a teenager. “Well, the Withersons got a divorce.”

“No, they were such a cute couple,” he exclaimed after another bite. “I frequently saw them walking around, hand in hand. What changed?”

“I think murdering her cats probably dampened the mood,” she replied.

“No,” he gasped. “And why would he do such a thing? I mean, I’ve murdered quite a lot of people in my time, but never cats!”

“I think it was an accident, he ran over it or something, but when they adopted another kitten, it also died under mysterious circumstances, so she ended up leaving.”

“You don’t have any other details? What are these mysterious circumstances?”

She shrugged. “That’s all I was able to gather, sorry. I figured I would update you since you liked to stalk their dates.”

“What else am I supposed to do out here? They took my TV.”

“Pretty sure you were stalking them even when you could watch TV.”

“Well, yes, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

She mentally questioned his status as a scary powerful monster for the umpteenth time. “On that note, I did bring you a book. I know you can’t touch it once you go back, but I could stop by once a week to read a chapter aloud if it’s to your tastes.” The words left her mouth reluctantly, but part of her couldn’t help but pity his loneliness. Especially since they took away his TV. She held out the book to him.

The shadows danced as he gently took the book. “I had never thought of that, that is a brilliant plan.” The book was turned over and over in the air, the pages seemingly thumbed through by magic. “Hm, this seems like an older book. And vampires? Aren’t vampires out of style right now?”

She couldn’t even be offended; it was a cringy book. “Yes, this was my favorite book as a teen, but it’s still good. Vampires are always in.”

“I think you are looking through a lens of nostalgia. From the conversations I've heard in passing, it seems monsters are in,” he stated with an air of superiority. “Well, monsters other than vampires. Nonetheless, I appreciate the sacrifice of your time. Throughout generations, vampires are always coming and going, so it’s a classic that never gets old. However, I hope you will take my tastes into consideration.”

He was needier than any animal she’d ever owned. What was he going to do when she aged? God forbid she must live in a nursing home and he not get his fudge or entertainment. Perhaps at that point, if he destroyed the town, she’d no longer care. “Of course, I’ll take your tastes into consideration next time. I didn’t think monsters would be your sort of stitch. Monster romances are all the rage currently, if you must know.” Wouldn’t it have been courteous not to bring up romance to a being that could only walk around semi-freely once a year? Oh, well.

Silence stretched between them.

“I do enjoy staying current,” he said at last. “It’s what keeps me young. Back in my day, monsters ate people, and what are they doing now? Kissing each other? Weren’t romanticizing vampires enough? Do people have no respect for nature’s powers?”

Great. This was exactly what she wanted to avoid. He could complain all he wanted, but she knew he would love this crap, and she was too mentally exhausted to philosophize generational tastes in the amount of time they had, even if it were an interesting topic. “Perhaps they found reading about eating people boring and wanted to up the stakes a notch, I don’t know. Like you said, tastes are always changing, maybe humans will be eating monsters in fifty years.”

The shadows quivered as laughter boomed in the crisp air. “I’d like to live to see that. Tell me more, though. I want to know your favorite monster romance novel.”

“Well, the one you're holding was my favorite growing up.”

He threw it back to her, and she thankfully caught it. “Vampires don’t count,” he scoffed. “I want to know. Do people date mummies? Do they kiss zombies? What sort of monsters are trending?”

She stifled a sigh. “It’s not my expertise. I’ll have to do more research. Was there a particular book you heard about that you’d like me to investigate?”

He hummed in thought. “No, I couldn’t hear them discussing any titles, unfortunately, only something about Mothman.”

She nodded. “Yes, Mothman is pretty popular in media, though I’m not familiar with any novels featuring him.”

“And people want to kiss him?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know why?”

“It’s not my thing, but I assume that people are so tired of men that monsters seem appealing.”

He laughed. “When men go around murdering cats, I could see why monsters are appealing.”

Said the monster who often claimed he had a high murder count and threatened to annihilate the town. “You aren’t wrong.”

The fudge hadn’t even been eaten halfway. He was truly taking his sweet time. She placed the book back in her bag to keep it safe from throwing shadow hands. The next topic on her agenda was local celebrities, one gal had auditioned for a drama and was cast as the side character. A pretty big deal for a small town, but before she could gather her words, the shadow cleared his throat.

“We could, you know, try kissing if you wanted,” he declared. “It would be an honor for a mortal to kiss one as old as I, and you’d get to experience something all of these Mothman fans never could.”

She blanked. The audacity of this thing. He wasn’t even Mothman, hell, he didn’t even have a name! He wasn’t famous at all, and even if he were, how the heck would it be an honor? “How in the world would we do that? You don’t even have lips, you’re a shadow.”

“Ye of little imagination. Live a little, don’t you like to experiment? Is this why no one has wanted to date you all these years?”

She desperately wanted to throw a rock at his nonexistent face, but after years of having a peaceful coexistence with him, she still felt it best not to piss off a possible Eldrich being. “And how would you even know? Maybe I’ve been on a few dates this past year.”

He snorted. “Unlikely. I see you running about after your job and going straight home.”

“I appreciate you keeping tabs on me, truly,” she replied sarcastically.

“Like I have mentioned before, what else am I supposed to do but wait for you to come back? You humans are the only entertainment I have, and this town isn’t even as bustling as it used to be. Perhaps I should destroy it after all. I could finally be free to roam about as I please.”

This was useful intel. Perhaps a curse of some sort forced him to stay in one location. The tantrum, however annoying, was honestly understandable. “Though I empathize with how much loneliness can hurt, I don’t think I could ever have the capacity to imagine loneliness for as long as you have. I’m sorry.”

He stopped munching on his fudge as the shadows twitched. “I am not lonely. That is a human emotion I could never understand.”

“Says the one who wanted to kiss me earlier.”

“I never stated that I wanted to kiss you, I was simply offering so I could experience what is popular and keep up with the times.”

How romantic. “If you don’t want to kiss me, then we won’t. I’m not sure how it would work, anyway.”

“As I have stated, no imagination in that head of yours.” He sighed. “I won’t kiss an unwilling participant.”

She stared at him for a moment then peered over him towards the evening sky. It was like being in front of a talking storm cloud. What would he do? Just touch her mouth with a part of his cloud shadows?

“I’m willing. Go ahead and try to kiss me.”

“There is no try. I will.”

The sky darkened as the shadow grew and the air chilled. Momentarily, she was struck still, frozen as tendrils of shadow reached for her arms. They slid around her forearms and up to her shoulders. Her skin almost felt wet, and the back of her neck dropped in temperature. She raised her arms in hesitation, unsure of where to put them. The shadow tendrils were icy as they gently held her, as if she were hugging in a walk-in freezer.

She couldn’t speak as she opened her mouth. A cold puff touched her lips, like kissing snow. She puckered her lips but felt nothing solid, only a misty puff of air that circulated over her mouth. A few people laughed in the distance; as she squinted, she could hardly see anything, in addition to the romantic cover of the dumpster blocking her view.

“Do you always keep your eyes open when you kiss,” the shadow mocked.

“No, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to even do at this point, I’m just kissing the air.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say; the wind carried a howl that made the hair on the back of her neck alert. She could hardly inhale as the wind cut her face, and her mouth was, what she assumed, being kissed again due to the misty air chapping up her lips. She raised her arms and placed them awkwardly against the shadow as she attempted to reciprocate whatever the hell was going on.

A few seconds later, the wind died down, and what little sun was left warmed her clammy skin. She took a deep breath to fill her dying lungs. No one spoke for a bit as she caught her breath and wiped her forehead. She had expected her skin to be as misty as it felt, but it was left dry.

“Hm,” the shadow hummed.

“Really,” she asked, aggrieved. “Is that all you have to say?”

“That was quite embarrassing,” he retorted. “Your skills need work.”

She was going to murder him. “You could write a book about exactly the sort of things you should never say to a woman.”

“I heard communication is important in any relationship, so I do my best.”

“I think you need to lay off the pop culture, you are as sarcastic as they come.”

“You will never meet a more sincere being,” he replied. “But perhaps if you bring a more appropriate book next time, we could learn a few tricks.’

Yeah, surely she was going to find ‘How to Make Out with your Local Shadow Monster’ at the library. “I will do my best.”

“Of course you will, I’m sure you will never have a better experience…wait.” The shadows moved haphazardly, as if looking around. “My fudge.”

On the ground beneath the shadow lay a halfway eaten package of fudge, face down.

“Looks like someone got too into kissing me,” she stated, bending down to pick up the dirty fudge. “Do you still want it?”

“The audacity of this woman,” he mumbled. “Of course I don’t what it. You’ve ruined the sacrifice.”

Shit, shit, shit. Shes till had a book to finish at home. She couldn’t let the town be destroyed just yet. “The shop closes in…” She checked her phone. “Ten minutes. If I hurry, I can pick up something.”

“No need,” he responded. The package of fudge floated from her hand and landed in the dumpster with a loud bang that made her jump.

“The kiss sufficed,” he continued. “I look forward to next year’s sacrifice. Oh, of course, I’ll see you a week from today, same time. Bring a book that’s actually worth reading.”

With that, the shadows vanished into the sunset, punctuated by the distant screams of trick-or-treaters. She wasn’t really sure if it was his time to leave, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. As she walked away from their private alley, her ears flushed, and every shadow she came across bored into her, making her question if she’d ever had a moment alone.

#monster romance #monster x human #monster x oc #monster x original character #monster x female

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