queer masc reader blog | requests are open!
aj | late 20s | he/him
☘︎ if you'd like to be added to my taglist ☘︎
☘︎ some fics are crossposted to ao3 ☘︎
☘︎ idrc who reads my shit, don't be a dick and we're chill ☘︎
note: this is not extensive and subject to be changed or added to. if you aren't sure, ask - through the askbox or DMs, whichever is most comfortable to you. this applies to characters i'll write for as well!
I write masc readers exclusively (can be cis or trans or not strictly identifying as a man. just generally masc). As a general rule, I keep the details of reader's gender identity/sex pretty vague, unless specifically requested. If you specify cis or trans, but neither of those details are relevant to the request, if probably won't be mentioned.
Top Reader only, when relevant
Adults only for romantic pairings, obviously. I'm not aging up characters. But I'll do a platonic pairing with any character regardless of age or gender
If the relationship isn't specified in the req, then I will presume it's up to me if it's romantic or not.
Primarily a M/M blog, really just masc x masc, but im not gonna get picky about the particulars of where man ends and some expressions of nonbinary/gender queer expressions begin. use your best discretion when requesting and I'll use mine when writing/responding - if you're nervous about it, DM me. Nothing explicitly MxF, occasionally write m!reader with f!char, but only platonically.
I kinda write whatever, mostly ramble about some ideas I have. Sometimes it's an actual fic/ficlet or headcanon or scenario or whatever. You can request any of those (fic, headcanon/scenario, ramble), by the way. I'll kinda just do whatever calls to me if you don't :P
I don't tend to write them. Left to my own devices, I tend to keep it pretty close to canon/within canon timelines as much as possible, but AUs, like omegaverse for example, are fine (I'm just not very good at picking them/deciding the rules of them). Anything with Reader having a pregnancy - past or present, A/B/O or not - is a hard no, and I'm so sorry. With a character, it's a tentative maybe.
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hello!! to the person who submitted to be added to my tagliist with the comment "nothing, love y 🫶", you forgot to leave your tumblr user so i can tag you!
im so sorry, could you redo it or pm me so i know who to tag! thank you!
Pretty please pre bottom surgery and post top surgery ftm!Bob Reynolds (sub) x ftm!reader (soft dom) also pre bottom surgery and post top surgery, Bob riding readers sparkly strap on👅👅👅👅 And lots of praise from reader🙏🙏🙏🙏
Also, can I be 🐶 anon if it isn't taken?
Love your work dude, drink water and take care of yourself!
pretty
robert 'bob' reynolds x reader
cw: riding, strap on, ftm bob, ftm reader, past relationship, getting back together, implied power usage
a/n: hi hi! yeah, you can be 🐶anon! it is not taken! and yes, i will write this! if ftm bob r is your thing this fic might interest you, it's also t4t. and this one isn't t4t, but it has top ftm reader, post bottom surgery. i am sorry this is kinda short, but i kinda like how it came out
also tysm! works picking up and im outside a lot more (i'm on a tour rn so i haven't had a lot of time to write), i definitely needed the reminder :) and please take care of yourself as well!!
you'd barely been able to tear your eyes off of him long enough to slip into the strap. even when you had, you took glances that lasted longer than they should've. longer than bob could be patient for.
it was when bob, on his knees, pulling and tucking straps with for you. after you'd watched his shirt come off. after he'd pushed that glittery dick into your hands, trying to shove you away, to keep you from grazing the tips of your fingers up his sides and along his scars. scars across a flatter chest, scars that've grown sensitive from the attention you've littered them with. because it is not your fault they're pretty.
it's that muted pink with that precise, barely raised line in the middle. so pale you'd hardly notice them if you hadn't been there when he got them. if you hadn't taken care of him after. all with that dull shine stretched across. you're not sure you have a favorite part of bob, physically or otherwise. there's no list, but his chest would certainly be high up there, if there was. (preparing for that surgery had been the longest stretch of time he'd been sober for in all the time you've known him. before now. before new york and the thunderbolts and all those other details you try not to think about.)
that first "pretty", the first of the night. the first you can remember at least, came absentmindedly. when bob kneeled in front of you. impatient. darling.
a pet through his hair gained grip, forcing his head back. leaving his gaze to fall on you. "baby, you're so," came out airy.
you hadn't recognized them, hadn't realized you'd said them, until bob pushed. "so? i'm so," his voice hung on to that last 'so'.
and that first pretty got you bob, over-eager, over-powered, over waiting, pushing you down onto your couch. pulling himself over you. your sparkly dick. tension up his thighs as he takes you. bob's just wet enough to keep that initial slide stuffy. to get another pretty from you. another hand in his hair, forcing his head back.
he's flushed.
"look at you," you say it low and leading. puncuated by a squeeze to his thigh. "still eager for me."
and looking at him. features softened and that illuminating gold encroaching his irises, you can't be sure what started this. if it was your hand under his shirt, splayed out over his shoulder, or his hand on your thigh that started it. that got you bob in your lap, gripping the couch. doing his best not to break it. not to go too fast, not to chase the friction of your thick, glittery dick. not stay your good, pretty boy.
maybe there was nothing, no single thing that initiated. just months of build up. of getting to know each other again. of dancing around each other, careful to avoid old sore spots, skirting around feeling that never got around to fading. of flirty jokes that toed imaginary lines and movie nights and errand-turned-hang outs that lasted until the parking lot. and then longer still.
cliches are cliches for good reason. it did just happen.
you'd swear it did.
it, of course, being this.
you.
your dick glossy. the slide of bob's cunt from those tight rolls, your thumb harsh on his clit making his hips stutter down that toy, glittery blue and wet. leaving it shiny from every half-drag. leaving it "pretty". leaving you repeating that sentiment again.
and you see his face go slack, just for a moment. just before he can catch it. before he tries to turn away, to hide that expression in your cheek and groan next your ear to distract from it. to try to. to fail against your grip still in his hair.
not that it would've worked, even without that steady grip. not when you're so focused on your baby.
i have not been posting nearly as much in the last like month and a half and in that time this blog has grown like crazy, like followers have doubled, which feels insane. but i have a few things i'd like to go over.
this is NOT in response to anything, this is not a vague post. i just feel i should try to be a bit more communicative.
this is in no particular order of importance:
i do gig work and summer to christmas(ish) is my busy season, so it's going to take me much longer to write and post anything, and i'm so sorry about that. i feel really guilty bc i posted and wrote so much more consistently up until now and i simply do not have as much time or energy as i did before. again, i'm so sorry
masterlists might be revised soon. i think i might bring marvel partially out of retirement. some characters will stay retired but i want to bring some of them out/write for some of them again and i haven't decided out if i'm going to write for them and not accept reqs for them or fully bring them out of retirement. regardless of that, bob reynolds will be retired (probably temporarily) after this last req comes out
guidelines may also be revised soon. i dont mind plotless reqs, but i might change how vague you be as it makes fulfilling reqs that i have otherwise have no issue filling a bit harder. dont worry about this one until/if guidelines are updated. just take a peak at them before you req incase they've changed.
this one is super minor, but i might change up my blog appearance and change my blog name. i have a sudden urge to play with it and make it different and new and pretty, so my bad if i do that and it's confusing
i am going to try to do monthly housekeeping posts. they're going to be just like this. non urgent updates for/about the blog. it's like a check in
cw: mention/implied drug usage, angst, comfort, fluff, plotless, just a sweet moment really
a/n: it's been a minute. my bad y'all. works picking up, i got really into ddr whoops :P i like making the header images tho, i might keep doing those. they're fun, i think i'm starting to understand the appeal of mood boards. reqs have not been forgotten
taglist: @not-so-normal-wh0re @hi-res-tm @mossrat
want to be tagged? you customize what you're tagged on
"sorry," cameron mumbles, climbing out of your car. barely remembers getting in. groggy and irritaed, he remembers promising to drive back if you came to grab him. tries not to dwell on it when he feels your hand on his back, pushing him towards the door - he can feel how desperately you need to sleep. how badly you want to be back in bed.
you don't jab him in the back. it's just a tap that stays. guides. begs cameron to move a little faster. or at all.
cam gets stuck on the curve of your face. lingers there. he wants that too, he realizes. he'd asked for it technically. but it hadn't really hit him until now.
he wants to be in bed with you. it's comforting being in bed with you.
"cam." you sounded insouciant. cool. like you could just dissolve all his worry, all his misdirected irritation with himself in a syllable. and you did.
somewhat.
enough of it.
enough for him to forget how different 'cam' sounded an hour ago, over the phone, sleep croaking out of it.
he felt like a dick for waking you up. if it wouldn't have been a shitty thing to do, cameron would have hung up. he'd been kicking himself for not just driving over, he could've. wasn't like he didn't have a key, just couldn't stand to get back in the van long enough to get there. could've just crashed on ethan's couch, honestly. he has before, will again probably. ethan's never terribly bothered by it, enjoys the company he says. cameron simply would rather find himself in your bed instead.
in for a penny, cameron had supposed.
'well,' he'd said. 'i was hoping,' he started with no idea where he was going with that. no idea how to explain why you had to pick him up. why half his meals for the day painted the gravel behind the van, and how it got all over his shoes after he half-jumped, half-fell out of the back. if he should bother mentioning it.
you knew the van was his mom's, but cameron never bothered mentioning how it was when he got it. never talked about that the weeks of deep cleaning he had to do. how it was nearly obsessive. how he'd bleached and scrubbed every surface, tossing every cushion that he could pull out of the van, and drenching the ones he couldn't in carpet cleaner and febreze. and even then that scorched chemical smell she left wasn't gone, just masked by something acrid and sweet cameron had gone nose-blind to pretty early into those weeks spent making the van bearable.
does he admit that he hadn't noticed it in modesto? or when the damned thing broke down in the parking lot of the shop-way? or even in the weeks since he got it back, that he's only noticing it now?
the bitter-sweet from the bleach could only override it for so long. that smell that used to follow his mom around. cat-piss and burnt plastic was the best way cameron could think to describe it and it was always so faint on her. like she held off using when she knew he was going to be around, those handful of times she tried to take him back from aunt jeanne. thinking about it, about her, makes cameron dizzy.
"cam."
he tried to do the thing you told him about, the senses thing:
five things he can see, four he can touch, three he can hear, and then he lands on smell again and the only two things he can smell remind him of the morgue. of her- 'can you maybe pick me up?'
he didn't know what his voice sounded like, but it couldn't've been good.
you sounded too awake after you heard him.
looked too awake when you walked down to him. when you said it didn't feel worth it to run your car down the laneway. figured the gravel crunching under your tires would be too loud for how late it is. you'd just parked on the road, right before the turn
which is another reason to feel like shit. he didn't think about that, either. about waking up ethan, or the neighbors.
"cameron-"
and you're pulling him through the door.
because he's not outside hell on wheels right now. not even near it. his inheritance. he's being tugged into the apartment of a guy that fills every thought that isn't about his mom, the van, or that bastard that never paid child support. a guy he didn't even know at the beginning of the summer. a guy that came to pick cameron up after he fell asleep. came at an hour no one's ever stayed up 'til in sowell bay. a guy who's apartment smells nothing like cat piss. "-you're falling asleep on your feet."
it smells like candles more expensive than they're worth. faint. like your apartment is habitable, like it's meant to be lived it.
"yeah, sorry man."
"you don't have to be sorry, just go." you're tapping his back again, half pushing him down the hall towards your room. because in the short span of time you've known each, every time he's ever stayed over, it's always been with you. in your bed.
there was never a question. never a conversation. just late calls and stumbling kisses until cam's back is against your mattress.
the only difference now is you haven't kissed him. and he hasn't tried goading you into one.
there's no intention.
just you and him. all thoughts about that van kept at bay by hands that never leave him. grazing, poking, tapping. all assured and light until you finally make it down the hall. until you're finally crawling into bed. after your both stripped down, out of hoodies and sweats, into whatever tanks, band shirts, shorts. anything light you have around. anything that hasn't made it's way into the hamper.
"thank you" he mumbles out. it's terribly belated. anyone but you would of chastised him for it. but he says it.
he means it.
doesn't mind too much when he gets those soft, hoarse snores against his neck in response.
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i fucking love the one this is a prequel to, not to be vain, but i am and it's one of my favorite fics i've written. i know not everyone cares for platonic fics but i do and this one makes me so happy :)
this is also the last of the wip weekend asks i got! i was gonna post this one before the last, but i misplaced the file in ellipsus and thought i deleted it. i almost cried, i really thought the whole thing was gone bc i wrote a good bit more than just this
regardless thanks for participating! i doubt i'll get another ask for it was meant for the weekend, but i'll still take 'em. i'm gonna link the ones that already have an ask/answer for it so i don't forget and repeat!!
WIP WEEKEND
yelena belova. something about that time capsule back in ohio
yelena hazards a guess. you probably don’t want to see alexei. or mom. could’ve reached to them too if you did. but you didn’t.
for entirely separate reasons, bucky was not an options either. felt too personal to mention. and if it didn’t there’s not a great way to ask ‘can you come with me to meet my brother who might be the new you or much, much worse’. it’s not something she knows how to broach. not something she’s willing to. then there’s bob, who is far too unpredictable to be back up. which left ava and john. yelena would've preferred ava, but explaining everything to walker felt less daunting. she figured he'd get it.
he did.
didn't have a lot of questions, not surrounding the 'why' of it all, at least. just tactical stuff. all the 'if shit goes south' questions. the planning for worst case scenario was about the most she could handle, and john could do that. didn’t bother questioning yelena on why she was so bothered about seeing if you were real. alive. some man she hadn't seen since she was seven; you were twelve, just barely a year older than natasha. she couldn't explain why she had to check. why she needed to know if it was really you, just that she did and john accepted that as an answer.
maybe ava would’ve too. yelena can’t really be sure.
doesn’t matter much now.
you're alive.
here.
cigarette hanging from your lips, playing on a phone. shovel dug into the ground right in front of you. you’re here.
near the park, a 10 minutes walk from the house you lived in together. just like the note you left said.
"smoking's bad for you." she doesn't say it because she means it. yelena says it because she doesn't really know what else to say but she felt the need to say something. anything to make her presence known. to solidify that she was really here in front of you.
you look up immediately. "so is being child super soldier."
your accent is thick.
"you're alive."
"and you."
she hates that she says it. "nat is,” but it's compulsive. “she's not-"
"i know."
hi! i did brat bob wip here. you and another anon asked at like the same time, but you picked two, so i'll do the second one here! it's a bit longer than 3-5 sentences to make up for only doing one of them :)
WIP WEEKEND
💥 rhett abbott. something that isn’t a fight
"rhett."
he answers with your name, in that same tone and rhett knows he's pushing it. knows he's treading on your patience, has been for a few weeks now.
rhett doesn't mean to.
just sorta how he is, he thinks. even now, he wants to push it. push you. he'd rather you yell, tell him he's terrible to you. rather you say something he already knows than wait for what he doesn't.
There are so many bob floyd ones and i don't wanna flood your inbox but 🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️
there's certainly a few, and i have a req for another bob floyd fic coming up (hopefully) soon
ive put this one off for so long and keep scrapping and rewriting it, i think i might know how to tackle this wip
also i know it's supposed to be wip weekend but this is fun and it's a wednesday so :P ill be doing this for a minute if emojis are sent, i have like 2 more in my inbox for this so watch out for that :)
WIP WEEKEND
🗡️ robert 'bob' floyd. something about meeting the dagger squad
"i don't have to meet them." she hears you start. there's a lilt in your voice, teasing and something else. an offer, an escape. one phoenix knows bob won't take, despite how badly he wants to. the house is practically thrumming with how much bob doesn't want to go out. how much he's dreading all the social niceties and greetings. all the showing you off and introductions that are more than overdue by this point.
because it's not a secret, that bob is married. but it's kinda like one. and phoenix likes being in the know. takes no small joy in being the one who knows the most about bob's husband. having been the only one of the dagger squad to meet you in person (much less sit in your living room, listening to you two bicker before going out for drinks).
"i don't have to meet your friends tonight." you repeat it. laugh in that way she's seen before. phoenix knew exactly the face bob made, she'd bet real money on that.
"something on your mind?" she calls out.
"no." he calls back before his voice drops to something a little quieter. something she can't hear.
this one might end up being merged with another draft, but who's to say :P
WIP WEEKEND
🏓 robert 'bob' reynolds. something about bob being a brat
bob is punished often enough one might think you'd forgotten to tell him the terms. you might've if it wasn't for his needling. dickish semantic arguments that found a line between safe sex and rule breaking, one you can't imagine was there before. bob goaded you too much, told on himself in that nonchalant way. with a book, or phone, or whatever in his hands, doing his best to keep up the illusion of barely paying attention to you. limiting himself to a few short glances until you command his attention - though, a few times he's taken matters into his own hands. told you exactly how to grab or tug or push him. whether to smack or squeeze. back when the game was 'do you know what he wants?' rather than 'will you give him what he wants despite not him listening?'
it's one of those semantic arguments that led him bent over your lap hours before you were to be deployed for your next assignment.
hihihi!! What about 🗄️ or ❤️🩹? Your choice!! And no pressure!!
how about both!!
i kind forgot about these drafts so cracking them open and playing with them again was really fun!!
WIP WEEKEND
🗄️ miles miller. something inspired by the secretary (2002)
miles supposes it had been a bit naive of him to believe you. to believe that you meant you'd write those cards now when you hadn't specified that. because you don't really lie. not to miles. but you don't really mind leading him to certain assumptions.
❤️🩹 miles miller. something about one of his fonder memories at the el royale
you weren't a big name, or really any name, he was supposed to turn you away. anyone really. he was already at the capacity limit management set. they were anticipating some big names, and some big names came.
but you were kind.
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and absolutely! i've been excited about doing something for luke for a minute now, and i've really been pussyfooting his draft. and cameron i've had a few things in the works since before the movie came out when i reread the book.
i'm not 100% sure i did this right, but i just sort wrote for a bit and snagged a few sentences to put here!
WIP WEEKEND
🍻 luke glanton. something about that dingy dive bar you frequent
"i don't actually work here," you say it, like you hadn't said it before. like you don't remember that stark blonde under those dim lights that should've been changed out about half a year ago. that won't be for another two if they don't go out. "if they're behind, that's on them."
he nods, let's out something less of a hum then it was meant to be.
🐙 cameron cassmore. something about nicknames
your name comes out whiny and half annoyed.
"cammy," you mimick.
"no, don't start," there's a comment that dies in his mouth, something about how that's exclusive to aunt jeanne. something cameron figures is not worth bringing up because you already know that.
you've been calling him that since you met her over the phone the other day.
rules: send me an emoji in an ask and i’ll write 3-5 sentences from that wip. you can send more than one emoji or multiple asks!
notes:
i'm not including requests on this! those are still wips/my priority, it just feels weird to include them. i am still working on them tho!!
if i've already answered they'll have a link next to them
all of this is x masc reader
a/n: to be real with you, i've gotten really into ddr and works starting to pick up. i haven't had much motivation for anything else. hopefully, this brings back some of it tho
💕 rambled headcanons of a relationship with ryan gosling characters (ryland grace is the only confirmed character, playing around with a few others. suggest another?)
❤️🔥 supplementary rambled headcanons of your sex life with ryan gosling characters (again, grace is the only one confirmed. in direct continuity with the prev)
yelena belova. [answered here] something about that time capsule back in ohio
🪼 cameron cassmore. something that started in modesto and stayed through sowell bay
🎟️ lars lindstrom. something about a date and a movie
❤️🩹 miles miller. [answered here] something about one of his fonder memories at the el royale
🔆 rhett abbott. something about meeting his mom.
📆 lars lindstrom. something before a date
🥃 holland march. something about a favor for healy
🚙 cameron cassmore. something about that van, some memories, and you
🌟 robert 'bob' reynolds. something about how his body has changed
🍻 luke glanton. [answered here] something about that dingy dive bar you frequent
⛺ rhett abbott. something about a camping trip
🍽️ ben mears. something about mark and you and the dinner that was supposed to be nice
🏓 robert 'bob' reynolds. [answered here] something about bob being a brat
🐙 cameron cassmore. [answered here] something about nicknames
🗡️ robert 'bob' floyd. [answered here] something about meeting the dagger squad
robert 'bob' reynolds. something about a fight and a mission
🚿 lars lindstrom. something about a broken arm and a shower
🗄️ miles miller. [answered here] something inspired by the secretary (2002)
👄 todd stevens. something about a blowjob
💥 rhett abbott. [answered here] something that isn’t a fight
🍾 robert 'bob' floyd. something about an anniversary
🎊 rhett abbott. something about a wedding and a discovery
You blog is—for lack of a better word—my holy grail.
My smile and eyes grew for every published work I saw on your wall. No one ever writes for Lewis Pullman characters. And when they do, no one writes for male readers. Yet here you are, providing quality content for even the niche-est of names. Ben Mears? Oh my lord.
I am excited to finish all my work so I can sit down and read everything you've made. You are a blessing to the m!reader community. I hope you're doing well. Please expect to be sick of me, have a great day.
what the fuck.
you're one of my favorite blogs, what is happening?!?!!??? what are doing here (/pos)
like, thank you! so much! there really is just about nothing for lewis pullman characters with m reader, like there's certainly a handful of fics out there, there's a specific rhett fic i really enjoy and come back too it every once in a while. and, like, every bob r fic of yours is immaculate (& ryland grace, but im trying not to veer too crazy off topic). but fuck is it just about impossible to find literally any other fics that are even just gender neutral for his characters. it's such a bummer bc he plays a lot of characters that are really fun to play around with too! like i love bob r, and get it - marvel, he's gonna be the most popular character, but there's more! there's more dolls in the bin to drag around and play with!!
if ben mears specifically is your jam, i have to admit, i don't have the most on him. there's one two plotless fics (heads up, im very bad at endings) and then those longform hc posts i do.
i love like everything you write, so im excited/nervous to know which fics you like :P
thank you again!!! im doing pretty good, esp after healing a few weeks! pls send as many messages/reqs/whatever/anything at all as much you want! i'll never grow tired of it!
ryland anon here and omfg bro.... just incredible that was SO good, angsty divorcees who can't quite move on is not a dynamic i knew i needed until now. such a fun read i'd eat up a whole series with them, thank you for sharing !!
[context]
!!!
🖤🖤🖤
thank you!! im so glad you enjoyed it. that flavor of angst felt like it'd really be hit or miss, but it was too fun not to drag grace into!
and im horrible with series, but i might do a few related/interconnected fics - i had a few ideas for pre-divorce, but they never got implemented bc they were too soft/fluffy. and i have a specific fic idea, after this one. one after grace joins the project, but he and reader still haven't really acknowledged anything, so we shall see!
Go on pinterest and type in the prompts down below. Whatever image pops up first is your image.
Prompts: Color, quote, character, hobby, accessory, song lyrics, flower.
thank you so much @ashlinxloves for tagging me 🥰💕
no one is surprised that the mr is here, but i love how aesthetic this turned out to be hehe also that quote hit kinda hard ngl 🥀
zero pressure tagging: @sammimi19 @theebladestar @remiratboi @gabswst-aug @greatfairymargiex @bibelotcat @theaonlax @mutsukisses @und34dd0ll and anyone else who would like to join 💖
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
was wondering if you’d be willing to write something with ryland grace? i’m a sucker for angst + smut and u write both so well 🙂↕️ maybe some post-breakup sex, or an established fwb situation where they’re trying (and failing) to break it off? idk just spitballing, no worries if not :-)
the weight of us
ryland grace x masc reader
cw: angst, sex (m/m, brief), unresolved requited feelings, pre-launch, slight spoilers for the book (a specific convo that happens in chp 1), abrupt ending (again, sorry, im bad at them)
a/n: ahhh!!! i'm very down, you're my first ryland grace req!! how do we feel about divorced ex's in the midst of trying to break off a weird fwb at the beginning of the probable end of times? because that's where your request took me
i'm glad you enjoy my writing/how i write angst is affective for you be i always worry about that coming across. and i hope it comes across here too - if not let me know, i take no issue with taking another stab at this! enjoy!
also i had a specific idea for a banner, so i made one - idk if i like it enough that i'll make a habit of it.
taglist: @not-so-normal-wh0re
want to be tagged?
you never asked for the key back.
despite the heated words or snippy comments grace is usually greeted with, you never really thought to ask for it back. not until recently.
feels inconsequential now. grace will find himself himself back in your house, pouting and pathetic. looking for comfort in you. in the house he also called home for the better part of decade.
or he won't.
there's only nine, maybe ten hours left until it's announced. maybe less. you haven't bothered keeping track. you'll know when it's real in a way that holds weight. your phone will go off, flooded with emails and texts. from work, from loved ones. and then this will be real in a way that takes away all the weight held by that key. those packets you served him not too long after you separated. the litany of papercuts against your relationship that came before.
you're never surprised to hear ryland around the house. and you aren't surprised to hear him stepping out to your backyard, now. you just tip the bottle in your hand up to your lips, only about half ready for whatever trouble he wants you for. ready to endure the listening part, because that's about all you can give.
closing the sliding door behind him, trying to temper the snapping of the door against the hinge, ryland notes, it's disceptively serene out here. dark and cool with two of those old lawn chairs he hasn't seen since you first moved into this house together. bottles scattered around the legs of your chair, most still have the caps on, two don't. the one tipped over, a few feet away, like you'd tossed it and the one in your hand. something ugly twists in his stomach seeing you drinking alone.
then you glance back at him from where you sit. seeing you, that look. glassy and solemn. there's some joke there, that ryland figured only he could bring that out in you. it's a bitter part of him. the part that never really accepted it when you presented him with that stack of papers that meant the end of your marriage. that look accompanied them, though.
he can't bring himself to make any snarky comments when he sees the lazy flick of your wrist. a half hearted offer for ryland to take the chair next to yours. it's the closest thing to an invitation you've extended to him since before those papers. he wishes it wasn't with a "do you think this is the end?"
and for the first time since he sat down with her a few hours ago, ryland knows what marissa said is real. he knew it then, when she said it. she's not the joking type, but the sun dying? losing luminance. whatever.
it's.
it's a little out there. feels like it should be. and there's a gravity to that knowing, one that was offset when she mentioned you. replaced by that lurch in his stomach at hearing your name. that you were working on this. one of the first in the u.s. to volunteer.
certainly sounds like you.
ryland should've won an award for not leaving then and there. for not coming home immediately.
he doesn't take the seat, steps closer though. just behind your chair, squeezing your shoulders because it's familiar. the gravity of knowing is starting to hit him. "marissa says 'hi'," is all he can think to say, trying not to stare down the bottle in your hand.
"no, she didn't."
no, she didn't.
if she had a message, she'd tell you herself. you see her more than grace does with their weekly dinners. though, it hadn't occurred to you until now that ryland's isn't here for some petty grievance you have to bare through.
you lift a bottle to him, he slips in out of your hand. sets it down instead of drinking it. "let's head in, you seem tired."
one of your free hands goes to his, squeezing back. "i think it is."
and there's nothing.
there's nothing to say to that.
not a thing ryland can come up with. nothing more than a kiss to your head, like he used to. ryland cringes into it after he's leaned down, too late to stop muscle memory from taking over. "come on"
part of him expects a fight. or at least a line about boundaries. how he can't do that shit anymore. same ones he hears when he comes over, needy and far too desperate to think of anything but your skin on his. that he shouldn't keep coming to you to comfort all the anxiety and dread. all the lows that seem to flood his life. that it's grace's fault.
the petty arguments that'll stay forever unresolved and the rough sex that takes the place of any resolution. the late calls that used to feel so heavy, the simple questions about health. if he got that thing on his back checked out. if you've talked to anyone about that weird cough that started a few months ago. vague inquiries about work neither of you cared to answer (your vagueness leaves a pit in his stomach to think about now). and the awkward silences broken up by little details about friends or family or the news. that used to be the longest you'd talk to him. it was everything to grace.
still is.
he hangs onto those conversations, as infrequent as they are, as much as he can. sates some masochistic need in him.
that's all you and him are and grace knows that's his fault.
another part of him almost expects one of those lascivious thoughts shared from a flirty smile. always made him flush something horrible. encouraged something sadistic in you. back when you were that young outrageous couple. when he would've joined you without a second thought. when most monday mornings were spent waking up in the grass, hungover and still coming down from your highs together.
it doesn't come, this isn't like it used to be. you and him aren't like you used to be. you aren't twenty-something and tipsy on a work night.
there's just barely a nod. a quiet, "i wouldn't have," that ryland doesn't bother asking about. just hopes you catch yourself. that you don't continue that thought.
for a few moments you don't.
he pulls you to your feet, gets a step past the sliding door, into the kitchen before "if i had known, then-"
"but you didn't," he interrupts, "you couldn't. no one did."
there's another few moments. more than before. long quiet moments where it's easy guide you back to your room. not the master, not the one you used to share. that one's been locked, as good as exiled. you haven't been in there for about as long as ryland hasn't. you never told him that, but he's slept in your bed about as much as his own since the separation.
he brings you to the old guestroom that you haphazardly moved into. it's far too bare to feel like you really live in this room. that you exist in here. if he didn't tug you down this hallway, catching every half-assed complaint from your mouth in his more than a couple times a month, he wouldn't believe it.
"i wouldn't have made you leave, if i had-" you cut yourself off, suddenly. ryland doesn't have to look you, doesn't want to, either. he can hear it, he can hear you urging away the pressure behind your eyes. you've always been a little steadfast. the more resolute of the two. and selfishly, he doesn't want to see you like this. it's why he came, why he counted the seconds until that dinner was over. why he was quietly thankful when marissa called it early. and now that he's here, he can't face it. you.
your hands finding his is what does it. makes a glance last longer than he intended. you've always look so out of place in here.
now might be the first moment you don't. all those hushed words, "ryland." in your voice. there's that clinical sound that's always been there. it was there in grad school and it was there the day you went down to the courthouse, said those vows you both wrote, to a room of three. "stay the night."
it's there now. with something somber in it that makes your name drag out of his mouth, all too soft and pleading. ryland has never been strong-willed.
he'll never turn down that offer when it's from you. not when your skin is warm and ryland doesn't want to talk about any of this. not now, maybe not ever. not that it stops you. doesn't stop you from pulling him down into a kiss so plain. something without passion. with no energy behind it. something that's just a plea, as clear as his was. 'baby, please stay."
ryland's a very weak man.
a weak man that wakes up in your bed, reminiscing about how good your weight over him felt the night before. burning with shame over how much he's missed that, you, even in your more dysfunctional moments, you felt good. grinding into him, slow. deep. left him groaning out high and pathetic.
it shouldn't have been a thought in his mind, but he reveled in how earnest you fucked into him, how lethargic the pace is compared to what he's become accustomed to. loved being able to curl his legs around you, being able to savor how stretched taut around you he was, ryland's red. you've always liked him like that. it's never been hard for ryland to get more than a little rosy. your gentle graze over ruddy skin used to ease some of the shame that accompanied his blush. not now, though. there was the trace of your fingers down the lines of his face before you pulled him down. before any heat was pressed to that begging kiss.
ryland mimicked that. hands rested on your face, trying to sooth tension from it. it was the only thing that kept you from hiding away, from mourning along the flush along his collar bone. glossy eyes make him second guess if trying to hold your attention, to pull it towards himself is as much a mercy as he means.
your "i still love you," wasn't, you know that. but it was sincere. real.
that kiss that followed was too.
it was as much as an 'i love you,' as he could muster. it was a 'please don't say anymore,' too. you seemed to catch on that time, content to follow ryland's quiet lead. commands expressed in squeezes and gasps. in groans against your lips.
and for a moment, there was some peace. a thinly veiled and hiding tension, but a peace nontheless.
it's not one that lasts through the morning.
one that grace can't direct you back to when he wakes up to you more than half-dressed and rushing out the door, despite how badly you want to fall in line again. how badly you want to slip into old habits when your phone starts up. all those messages you knew would come, filled with problems and questions and hypothetical deadlines that only serve to confirm it's real. the sun, the petrova line. it's unavoidable and impossible. and real.
so he watches. watches you try to pull yourself together, watches you struggle through pretending not to notice he's awake.
there's so much to say. so much to explain. so little time and grace isn't wholly sure he wants to talk about any of it with you. it makes it easy to accept your awkward, "you have a key," before you leave.
in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like)
note: i'm bouncing between a few projects and the application i use doesn't exactly let me see what was the most recent thing i worked on, so you get two for one. i narrowed it down to one of these as the last line i wrote, but it's been a few days since i had a chance/motivation to write, and it feel dishonest to just pick one when idk for sure.
one of them is from a somewhat angsty cameron cassmore fic:
5 things he can see, 4 he can touch, 3 he can hear, and then he lands on smell again and the only two things he can smell remind him of the morgue.
the other is from a ryland grace request (finished now):
you lift a bottle to him, he doesn't take that either.
i simply don't know enough people to tag for each word, so i must break the rules again. that being said, i will tag @not-so-normal-wh0re @mossrat and @mlmmetalhead
