Seven Sentence Sunday
*Taps mic* is this thing on? Yeah? Alright
Happy Sunday y'all! :) Sorry I haven't been too active recently (but what's new). Just know that I've been lurking and I adore seeing what everyone has been posting
Thank you so much to @anincompletelist @bigassbowlingballhead @firenati0n @myheartalivewrites @magicandarchery
and @kiwiana-writes for the tags today, and @welcometololaland @happiness-of-the-pursuit @sherryvalli @itsmaybitheway
@msmarvelouswinchester @littlemisskittentoes @wordsofhoneydew @cricketnationrise and @suseagull04 for the various tags this past week
So like, yeah, I should be working on my fic for the rbb, but instead i did a complete 180 and said let's make Alex be in a parasocial relationship that borders on obsession with Prince Henry. And then Rhys was like... can I join? So, surprise, y'all get another co-written fic, but this time it’s... not so fluffy. This snippet made us feel a bit insane, and where's the fun in easing y'all into the discomfort of this fic. That being said, completely understandable if this isn't y'alls cup of tea - no pressure to read/interact if so. Also, there is... ahem... more to this snippet. I said that I wasn't going to ease y'all in, but I'm not going to punch you in the face either
James kind of sucked. Alex had gone out to a bar, met the man on the dancefloor, let him order Alex a vodka soda despite his preference for gin. Let him kiss the taste of his off his lips in the corner stall. Let him trace it down his length after. Alex left minutes later with ten digits crumpled up in his front pocket, where they stayed until he found a bin out front. Went to another bar. Introduced himself to someone lurking in the corner, reserved, with pretty eyes. Just a shade too light, though—a shame, but they’d do just fine. Alex tilted his chin up to get them to look up from the floor, leaned in to get his name, felt disappointment when he told Alex it was Thomas. Then, unmitigated fucking delight when he later revealed that all his friends called him by his last name: George. But he had thin lips, and his stubble was too scratchy. There was an accent he couldn’t place, and it stuck to the inside of his ears, the sound discordant. It made Alex feel fucking weird. So, he went home. Where he now lies in bed, tucked under blue checkered sheets, a Burberry scarf clutched in one hand, the other wrapped tightly around his dick.
Open tag, but tagging a few people below the cut too












