#(wouldn't it be a shame if it ripped and he lost it—)

[angeart]

[hhau] — the ribbon

I almost forgot to talk about the ribbon-

Only one person asked about it, but i am very easily convinced to give in to hype and rambles. i love being excited about things i enjoy, and i love sharing them, so thank you for being interested!

This is about the hunted hybrids au, where both mine and @linkito's art features a dark ribbon tied around Grian's pinkie:

[art 1] [art 2] [art 3]

(I'll admit it should be tied in a bow, even though i draw it loose—)

So what is this ribbon?

It comes to play early in the story. Just after Scar finds Grian and saves him from the hunters. Grian's in a bad shape. He's exhausted, hungry, dehydrated, and he just lost a lot of blood. He's in a world of pain, after being viciously attacked and almost killed, terrified and barely conscious.

Scar needs to keep him alive, no matter the cost.

Grian needs water.

Scar doesn't have water.

But he knows where to find it.

Except going to get it means leaving Grian alone, and— He can't. He can't. (He has to.)

Hopeless, desperate, aching, he soothes Grian, brings back the memory of something simpler, woven with promises of returning soon. (They're just on a sleepover. He's only going to fetch him a glass of water. It's okay. It's okay.) And he leaves something behind.

Something for Grian to hold onto.

Something to remind Grian that this happened. That Scar was here and he will be back. That he isn't alone.

Scar undoes the ribbon around his neck. And he puts it in Grian's weak, uncomprehending hands. (The fingers twitch and try to curl around it anyway.) (It feels important.)

He asks Grian to hold onto it for him, and he leaves.

Now, Scar makes it back safely. But Grian's dizzy and dazed and confused, and he feels the ribbon slipping, and he panics. (He was told to hold onto it.) (He needs to hold onto it—) (It falls out of his grasp so easily and he can't do a thing to stop it—)

Scar catches it, tells him it's okay, he's back, he's here now, thank you for keeping it. And he considers putting it back around his neck, but... It no longer feels like something just his. It feels like it turned into something else.

A tether. A lifeline. A heartstring.

And Grian needs it.

So he ties it around Grian's pinkie, in a loose but secure bow, for Grian to have it near and to feel it without fearing losing it. And Grian keeps it.

---

Here's some out of context rp bits that feature it, just to drive home what it really means for them in this wretched, hopeless world:

Grian:

Black ribbon rests securely wrapped around his finger, a piece of Scar’s attire, a piece of, maybe, his soul. A tether. An anchor. A lifeline.

Scar:

He watches the black fabric shake with the same tremors that plague Grian’s reach, fragile like he is, and Scar resolves that he must have done something right, that he’s not a failure, that he didn’t ruin everything if Grian still wears the ribbon around his finger. They still have the connection, the tether from one brittle heart to another.

Grian:

The ribbon tingles against his skin, a strip of fabric that seems to be a manifestation of the tether Grian feels stretching away from his weak, wounded heart, leading him straight to Scar.

Grian:

So with a tattered heart beating painfully against his bruised ribs, he swallows down the guilt of what his wings will do to both of them, and he makes his decision.

Tired and sore, he lifts his hand up, reaching out to Scar. The ribbon falls from his hold as he uncurls his fingers, left to dangle in the air and shadow his motions, still tied around his finger just the way Scar is tied around his weak, traitorous heart.

---

(Yeah i think a tether is a good word for it, clearly. Mhm. That's what it is. A very important little strip of fabric, that once used to rest against Scar's pulse point, soaking in the beats of his heart, now given to Grian for safekeeping <3)

[ridingthatd]

𝄞 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤

`• sukunaxfem!reader, nanamixfem!reader, gojoxfem!reader, getoxfem!reader, nsfw, heavy smut, bdsm, multiple orgasm, over simulation, brain fucked, kinky, filthy •`

what did you just get yourself into... you should have known being nice to a men will always turn into something a lot more. men don't take being nice so easily. they think deep in their fucked up minds that nice is equal you wanting to fuck them. you wanting to have their fat cocks shoved deep inside your wet cunt, hitting your womb with their leaking tip, making it nice and moist before they fill you- gushing their boiling seeds inside of you.

after all, that's what men always think about. even business men. even uninterested men.

𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨. nanami was always about business, he took it very seriously. the gambling sessions. the gambling meeting. were all very serious for him. he never had time to get his cock wet with a pussy- he did enjoy the gentle touchs of woman. he did enjoy their heated skin against his cold one. he did enjoy a tight pussy being ripped- teared up with his fat cock. he did enjoy the taste of a juicy cunt squirting all over his face. he did enjoy being drunk off a pussy. but not all woman. specific woman- woman that he can share with his dear work friends.

woman like you.

𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮. geto was a busy men. he never liked to waste time on things that didn't give him anything he desired in return. he was simple instead of going around and looking for a pussy to keep his throbbing cock warm- his hands would keep his company. masturbation was something he did to relief his stress. tight grip on his cock, tugging on his hardness, feeling the veins that surrounded his dick pluse with need. swiping his tattood finger against his wet clit, before he tugs on the peircing that was placed directly on his red tip- prince albert peircing. loving the sting it gives him everytime he harshly pull on it.

and he knew a woman like you, would love having his pierced cock hitting your womb.

𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮. gojo was playful. a confident men who had no shame barking about the size of his huge cock. who had no enough shame to hide his hard on the moment he glanced at your perky ass. smirking at the sight, as his cock push against his zipper ready to spread your cheeks and fill your tight little ass. he was an ass men. loving the sight of a plumpy ass shaking, trembling as he ate it from behind. leaving bites, purplish red marks on it. he craved using toys to plug his warm seeds inside of the tiny hole whenever he filled it. having the urge to fill it again. and again. and again. till he leaves a tummy bludge from how much he spurted inside.

and he needed to claim your ass with his seeds.

𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧. sukuna wasn't on business like his friends were. he simply didn't give a fuck about ruining business when he shoots their future partnerships. he found women pathetic. and he wouldn't hesitate to make a hole through their skull if they as much as dare to touch him. touch him thinking they can seduce him. but little did he know that a woman like you would be into that shit. would be into getting her tight cunt fucked with his gun. gushing all over it, as he fucks you roughly with it. tearing your walls apart, while his finger was still on the trigger- it had him almost cumming his pants at the sight of you squirting on his gun, not giving a fuck that a bullet can almost tear up your insides. to lost in pleasure.

he won't deny that he was also indeed lost in pleasure to.

your whole body buzzed. buzzed with unbearable pleasure. here you were tied up, hands behind your back- tied tight with a silk robe, the pain of how tight it was stinged. not in a bad way. but in a good way. tears of pleasure slipped out of your rolled eyes one by one. each drop followed by your body twitch.

your wet cunt was ripped apart with a huge dildo vibrating at full speed inside of you. not stopping even after you reach your 3rd orgasm. spurting your hot fluid, as it trails down the desk you were spread wide on. giving a full view to the four man in front of you. full view of your abused red puffy pussy.

they didn't utter any words. the only sound the was filled in the huge office was your whines, whimper, cries, screams, as you beg them to stop. the only sound that was filled in their huge office was your wet cunt, creating an embarrassing wet gushing sound as you release your fluid. your pussy creating filthy noises that pleasure their ears.

you can see the wet spot that was forming on their pants, their fat cocks pressing against their zippers giving you a view of their leaking cocks. and this seems to cause your 4th orgasm. your body arch as you squirt out your warm fluid, hearing a groan coming from gojo satoru at the sight of you shooting your cum.

"fuck hell, what a sexy little thing" gojo moan out, palming his desperate cock. while eyeing your trembling figure. he's never been this turned on.

"I guess we're going to have a lot of fun today".

: ̗̀➛ for part 2 click 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

Dick had to give it to the kid, he'd somehow thought of everything. It was a little concerning, actually, but the kid had brushed off every attempt had probing for answers. Who trained him? If he was trained at all. ...had the kid gone into vigilantism alone? Oh, dear. THat's not good fro Dick's current worries.

Reading the file Danny had handed him, Dick had to wonder how long it had taken him to put together this cover story. Also, where he'd managed to get the equipment to do it. At a glance, the kid didn't seem to have much on him. Not even a phone!

He closed the folder and set it back down on the table. "Really?" he asked, "'Congratulations, it's a boy'?"

Danny's cheeks turned a bit red as his gaze shifted to the folder. "Well, yeah. You're stuck with me now until I can get you into good habits and a healthier schedule."

"That implies that you're planning on leaving."

Danny shrugged, all his confidence now fading away. Is this what he's really like? "Well, I mean, I'm sure you don't want me sticking around at all, let alone for a while."

Dick frowned and looked back at the black folder and the binder sitting on his coffee table. God, his apartment's a mess! He smiled at Danny. "My name's Richard, but everyone calls me 'Dick'. You can stay in the guest room."

Danny lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. "Really?"

"Yep. You went to all this work, it'd be a shame if it all went to waste."

The grin on Danny's face was more than worth the security risk that he now posed. "You won't regret it, Mr. Dick!"

Dick smiled back at him, "Please, drop the formalities. We're cousins, apparently."

Was he attached? No. He wouldn't allow himself to get attached. Sure, maybe he was letting this kid - he really needs to start calling him Danny - stay with him for a while, but he wasn't going to get attached. Getting attached meant losing him. Dick wasn't sure he'd be able to survive if he lost someone again.

...damn it.

***

First order of business, now that Danny was officially Dick's - why would he willingly go by that nickname? - ward/cousin, Danny was going to make sure he got some sleep. Today was Dick's day off, so Danny had sent him to his room to take a much needed nap. The man was basically dead on his feet and Danny would be damned if he let him wander around this mess of an apartment with blurry vision.

The second thing he did, once he was sure Dick was asleep, was start to clean up. The place was a stereotypical bachelor's pad, complete with questionable stains in the carpet, rips in the cushions, dishes piled up in the sink, and old take-out on every table and counter. Gross.

He made quick work of the old take-out by throwing it all away and hitting it with a very small and controlled ectoblast. He was so glad Dick had disposable gloves on hand.

The dishes were the next thing he handed. The water was cleaner than in Gotham, so he didn't worry about washing the dishes by hand when they all didn't fit in the dishwasher. He dried the ones he'd hand washed before putting them away. Dick had no organisation in his cupboards, so Danny fixed that, too.

The fridge and freezer weren't too bad. Sure, the dairy products had all expired and most of the food was freezer bitten, but none of it was moldy yet and the appliance itself was in perfect working order. He'd have to go shopping later.

Danny had never liked cleaning, but he'd had to when his parents refused to follow any OSHA laws or Lab Safety courses. So, when he found the cleaning supplies, he took a deep breath and began scrubbing the bathroom. It wasn't too bad, thank god, and was already fairly clean. It was quick and he was able to move on very quickly.

The counters, tables, walls, and tile and wooden floors were all easy to clean with a wet rag and a broom. He wasn't going to even try saving the rug because it looked well beyond the point of no return. The couch and chair cushions could be sticked up, but he didn't have a sewing needle and thread with him.

The last thing he did before taking his backpack into the room he'd been given was to write down a shopping list and leave it on the counter. It wasn't a lot, just food and some dishes and toiletries. He'd have to figure out with Dick a way to pay rent, too, but that was a later Danny problem. He'd tired himself out and was still running on pretty much empty. So, he allowed himself to fall asleep. He'd check on Dick when he woke up.

Part 4 Part 6

Tag List:

@flame-343 @ghestie93 @anarinette @aglmry @peachtreewriter @evix-syne666 @loudlypanickinginvenezolano @lumosfeather18581

[love-toxin]

THANK U. gush i absolutely will! and ill probably have to rewatch it now. but oh my god. the way eric would probably not want to have sex for the longest time even after u eventually get together (which would take a LONG TIME TOO!) patience is fr key. like probably out of guilt and SHAME but also cause he’s a gentleman. blushes cutely……. like i hadn’t even thought about that because hes an actual Good person who knows that love/relationships is about more than fucking but….. 🫣🫣 damn. need him fr

oh he'd be SO conflicted about it mrrrrrrghhh!!!! im going OFF-

love the thought of it eating him up inside. it takes so long for him to even speak to you, longer to get to know you, and when you fall for him like he has for you it suddenly feels like he's getting in too deep. it's not that he realized he doesn't love you because he does, he's got it bad for you, but he feels so guilty about even thinking of you in that light. you have an innocence about you that he's long lost and to imagine ripping that away from you, regardless of whether you're virginal or not, just makes him sick to his stomach. and he doesn't want to push you. god, that's the last thing he would ever want to do.

truthfully, he figured that since his body is immortal now, he wouldn't get those urges that he'd get as a mortal. he doesn't need to eat, or drink, or sleep, so it stands to reason that he wouldn't feel the need for sex either. it almost guts him when he realizes he does. when you brush against him or purse your lips or just say something a little off-colour, and he feels a tightening in his groin and a flush up his neck. he practically speeds out of your house in a panic the first time he feels it because he doesn't know what to do about it--how he's supposed to act around you when you don't have that kind of relationship yet. acknowledge it, ignore it, repress it, there's plenty of options but no real solutions.

what if he hurts you? what if you feel guilted into doing things with him, just because of his circumstances? just because you care for him so much? or what if he hurts you physically, because he still doesn't have the perfect grasp on his own, inhuman strength?

but then, when the time comes where you bring it up, Eric sinks down to his knees to look up at you. those brown eyes just radiate warmth, love, and he gently ghosts his palms over your hips with the most adoring "I love you" you've ever heard off his lips. if you want it, he wants you to direct it--you don't have to take control, but you get to decide each and every movement he makes. when he touches you, even for a fleeting moment, you have all the power.

Eric starts off slow. baby steps. first it's a few touches to your neck, kisses that feel hungry as he mouths at the delicate skin, but only faintly graze his teeth over a thin barrier. he squeezes your thigh one day as you're driving and retracts his hand almost instantly, he thinks he grabbed too hard--but you slowly pull his fingers back to rest there and his worries are soothed at once, though his heart jumps up into his throat. although progress is steady he still has flashbacks and night terrors sometimes, and they're almost always so vivid he wakes up in a cold sweat or has to stop in his tracks and just breathe. the people who hurt Shelly are dead. he's here to protect you now. you're safe. nothing bad is going to happen to you. he has to repeat that mantra to himself to calm himself down, and sometimes you have to come and remind him as you hold his hand and hug his head to your chest.

it isn't until one night, when you've been nosing his cheek and kissing him more than usual, that Eric starts touching you back. normally he would lay back and enjoy your attention because it's a sort of ritual for you before bed, but this time he just feels it. it's time. he can do it. as he climbs over you you reassure him that if anything happens--if you change your mind, or if he realizes he's not actually ready--you can stop, no questions asked, and just cuddle. but he can sense in the tightness of his body that it really is time, and he really is ready for this. he's neglected you for too long but he's recovering from the guilt of that, now it's just the thrum of excitement humming through his body as he strips yours down for the first time.

as strange as it is, he's happy that he doesn't see Shelly when he looks at you anymore. he used to see her face in flashes when he was close to you, and the shame had burned him alive for so long. she was his love and his everything, his bride that never was, and despite his growing feelings for you he'd struggled not to see her in everything you did. it wasn't fair to you and it was part of the reason he stayed in the shadows for so long, keeping an eye on you but not getting close. it's why he planned to never speak to you in person and simply watch over you like a shadow, from the shadows, where he belonged. it was only once he'd seen your personality shine through over the months that his view of you started to separate, and now after long conversations and your endless patience he can fully put his heart into you without constantly thinking of Shelly in the back of his mind. he recalls when you brought him to her grave with flowers, your smile so wide and sweet when you asked him questions about her, wanting to keep her memory alive for him--and it drives him down between your legs, those pent-up feelings lashing out with his tongue as he finally brings himself to indulge.

you're just so beautiful, so good to him, so....alive. your kindness may be a weakness but it fills him with strength, it makes him crave you in a way that has your hips rising off the bed and your thighs squeezing his ears, muffling out all sound except your moans and the wet shlick of his tongue inside you. your fingers threading through his hair drives him wild. if his mouth wasn't full he'd plead with you to pull it. but you don't have to have everything lined up right now, it's just about exploring--although he'll have a lot more of your body mapped out than you will of his, because he can't help it, you just taste so good. he may not need to be satiated in body anymore, but something in your arousal feeds him as if it's the fount of his power itself. like he was drinking from the fountain of youth, hidden all this time between your angelic legs.

he won't even get into penetration tonight; you'll be too exhausted once he's finished the banquet between your hips, and he'll barely know his own name aside from you screaming it. neither of you are really concerned with it though, because this is your love, and nobody else's. he's almost too sensitive to touch when he crawls up beside you and you reach down, fingertips lightly grazing his stomach until you brush against him and he hisses through his teeth. his instinct is to draw your hand away but he hides his face in your neck when you grip him, clutching on to you for dear life to keep from squirming away from the attention. he wants it. he just can't look you in the eyes while he takes it, because he knows it's been so long and you smell so good that he'll bust before he even knows it's happening.

but it's easy to tell where he's at by the twitches in your palm, the little jets of clear liquid that startle you as they splash on your hand. he seems to breathe with every pulse of his cock as it spasms for dear life, aching for your fingers that stroke him with such effortless adoration. his hold on you grows harder and firmer the more you give him that attention, and with an especially slick twist he's buckling, humping your grip with soft gasps, mumbling nonsense into your neck until he finally hits his stride and shoots his load all over your pretty belly.

it takes him awhile--a long, great while--to eventually work up the strength to lift his head and look. his work is messy and unprofessional, emblematic of a man barely held together by threads, and yet you look back at him with such sweetness he can't help feeling more fragile in your arms.

"I love you." you whisper into his ear, brushing a strand of hair from his sweaty forehead and tucking it behind. and for the first time, the first time in a very, very long time, Eric finally believes it.

[apocalypseornaw]

Shame on You

Dean Winchester x Reader

You and Dean burned hot and heavy but life as a hunter hits hard and puts a strain on relationships. When you're pushed back into each other's lives will it be a second chance or a fool me once, shame on you situation?

Everyone has those memories that are set in stone. The ones that no matter who much you'd prefer to forget they refuse to budge, choosing instead to linger at the back of your mind. Waiting until you least expect them to spring their trap and make you remember, rather you'd like to or not.

Too many of those for you starred Dean front and center. Dean Winchester, a legend in the hunting world. Someone monsters feared, a name known in heaven and in hell but to you? Your traitorous heart kept a completely different side of him close no matter how much you wished to forget.

To you? Dean was the fifteen year old tried to act cool and aloof but had stayed up all night with you and Sam during the summer if you all happened to get dumped on Bobby. He was the eighteen year old that helped Bobby get your first car road ready. He was the twenty two year old who'd called you to tell you Sam was getting out of the life then the twenty six year old who'd been wracked with guilt over Jess.

He was the man who lost his father within two months of you losing your aunt but still managed the drive so you wouldn't be alone to light the pyre.

-------------

Dean was the man who called you on the road just to check in, the man who at one time made an hour drive in twenty minutes because you'd been hurt and said "I need help"

Dean was the man who put up the front that nothing ever bothered him but whenever you showed up you'd see that look in his eyes, that look that clearly said "She's not gonna back down until I face it" and you never did.

Dean was was the man who on the night he was bound for hell begged you to stay behind because "I don't want you to see me ripped to shred by hellhounds after your aunt dying by a werewolf"

--------------

Dean was the man who you fought shoulder to shoulder with against anything and everything that came your way. The man who would patch your wounds and tell you how strong you were even when you felt your weakest.

Dean was the man that when the two of you started getting closer he treated you like you were made of glass and even apologized the first time the two of you kissed, thinking he'd crossed a line you didn't want crossed. The man that the first time the two of you fell into bed with each other spent hours going over every inch of your skin, bringing you pleasure you'd never knowm with past lovers.

----------------

Dean was the man who you gladly gave your heart to, entrusting him fully with everything you had. You loved him in a way you'd never previously even dreamt of. Then the arguments had started.

They were small, simple stuff really. No relationship was perfect but as hunters somethings said were lines crossed. Doubting each other's survival abilities, citing that you were a hindrance in one blowup of anger and even telling you to "go home to Bobby" when all of you had gotten pretty banged up had been the final straw. You'd been pushed too far.

You knew Dean and you knew he was pushing you away to protect himself but you also knew to protect yourself and the love you would always have for him you needed to leave. So leave you did. That was until Sam called and said four words that drew you back into Dean's orbit "We need your help"

"Out of every hunter we know, you call her?" Dean's voice was dangerously low. He was working hard not to yell, not to let his temper get the best of him but two years had passed since you walked out on him. Two years with his heart ripped out of his chest and out walking around in the world and only talking to his little brother instead of him.

Sam cut his eyes up from his computer screen, completely unphased by his brother's anger "You pushed her away Dean. Y/N loved you with everything she had but you kept pushing and pushing. It's what you always do. I can't falt her because you can't communicate for shit"

"Why do we need her on this hunt?" Dean repeated ignoring the insult, so Sam turned the screen around "because her aunt discovered the species. As far as I can tell out of hunters that are still alive that's faced it she's the only one. It was either I call her and she works the case with us or she ends up finding it on her own and works it solo and could end up getting hurt or worse on a solo hunt. Last time it took her, Bobby and her aunt to take out a pack. You really want to send her alone?"

That thought stopped him in his tracks. It felt like the air had been ripped from his lungs at the thought of you dead. "How long until she'll get here?" He asked about the time Sam's phone dinged. Sam glanced at the screen and shrugged "About ten minutes"

The bunker was just how you remembered it. A part of you felt like you should park your car next to Dean's impala and go chunk your bag in his room but that was then, this was now. You waited at the heavy outer door until it opened to reveal Sam on the other side. "Sam" you greeted with a smile and when you reached up to hug him he met you halfway. "It's good to see you Y/N"

When you pulled away from each other you looked past his shoulder and he half grinned "He's in the library, looking over the lore you sent ahead" you nodded "I bet he's so thrilled you called me" his smile softened "He still loves you" you shook your head "Fool me once Sammy. Sometimes you need more than love, you actually have to want the other person there"

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something but stopped and shook his head "This is gonna be an interesting hunt to say the least"

---------------

You followed Sam down the winding stairs despite knowing the bunker as well as he did. You could find the library blind folded. "Dean?" Sam called out and your heart proved traitorous yet again by nearly leaping out of your chest.

The stubble that always graced his sculpted jaw was thicker than usual as if he'd missed trimming it by a day or two, the white Henley he wore under a dark blue shirt was unbuttoned to the point enough of his neck and collarbone was sticking out that you lost your train of thought as memories of the sounds he made when your lips traced that sensitive flesh flashed through your mind. Fuck, this had been a bad idea. You quickly schooled your features hoping Dean hadn't clocked you taking your time looking over any physical changes on him.

Dean on the other hand was barely able to meet your eyes. You looked as beautiful as always. Your hair was back in a braid, small pieces had worked their way loose but he imagined that was probably due to you riding with the windows down and the radio turned up. Your jeans were torn in a few places and the Led Zeppelin shirt you wore had seen better days but he couldn't have imagined anyone looking better in that moment than you alive and right in front of him after two years of only hearing your voice on the rare occasions he'd been in the room when you'd call Sam.

"Hey Dean" your voice was low, barely above a whisper. He nodded slowly before finally saying "Hey Y/N" you tore your gaze from him and looked at Sam, a tired smile slipping onto your face "Police and medical examiner reports please? Then we can gather what we need and hit the road. Faster we get to Missouri, faster we stop this stop. Then we really need to get Garth and a few more hunters of the like up to speed on the lore because I'm one person I can't be on speed dial every time these son of bitches crawl out their caverns"

Dean watched you slip into hunter mode with a small smile on his face, he loved you just as much as he had the day everything imploded between the two of you. He had to remind himself you were here for this hunt, not for him. No matter how much that truth hurt. "Lets get to work"

For some reason Sam had deemed it a good idea to send you and Dean to the medical examiners office together while he went to talk to the local police. Good idea in theory, divide and conquer and all that. The problem? Your patience was wearing thin before this hunt started.

You had to make two stops to get the needed supplies to make bullets that would put these things down, the motel only conjoining rooms left, you'd been left with the choice to let Sam take your car or to chauffeur Dean around and now the blonde, leggy medical examiner couldn't take her eyes off Dean long enough to let the two of you fully examine the bodies.

Your fed suit felt like it was choking you, the air in the office felt thick and you felt like you may very well throw a punch if something didn't change in the next five seconds. "Ms Jones is it normal protocol for the medical examiner to eye fuck the federal agent sent to examine the bodies of the victims found littered throughout the area or are you just adding on to your job title?"

You weren't sure who was more shocked by your words. Dean, Ms Jones or yourself. She composed herself quickly you had to give it to her so you attempted a backpeddle "What Agent Wilson chooses to do with his downtime once this case is closed is up to him and I'm not trying to rain on anyone's parade but you did tell our other partner Agent Cohen that you currently have what four bodies on ice? Now Agent Wilson is a looker as are you but I'm sure you both can wait a few more days"

Dean swallowed a smirk but you clocked it before he did as she apologized "I sincerely apologize Agent Taylor for my lack of professionalism" you forced a smile "I'll try not to let it slip when I report back to the state board" her face paled several shades as she led the two of you back to where the bodies were kept.

--------------

You were silent the entire ride back to the hotel, using the files in your lap as an excuse but you were fuming. You want to go back as knock Ms Laura Jones' perfect white teeth down her throat. How dare she flirt with your..... with Dean...with what she thought was an Agent on a case. The unprofessionalism. That's definitely what was bothering you. Not the thought that maybe he would've flirted back if you had gone with Sam.

"Y/N" Dean's voice broke through your thoughts and you glanced up to see you were back at the hotel and let out a breath. "Thank god" you wanted to get back into your jeans and get to work figuring out an idea of where these things could be held up. You needed to kill something.

You could feel Dean's eyes on you as you slid out the impala and lovingly ran a hand down the side of your own car. You needed this case over as soon as possible, for the sake of what little sanity you had left.

Dean didn't want to dwell on how good jealousy looked on you even when you never would've taken claim to the emotion or on how his heart had attempted to leap free of his chest to find its way to you where it knew it belonged when he realized you were indeed seething with anger at Laura's flirting.

He didn't want to humor the fact that whenever he didn't look at you he could feel your eyes on him and when he glanced your way he could see your shoudlers tense slightly in that way that was you acknowledging that you felt his attention but refused to return it.

He didn't want to think about the way you chewed on your bottom lip in concentration as you helped Sam make the bullets. He damn sure didn't want to think about any memories that flashed through his head when you had glanced up to pass him the bullets and half smiled. You owned him to this day and this damn hunt was tearing his heart out.

------------------

You had mapped out two likely locations for the nests for these things. They were within about forty yards of each other but you'd known the boys would never agree to you checking out one alone. That meant either everyone checking one then heading to the other or one of the boys going alone.

You knew before he ever said what Dean was thinking "I'll take the north one, clear it. If I find something I'll call and you two come running" you leveled him with a glare "Dean these things are as fast as a Wendigo, as bloodthirsty as a rugaru and damn near as hard to kill as a ghoul. Against anything else you'd have my vote of confidence but I don't like you going in alone"

He gave you a smirk in return "Don't worry about me sweetheart. Been fine up until this point"

--------------------

You were begging your legs to move a little faster, your lungs to suck in a little more air and your body to be just a little stronger. There were six. The last pack had been four. Damn these things.

You felt the air currents move a half second before a body slammed into you and your back connected with the solid wall of the cave. You slid down with a heavy grunt and looked up to see one of the slobbering things over you. "Damn you're ugly"

Your gun had gotten knocked out of your hand but you'd smeared your knife in the concoction that was used in the bullet so you hoped that was enough. You slipped it from your boot and waved a hand at the thing "Cmon then, we don't got all night"

You went back and forth with the thing, narrowly avoiding its talons but finally seeing an opening to drive your knife hilt deep into its chest. You didn't hesitate to see if the knife would kill it instead you dove for your gun and flipped around the moment your hand wrapped around the cool metal and fired two rounds into the things head.

It fell with a heavy thud and you let out a breath, falling back against the dirt. "Y/N" You heard Dean's deep voice echoing your name and hollered "This way!" The moment he skid into view you saw he had a slice above his eyebrow and was favoring his side but the concern on his face was not for himself, he was looking at you.

You pushed yourself up to your feet as his eyes raked over your body, marking each visible mark no doubt "I'm fine Dean. Sam get the vics out?" He nodded "They're at the ranger station. Story is they were hiking and got stranded running away from a bear" you kicked the thing at your foot "What? Cocaine bear?" He grinned "I mean..we could sell it" he offered you his hand and you hesitantly took it.

You scrunched up your nose "I need a shower"

Once everyone had showered you gathered back with the boys in their room for first aid application. Sam needed stitches on his left shoudler, Dean needed a couple on that slice above his eye and had bruised ribs. You turned out fairly lucky considering the only bleeding you had was from scraping your arm and a leg on the walls of the cavern and your back would be bruised like hell from that slam but besides that nothing was broken so you'd all faired pretty well.

You were currently perched on the edge of the dresser, nursing a bottle of water and watching as Sam finished emailing Garth, The Banes twins, Donna,Jody and a handful of other hunters everything you knew about these things to update the collective lore.

Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed nursing a beer and trying to avoid your eyes. You were hoping they wouldn't need your help with anything for a while because now that the pre hunt and post hunt adrenaline was fading, the aching pain that accompanied the knowledge that the green eyed hunter that sat so close to you might as well have been a million miles away because he was no longer yours.

Sam glanced up once he was done "Anything to add?" You shook your head "That's it" he nodded "Ok then" you slowly stood up then motioned to the door that connected your rooms "I'm gonna hit the hay then. Roads calling my name so I'm hitting it bright and early"

Sam stood up and pulled you into a hug "it was good to see you after all this time" you smiled "Sorry for being a stranger" he barely glanced towards Dean before whispering "I get it" you stepped away from Sam and nudged Dean's shoudler on the way by "Guess you're free to hit up Laura now" he scoffed lightly "Yeah. Hey, stay safe sweetheart and if you ever need us...just call"

You half smiled "Same goes for me" before walking into your room and closing the door. You leaned back against it and shut your eyes to try to stow off the emotions. You could do this. You just needed a little sleep then you could hit the road.

"You're an idiot" Sam didn't waste any time tearing into Dean once he was sure you had secured the door behind yourself. Dean threw his hands up defensively "What did i do?"

Sam motioned to the door you'd just disappeared through "Nothing, that's the point. I've seen you mourn what you had with her for the last two frickin years man. You love her! You still do! You said it terrified you hearing gunshots then seeing her down. Don't let her walk away again without an effort. I'd give almost anything for that to be Jess on the other side of that door. Talk to her, tell her what she means to you. Argue, scream, have sex...hell do whatever you have to in an attempt to fix this because it's achingly clear you both still love each other with everything. I know why you pushed her away but it didn't work. She still loves you. So would you rather her die having spent the previous night in your arms or her die thinking you no longer wanted her?"

Dean didn't have to say anything for Sam to know his words had hit home. He nodded slowly looking from Sam to the door "Go" Sam repeated so Dean sat the beer on the side table and walked across the room before heading to the adjoining door so Sam buried his nose in his laptop in an attempt to make it seem like he wasn't paying any attention.

You had just brushed your teeth and plugged your phone in and was about to crawl into bed when a knock at the adjoining door drew your attention. You smoothed the cloth shorts you were wearing and went to answer it, half expecting Sam but there stood Dean.

"Yeah?" You asked looking from him to where Sam sat blatantly trying to appear as if he wasn't paying the two of you any attention. Dean scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck "Can we talk?" You nodded "Yeah, sure"

You stepped by to let him in about the time Sam glanced up. The two of you had a silent conversation which consisted of you asking if he knew what Dean wanted and him shrugging.

-----------

You nodded and turned back into your room, closing the door behind yourself and leaning against it. Dean stood in the center of your room looking a little out of place. "How ya been?" He asked then grimaced along with you. "We're not strangers Dean"

He nodded then sat down on the edge of the bed that wasn't disturbed and ran a hand down his face before looking up at you, a playful smirk finding his face "I'd offer a backrub since I know you're probably hurting but I doubt you'd take me up on the offer" you laughed and walked past him to sit on the edge of the dresser to face him before shrugging "Last time you gave me a backrub we broke the bed at Donna's cabin"

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to his hands. Several long moments passed before he finally spoke "I get why you left me" you let out a breath of air that sounded a lot more like a sigh than you meant for it to "Dean please.." you really didn't feel like tapping into the self worthlessness John had instilled so deep into him. You'd tried so hard for years for him to see himself like you did, how Sam did. How damn near everyone who cared for him did.

He held up his hand to cut you off "Hold on. I'm taking the blame. I pushed you away" when his eyes met yours you felt anger boil up into your chest "Why?"

"Why?" He echoed and you nodded "Why? Why did you let Cassie get close? You let Lisa get close? Yet you kept me at arms length for years. You let me fall in love with you then no matter what I did it wasn't good enough Dean! I WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH" You hadn't meant for your voice to raise but when he cut his eyes at the adjoining door you realized it had.

"You were always good enough" he replied. You jumped to your feet, driven by anger and pain along with the aching love you still felt for the man in front of you "THEN WHY PUSH ME AWAY INSTEAD OF FUCKING FIGHTING FOR ME?"

"BECAUSE YOU FUCKING SCARE ME OK?" You froze dead in your tracks at his response. "What?" He stood, taking a couple steps to put space between the two of you before turning to face you "Most of my life it was me and Sammy. Dad was a joke as a parent. Bobby was a constant that was gonna be there regardless. No one else was there, no else really mattered. When we were younger you were a friend. Another kid dragged into this shit show of a life too young but then he went to Stanford and all of a sudden you're the only person I knew in the life. You turned from this...this kid that used to be dumped off at Bobby's along with me and my little brother to this amazingly strong and beautiful woman. You turned into a constant in my life, the one thing that I could always count on. I never meant to fall in love with you because I never would've wanted to put the target that comes with a Winchester loving someone on your back but I did. Then when you loved me back?" He let out a breath, running a hand over his face.

You stood there staring at him, unsure what to say. Where was this two years ago? Why now? "Why have you waited two years to say this?" You couldn't help the venom in your voice. You were hurt and in all the years you'd known Dean before the two of you had gotten together you were stupid enough to think he'd abstained the last two years.

He shrugged "Because I'm an idiot? I thought if I tried hard enough you'd stop loving me and then I could just throw myself into hunting. I could find all the biggest cases. Make sure only little ones were left, keep you as safe as I could" "Dean my aunt died on a werewolf case. Not exactly a world ender" you replied and he nodded "I know. I know"

He turned to face you and you saw his shoulders sag "I'm human sweetheart. I'm not perfect. You of all people know that but I love you now more than ever. I never stopped loving you. It's going to end my world the day you stop breathing but when and if that day comes I'd rather face it knowing the last night we both spent on earth was in each other's arms. I broke your heart and I can't begin to make up for that but I will try with everything I have because there has not been a single day that I've stopped loving you. I have not touched another woman in the last two years, I can get tests if you need me to. I'll take it slow. We can start back by dating.."

You cut him off by crashing your lips against his. When you pulled away he smiled softly then raised both eyebrows "What was that for?" You laughed and shook your head "I love you Dean" you cut your eyes at the bed then added "now want to make up for the last two years?" A groan came from deep in his chest as he pulled you to him "You don't know how damn much"

You stopped him before he could press another kiss to your lips and he looked defeated at first before you said "Don't ever push me away again" he nodded "Yes ma'am" then grinned "Now can I kiss you?" "You can do whatever you want Winchester" you promised and his eyes darkened to a deep green, "I love you" he swore before crashing his lips against yours.

[emphistic]

"Buttface"

Things Reader Should Acknowledge: I THINK IVE FINALLY GOTTEN THE HANG OF TUMBLR (hip hip hooray!), i plan on having yuuji being sukuna's baby brother, however, yuuji hasnt been born yet

Prologue: Ever since Sukuna moved in next door, you two have grown closer. Like, impossibly close. One might even call you two "friends;" albeit Sukuna would always shut that idea down. But one thing Sukuna wouldn't shut down? — is that he loves to see you smile. And he would do anything to hear your laugh, over and over again.

A/N: this is in the same universe as "I'm Lactose Intolerant", and while the ages of sukuna and reader dont really matter here, i wrote this with the idea of sukuna being 14 years old and reader is 13 years old (feel free to change that to whatever you desire), brownie points to whoever recognizes the movie that sukuna and reader are watching

Please REFRAIN from REPOSTING MY WORK (REBLOGS ARE EXEMPTED FROM THIS RULE)

"This movie is stupid."

"You think everything is stupid, Stupid." You quip back, flicking Sukuna's forehead.

"Touché." He scoffs, and crosses his arms over his chest before leaning further back into the couch. You put your legs on his lap.

You grin to yourself, wondering if he really didn't notice that you called him by the name "Stupid". Then you think, he's probably just in a good mood, and go back to watching the comedy playing on the screen.

"I mean, how can it take you so long to figure out that someone who looks exactly like you is actually your long lost twin sister?" Sukuna moves his hand around to somehow make his point seem more valid.

"Besides, isn't this supposed to be a comedy? Where's the humor in this? This isn't funny, at all," Sukuna drones on — until you decide that you've finally had enough.

"This isn't funny? Well . . . it's not like you're funny, either." You stick your tongue out at Sukuna, in a teasing manner — to which he does the same.

"That's just what you think. I bet you didn't even know that all your friends come to me during break just to listen to me talk. In fact, most of the time, I'm not even trying to joke around, I'm just that naturally funny," Sukuna wore a smug look on his face.

"Sure, 'Kuna. They're just laughing because you have such a funny face. Sometimes I even get you mixed up with a chihuahua, you know."

"Oh really?" Sukuna glares at you, and gets closer to your face.

You copy him, "Yes — really."

At this point, the tips of your guys' noses were just centimeters away from touching. You could practically feel his warm breath on your face.

Woah.

Now you could hear your own breathing quicken.

Since when were Sukuna's eyes so red?

Your cheeks felt warm.

Why are his eyes so, so—?

"Buttface." Sukuna interrupts the silence.

You get pulled back to reality. "What did you just call me!?"

"What, you deaf now? I called you 'buttface,' Dumbass."

"Seriously, someone needs to control your vocabulary."

"Pft, I don't need any controlling."

You laughed, "Sure, Sukuna. Sure."

The movie ended, and the credits rolled. Sukuna grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, before getting off the couch.

"Want something to drink?" He peered over his shoulder at you, raising a brow.

"Ah, sure. Lemonade."

"Too bad, I ain't getting it for you," Sukuna stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweats and walked off — to the kitchen, you assumed.

You grumbled, and threw a pillow at his back. It just bounced off, though, and you sighed.

He returned minutes later, with a glass of lemonade in his hand. Which was a clear sign he was trying to aggravate you, because he's expressed multiple times his strong detesting of the refreshing drink. (You completely disagree with him, by the way.)

"Dude, seriously?" You frowned.

"Totally serious. I mean, I couldn't resist. This glass of lemonade was just calling my name." He took a sip.

"It is so good."

Another sip.

"Shame you don't have a glass yourself."

And another sip.

You were practically ripping out your hair at this point. "C'mon, 'Kuna. If you won't get me a glass, can I just have a tiny sip of yours?" You entreated him with all your might.

Sukuna rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger, pretending to think about his decision. Finally, he said, "What's with that name you keep calling me? And — what's the magic word?"

You huffed, "Please?"

He gestured for you to go on.

You clasped your hands together in a desperate, beggar-like manner. "Pretty please, Sukuna? Just a teensy weensy sip? For poor ol' me."

"Hmm, let me think. How about . . . no."

You gawked at the pink haired boy.

"WHAT."

"You heard me."

"Aghhh!" You jumped on Sukuna, trying to grab the glass of lemonade yourself. If he wasn't going to share, you just had to take matters into your own hands — literally.

Your attempts were fruitless, however; Sukuna just kept on raising the glass higher and higher above his head, to the point you couldn't even reach his wrist. Damn him and his stupid growth spurt.

His hand starts to shake as you try to climb him like a tree. Next thing you know, your wish is answered. You got your lemonade. Except, not in the way you had hoped. The lemonade was everywhere. On your clothes, Sukuna's clothes, the couch, everywhere.

"Oh shit." This time, you didn't correct Sukuna's obscene language.

The room became so silent that you would be able to hear a pin drop.

"Sukuna!" You whisper-shout. (You had no idea why you were whispering.)

"Don't look at me, this was your fault!" His hand still held the now empty glass.

"Me? This was all you," you retorted, jabbing a finger into the older boy's chest.

"Sureee, Y/N. Let's just forget about the fact that you were practically climbing my body."

You blushed.

"You could've just gotten your own cup of lemonade, but no, you just had to spill mine."

You scoffed, "Well, you could've shared, but you didn't — because your shellfish."

Sukuna looked at you funny, "Do you mean 'selfish'?"

"Same thing, you know I make mistakes with pronunciation."

He shrugged. Then, a great idea popped into your head.

"Your mess," you exclaim, before pushing off of Sukuna and darting away, only to be pulled back by your hood.

"Hey!" You shout, falling back onto Sukuna's chest.

"This is your mess. You caused this, remember?"

You groaned, turned around, and tackled Sukuna. You guys ended up rolling off the couch altogether. Pillows were thrown, and the lemonade spread onto the carpet.

"Let go of my foot, you big oaf!" You yelled, shoving at Sukuna's face.

"Not until you admit this was all your fault." He continued to wrestle with you on the ground.

"In. your. dreams."

You guys continued to fight, which made the mess even bigger. It felt like hours had passed. Hours where you still didn't get even a sip of lemonade. Then, you heard the sound of keys, and next thing you know; your parents walked in.

Your heartbeat hammered in your chest.

Your mom and dad took one good look at the two of you on the floor, and your mom said, "Knock it off, you two. And clean up the couch. I don't want my living room smelling like lemonade for the rest of the year." They walked into the kitchen.

You turned back to look at Sukuna, just to find him already staring at you. You guys continued to stare at each other before bursting out into laughter. Tears were basically streaming down the both of your guys' faces at this point.

Your mom yelled from the kitchen, "Ah, young love these days. So different from us — right, honey?" Your dad responded with a loud chuckle.

Looking down, you realized the position you were in. Sukuna lying on his back beneath you, while you were sitting on top of him. The expression on your face immediately soured.

You and Sukuna pulled away from each other in record timing, both of your expressions clearly, visibly flustered.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Dear John || Pt.1

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Requested: ☑️ My sweet Bri begged for a love-letter-centric Egan fic and with her wonderfully infectious ideas this was produced, the first part of many.

Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters, he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways, tucked up in luxury in Beverly Hills with carts of tedious fanmail burned in her back yard each day, his letter will get lost in the mix. It’s harmless. That thought -and the booze- may loosen his pen a little too much but it’s alright, it’s not like she’ll read it. Right? Right.

It was specified in the request to use or create some of those old WWII dirty acronyms, so in here you have Bucky making up his own for his starlet crush (acorn). I’m ripping off a few ladies here, Lana Turner, Betty Grable, Hedy Lamarr to name a few -the moodbaord is for general aesthetics, I try to keep my fem!readers and oc’s as ambiguous physically as possible. (Besides the fact Johnny Egan finds you mouthwatering, which -be honest with yourself here sweet thing!!- he would.

Rating: 18+ this is the letter writing, vintage form of sexting. i kid you not, this man swings wildly from sweet as pie to downright filthy and vintage slang for anatomical parts is used freely. This would make a better shameful diary entry than a letter but he’s a rogue and he’s in a war, cut him some slack.

Fun game: how many times can Major Egan manage to mention Buck in a horny fan letter to his crush?

Dear A.C.O.R.N.

It is highly unlikely that you remember me, but, all the same, we have met. Now, hear me out, I’m sure fellas say that to you all the time but my point still stands and to match them I’ll do you one better, seeing as how I am not buttering you up for something in return -I have met you, yes, but I have also sung to you.

There. Said it.

Not that you’d recall that either, but then again maybe you would, but either way it doesn’t matter as the entire reason I am writing to you is because it is entirely unlikely you will ever open this god-awful endeavor made of pen and ink.

I am quite drunk, you see.

A necessary medicine. And they do make good whiskey here, one of the few joys they haven’t rationed yet. It’s got me wondering what’s your poison of choice. Something fruity? Or are you an olive sucker? Like that salt on the rim? Or maybe you go for somethin’ silky and warm goin’ down your throat? Which-ever it is, I bet you’d be a surprise, sweet ACORN, I just know it. You were a surprise at the canteen. Back in Jersey? Before shipping out? I know you were on a whole tour and kisses were goin’ for dollars but still, you were a surprise.

A lovely one, really. And that’s the point of this letter. To tell you that you're lovely and while I’m not the pen-pal sort, I’ve written home 80 letters tonight to families whose boys I was supposed to bring home. It got me thinking: Bucky, why the hell don’t you write nice letters? Whyd you only write ‘em now that you gotta? And it occurred to me then that the one silver lining in this whole Air Exec job is the desk, the lamp and the office.

I could write anybody from here. I could write you.

And you wouldn't read it so I could write anything. And it could be a nice letter. ‘Cause I don’t know anybody of yours to tell you anythin’ sad about them and you don’t know me except that I’m alive and drunk. Which is better than those poor eighty two bastards. Which reminds me, I’ve still got two more but maybe Buck will take those, he took seventeen off to his bunk to write from there. Buck doesn't have a desk because he’s not as important as me and he has all the luck.

You’ve met Buck, too, Acorn. He was the appalled pretty one with the straw colored hair pulling me off you after we had our duet. He objects to your nickname, see, even though you didn’t seem to mind. You were lovely, A.C.O.R.N. And I’d not wanna ruin this letter by telling you what it means, not now that I’m actually writing to you and determined to be nice but Buck knows and while he agrees with me as much as any man in the nation that you’ve got the most robust rack on the silver screen -he has objections, you see. So it wasn’t the song or the canoodling he didn’t like, and I still say, he broke up a little love affair that night. Bastard. So I’m writing to you now because as the acronym suggests, I’ve got a goal in my mind in regards to you. I tell myself -Bucky, there’s reasons to make it back.

Reasons, Bucky, reasons. Like Acorn and her halo of gorgeous hair that smelled like coconuts and the way she thought my new lyrics were pretty clever. That’s what you said, acorn, you said they were pretty clever. Now I may have been a little drunk then, too, but I think you might’ve been tipsy, that coke smelled too strong to be straight. I still have the straw you gave me, it’s bent to hell but I’ve taken it up each mission. I’m not counting on it for luck so much as a reminder of the aforementioned reasons. To come back. Your lipstick has mostly worn off but I figure it’s still the same.

You had your precious lips around it. That’s what matters.

And that’s the sorta sentence that makes Buck think I shouldn’t write letters.

But what he can’t accuse me of is being dishonest or vague. I’m being straight with you. You deserve that much, you were lovely and very straight shootin’ yourself, dear little girl. I could pinch your cheeks right now, you’re so sweet. And don’t think me a coward for sayin’ all this under assumption that you won’t read it. I hope you don’t since it’s not worth your time and if you do I wish I’d written less about me and more about you but I need you to know if we were face to face I’d say the same:

You were lovely, you ARE lovely!!!! and I think all your work for us boys is swell and you’ve got the bestest set of knockers any of us have ever seen and I’m stayin’ alive in hopes to see ‘em again some day and while the girls here are swell and sweet they aren’t zippy like you. At least not the ones who’ve put out so far. And if I had you face to face, I’d find a way to make you laugh again and I’d tell you to your face you’re lovely and if I’d been David Nivin in Love Trap with you, I’d have stayed in that little kitchen with you and ate all your burnt flapjacks and watched you in your apron and made babies with you till we were old.

Anyway. It needed saying. And maybe I’ll say it to your face given the chance again. I was working my way up to a proposition for burgers and milkshakes when Buck ruined it. But maybe you’ll tour? Here!! Over here. In England or maybe in Europe once we kick the Nazis bastards out.

Now that’s motivation. That’s a reason! -clear out a nice little swath of land through fortress europe so Miss Lana Tierney can sing in the city of lights surrounded by nothin’ but wine and good food and a buncha boys who love and appreciate her.

Because we do, ma’am. We do.

And make no mistake, I do this to keep the country safe and try to bring as many boys home as I can but every second I also think - it’s where you are too, and so I must continue keeping it safe.

If you, by some godawful chance, do read this letter, please don’t feel pressed to respond or pull out a restraining order. Think of it this way, it’d just be one more “Dear John” letter and the system is clogged as it is. You just deserve a nice letter and my wrist is past sore, one more doesn't matter. And being unable to deliver nice, I’ve written this.

~ I am ever your respectful (and hammered) admirer, Maj. John Egan

P.S. if you do happen to read this I’m sorry. Buck told me not to do this but I just had to Acorn. You’re just too swell and I really have got to get myself to a theater before long, I miss your Angel face.

Masterlist

Thank you for reading! This was entirely out of my usual comfort zone but I’ve had fun writing it and I’m trying to tune my ear to pick up his voice, that’s been stretching. This series will have many letters in it but there will also be fic, so fear not. I’ve got some plans already figured out for this series but I do love a suggestion or ten so have at the inbox with what you’d like to see play out.

Hope you enjoyed, if you’d like to be tagged in future MOTA fics, drop a note below.

[tangerinelabyrinth]

In theory Martha Jones and Mickey Smiths relationship makes sense. In both of their stories they had similar themes to each other and if they had planned out their relationship (like they should have done) it wouldn't have been far off the realm of possibility that they would end up together.

Unfortunately, their story was non-existent reduced to a fifteen second clip mentioning that they were married and never showing us how they got there. Last, we leave Martha engaged to her fiancé saying goodbye to the Doctor and taking off with Mickey and Jack, with Jack mentioning her quitting UNIT and hinting that he had a job for her at Torchwood because at that time Torchwood had lost two members. (RIP- Toshiko and Owen).

I've seen talk recently that their entire relationship was put together as a joke, which just further shows how little the show, and the show runner cared for Martha's character, and because of the lack of reasoning behind the relationship feels as though last minute they decided to shove the only two black characters together. (Which is exactly what they did)

Having them end up together feels to me like a slap in the face, as it ruins all the development the characters had went through especially Martha. I hate it even more when people say it's perfect that they ended up together because both of them couldn't end up with who they wanted. (Rose and Ten) (I can't even get into depth on why I don't like when people say that because my thoughts aren't working)

The only way Martha and Mickeys relationship makes sense is if they joined Torchwood together, or Mickey joins UNIT otherwise what would be the reason for them to be around each other so much that Martha breaks up with her previous fiancé. We know Jack calls Martha in series three of Torchwood and mentions Martha being on her honeymoon, which is most likely with Mickey. I guess there is always the possibility that Martha and Mickey just decided to become freelance alien hunters together and did not join Torchwood at all, Jack did only say that perhaps Martha should do something else besides UNIT but didn't say Torchwood.

It would be nice if the showrunner actually cared for the characters, (The only two main characters of color at the time) and actually put thought into the relationship so it didn't quite literally come out of nowhere. Even having Martha and Mickey somehow come together in that episode and maybe sharing some flirty or even just friendly banter would have been a bit better in segueing into the fact they get married.

It's a shame for how little they cared for these characters and their story, it honestly feels as if they were just used as tools for both the Doctor and Rose. This is one reason in the multitude of others why I won't stop talking about the disrespect and treatment of Martha, (And the characters of color in all the fandoms I'm in) and why those who deny that these characters are treated unfairly by both the media they are in, and the fans are wrong the proof is right there. Martha's story ends unfinished, and her and Mickey get thrown together as a joke.

These are my thoughts on Mickey and Marthas Relationship, it could have worked but it didn't.

[the-whispers-of-death]

had an idea for price x protective!reader

maybe they had a mission, a really, really risky one, everyone knew they could fucking die there and of course reader made sure to be by john's side all the time

maybe someone (some random soldier i don't want my boys dying) gets shot and reader ignores them because john also got shot ? maybe reader just makes a ridiculously risky move who ends up getting someone hurt to save john? either way, whatever you decide to write, someone gets hurt

what if... angst with everyone at the 141 (including john) being so fucking pissed at reader for that? they almost (or actually) lost a soldier and reader actually doesn't give a fuck because john is alright??? what kind of mentality is that? (the right one)

Alright, but know that you asked for angst. And I will write it with my full chest.

CW: Everyone thinks Reader is not mentally well. There's a mention of mental hospitals, but you're not put in one.

You and the 141 all came back from a brutal mission where half of the soldiers died, including one that you had pushed out of the way so you could tackle John before a bullet could hit him. John was safe, but that soldier?

That soldier ended up taking the bullet meant for John and bleeding out to death.

And while the others had more or less accepted your protectiveness over John, they were pissed that you disregarded the other soldier in favor of John. You were confused, because you usually disregarded your other soldiers in favor of saving John, but they swore this time was different.

Probably because Laswell had been overseeing this mission and she was deeply alarmed by your mentality, the way you didn't seem remorseful simply because John was okay. And you weren't remorseful, John was safe.

So Laswell ripped into you, yelling. You could take it, except even John himself was pissed.

Your eyes had watered when he started yelling, tearing up despite yourself. You were someone who laughed in the face of danger, but you couldn't handle John yelling at you.

He was your husband, your entire world. He was everything, even the air you breathed. He was your god.

It was so overwhelming that you shouted that you didn't care if any of them died if it meant that John was alive. It didn't matter if you died, all that mattered was John was alive.

Laswell was shocked, to say the least, so she ordered you to get a psych eval. She was convinced there was something wrong with you, with your belief that John was above everything else. She just didn't understand.

But then so didn't the shrink you got sent to. They didn't understand your protectiveness over John, didn't understand that John mattered more than life itself. They were deeply concerned for you, but they couldn't force you into a mental hospital.

So they did the next thing, which was to medically discharge you, saying you were unfit to keep serving. You had basically a walk of shame when you packed all of your stuff, feeling everyone's eyes on you.

You left the base and went home to the house where you and John lived whenever you weren't on deployments. A house you hoped John would come back to when his deployment was over. You could handle losing your job, be painted as crazy.

But you couldn't handle losing John and you wouldn't. Not if you had anything to do about it.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

[junedenim]

2004

beneath the boardwalk, part 2 (series masterlist)

i bet you look good on the dancefloor

warnings: fluff, angst, a little smutty, the whole shebang, offensive language (posh-shaming), etc.

word count: 19.6k

In Alex's bedroom, there is a splatter of ink on the wall that looks like a Rorschach test. It has a big splotch in the middle with droplets surrounding it. It's on the wall next to his bed and you could look at it for hours, study layers of it. Butterfly, moth, bat, or what I would later insinuate several times: a vagina.

Despite the distance between High Green and Wakefield, I would drive over to Alex's house about every other weekend once the spring semester had begun. It had started as a plan to work on our writing with one another before it became more of an excuse to hang out with one another. Alex would later confess to me that he never did much songwriting in general, minus a few exceptions, when we were there. Instead, he did unrefined, rough drawings of mostly clutter-filled nonsense. Later, when I went away to university, I found one of the sketches cut into a bookmark, placed by Alex in my notebook. The sketch was of a girl with hair that was too long drooped over while writing in her notebook. It wasn't what critics would consider good, but it was me in Alex's eyes, and I think that did me greater justice than any other portrayal of me.

We didn't talk much. For those months, his mum would joke that we were "going steady." I wrote more than I ever did in my life because Alex wouldn't allow me to do anything else. He'd shush me when I tried to speak to him, insisting that he was in the middle of a lyrical masterpiece. In reality, he was practicing writing with his left hand. 

Most of that material is lost to time. That notebook disappeared around '07 and is suspected to have been lost when my parents moved out of our Wakefield home. During that time I mostly wrote fiction, personal essays were reserved for my diary. Alex never read anything in that notebook with the exception of one page that I had ripped out, folded up into a swan, and placed in his pocket before I left for university. It's the only page that remains and still sits in Alex's nightstand drawer.

I stayed for dinner for the first time in February. His mother, Penny, insisted that it was ridiculous I make the drive back home on an empty stomach. I don't think Alex had people over for dinner often, maybe Matt occasionally when they were younger, but I think most nights were confined to him and his parents. 

They spoke quietly, much like Alex did, but they were funny and had an overt interest in me.

"Have you lived in Wakefield your whole life?" His father asked me.

"Uh, no, I lived the first few years of my life in Frankfurt, Germany—" 

My explanation was cut short by Penny gasping. I feared the kitchen had caught fire. "Alexander!" She chastised, for the first time hearing someone call him by his full first name. "You didn't tell me this."

Alex tried to keep his laughter over his mother to himself, looking down at his plate. "I didn't know."

"Did Alex tell you I'm a German teacher? Probably not since he apparently doesn't tell anyone anything." She pointedly said to her son.

I laughed because it was sweet and, more obvious to only me, even then, my parents never did this. Stacey didn't even joke around anymore. We didn't eat dinner at the table unless we had guests, which were almost exclusively my dad's co-workers.

"Are your parents German?" Penny was eager. She had found a connection with the girl who had been taken hostage in her son's room for the past month. Alex's parents were reassured that nothing was going on between the two of us and that they had no issues with closed doors. I suppose my parents didn't either but they were likely in a different parenting style than Penny and David.

"No," I said, "my dad's work was over there. He grew up near Newcastle. My mum was born in Moscow but grew up over in the States."

"Wow, so, how'd they meet?"

I laughed. I didn't plan to tell the story but Penny was curious and my laughter had to be explained. "Um," I cleared my voice, "my parents met through my dad's wife. Ex-wife." A famed story in our family. My parents oddly toted this loudly to us as children like it was some romantic tale.

I sipped my water, laughing into it as I watched the members of the table try and contain a reaction. Then, Alex let out his laughter and I had to join in. Rumbling the glass of water I was drinking out of. David and Penny, with our invitation, joined in.

At the end of the night, Penny hugged me and told me to get home safely. "I'd like to hear more life stories from you."

Alex, overhearing, chimed in, "Yeah, she should write a book about them."

It began the tradition that at least once a month, I would have dinner with David and Penny. 

The following week, right at the tail end of February when the heating in Alex's room broke, I sat on his bed, under the covers. He, of course, sat over top of them in his jeans and trainers. It was disgusting but it was his bed so I was rejected the right to criticize him over it.

I had grown bored of writing and had become interested in Alex. Since my kissing faux pas, I had made a great effort to uninterest myself in Alex. It was going okay until he forced me into these writing sessions. I was never able to crack Alex completely. I could figure out things about him, read my way through him, but I was never able to fully deduce why he refused to kiss me but wanted to spend time alone with me. Now, I'd tell you he was being a friend. Then, I'd tell you, he had to be gay. 

Yet, I knew he wasn't and I couldn't stop wondering why he didn't like hanging out with me when other people were involved. Joanie had brought up the idea of a double date but Alex made a sound and shook his head before insistently saying, "Jane's just me friend." He didn't like hanging around Joanie much, I could understand that much. But we didn't hang out with Matt together and he rejected hanging with AB & Claire, which was fine. We weren't dating or anything.

Joanie and Claire would both tease me about Alex. They both figured we spent Saturdays fucking our brains out, not silently sitting across from one another. Not talking with his mum more than him. I, like Alex, would insist we were nothing more than friends, but in my head I was playing another game where Alex and I were in a secret relationship, hiding it from our friends, so secret Alex didn't even know about it.

I didn't delude myself much. I didn't expect him to change his mind on me but I did fantasize maybe he would. I liked being his friend too. I liked looking at him like "friends" do. 

"I'm done!" I announced. I shut my notebook and placed my pen on top of it.

He didn't look up from his book. He shushed me. Scrunched up his nose and moved his pen quickly. This might have been one of the few times he was writing. 

I folded my hands into my lap and waited. His pen rushed across the page, then scratched something out, then continued for another surge of writing. Alex looked up, squinted at me, and then returned to writing.

"It's time for me to go!" I began to move over to him at the end of the bed. Fists on his mattress like a gorilla.

Alex shushed me again. I was about to start beating my chest. I laid my head next to his legs, criss-crossed under his notebook. I stretched myself out and saw his eyes glance down at the gap my shirt had created, belly button exposed. I yawned and he kept writing.

"Aren't you going to say goodbye?"

He didn't even bother shushing this time. He was reaching the bottom of the page but I was whiny and bored and desperately didn't want to go home. 

I sat up and attempted to spin my pen like Matt did with his drumsticks. I'd tried to learn but Matt wasn't a very good teacher or maybe I wasn't a very good student, likely the latter. I stared intensely at Alex, bulging my eyes, trying to will his head to look up. Writing, writing, writing.

Then, my pen flew. It launched out of my hands, spinning quickly before smacking against his wall. The ink landed and I covered my mouth with my hands, trying to hide my laugh. 

Alex looked up, searching for the sound, "What'd you do?" He followed my eyes and looked at the stain forming, and then he looked back over at me, silently laughing into my hands.

"I'm so sorry." My laugh was noticeable no matter my efforts to hide it. I became loud and tried to take deep breaths to hide it but then it grew uncontrollable. "I don't know what happened." And then he laughed too.

*

Alex liked my car. It was a black 2002 Volkswagen New Beetle. Besides AB and me, none of our friends had their own cars. AB only had a car because he worked in his father's garage shop and the car was a clunker. Will used to have one too but he crashed it on New Year's Day 2003. 

Alex would insist, mostly when I got bored of writing and complaining in his ear, that we take a ride in the Beetle. He made too many Beatles puns that I rolled my eyes at but to this day, I wish I had written them down to have as relics from that period of our lives. He'd flip through the radio too many times. Then, he'd shut it off and ask if I had any CDs.

"Sugababes?" He'd once question with a chuckle. He has a habit of distracting me while driving. 

I furrowed my brows. "What's wrong with Sugababes?"

Then, he'd pull his face together and put it back in the console. "Nothing, nothing."

We never drove anywhere in particular. Sometimes we went to City Centre, sometimes I drove Al to work. Most of the time we just drove around. I didn't know too much of High Green but quickly learned every corner of it with Alex as my tour guide.

One time we stopped at the Charlton Brook Dam and I was lying on my stomach, kicking my feet behind me, and writing in my notebook. Very teenage dream writing in "Dear Diary..." For the first time, Alex groaned.

I looked up and he was staring up at the sky, almost directly into the sun. He hadn't bothered to take his notebook out, still in his back pocket.

"What?" I asked.

He slowly shook his head.

I sat up properly. "No, come on, what are you groaning all about for?"

Alex sighed and rubbed his eye. "I don't think—I don't know—I don't think I can write near water." This was long before I knew of his mostly empty writing sessions.

I threw my head back in laughter. 

He chuckled along with me but asked, "What's so fun about that?"

"No, no, nothing," I told him. I calmed myself down and we held eye contact.

The dam seemed to bring something out of Alex. Something about the water reflected something onto him. "Can I ask you something?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"What are you going to do after Barnsley?" It was like a confrontation. One that I needed. My parents were too far off to care where I was most of the time. I don't think they had thought about my future, not as much as Gary, my older brother. My older sister, Harper, did one year of university before dropping out and marrying Ian. I think Harper wanted to get away as much as I did but then she got pregnant and was never able to escape. Just had to accept her fate as a Cavendish. 

I shrugged at his question. "I thought about university. That seems like the likely thing to do but I feel too unsure. Like I should go get a job or gallivant through Europe for a year. Fuck off to America or something."

He laughed. "Fucking off to America sounds nice. You'd get a lot more sun. You look good in the sun."

An upturn of my cheeks and a vow not to take his compliments too seriously occurred. "I've applied but haven't heard."

Alex picked at the hole in his jeans, no longer looking at me. "Do you think it be crazy to do the band for, you know, a living or summat?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so. I like your stuff."

"You're one of the few. Have a gig with just you and Matt's mum handing out pastries."

"Despite your disdain for my Angels with Dirty Faces CD, I know good music when I hear it. When I read it too."

"You've only read one of them."

"And I know it's good. You've read nothing of mine, yet you insist I come over every weekend to write."

Then, he said, quickly and sure of himself, "That's just because I want to see every weekend."

I hid my reaction. I must have. In between, my heart beating and my throat closing, I contained my excitement because he didn't comment on it. "Is that so?"

I wanted to pester him further. See the map of his brain and what road it leads down. But he stood up and said, "My shift's in a half hour."

I lamented. "Has this relationship grown so one-sided you don't even properly ask me for a ride anymore?"

I was whining in place and he was eager to get back to the car, but I'm not sure why he didn't tell me to move or push me up the little hill we were sitting on, instead, he grabbed hold of my hand. Not in a yanking motion. It was soft and little and he never commented on it. He intertwined himself with me and said, "Come on, Janie." Then, pulled me up the hill and didn't let go until I reached the car door. In the car, we laughed and listened to Sugababes, but he didn't touch me again. Didn't grab hold of my knee or wrap his arm around the back of my seat. He sat with his hands on his own knees and when I knew he secretly loved a song, he'd tap away with his left hand on his thigh. 

*

When March neared an end that year I decided I was not going to celebrate my birthday. I resigned myself to the cupcake AB and Claire got me for lunch and it ended with that. Joanie had other plans.

Ambushing me was never a good idea, let alone a surprise party. Ambushing with alcohol was always a good idea. I guzzled it down while we sat in Joanie's basement, smaller than Will's but bigger than the White House's (exaggeration but not far off). 

Unknown bodies filled the room but I had Claire by my side and Joanie hanging off my back. As much as we had drifted, I was touched by Joanie's closeness to me, instead of Matt. We resembled our former trio before The Grapes gig. 

Alex sat across the room. He was sitting on a table next to Matt. At one point in their conversation, Matt pointed over to us and Alex's eyes landed straight on me. He nodded at me and then smiled. I waved him over but he didn't move. He averted his eyes and kept chatting with Matt.

But then a minute later, he looked over at me again and I waved him over again. He smiled but his lack of response remained the same. "Oy!" I yelled.

He looked over and I curled my finger at him, urging him to come hither. He pointed at himself unsurely. 

"Yes, you, you wanker!" I shouted.

Alex chuckled and stood up to make his way over to me. He bent down to meet my eye level, flashing a charming smile at me. "You beckoned?"

"I beckoned? I beckoned? You were making the eyes at me over there. It's not proper to ignore the birthday girl."

"You've got two girls hanging off of ya."

"That's a dream for most men."

He laughed, grabbed my hand, and picked me up from my seat. "I'm not gay, Janie." I laughed hard, throwing, not only my head but my whole body back, forcing him to hold me close. "And you are very, very drunk."

I pouted. "What else is a girl supposed to do on her birthday?" I had been drinking on my birthday since I could remember. I used to sneak down into the fridge and steal beers when I was 6. It only got bigger as I got older. Most vices do.

In a perfect sequence, I twirled and he lifted his arm to let me under. When I came back around, I smiled and leaned my chest into his. The little boobs I have pushed up against him. "Do you want to have sex with me tonight?" I don't know where it came from. Well, I mean, I do, a fresh 18 and a mighty amount of alcohol applies, but I had lost all boundaries. A year filled with less sex, less partying, less Will, led me to a clear mind, which only slipped back into past habits. 

Sex. Must have sex. If we have sex then he'll like me. He'll love me even. I'm great at sex and he's a little groundling that I'll have to entertain.

"No, Janie, not tonight." I had never corrected the usage of Janie. I abhorred the nickname from everyone else's lips but Al's. He always struck the right chord within me and let it play out for decades. 

I rounded my arms onto his neck. I pulled him close, close to kiss, close to French, close to makeout, close to fuck, close to make love, close to eat him alive. "But someday?"

I knew I'd be devastated by whatever response he gave me. Devastated that then wasn't now, devastated that then was never. Alex looked down on me. I was eager. A gosling looking for mother goose to follow. "Do you need to sit down?"

He was ignoring the issue altogether. After all this time of going back and forth in my head about Alex—about why I could crack the code on everything else about him, except what his interest in me was—I had decided to ask him, "Why are you ignoring me?"

He chuckled at my slurring and I dreamt he found it endearing. "I'm not ignoring you. You're hanging all over me."

"Do you not like it when I hang all over you?" I threw myself at him pathetically, especially when I was dripping in alcohol. 

"Let's sit." He removed his arms from around him and dragged me over to sit down. Joanie had left to sit on Matt's lap. Claire had shifted to talking to Rosie, currently broken up with Will. Rosie had seemingly taken my place in Will's bed and I was no longer upset about it. I was upset with Alex, or really with myself for not being good enough for Alex.

We sat down and I, sleepy drunk, laid my head on his shoulder. I whispered, low and quiet, that I was shocked he heard over the music, "I just want to know what it is."

"What what is?" He questioned.

"Why don't you like me?" I clarified. I wish I wasn't such a baby. A child begging for her mother to pick her up. I desperately wanted him to like me. I wanted him to fall at my feet in the way no man had. Beg for my forgiveness and call himself an idiot for ever rejecting my kiss.

"I like you."

I hesitated, even drunk I knew we were treading on crossed boundaries. Then I let what I had been dying to know the truth for months slip out. "Why won't you kiss me? I'm not trying to flatter myself but why won't you want to kiss a girl? You're not gay but why won't you kiss me?"

He didn't answer for a moment. Alex has always been a person to think his thoughts out but I imagine he struggled to answer my question. "I like being your friend," Alex said.

"Friend?"

"You're one of my best friends, Janie." He was calm and he pushed my stray hairs behind my ear.

I wanted to kill myself. I wanted to never see anyone again. If I was an ounce sober, I'd swallow the pain and rejection, but my bloodstream was alcohol and I was throwing a pity party. My head left his shoulder and fell into my hands with a sob.

"Jane." He was concerned. He patted my back and urged me to sit up and look at him.

I was too embarrassed to look at him with tears and tell him he was the reason why. Even if he obviously knew he was the reason why. I took a deep breath and sat up. "I'm a sad old drunk. Sorry."

He was concerned but said nothing. We never talked about it again.

Later that night, after everyone had mostly left except our close friend group—minus Will, who had puked on himself about 10 minutes before—Alex handed me a cigarette and lit it for me. No lighters tossed.

We sat in the corner pocket of the couch with one another. Everyone else was lying about but we were talking slowly and tiredly to one another, except Joanie, of course, more perky than ever. "Let's dance!" She cheered.

I groaned and everyone else seemed to feel the same way. Matt wasn't even indulging her anymore. But then she played Spice Girls and I had to join in. I stood myself up and rocked about with Joanie.

Halfway through Alex yelled, "Now do the robot!"

I yelled back over my shoulder. "Oh, fuck off now!" But I did it anyway, rough and drunk as ever.

When the night winded down for good, Alex slept over at my house. The hour was late, everyone was drunk, and it was decided that High Green was just too far. On the walk back home, where our minds sobered up and we walked feet apart from one another. Alex's hands were deep in his pockets and my arms crossed, hands hidden away in my armpits. 

About 5 minutes into the walk he asked, "Good birthday?"

I nodded. "Fine."

"Just fine?" He chuckled.

I shrugged. "Birthdays have never been too exciting for me. They've always sucked in some way."

Alex moved closer to me and took a hand out of his pocket, throwing his arm over my shoulder and tugging me into him. If I closed my eyes I could fantasize he meant something else by it. I had wished in my head, with the absence of birthday candles, to have him. Looking back it feels stupid to put that much weight on a guy but I was 18 and he was Alex.

"Anything I can do?" He asked.

In my head, I had a million answers. Any action of interest would shoot rockets through me and fireworks out of me. I didn't say anything. I was sober enough to know that I shouldn't be an idiot. I shouldn't beg for his affection. He was one of my best friends now too and to lose that to some fantasy would be a far greater crime than him not kissing me.

"Not really. I think I'll just go to bed and leave my birthday at that."

Then, he stopped moving. His arm around me held me back. "What?" I asked.

He tilted his head and I'd ponder what it meant. "Nothing," Alex said. We continued walking and never spoke about it again. 

*

The following morning, Alex drove my car. After dealing with my father at the door, who I am sure was drunk from watching Newcastle United lose and had no clue who Alex was, my father, to feign caring, questioned Alex at the door. Alex mumbled away, which could've left a bad first impression on my father if he wasn't too out of it to remember. My father didn't remember my friends' faces anyway.

When Alex and I escaped my father, who grumbled his way back to the tele, Alex drove me for the first time ever. "You're a lot better than I thought you would be."

"Why'd you think I'd be bad?" He was winsome in his long-sleeve sweater, his jacket thrown into the backseat due to the hotness of that car. 

"You have me drive you around all the time. I figured your mum was too afraid to give you her car."

The previous night we had slept in the same bed. My daydreams weren't fulfilled in any way, we were laid like sardines, Alex's head at the foot of the bed, mine at the head. My bed, at the pretentious time in my life, was king-sized. An ocean of linen sheets separated us. 

In the morning, he grabbed my car keys and insisted.

Alex pulled up by Charlton Brook Dam and we didn't say anything. It was a wordless movement to the water that ran through the park. We sat side-by-side, in the same spot we always sat in, cushioned under two oak trees that had acorns falling at our feet. 

He pulled out a cigarette and handed it to me first. He put that pack away and looked at me mute and waiting. I snorted a horrid snort that I think about to this day (I might as well have said oink!). I pulled out one from my purse and handed it to him. He provided the lighter.

"You're no good for me, Janie." I conceded. I decided then I would never dream of being with Alex again. Why lose a friend—a friend like Al—for some fiddly fake romance I had made up in my head? "I smoke too much when I'm with ya." That was true too.

We puffed away and talked about nonsense mostly; shit from school. The dam blew perfectly onto our skin. I was wrapped up in a cardigan and Alex had thrown his jacket to the side, dirting it in the dew. 

His voice was soft, like the dew at our feet, and he spoke emotionally, like a vow from his heart. "Your eyes are so blue." I am well aware of the powers of my blue eyes. I've batted them since I was a baby and crowds fell to their knees in adornment. But the way he spoke it sounded like foggy desperation. A thing you only say between two cigarettes deep in the morning or night.

"Yours are very brown." I laughed but he didn't. He stared down at the grass and fiddled with his cigarette. It felt awkward and rigid.

Alex looked up at me carefully. His eyes sculpted over me. "I have thought about it. What you asked me about last night."

Breaths were short and the heart was quickened in beats. "What did I ask about it?" I need this to be clear. I wanted to not fear what would come out of his mouth.

"Never mind."

I realized he needed me to be clear. Though I was in a fit of drunkenness and I would—and had the reputation—of sleeping with whoever would allow. He thought he wasn't special. He looked off into the dam and I asked, "About someday?"

Alex's head turned over and he took a while to answer, in fact, he never answered. He leaned over and kissed me. Slow, steady, and the non-slobber variety. The perfect first kiss.

"You want to have sex now on the hill?" I joked. I was fun. I was cool. I was screaming inside.

He laughed this time. "No. I just wanted to know what it would be like to kiss you."

*

We didn't get together right away. There was this weird stretch of time lasting from after my birthday until the end of May where we would hide out with one another, in my room after school and in his room where Alex tried to uphold our writing session before dissolving into sex sessions. I don't know if either of our parents knew what would happen upstairs. His parents would either be home late or hold no objections to the shut & locked door. My father wasn't home when Alex came over. He'd always go to the pub after work. My mother sat in front of Coronation Street or had her friends over. Alex never stayed for dinner at mine. I stayed more and more often at his.

The first time we had sex was 2 days after our kiss. We went to my house after school with no intent to do much of anything except a hang out disguised as an excuse to make out. After 10 minutes of snogging, Alex reached under my skirt and touched my underwear. He was hesitant and seemed as if he didn't mean to go that far but didn't retract his hand. Mine furthered lower to his jeans, rubbing in between my legs.

Our lips parted and Alex pushed a small gap between us to see me. "Jane." It was his way of giving a warning sign. There was no pushing further. "Would it be alright...?" He stretched the sentence out, mumbling nerves to me.

"If we had sex?" I attempted to finish. "Yes. If I haven't made it clear I want to have sex with you then we should get your brain checked."

He laughed and placed his head in the nook between my shoulder and neck. I'd wanted him to stay there forever. Forever 18 in that corner of our world. "No, no. I was just—never mind."

I rolled my eyes at his habit of having to decipher his message. I still roll my eyes at this affliction to this day. "You're so cocky and now I've got you tongue-tied."

He rubs his eyes, buggy and alluring. "I'm not cocky. Just mighty hard."

Laughter spurted from my mouth. "You've got no sense."

Alex insisted, "I've got perfect sense."

I've never been one for the term "making love." It's reserved for romance novels and cheesy songs my mother played in the car. I've grown out of the phase of "fucking" but in my late teens, this seemed the appropriate words for my past rendezvous. Quick-fulfillment and non-long-lasting. "Sex" was the preferred word; plain and simple. Alex and I were definitely shagging too. I won't object to that.

Alex looked star-gazingly and held sentiment too deep for me to understand at 18. Then he said, "You're hot, Janie." I settled down a bit after that because he was the sweetest candy I could bite into but he was also an 18-year-old boy.

After the sex, there was the headwork he may or may not have attempted to do before I redirected him to the proper location of the clit. He wasn't bad, much better than anything Will or other losers had done, but he was a man boy and I enlisted myself to be the girl that all his future girlfriends would thank for teaching him how to fuck.

He was sweet as a teddy bear. I pictured him as a little cub bear and me as the pot of honey he was holding. After we had finished for the first time, I went up to pee and he disposed of the condom. He had placed his boxers and shirt on when I had returned. I prepared to dress myself, he grabbed hold of my hand, smooth like a baby's skin, and didn't say anything. He tugged me toward his bed and when he laid down, he pulled me beside him. 

I'm sure my look was one of peculiarity causing him to respond with "Come on, Janie, you love my blankets so much."

Alex mindread that I was uncomfortable. I felt naked because I was naked. He handed me my clothes. We were still awkward and gangly teenagers and the idea of wearing one another's clothes was a distant thought. I placed my bra and panties on for good measure, not wanting to wrinkle the rest of my clothes. 

I lay beside him on his bed. He rounded his arm over my shoulder and we both stared up at his ceiling. I was being gnawed away inside by one thing, so I asked, "Why'd you change your mind?"

"Me mind on what?" He questioned.

He was warm. Heat radiated off his body and mind. We had both turned to lie on our sides. We faced one another but our eyes were darting over the other's body, at least Alex's were. I focused on the way his hair looked perfect despite what we had just done. "Kissing me. Last year, which might be one of the most embarrassing moments of my life and that's saying something."

He tilted his head down to look me in the eye. "I didn't really know you then."

"I've done a lot more with guys I've known a lot less," I said it lightheartedly but he seemed to take it seriously. He has always been more stoic about these things. 

Alex dithered in his mind. Then, he reached his hand out and held my side. It was a slow-moving force pulling me to him. "You're my friend. Matt told me about these conversations you'd have over a smoke. Then, we had our talk outside The Grapes. I couldn't help—I'm not sure who wouldn't want to talk to you."

I almost laughed. It felt ridiculous the notion that people enjoyed hearing me talk. I had spent a whole life being yelled at not to talk at the dinner table, to be seen, not heard, to sit up straight and mind my business, and to not interrupt when my father was talking. I thought of words as something to fill a void in our lives. I wrote my words away and locked them up and wondered: who would ever want to read what I had to say, think, feel? Al.

Alex continued, "And I know you now. I know you differently, but your reputation preceded you."

"As a slut?" I replied.

He didn't reject the idea, although he shook his head. It wasn't something he could highly reject because everyone knew it was true. I didn't have such a problem with it then. When Arctic Monkeys got famous, in turn Alex, and in turn me as his girlfriend, the word felt different. Maybe because it wasn't who I was anymore. I hadn't been in a long time. I was also a university student shying away from my past adventures, unable to shed my skin like everyone else. I was also more than Al's girlfriend. I was more to Alex himself than I was just his girlfriend.

"I didn't want to be bedded, I suppose," Alex admitted. "I didn't want to never see you again."

"You would have seen me again," I insisted.

"From the corner of a party?"

"We didn't see much of each other anyway after that."

"I know. Eventually, we did. And I don't know how many times we would have sat with each other writing instead of shagging."

"You think we couldn't control ourselves?" I teased.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Did we just have sex with each other or was that your evil twin?"

I laughed and pushed him back. I sat up and pulled my skirt on. "So now you don't care about our writing?"

"I figured I'd just give you a little inspiration."

I whipped him with my top. We had exploded into laughter and, once again, he was right.

*

In my first year of knowing Alex, we had developed this fantasy of escaping England. While I had a privileged life traveling to places that likely gave me skin cancer, I had never had fun doing it. My mother often weighed things down, splashed out on the bottle since Tom, my eldest brother, died in 1996. Trips weren't pleasant before then but there wasn't much need to put on an effort after that. Places where drinking was encouraged and never discouraged were key. Vegas, The Bahamas, Cancún, etc. It sounded fun to me in the moment until I realized I'd be spending months trapped with my drunk mother, groaning father, and poor Stacey. Harper and Greg got out of it once they graduated from university.

I told Alex all of this early on, at some point in one of our first writing sessions. The idea came up every once in a while. Often after we'd have sex. I'd lay in his arms (something we started doing out of convenience since Al's bed was too small, of course, this continued to my bed, despite its much larger size) and we'd be heavy and rushed, staring at the ceiling, completely caught up in one another. He'd sigh and say, "Where do you want to go today, Janie?"

It became a tradition, continuing to this day. I'd list off a new place I wanted to go. When it first started it was my dream destinations, then Alex kept telling me to find new places and research, which I did. I would later graduate with A-levels in geography.

"I'd like to go to LA. I've never been to LA." I was on top of his chest. It was late one night at my house and I often wondered if anyone knew we existed. We were hidden away in this cocoon with only each other to survive. It felt fitting. It has always felt like there is room for the two of us, never too close together, never too far apart. 

Alex was tender with me. In the early stages, we acted awkward with one another, but it never felt awkward. Each step was some natural continuation even if it was performed weirdly. We weren't dating but I knew I loved Alex. I felt he loved me too by the way he clumsily petted my shiny hair back. "I went to Disney once with me grandmother."

"I want to go to Joshua Tree," I told him.

"Like the U2 album?"

I laughed. "It's a National Park, you idiot."

"Oh," he chuckled, "you and your parks. You're always wanting me to exercise. You think I'm unfit." Alex spoke jokingly but I got the feeling that parts of him did have concern over his body. He buried so much down that I think he couldn't even feel it at times.

The way his hand moved down my hair calmed me. I figured it might do the same for him. I brushed back his hair, out of his eyes and pushed back. I smiled at him and the fact I was lying on his bare chest after a round of pretty great sex should have been clue enough. "You're the fittest man at Barnsley College."

"Oh, fuck off, Janie. Ya play with me heart too much." 

I didn't know what else to say, so I just kissed him.

*

I don't know if no one ever found out, but nobody said anything. I figure most people guessed we were already doing it considering the ribbing Matt would give Alex sometimes. Everyone was too caught up in themselves anyway. Or maybe the whole Joanie and Matt drama when they broke up in the first week of April, got back together the second week of April, and then called it quits in the third week of April. Alex will deny ever caring about this gossip circus but we had too many intense debriefs on drives from Barnsley for him ever to get away with it.

Alex and I also talked about everything anyway. I'll we ever did was talk and fuck but I think that's what most of existence is anyway. Although, we took it to another level. The only place we didn't talk was a writing session but they were starting to grow farther apart and more an excuse to have sex & talk than to write.

I think I had never met someone willing to talk in such a way. We talked about intelligent things, dumb things, and, mostly, pointless things. Everything got rather complicated around April with people splitting up, splitting off, and looking to split. Somehow—and I really don't know how, considering how dumb and immature I was—Alex and I stayed intact. Alex deserves some credit but not all. He was the glue but I was still the piece he glued himself to.

We still weren't "official" or had a label but I wasn't seeing anyone else and neither was he. Even if we wanted to see other people there wasn't enough time because we were always hanging out with each other.

Except one thing. The future. I had decided to go to the University of Greenwich in the fall and Alex was going to focus on the band. Only I would be down in London, he would remain up North. I had a hard time believing that graduating from Barnsley wasn't graduating from us. There was still the promise of summer and Alex, more determined than ever, was playing gigs non-stop.

My mother was planning some bon voyage trip for me, although the destination had not been determined and it was sure to be more about her than me.

Before Alex could ask me his usual post-coitus question, I asked, "What if we went on a trip?"

We were lying side-by-side like bodies in a crypt. He stretched himself out with a moan. "Where would we go?"

"Hmmm, Japan?"

Alex chuckled. "You want to go to Japan?"

I sat up straight and stared at him. "What's so funny about that?"

"You think I can afford a trip to Japan?"

"Okay, what about France? We could take the train to Paris."

Alex's eyes squinted. He had detected the clear reason. He asked me, "Where are your parents going this summer?"

"I haven't been told yet." I was trying to act nonchalant. I threw my hair up, swung my legs over his bed, and dressed myself in underwear and my shirt. 

"Do you even know if they let you?"

I shrugged. "If we plan the whole thing they can't deny it. We should buy the tickets right away." I hopped onto his bed, giddy. The idea of a month away from them was glorious. I imagined a week in Paris with Alex as romantic as teenagers could be. We'd be rough and dirty and then go out and have dinner over candlelight while looking at the Eiffel Tower. I mocked the idea in my head but couldn't deny myself the pleasure of thinking about it. About him, scruffy and boyish, wrapped in a tuxedo. After the week was up, I'd have the house to myself, and Alex could come over and we could do whatever we wanted. I could throw a party with everyone I knew and people I didn't. I could throw a party just for him. 

I crawled toward him on the bed. He chuckled at my preying behavior, marching my way toward him. "We should get a hotel and it doesn't have to be fancy. In fact, let's get a really shitty hotel. Like one that doesn't have a toilet but also doesn't have bed bugs."

He laughed and wrapped his arms around my neck. I was pulled into him with a thud. It was a kiddish hug, like two children fighting on the playground. "It sounds nice." His tone said it all—slow, comforting, and never-going-to-happen. My parents would likely find a way to get a refund on everything or let the money wash down the drain. I didn't have much of a right to complain about the life they had given me. We'd likely go to some fabulous island and bake our skin. I had no problem with the islands. I had issues with the company.

Alex let me breathe and stood up to dress himself. He turned around and said, "I have something to show you."

I relaxed with my elbows on my knees and looked at him with eager eyes. He grabbed something out of a bag in the corner of the room and walked it back over to me with it hidden behind his back. He looked sheepish (more than usual). "We, uh, recorded some demos at that 2fly, you remember I told you about that." I nodded. He was fidgety and rubbing his hair. "Anyways, we burned them into CDs." He revealed the jewel case from behind his back. "For helping me out and all that, you know," he allowed himself to let out a chuckle, "I figured you deserve the first copy free."

He handed it over to me. There was artwork by Matt inserted into the front and a small tracklist on the back with about 6 songs on it. I tried to find the CD about a month ago after a curious individual asked to see it. Like most things from those early days, it's likely been disposed of somewhere between London and Wakefield. There were so many of those CDs that Alex eventually became less nervous to hand over to me first to get my review. One of them is likely stuck in my mother's old CD rack that she gave away once she discovered Pandora.

"You know where I'm going to listen to this first?" I asked him. My smile overwhelmed me. Alex's interest in my opinion was a boost of confidence that it seems weird to think where we would both be without the other, solely from the other's encouragement, even in separation.

"Where?" He grinned back at me.

"In my car while I'm driving you to work." I teased as he groaned and covered his ears dramatically. 

I continued, "If you make me drive you to work it's what you get."

He laid back on the width of his bed. "I'm giving you a gift and you're punishing me."

I rolled my eyes. "You complain about Sugababes, you complain about your own band. Do you want to just sit in silence?"

"We talk over all that music anyway." Alex had a point.

I leaned over him to make eye contact with him. "So does it matter what we play anyway?"

"I can't listen to meself and talk at the same time. And I'd like for you to be able to hear the thing and tell me what you think."

I sighed. "Alright. Who else are you giving them to?"

Alex shrugs. "Me parents maybe. Whoever buys them."

I scoffed.

"What?"

I shook my head and sat back on top of my feet. "Nothing."

Alex smiled and shook his head. "No, no, no, out with it."

"Who's going to buy some rubbish CD?" I questioned.

"Hey!" He sat up. "You haven't even listened to it and you're already telling me it's rubbish."

I tilted my head. "I'm not saying that. I'm saying the general audience member isn't going to drop 5 quid on some CD when they could use the money for something else. I'm not saying people won't buy it. But I wouldn't."

Alex scoffed. "Me own girlfriend won't buy me CD." 

I stilled for a moment and tried my best to not be obvious about my reaction. The word rolled off his mouth so I was going to let it roll off my back. Maybe we were dating. Was this dating? To me, it was a glorified bang. A friends-with-benefits situation with his chauffeur. I wasn't opposed to the idea. I wasn't over the moon that dating Alex would mean just this. Sex in his bedroom while we talked for an hour until I drove him to work. Maybe that's what dating was, even if no one knew about it. In the following years, dating Alex would mean just this. Not fully, but mostly talking and sex in a bedroom that wasn't mine. At least, I didn't have to drive him after 2006.

"I'm not saying that but it is a rare thing for me to buy a CD at a random gig, especially if you aren't the headliners," I explained.

He laughed and asked, "What do I do with all the ones we made?"

I tossed my head around and suggested, "Give them away."

"What to Salvation Army?"

I giggled and moved over him. My arms were on both sides of his head, closing in on him like a praying mantis. "No, at your gigs. You've got good tunes—"

"A few good," Alex interjected.

I rolled my eyes and continued, "You've got good tunes and people love free stuff."

"Who knew for a posh girl you were so giving?" He taunted me.

I pushed on him, rolling him down the length of his bed. "I am not posh! Take that back right now."

"You were just complaining over your month-long trip to The Bahamas. That's as posh as it gets." He was teasing but it felt like an insult. I always hated coming off as an ungrateful spoiled brat. I knew in some regard I was. When I wanted to get what I wanted it was an advantage. When I had to spend time with my family, it was a disadvantage. Even if he was right, it felt mean.

I removed myself from him and stood up. "I drive you everywhere you wanker and you grumble out some thank you and think it's alright because I let you fuck me."

The smile faded from his face and he sat up stiffly. "Huh?"

"And that!" I pointed my finger at him. "Those one-word responses that you do to placate me."

He furrowed his brows. "I'm not placating you."

"If anyone is posh, it's you." If I looked around the room at that moment, posh would not be the word to describe it. He had a point, my house was pretty posh. "You take advantage of people and twist them all about for your pleasure."

"What the fuck is going on?" My outburst was a clear whiplash.

I jutted out my head. "You insult me and you played these mind games with me for a year. You basically called me a slut and now I'm a posh bitch."

"I never said that." He was calm. It was infuriating. 

"You just did!"

"No, I didn't!"

We were two school children fighting. Squabbling over something stupid and throwing petty insults.

"Whatever, Alex." I quickly dragged on my jeans and grabbed my bag. "Who's gonna drive you now?"

"Where you going?" He stood up and walked over to my side of the room.

I turned around and walked down the stairs. "To my million-dollar mansion!" It wasn't a good comeback. It just proved his point more. Now I was a posh slut hot-headed bitch.

*

The following morning, my mother met Alex for the first time. She had opened the door for him when he knocked and yelled up to me getting ready in my room to come downstairs. In the great impression I made to act bratty back to her, yelling back down to her that I was getting ready. After she insisted loudly, I came downstairs. Alex was standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, and eyes on me. 

I left the house to at least get us away from my mother. "Why are you here?" I asked him once we'd made it down the front steps.

"I'm giving you a ride."

I walked ahead of him, refusing to look for fear of overcoming emotion. I didn't want to calm down and his face with sorrowful innocence spread across it would have made me feel bad. "I don't need you to grovel."

"I'm not groveling." Alex has the aura of chill that washes over you. It's good in moments of panic, it's enraging in fights. 

My feet stomped hard as I marched to my car. "Don't play the denying game. It's so fucking annoying."

"I called you posh and you're flipping out. That's pretty fucking annoying."

I slammed open my car door. "You're always undercutting me."

His brows furrowed. "No, I'm not. You take everything as some insult against you. It was a dumb joke."

He was right. I didn't want him to be right. "Whatever, Al. Good luck with everything." 

I got into my car intending to drive off quickly until he hopped into the passenger seat. "I'm not driving you."

Alex ignored me and picked up the CD sitting on the car floor. "Did you listen to it?" He handed it over to me.

I snatched it out of his hand. "No," I shoved it back into his chest, "you can have it back too. Don't need to take pity on a rich girl."

"Come on, Janie—"

I interrupted, "Can you get out of my car please?"

He accepted my expression. The car fell silent and a moment later he nodded and got out of the car, CD in hand. I waited until he drove away to make sure we wouldn't run into one another in the parking lot. It was an overreaction on my part, I knew it even then, but doubling down made more sense to me than admitting any wrongdoing.

*

We didn't avoid each other. It was kind of hard to do since our whole friend groups became intertwined. Matt and Joanie breaking up reduced our likelihood of us hanging out but Matt was still one of my friends and we still shared a class together. Alex didn't tell Matt so I didn't either. We hung out in group circles on opposite sides. Not much had changed from before, no one really knew that anything more had been going on so we never had to explain ourselves.

We didn't hang out one-on-one anymore. College would be over in a month and after that, the chance of me ever seeing Alex again would diminish to a minimum. I would be in London and he would be stuck in Sheffield. It gave me pride even though I knew, deep down swallowed in my stomach, that I might not have gone to London if it weren't for Alex. I shook it off. I wasn't—and still won't—credit a guy for advancements I've made in my life through my own doing.

Matt invited me to their end-of-the-school-year gig at The Grapes but I didn't go. I, ashamedly so, hung out with Will instead. I felt kind of over that point in my life. All the blokes in Yorkshire felt old and I had an idea in my head that I'd meet my guy, the perfect guy, in London. Smoking a blunt with Will wouldn't change that. Having sex with him wouldn't change that either.

At night, in the moments before sleep fully swept me away, I had this thought that replayed in my head, despite my frustration with it. I had the vision that Alex would corner me in the parking lot again. He would shove the CD across the roof of my car, we'd hop in and drive around listening to it, even if he hated the sound of his voice. It never happened. Not even close.

I made no effort to talk to him and he made no effort to talk to me. I think people started to pick up on that. Claire asked me about it once when everyone was out for a night. I shrugged but didn't say anything.

It was weird for our whole relationship to be over abruptly over something that seemed stupid to me even then. I was mad at myself for not doing anything to change but I also didn't want to do anything to change it because Alex wasn't doing anything. I figured he didn't care much. Had his fill and went on to the next, which I know he did.

At the party where Claire asked me about Alex, he was in the corner doing his usual routine with a new move: kissing. I was mad but I knew I didn't have the right to be mad and that made me madder. Why was he willing to kiss this random girl after a night but didn't bother with me for months? I didn't think highly of Alex after that. I didn't think highly of myself either.

*

A week after graduation my family went to Monaco. My mother has always had an unhealthy obsession with Grace Kelly so much so that she had dyed her hair to look like her. My father liked gambling and the Grand Prix. 

The vacation was more fun than I thought it would be. There's not much to do in Monaco so Stacey and I would sneak off into France. It wasn't my ideal vacation and there were plenty of somber tones throughout the month of June but I wouldn't trade anything for the days Stacey and I had. It was the first time we got along fully, with no fighting, bonded completely by necessity at first, and then, eventually, wanting to hang out with one another.

Much like the year prior, when I came back in July, Joanie invited me to her birthday party. The details of her and Matt were iffily given to me over emails. They had gotten back together sometime at the tail-end of June but decided on being friends, which probably looked more like when Alex and I were "friends" or whatever he was calling it.

Joanie's party was small because she only had one request: to get out of Yorkshire. The original plan was for us all to go down to London but AB had to work the next day and refused to wrangle a herd of sheep on a 3-hour train ride. Claire's dad lives in Manchester so Joanie decided she wanted a night of pubbing in Manchester.

Joanie, Claire, and I took the train over early that day and got ready in Claire's bedroom, which likely hadn't been slept in since before Y2K. We had our usual getting-ready conversation. Promises of "getting so fucked up tonight" and desire to get the best lay. We didn't address it but we knew it would likely be one of the last big nights we all had together. 

The trio of us might have planned out staying best friends forever but we were all going in separate directions. Joanie would study at Leeds Trinity and Claire would go to Aston. While rough plans were promised to meet up at the halfway point of Birmingham, it was never fulfilled. Our time together after that summer was mostly reserved for holidays and then, as we got even more spread out across the globe, reunions at weddings, baby showers, and Joanie's divorce party last year, which might have been decently akin to this night.

We arrived at the club, pre-gamed, and ready to wait in the queue. The Monkeys were there in full form, AB cozied up to Claire, Rosie and Will were in the throes again, and those other participants that aren't important to the story, even if dear Jenny let me use the bathroom before her.

I was in the back with Claire, in a skirt that felt too short and too tight. Alex stood at the front of the queue with Matt. He was swaddled in a black jumper and had a haircut since I had been gone. They had been playing basement gigs throughout the summer. I heard the crowds had been getting bigger and it felt weird not to be witness to that after seeing them play in empty rooms. 

When the front of the queue had been reached, there had been some disagreement with the bouncers that caused Joanie to slide up next to Matt and pout, "Matty, come on." Either way, Alex looked scared out of his mind, Andy looked higher than a kite, Jamie was spitting some gibberish out at the bouncers, and Will attempted to slip the bouncers cash, which ended up pissing them off even more. 

Now, at the time, I wasn't aware of the importance of this incident. To me, it was the usual behavior for a Saturday night in July, besides the fact that nearly everyone I knew had become involved in this row. To Claire and me in the back, we couldn't help but laugh at the whole scene as AB attempted to referee only for Rosie to unintentionally punch him in the face.

At the time, it was a simple, funny moment. The club also happened to be named The Ritz, which would later be progressed by "to the Rubble" famously.

After the whole ordeal, we landed at some other, much less notable club. Joanie seemed disappointed but celebrated herself nonetheless.

I ended up sitting next to Alex after a round of nonconsensual musical chairs. We didn't talk at all. It was just some awkward side-by-side thing like kids being forced to take a picture together. His knee rubbed up against mine and it felt illegal to feel anything for it, even if I was rattled by it.

I abruptly stood up and walked outside for a cigarette. He had been shy the whole night. He had always been shy. I don't know what made him get the courage to come out and talk to me but the second I took my first drag, he was standing beside me.

"Was Monaco fun?" He was being nice but it felt awkward and stiff and my back hurt from looking at him.

I nodded and stared at him intently. 

He nodded and leaned beside me on the wall.

"Basement shows fun?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, suppose."

"Lot more people coming," I told him what I had heard.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't my idea to give the CDs away."

A chill went up my spine. I dared myself to remain cool. "You're doing that?"

He nodded as I looked on at him, but he stared forward and didn't say anything.

The silence ached around us. My body felt ill from shoving everything down inside. There wasn't much of a point anymore to try and faze him out. He had made the approach, now I had to make mine. The only thing that gave me enough courage was that if it all went bad I'd be out of here within a month and never have to face him again.

"I'm sorry about what happened in May." We had switched positions this time. I gazed onward as he looked over at me. I felt embarrassed to look him in the eye like a bucket of shame would fall on me as soon as I did.

Alex shook his head and looked down at his shoes giving me an excuse to look at him. He looked more timid than I had ever seen him with me. His hands shoved deep in his pockets and he was slouched over like he had worked a desk job for 40 years. "It's alright. Shouldn't've said anything about your family. Shouldn't have said any of it."

"It's fine," I mumbled.

It was quiet. Mutters from pub chaos spilled out onto the street but Alex and I were silent. He shifted at one point and I thought he was about to leave but he pulled out his own cigarette from his pack. I was shocked by the profound hurt I felt from it. That he didn't ask for a drag of mine first before stealing one from my pack, handing me his lighter, and having me do the honors. 

"You got that Boardwalk gig coming up in August, right?" I wanted to go but almost felt I needed permission to go.

He nodded. "When are you leaving for London?"

"September 5. Getting settled down there before classes start and all." An anchor hung on my heart and I regretted, hated, and scathed myself for ignoring him all summer. I tried to reason that he did the same but my mind always replayed shoving him out of my car over and over again.

"You excited?"

I was short because I think pain would have overcome me if I had spoken about it more. "Mhmm."

I hadn't left the door open for him to say more and I didn't quite know what to say either. We had never lacked flow in our conversations before. I was then struck by how a little over a year ago, Alex and I spoke for the first time. I wanted the wit. I wanted the charm. I wanted him to stare me down and tell me everything about myself. I feel like I had discouraged that out of him and I was miserable at the thought he would never tell me how he knew me again.

And then he scuffed out his cigarette and turned to walk back into the pub and the only thought in my mind was that I would never see him again. Maybe off chances around town or through parties that Joanie would insist on throwing in the winter but I would never be stuck outside a pub smoking a cigarette with him again. I collapsed inward.

"Was I your girlfriend?" I shouted out to him. I wasn't sure what else to ask. In my quick thinking, it seemed like the most likely thing to make him stay.

Alex stilled and I felt like I was in a movie. It might as well have been raining and he was Spider-Man or something. He didn't move and he didn't say anything like he was convinced that I was a figment of his imagination.

After a period of no replies, I explained, "You said it before we had our fight and I never got to ask you if you really meant it or if it was a slip of the tongue."

He turned around and walked back over. He leaned his side against the wall and crossed his arms. Anyone who says suave Alex Turner didn't show up until a 2011 haircut wasn't acquainted with the behavior of Alex Turner outside a pub in the early aughts. "I don't know."

He was evasive, per usual. "Did you want me to be?"

Alex mulled something over, thought up and down about it before answering, "Yeah, I think so. I thought about it a lot. Did you?"

He flipped it on me and my back was both literally and figuratively up against the wall. "Yeah. I thought about it too much really. Practically writing Alexander David Turner and Jane Rebecca Turner in a heart on the back of my notebook."

"Rebecca?" He questioned.

I rolled my eyes. "Stop it." He chuckled and I wanted to swim around him in delight.

"Nothing wrong with Rebecca." He insisted. "Shall I start calling you Becky?"

"Stop, you're lucky I even let you call me Janie."

"What's wrong with Janie?"

I shrugged. "I've never liked it. My dad calls me Janie."

"I would've stopped if you told me you didn't like it."

I shook my head. "I didn't want you to. Truth be told."

"Okay, Janie," he enunciated. 

I smiled and felt like everything—nearly everything—had snapped back into place. Then, he leaned in and kissed me. His lips were soft and felt light-headed, likely due more to dehydration but I'm sure Alex triggered it. 

But I pushed him back with an insistent shake of my head. "I'm sorry."

He looked solemn but he nodded and said, "It's fine."

I wanted to. I wanted him all over me, twisting about inside me, and creeping through every corner. "No. I just—in a month, I'll be too far away for you to even remember my face. I'd rather we at least be friends."

Alex nodded. There was something hidden beneath him but I was never able to place my finger on quite what he was thinking then. Although, he smiled and said, "You'll always be my friend, Janie."

I don't quite remember the rest of the night. It was a drink-covered night and a headache-filled morning. I tried not to dwell and for the most part, I didn't, until the train ride home when I thought how nice it would have been to rest my head on Alex's shoulder.

*

Their Boardwalk gig, stuck in the basement of The Boardwalk, took place about 3 weeks before I was due to leave and like most people when change is about to happen, I became nostalgic for everything. Everything felt like a last time and I wanted to grip at everything while I had the chance.

Since Alex and I reconnected, not much had changed. I hadn't seen or spoken to him since we were outside the pub but when Matt told me how cool it would be if I came to The Boardwalk gig, I considered it to be an invite approved by Alex.

I wore jeans and my first University of Greenwich t-shirt, which I know I still have because, despite the wear and tear from the years, I still wear it. 

The gig felt more electric and rambunctious than any of their other gigs from the moment you walked in. It was the first time I couldn't see the stage at one of their gigs. People were all piled up in the front. Now, it still was nowhere near the level that they would become, not even near the level it was just a couple of months later, but it felt as though I had gone away and they returned with an army.

When they entered the stage, you would have thought people had been set on fire. It felt bizarre. Alex seemed so meek, yet so commanding. They stood, said nothing, before banging into "I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor."

I had never heard the song before but people writhed along to the beat in an intense fashion. I was situated in the back and mostly uninterrupted by any knocking about. I sometimes enjoyed a good crashing into one another but alone in that hot basement, I was focused on Alex. More importantly, what Alex was saying.

Moreso, just one line he was singing, "Dancing to electro-pop like a robot from 1984." I threw my head back in laughter because my perception of it was Alex giving me a nod in one of his songs. I didn't read into it. He's a writer. He's an observer.

When the gig ended, in a rushed sweaty manner, I was quick to leave, not wanting to be squashed in the crowd. I went outside for fresh air and enjoyed a smoke. It hit me after a breeze that he wrote a song about me. Now, I'm one easy to fall for flattery when it isn't there but come on! He wrote that song about me!

I smiled to myself as their equipment van, also known as Matt's mum's van, pulled up. I stayed positioned on the wall and finished my smoke as I watched them load up the vehicle. 

Matt was the first to notice me. "How long you been watching us?

"Only a few minutes!" I yelled back. I noticed the way Alex's head turned and can still picture the look on his face to this day. You'd feel dimwitted for every decision you made prior that didn't result in that look on his face.

Alex excused himself from the group and made his way over to me. "I'm not gonna give you one of my cigarettes, Turner."

He chuckled. "Shush. Matt's mum can't know I smoke."

My head leaned back against the wall and his frame was right before me. "You were pretty great tonight."

"That your review?" Alex has often said and written about girls having him twisted around their fingers, but he must be acting humble because he had me twisted about his. He was leaning over me in some screwy blue tee with definite pit stains. It was the most charming thing I had seen at 18. 20 years later, it's still in my top 5.

"I haven't put it in writing yet."

"Ah, so I'll get a formal review from Ms. Cavendish. Shall it be printed up in The Star?" He teased me.

"Pft," I uttered, "you aren't big enough for The Star. Maybe the Barnsley College Chronicle."

He shrugged. "Well, you're a good writer. It'll be good no matter where it's printed."

"You've never read anything I've written," I pointed out.

"On the contrary, I read your emails all the time—"

I jabbed his upper arm. "Your eloquence is paralyzing. What about your song tonight?"

Man was cheeky. "Which one?" 

"Oh, I don't know, there was the one about the train, the one about the shoes, the one about the schoolgirl, and the one about me."

"Oh, okay," he tilted his head and nodded in understanding before deadpanning, "Yeah, that doesn't narrow it down for me. You're a schoolgirl with shoes who I've seen take the train before."

"I think you've got your next big hit there, Al, 'You're A Schoolgirl With Shoes Who I've Seen Take the Train Before' sounds like a Top 40 tune."

Then, he looked serious, completely twisted. "Do you want to go back to my house?"

I joked, "I'm not a hooker, Al."

He laughed then grabbed my arm and dragged me behind him like a ragdoll. "I've got something to give ya."

30 minutes later, on the edge of his bed, I watched Alex dig around in his dresser drawers. "Are you looking for a gun or something?"

"Well, I might as well be playing Russian roulette with this."

I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Alex kept scouring through his drawers. He stopped, pulled something out and held it behind his back. It was exactly like what preempted our fight. Exactly. He handed the CD to me for the second time. "Still free," Alex promised.

I smiled and grabbed it off him. "I won't throw a bitch fit this time, I swear."

"Nah, you're alright. A little bossy but..."

I didn't fight him. I examined the CD once again, noticing "Dancefloor" on the tracklist. "Did you really write a song for me?"

"Well, it was more for the band but if you want to sing it you can."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "So much for being sweet." He sat beside me, not touching, but close enough. 

For the first time ever, I opened the CD's jewel case. The CD had "Jane C." written on it in Al's handwriting. A piece of paper was wedged in the corner of the case. I pulled the paper free. It was a note, a short one, but Alex's pen had scrawled across it. It read: Don't make fun of me, Jane, I can't help that you've twisted me around you.

I looked up at him, voice caught in my throat and heart pounding, but he was coyly looking off to the side. "Was this in here when you first gave it to me?"

He nodded. "Figured you never—hoped you never opened it. It was some soppy note but I figure you should have it. I don't need any more CDs."

I looked back down at the CD. Everything was plain-looking but, to me, it was crafted just for me. The way the J swung up in my name and the note had sat perfectly in the clip. "Am I a jerk?" I certainly felt like one.

Alex was quick to shake his head. "No."

I heavily blew air out, trying to contain something inside me. "I feel like one."

He insisted, "You're not a jerk or a dickhead or a bitch or whatever you want to beat yourself up with." His arm curled around me but didn't touch me. I felt like I was Medusa, scaring him off.

"I'm an idiot. I had to throw some hissy fit over you calling me posh. How stupid is that?"

Alex failed to hide his laughter but told me, "You're not stupid."

"Just emotionally inept." He didn't protest to that. Back then I wanted to grow up and be mature so quickly that I struggled with the fact that at 18 I wasn't supposed to know how to handle these situations, especially with adult emotionally inept role models.

Alex brought a more somber tone to the conversation. "Consider it my parting gift for London. You can play it and think of me if you want to do that."

I felt constrained. "I'd want to do that."

He gave me a small smile but the room had fallen low and melancholic. There was nothing more to say and everything to say. I had bit back things for so long in my life that it felt natural when a dream died. The ache it usually caused had grown numb but this time I was dealing with a pounding on my chest that threatened to crack my ribs.

"You can kiss me if you want," I uttered.

"What?" He questioned. His look was buggy-eyed and furrowed.

"Come on, that line has got to work at some point," I joked. 

He shook his head back and forth in short movements. His confusion was palpable. "Do you want that? I mean, after the Manchester thing."

I felt confident in myself. Boosted up and sitting up straight. "Yeah. But I don't want to go to London and listen to your CD and think of how I could've been thinking of the summer I spent with my boyfriend instead of a guy who became a sudden stranger."

"What do you want to go to London with?"

I looked over at him and fractions of seconds passed like minutes. "It feels ridiculous to settle things down now."

Alex must have started feeling bold. A grin wedged on his face and he knocked his knee with mine. "You want me to be your boyfriend, Janie?"

I groaned. "When you say it that way it becomes all dorky. Like, 'Do you want to hold hands and skip down the prairie?'"

He chuckled. "Then, what do you want me to say? 'Get down and suck my cock.'"

I rolled my eyes. "Your vulgarity is too alarming for me."

"Yeah, well, we've beaten around it enough." Alex took me off guard and pulled me around the waist and landed us with our backs on his bed.

I put my hand on his chest to keep my distance. "I don't want this to be it. I'm sick of all this bon voyage shite. So, if this is some goodbye fuck to you—"

He interrupted and tugged me to him. We were both on our sides, chest-to-chest. "We've got a whole month of fucks before a goodbye one."

It lit fires on both ends of my coil and they both engulfed the ends of me before forcing themselves inward to my heart. "What if I don't want the goodbye one?"

Alex pulled me closer, desperate but letting me talk. "Then, I'll take the train down to London whenever you need it. Don't act like you're going off to war, Janie. I'll make my way to you."

That fulfilled me to no end. I can still feel the burst of that comment pushing in on me. I can think of the way he said every word and how halfway through he pushed my hair behind my ear so tenderly that I think it left a brush burn on me forever. 

"So, if I call you at 3 in the morning and beg you to come take care of me you will?" I quipped.

He smirked. "Well, I'd like to see you beg."

I rolled my eyes. "Dirty, dirty, dirty."

"I'm likely only a kiss away from fucking you if you'll ever let me." His nose almost knocked with mine. The room would have felt on fire if the window wasn't open letting the night air suppress the sweat.

"Sounds like you are begging."

We kissed and then we had sex. It was quick and sloppy, limbs flying and desperation influencing every move. It wasn't about want or desire anymore, it was about filling a need. I didn't stay at his house for long. I snuck out to avoid his parents catching on and texted him when I got home. The height of 2000s romance.

Finally, I listened to the CD. I'm not sure when I went to sleep that night but when I woke up it felt like I had never slept. I was buzzed in every way and he was parasitic. My every thought.

Later that day, I told Claire and Joanie what had happened while we shopped. Joanie, who had recently decided to never speak to Matt again, told me, "Pft, good luck with those rockstars."

Claire's brows furrowed. "They play shows in club basements. I hardly think they're rockstars."

"All I'm saying is don't put your heart into him too heavy, especially moving away. Jane, what were you thinking?" Joanie questioned.

I shrugged. "I don't want to question it for the rest of my life. If it doesn't work out, I'll never have to see him again. If it does, which I'm not fooling myself that we're going to get married, but if it does work out then what a great story it'll make."

"Joanie's gotten jaded," Claire said. "I think it's romantic. Who made the first move?"

I squinted. "That's debatable. I made a move about a year ago and he turned me down."

"What?!" Joanie yelled out. "How come we didn't hear about it?"

I shrugged. "I was a little embarrassed, I think. That's all."

Claire prodded me for more. "Who kissed who?"

"He did back in March," I said it all nonchalantly and I knew what kind of reaction I was trying to provoke in them.

Both their sets of hands stopped moving through the clothing racks and both heads turned in a snap toward me, their jaws dropped down. "What?!"

*

We didn't hide it from that point on. There wasn't much sense in keeping it under wraps, especially since we both knew what it meant. Matt insisted he knew all along, which he didn't. 

That period in August was hot and muddy but it was a time I looked at fondly even in the moment. I had a feeling in me of remembrance. Desperate for every detail to be implanted and forcing myself to not forget one single thing. I suppose some had slipped away but the rest I've held on tightly to.

There was one evening, a rare hangout with the Monkeys, AB, Claire, and me, where we sat around watching movies at Andy's house because his parents were out of town. There wasn't much nefarious activity besides blunts being passed. I don't even think anybody drank a beer or anything. 

Al and I shared one between us while we watched 2 Fast 2 Furious and I chanted things into his ear like "The cars. They are just so fast." The spliff injected rare public affection in me. (Christ, Alex and I didn't even hold hands in public until we were 22). He was laid down in the corner of the settee and I placed my back onto his chest. My head wedged into the crook of his neck and he sat his chin on top of my head. His arms were around me and I played with his hands more than I paid attention to the movie. It was a comfort I had never felt and I'm not sure, even after many more years with Alex, I ever felt again.

*

I like Alex's sternum. Alex says it's one of the weirdest things about me. Once in an interview, I was asked what my favourite body part of his was and when I answered with sternum it wasn't the expected response. Yes, he's got a lovely head of hair. Yes, those arms are nice. Yes, the ass, I've seen it, I've squeezed it. Yes, his dick, which is just a weird way of people wanting to know the specific enlargement or shrink of a certain body point. Aren't all those questions weird roundabout ways of asking dick length?

His sternum is hard as most bones are but there's a soft layer of skin that covers it and the way his chest dips makes me convinced that it was molded inward for me. Somewhere around our last week together, when it was the two of us, I got into the habit of placing my head there. It turned into instinct. We didn't talk much in those moments. Faded in between a deep sleep and deep lust. I had never wanted him more and I never wanted to do him less. I wanted to eat him alive and then I wanted to cuddle him in my arms. It felt natural to just be with him. No muss, no fuss, no expectations, or preconceived notions. I had never felt that before.

"What if I meet this super hot guy in London and he hits on me and I tell him I have a boyfriend and he's all like 'Your boyfriend doesn't need to know' and I'm all like 'I don't want to lie to him' and he's also like Jude Law or something." It was September 1. I was rambling. His chest moved rhythmically up...down...up...down.

"Jude Law is your type?" He questioned.

"He's just the first person I thought of."

Alex hummed. "I would've thought you were more of a Hugh Grant."

I sat up with a gasp and laid my hands on top of his chest. "I totally am more a Hugh Grant."

Alex tapped his temple. "I've got you down, Cavendish. You're all memorized."

"So, what if I told you I was running off with Hugh Grant?" I asked him.

"Didn't he get caught with a prostitute?" 

I stared at him. "This is all besides the point. Hot Guy tries to steal me away. What do you do?"

Alex sighed. "Do you want the realistic version or the fantasy version?"

"The fantasy version, of course." The real version was obvious. We'd break up. I didn't want that and I didn't want Hugh Grant. 

"Alright," he said. I laid back down beside him and his arm curled its way around me. "I would fly to London, this is an urgent matter."

"Precisely. You only have a set amount of time before Evil Hot Guy takes me away."

"I would track you down and kick his ass."

My grin fell. "Oh, that's it. That wasn't very fantastical."

Alex caught my drift and chuckled. "Okay, why not this? I find you guys on a desert island—"

I interrupted, "In London?"

He let out a loud sigh. "Janie, do you want me to save you or not?"

I nodded. "Okay, okay, continue."

"I would shoot him down—"

"You'd kill a man for me!"

"I don't like this game, Janie."

*

We never said "I love you" but we were both on opposites of the same wire and I think we both knew how the other felt solely by their actions. Alex has this grin. He does a little quiver trying to fight it, yank it down before it's uncontrollable. His efforts to hide it just make it cuter like he's an ashamed little boy. Alex has told me my tell-tale sign was the hug I gave him when I left for London. I don't think we'd ever simply hugged before.

It was the night before I left. He stopped by my house and we hid in my room for hours just talking. We felt the need to accumulate every social need for one another in those last few hours. Alex would visit but there was no date and despite his reassurances, in my paranoid mind, I thought that he was appeasing until I went away to be forgotten about. 

We would both be busy. I had school to worry about and Alex and the band were having their first round of gigs outside Sheffield. They were all about north and I wouldn't go to any of them but Alex told me over the phone what they were like, never going into too much detail other than the excitement of them.

"Maybe I'll hate London," I told him during our goodbye.

He squeezed my shoulder. "You'll love every minute of it." He was (almost) right. And that sucked.

I had thought about all the words I could tell him and said none. I felt like crying but didn't. It didn't seem deserved when I was choosing to move away. It was a light goodbye. A deep hug where he held me close to his chest and I could feel the rivets of his ribs. At the time it was solemn but seldom. In a year's time, it was the average behavior to always be saying goodbye.

He kissed me and pulled back. His hands rested on my shoulders and he gave me a half-grin. "You have a good time, Jane C."

I gave a wistful smile and touched his elbow. "See ya."

*

The air in London was heavy for me or maybe that was just the weight that crushed down on my ribs in constant swelling of pain. London was half the reason I felt cool, even nowadays. My first month there was spent walking down bustling streets painted with rain and my boots sweeping the ground.

I called Alex every night telling him, "You have to come down here. Sheffield is nothing." I loved London but all the people I loved were back up north. On the days when I was in class, Alex was working. On the nights when I was a lone soul in my room, he was playing shows.

It was never out of the expectation. We went in with the understanding that it might be the end but every time when it seemed we would part ways, we didn't. I thought about the idea of being single because it feels like the proper thing your first year at university but I could never accept it.

In my Poetry & Prose class, I met Georgia, a dark-headed girl from Sussex who dressed like Patti Smith and acted like she was in a Tarantino film. Before class, we'd grab a coffee together, and give each other a rundown of the reading material to make sure we weren't going to make fools of ourselves.

I would read her work over a tea and she would suffer reading mine with a coffee. She had high standards but was too polite to ever insult you for what you'd written. I never had Alex read any of my poetry because I've never been good at it but in my first year, it was more akin to Kim Kardashian's "Jam (Turn it Up)" than Emily Dickinson. Georgia wrote with the sorrow of Sylvia Plath and the horniness of Leonard Cohen's Buddhist poems. There wasn't much competition.

Georgia introduced me to a group of her friends that were in line with my Barnsley friends but stoned wayyyy more often and enjoyed dressing like beatniks and sometimes acting like them. I felt adjacent to the group other than my connection with Georgia but they were good fun and always had things going on. Whether it was classy slam poetry or getting high in Hyde Park. Everyone was nice although very evasive.

Robert—who talked like Jack Kerouac had stuck his hand up his ass and spoke out of his mouth for him—was the only group member I hung out with solo besides Georgia. We would go record shopping but never buy anything because neither of us had players. Every 2 weeks he would give me a supply of Adderall that he had been prescribed since he was 10 but not taken since 15.

I told Alex about them but all my stories were hard to explain over the phone and in the midst of whatever he was up to. That's when I e-mailed him my first piece. It was written about a night out, in which we slept over at Robert's flat and a high Robert attempted to cook us dinner but nearly burned his apartment down instead when he put the dinner in a plastic Tupperware and stuck it in the oven. 

It wasn't as movie-worthy as passing your notebook across the hood of a girl's car but it's hard to say I'd be writing this book if Alex had been unable to stay on the phone for longer than 10 minutes. My writing before that has been a mish-mosh of things but had always been fiction. I began to write autobiographical and sometimes when I would say, "The craziest thing happened last night." Alex would shush me and tell me to write him a piece about it.

*

My brother got married at Cornwell Manor at the end of October. Alex reluctantly accompanied me after a gig in Sheffield the night before. The only reason he came was because we hadn't seen one another since my London move. The wedding was likely to be no fun but with Alex, part of the ache would be soothed. Plus, I would achieve my tux fantasy.

I had been there for 2 days before his arrival fulfilling familial and bridesmaid duties. I wasn't close to the bride-to-be, Cecilia. I wasn't close with Greg either but it seemed traditional to have all members of the family in the wedding. Stacey got a thrill out of being old enough to be a bridesmaid since she was the flower girl at Harper's wedding.

Alex and I didn't have much of an opportunity to catch up before we had to race off to the rehearsal dinner. He arrived, in his mum's car, wearing scrapped jeans and a polo shirt looking too nice for someone who probably didn't go to bed until 5 AM and drove for 3 hours. Too nice for someone who was begrudgingly here.

I had planned the smoking of a cigarette in time for his arrival. Stood on the kerb of the parking lot, flicking away at one. I was already dressed for the rehearsal dinner and if my mother had caught me stinking it up with a smoke, she'd have skinned me alive, even though my father was definitely doing the same thing with a smelly cigar. The dress was a green satin midi dress, on theme with Cecilia's selected theme colors. I had a white cardigan thrown over the top, which my mother made me take off as soon as we entered the venue because it "clashed." The weather was near freezing but god be damned if I messed with the theme. Alex threw his jacket over me halfway through the dinner and my mother didn't say anything. In the back of my mind, I thought she might have found the gesture too sweet to criticize. She was probably too drunk by that point.

"I heard the entertainment has to arrive 'round the back!" I yelled out to him as he was still getting out of the car.

His head snapped to meet my eyes. That smile spread across his face and he has always looked good to me over the roof of a car. "Pretty sure I'm not getting paid to be here."

I pouted and swayed my hips. "How unfortunate! Is there some other way I can pay you, sir?"

He eyed me—up, down—and I wondered how tempting that emerald shade was to him. "Get yer ass over here."

I tossed my cigarette down, not even bothering to scuff it out, and skipped over to Alex. I threw my arms around his neck like he did to my waist. It felt bizarre to care this much about the presence of one person but I had counted down the days to Greg's wedding for the sole reason of Alex. I had been trapped with my family for 2 days with little escape other than the hotel swimming pool. It felt like convalescence. 

I pulled back and pecked his lips. "Hi." 

"Aw, what you doing with that?" He teased before kissing me full-on. I felt necessary even if I was eager to just look at him. His hair looked freshly cut for the occasion, likely through his mother's insistence. His face looked tired, if sprawled with an adrenaline rush that might have been due to me if I should pleasure myself enough to say.

"How was the drive?" I asked, pulling away from him so he could get his things from the car. No matter how much I wanted him to be there, I did feel like I was taking him away from something. Likely tired from the night before but also in the thick of gigs and taking 2 nights off of work at The Boardwalk. Guilty for forcing him to come to an event that was likely to either be the most boring thing we ever attended or the most explosive thing in Cavendish family history, which would be saying something.

Alex was polite. He wouldn't tell me, even if the drive sucked. "Fine. No traffic. How have things been here?"

"Fine. No traffic." I repeated, crossing my arms to warm myself up a bit. He gave me a look to prompt me for more. "It's been fine. Mainly hung out with Stacey and Harper hasn't been so bad. My parents are a different story. This dinner will likely be the test of things with the two of them."

"Why? What's going on?"

I grabbed his backpack, despite his urging otherwise, while he handled his suit. We made our way to my hotel room that I was sharing with Stacey, which had and would be interesting. "Their usual B.S. mainly. They got in some fight last night that won't be a good recipe for today when they are forced to sit next to each other for 5 hours."

Alex's eyes bulged. "5 hours?" Yeah, I hadn't exactly briefed him on that part.

"Okay, we don't have to stay the full time. After the toasts, we can leave whenever we want. Or you can leave whenever you want. You're more my date to the wedding anyway."

He shook his head. "No, I'll leave when you leave. Won't be any fun without you anyway. In case it isn't obvious, I missed you."

I felt a wave of unexpected shyness fall over me. His voice was so quiet and sincere that I felt like I wasn't supposed to hear it. I was overhearing Alex's thoughts. I dared to look back at him, a smile bright across his face, forcing me to reciprocate. "I missed you too, Al."

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and kissed the top of my head. It was quick and brief, the amount of intimacy we limited ourselves to in those days. "You look very pretty too, Jane C."

"You look sweaty." It ripped laughter from him, something I so desperately desired even more than wanting to bed him. Alex was never something to do. I found my most desirable moments were squared away within the sentences we had for one another. A joke, a fragmented note, an email.

Despite the size of my parents' wallets and their often habit of indifference, the room was 2 queen-sized beds with orders of one being for Alex and one for Stacey & me. Somehow through Alex's stays at my house, Stacey and Alex had never met.

She was lounging on the bed closest to the window when we walked in. Dressed in a-line dress in the same shade of green as mine. She looked darling as my mother would say.

"Mum's gonna kill you for lying on the bed and wrinkling your dress," I told her when Alex and I walked in.

She was playing Snake on her Nokia. Something she ended up doing for nearly the whole rehearsal dinner. "She'll be too busy making fun of Cece anyway."

Stacey had yet to look up from her phone as I threw Alex's bag down on the other bed. "If Cecilia hears you calling her Cece she'll rip your head off."

"So pretentious," Stacey mocked.

Alex chuckled at Stacey's tone. The noise made Stacey lift her head, noticing Alex for the first time. "Oh, Alex is here," she emphatically said. She sat up on her knees. "Or should I say Alexander? How formal am I meant to get here to avoid death threats?"

I rolled my eyes. "Just get off the bed so I don't have to deal with mum's wrath?" 

On the elevator down to the dinner, Stacey found the perfect chance for her cross-examining of Alex. "You're in a band, right?"

He nodded. Smart, don't say anything that can be printed on the record.

"Does that mean you have a lot of groupies?" Oh, brother.

Alex laughed at the idea. "I don't think so."

Ever the instigating interrogator, she continued, "I'm sure you have plenty girls throwing themselves at you."

"Stacey," I warned. 

She played the dumb act. "What?"

Alex shrugged. "I don't know. Your sister maybe."

He was already laughing by the time I punched him in the arm. The elevator doors opening saved him from any further wrath.

Upon entering dinner, Alex finally formally met my parents. My mother was dressed in a too-tight dress with poorly done make-up to make her look like Tammy Faye. She was only 1 glass of wine in. My dad towered over Alex, puffed out his chest like he had something to prove, something to protect. "Now, Janie, what do we have here?" He asked as we entered.

Stacey was smart to use the distraction and her size to her advantage as she quickly ducked off to her seat. Alex stood up straight, even if he looked awkward in his suit. Throughout the night, he would complain that he looked like a complete dork and despite my reassuring that he looked handsome, he insisted he would never wear a suit again. Sounds like a mighty lie now.

"Alex, my dad, Richard." I introduced. My father offered up his hand, giving a tough and rough handshake with Alex. 

My mother slushed her glass around in her hand and introduced herself. "Polina, honey, but everyone calls me Lina."

"Why are you talking like that?" I questioned my mother's sweetness and talking in a near-country accent.

That sugar evaporated quickly as she ordered me, "Don't criticize me, Jane. You go take a seat."

I didn't fight. I walked to my seat next to Stacey, and Alex followed silently.

"Well, that's a good idea of what she's like. Alcohol will either make her more or less bearable," I whispered to Alex.

He was too consumed with fiddling with his suit jacket to care much about how my mother or father acted. 

That night, after a dinner that lasted too long with extended toasts and delayed meals due to catering issues, Alex and I slept in the same bed with Stacey making kissing noises from the other bed.

Once the noises had died down and she seemingly went to sleep, Alex and I slipped out of the room, dressed in our pajama pants and our winter coats. There was a little bench around the back of the hotel, tucked away on the edge of the parking lot. We sat there. I hugged my knees to my chest and Alex leaned back and rested his arm behind me on the back of the bench. We thought about smoking a cigarette but didn't.

I told him, "Dasha is doing this weird art project right now. Like a totally bizarro nudist Dali fever dream and she's trying to recruit all of us to do it."

"Wait, who's Dasha?" It was hard not to feel like our lives were becoming separated. Sometimes it didn't bug me. Other times it felt like we weren't listening to one another.

"Dasha is the one who works with Henry."

"And Henry is...?"

"Georgia's boyfriend. Do you know who Georgia is?" I was snapping, being bitter, and still to this day I have a habit of ruining moments over little things. I didn't know half of Alex's friends' names, all those band idiots. Alex never talked about them though. They were all referred to as a collective, never giving specific names. 

He took in stride as always. "Yeah, yeah. Who is Jane though?"

I let go of my knees to slap his chest. "Shut up, Matthew."

"Come here, you." Alex wrapped his arms around me and tugged me roughly into him. A squeal came from my lips and forgot about the rest, focusing on his lips instead. We kissed slowly. Kisses that would never be forgotten behind that hotel. 

We returned to our talks of nothingness that to anyone other than the two of us wouldn't have been very important but the words we whispered to one another were so pure I couldn't imagine even placing them in writing for someone else to read. 

*

In November, I sprained my ankle. I fell backward onto my foot and pop! After walking on it for a full day I eventually got it checked out to confirm the sprain. The ache from the sprain only lasted about a weekend where I stayed holed up in my bed writing emails to Alex that he didn't respond to until the following week. I didn't complain much, even if I was mildly annoyed that I was in pain and he was oblivious to it.

There was a dull ache surrounding the whole thing. When the news finally did reach him, he offered to come down for the weekend. By that point, it was 2 weeks after the injury and my sprain had fully healed, minus some soreness. I nearly texted this to him, Don't bother. What's the point if it will only soothe your guilt and not my pain? Then, I missed him. I would love that, I sent. 

nov 27, 11:22, he wrote back.

As much as I missed his company conversationally, we hadn't had sex since September 4th and I had cleared out space to make exactly that happen. Clean room, no visitors. I did have other plans for when he arrived. Have brunch since I knew he would be hungry after the train ride, show him around my neighborhood, room tour that would lead into heavy weekend-long lovemaking. Or whatever we were calling it at that point.

That day I got a text around 9:30: missed train, catching next one. 

when is it?

hour, be there at 1

It didn't set the weekend off in a good mood. Leading to me being stuck in a pit of anger that I couldn't communicate through text messages. There would be no point in it. So, in those 2 hours I was supposed to be spending with him, I experienced an increased level of annoyance. The slightest touch pissed me off and by the time 1 rolled around the boiling inside me had only rolled louder.

I stood with my arms crossed when I opened the door, pursed lips, foot tapping, and an agenda to chew him out. The delighted look on his face, wearing a hoodie, backpack on one shoulder—it all pissed me off. 

Alex tried to quail, walking through the door, telling me, "Am I in trouble?"

I rolled my eyes and set off to my room, forcing Alex to catch up to me. "Whatever, Alex."

"Hey, I'm sorry. You know I'm late to everything."

I snapped, turned around with fury. "Yeah, but you're late to class not to a train and I'm pretty sure the trains from Sheffield come every hour, which means if you missed your train and got the next one you'd be here at noon, not 1, which means you missed 2 trains. Probably because you slept through your alarm clock and then packed your bag because you didn't do it the night before like I told you to do."

His eyes were wide and I felt like his mother the way I was calling him out. He looked staggered. A word away from taking a step back from me. "Alright, you're right, but I'm here now so let's have a good time. How's your ankle?"

His attempts to be kind ended up stepping into territory that just pissed me off more. "My ankle is fine because it healed 2 weeks ago before you even bothered to respond to the news. You just don't give a shit about these things, Alex, but they're important to me. Being on time, responding to me, it's not much to ask for."

"You're right but this past month has been crazy and I just saw you in October—"

"Just saw me in October! Look I'm not desperate, you don't need to spend every waking minute with me, in fact, I think I would kill you if I had to spend a whole week with you" (not true, I desperately wanted that) "but over a month! I expected some eagerness to see me but you'd rather lie around for an extra hour. No one told you to come, you offered. So if it was so much work, you could have just stayed home."

"I didn't want to stay home. I went to your stupid brother's wedding because I wanted to see you. Do you think I get pleasure from driving 3 hours to go to that fucking wedding where your dad breathed down my neck the whole time like I was some hoodlum and your mum hit on me more times than I can count? I went to see you. You're buggering me down because I missed a train, meanwhile, you have made no effort to come visit me. I had a lot of things I wanted you to come to but when you said no and went and hung out with your weirdo fucking friends I was fine with it because you're happy and you write me these beautiful fucking essays, even if I was upset that you weren't there."

"At least, I tell you what I'm up to. You're so evasive about everything. 'How was the gig?' 'Oh, uh, good.' It's like you don't want me to care about these things or you have some secret you're hiding. How about those groupies, huh?"

"Oh, shut up, Jane!" It was the first time he was harsh with me. Flippant and distressing. "You create problems where they aren't. Posh, much?"

"Fuck off with that. You talk all this shit about my family—"

"Because you do!"

"That doesn't mean you can. I want you to care and it doesn't seem like you could give less of a shit. You complain about everything I want to do with you."

"I do not complain. You force this shit out of me. I'd sit through another awful wedding if that meant I could hang out with you. Meanwhile, any inconvenience for you cancels out anything I'd want you to do."

"I sat through all those shitty gigs that no one showed up to for you."

"Back when you were pining after me. Who gives a shit once you've moved on?"

"I'm in university, unlike you. You can come down whenever you want because you work at some shitty bar and play 1 gig a week, if even. And for fuck's sake if you want me to go to the fucking gig. I'll go to the fucking gig."

"I want you to want to go to the gig. Don't make me do anything you don't want to do, Jane, I know how hard that is for you."

"I just want you to give a shit."

"What are you talking about? Of course, I give a shit. See this, this is what I'm talking about. The fabricating problems out of nothing. When have I ever shown that I don't give a shit?"

"When you missed the trains!"

"I'm still taking the fucking trains! You're the one sitting on your ass here."

"I'm getting a degree!"

"I know! Will you fuck off with that?"

"Why? Scared you're going to work at a bar for the rest of your life."

"Hey, at least I've worked a job, unlike you fucking around with your dad's money."

"Fuck you!" I left the building then. He might have called after me but I don't remember. I felt badly suffocated for the first time with Alex. I walked around for a while. Aimlessly. I don't know what he did during this time. Maybe he walked around too. Paced the apartment. Pulled his hair out. Played Snake on his Nokia. I don't know but I cared too much during that time. Desperate to know what he was getting away at. I fantasized about it my whole walk. Best case. Worst case. Okay case. Most of it was nightmares. The rest was delusions.

I came back around 5 and he was lying on his back on my bed. I thought he might have been asleep at first. He didn't make any movement when I walked in until I called out, "Hey."

He sat up like he had been zapped. His gaze was on me intensely and he took a while before he said anything, eventually, "Hey."

A thought rushed through my mind, the one that had echoed through my head on the walk, in class, when writing emails, on the car ride down to London. I had forced it away for so long but the hotbox situation we were in prompted me to finally let it out. "Do you think we should break up?"

His eyes fell to his shoes, dangling off the side of the bed. He avoided my eyeline at all costs. "Is that what you want?"

No, but I didn't feel I could tell him that. "I want to know what you want."

He played his people-pleaser card. I wouldn't label Alex as that but he had a fashion, mainly with women, of not letting his opinion know. "I don't want to make you be with me if you don't want to." 

To me, when it was to my advantage it was the greatest thing ever. Other times, it angered me beyond belief. "For god's sake, Alex, do you want to break up with me or not? Yes or no?"

"No," he said firmly. 

It had ended our breaking-up conversation but it didn't exactly fix our problem. "I don't want to ruin our friendship by dragging out something that isn't going to work."

Alex met my eyes. "It'll work." 

I sighed. "Shouldn't we be mature about this?"

"You're 18, you don't have to be mature about anything, Janie." And suddenly I felt like he was talking to 6-year-old me. By that point, he'd already memorized my childhood stories of foolish escapades. I forced myself to be an adult so young that I'd spent away my years of forgiven recklessness in return for the punishable kind. Not many people in my life realized that. The ones that did, didn't care, they preferred me tagging along to drunken nights. Alex preferred hiding away in my bedroom. And, sure, maybe a drink or two.

He'd cracked my heart open in so many ways that I don't think he ever understood what he was the first to do.

He reached a hand out to me urging me to join him on the bed. I sat beside him, not touching, I muttered, "I don't want to hurt you."

Then, he wrapped his arm around me, pulled me into him, kissed my temple, and said, "You worry too much about me."

Later that night when Alex and I were still out of breath, we curled into one another. For the first time, we made no move to get dressed. Just laid with one another. I dug my face into his collarbone and thought about suffocating myself.

"What are you doing?" He questioned, always questioning me. 

My stomach grew heavy and I felt like crying, comforted by the idea that he would hold me while I did. "I wish you were here all the time." It wasn't just him. Everything in my life, the past one spent in that Wakefield house felt like it was slipping away from me. He felt like the only thing I could hold onto. So, I held tightly. Sometimes too tightly but he accepted any fingernail-induced bleeding from me.

His arm tightened around my back. He kissed my ear. Softly, for just my left ear to hear, he whispered, "Me too."

I started crying then. It was quiet just the shaking of my shoulders and the breaths I attempted to get and take in. Alex made no effort to stop me, his hand rubbed up and down my back. He knew what I needed and he held me. We didn't talk for the rest of the night. His hands did the work, up & down. His lips kissed my temple. I'm not sure if I dreamt it or not, but somewhere before I fully fell asleep, he whispered, "I love you." Even if he didn't say it, I knew. He held me all night. I gripped him and rubbed my back. I sometimes wish I never left that spot, stayed in the corner of him like the embracing Pompeii couple. Buried in volcanic ash together being each other's last comfort. Alex's shoulder must have ached after that night. Everything just ached after.

*

a/n: i sorta got carried away there with that word count, i don't know what i was on because i'll probably never write a part this long again until the next part where i accidentally end up writing 50k. ah, well, hope you enjoy as much as i did writing it. jane & alex 4 eva.

[mellowwillowy]

TW: Physical and Mental Abuse, mentioned killing animals.

Yandere who is always there for you, whether you are at your highest or your lowest, he is always there to support you.

Yandere who has always been a gentleman, never doing anything that brings discomfort to you. He courts you religiously and never goes overbroad in his way, managing to worm himself into your heart.

Yandere who is so happy the moment you agree to bind yourself with him for eternity, his gloved hand slides the wedding ring onto your finger.

Yandere who treats you as usual until you start to see through his facade of a gentleman. Beyond the respected man of a Judge is a man of an inferiority complex.

And that you have always been nothing but a trophy to sate his ego. Someone who can stand on the high road but never at the same height as he does.

Yandere who one day found you snooping his diary, eyes tinted in anger, you lost your consciousness the moment one of his many thick books hit the back of your head unknowingly.

Yandere who enjoys seeing you so dependent on them, unable to even cut your own meal without breaking a sweat and a hiss.

Yandere who loves seeing blood drip out of your patched fingers, fingernails ripped by him out of love.

Yandere who treats you more as a doll and far from a spouse with each day passing.

Marlon had always enjoyed dressing you up in countless coutures. It was subtle at first but the moment you realized how ugly the root of his facade was, he no longer bothered to force you to wear what you might not like.

Contrary to his gloved hands, yours were miserable. You couldn't have a day in which your bandages wouldn't be seeping red.

Why did you even bother reading through his diary? Should you have feigned ignorance and led a peaceful life with the gentleman your husband was, you wouldn't have to bear the shame he would make you shoulder as he helped you bathe.

Oh, where had the man you once loved gone to? The man who was always there when you were at your lowest, blissfully unaware of the fact that he was the cause of your downfall, and the man who slowly guided you up into a modified throne for you.

Oh, what had happened to all those times? Ignorance is truly bliss and you regretted how your eyes and heart pried way too deep into him.

Your husband had always been referred to as a once-in-a-millennium prodigy yet his diary stated otherwise, filled with scribblings of how he still lacks a lot in comparison to someone.

You picked up on his facade from the time you started to live with him under the same roof. The way he would rub circles on his gloved fingers when he was troubled to the way he had tendencies to kill doves whenever he failed in doing something.

Would he kill you like the dead doves he had buried in the garden?

You couldn't help but bury yourself with countless thoughts of how he would dispose of you for being able to see through his secret.

But the day you would end up buried six feet underground never came.

You were alive but never unscratched. A high-collared garment that hid the bruises around your neck, ankles that were sore from the rope that dug into the skin every time you walked any faster, and gloved hands that tried their best to use the dining utensils properly while maintaining your expression, trying not to wring it with pain and tears.

Alas, you mistook his way of loving someone as a way of torturing someone until one of his many 'siblings' visited. Marlon was away when one of them walked up to you, the woman shared almost a complete resemblance to him.

"I heard that Marlon really cherishes you as his spouse and it seems to be true." Despite how stoic her face was, with no hatred nor mockery in her tone and words, her words left you thinking. You eyed the family crest that was embroidered on her shirt collar, XL.

Just how exactly does his 'family' love someone to the point even his 'Sister' acknowledge this as something normal? Perhaps you were the one who never tried to understand it?

--

Bonus: WIP Comic

[rawmeknockout]

pls can I get a lonely cassette!reader being taken in by soundwave???? i need that man carnally and i need to be inside his boobs even more 💥💥💥

The city is burning. It's been on fire for days, the skyline you loved nothing but smoke and ash, and there is no relief in sight. Metal melting into itself and the surroundings, buildings merged together, until it looks like a great beast crying in agony. Fighting to pull itself out from it's own destruction. Your cassette-player is among those trapped under the rubble, squeezed beneath concrete and metal. Perhaps it's fortunate, then, that you know he's dead. You were his only companion, and now you're alone. It gives you comfort knowing he's not the one in your place.

There is no one coming to save you. The Decepticons and Autobots have torn Cybertron apart, your home just collateral among the list of casualties. It had filled you with rage when you saw the way they would cast anything in the way to achieve victory, but your anger is hollow now. You're not even sure you can feel anything at all. All you can think about is where you will find energon next.

There are no more relief stations near you, no more safe encampments that can take you in. All neutral parties, all crisis servants, have been pushed to the very edges of Cybertron where there is still just a bit of energon to mine. It wouldn't matter if you could get to them, anyway. Most have picked their side and will push recruitment if you come looking for aid, ensuring you will be safe if only you will be their fodder.

And you can't leave your home. Even when it is unrecognizable, the bright city lights long since blown out. This is where you want to be, the only place for you. You slowly duck and trudge between buildings, dirt settling in your joints and making the ache of your frame worse. You scan for any sign of energy, a leak of oil even, but it is bare here.

So lost in your HUD, you don't hear the clink of pedes on concrete, the glitching of your processor getting worse and more obstructive by the cycle. You try tapping at settings on your helm, but the static clears minimally. A giant blue mech stands in front of you when your vision clears of errors. You jump back, stumbling over your pedes to stay upright, and lean back to take in the intimidating bot before you.

His face is covered and his visor is red. So red against the white and blue of his paintjob. The blue gleams beautifully under the muffled sunlight, just barely able to break through the ash covering the sky. He must be important, or was. You could have never afforded a polish so uniform and bright. His chest is a window into a docked and rather comfortable looking cassette. You could laugh from how fortuitous this oasis is.

The purple of his insignia almost misses your awareness, but it is an ugly symbol and it hurts your optics to look upon it. You should be angry, but there is nothing. Perhaps this meeting is Primus' mercy, no matter how cold.

The large mech kneels in front of you, his helm still looming above your own, as his servo comes to rub dirt away from your faceplate. You don't shy away, despite the true dirtiness being in his allegiance. It's nice to feel a friendly touch. You eye his tapedeck enviously, like you want to rip the mech out of there and settle in its place. It's a horrible feeling that leaves a pit of shame in your tank. The fear and grief has turned you into an animal hungry for any sign of salvation.

The intimidating mech pulls from his subspace a wrapped packet: energon rations. Meager and half-eaten, it wouldn't be the best you've ever tasted, but you're grateful for the pity. It's hardly two bites before you're done. Despite the quality, it's the sweetest energon that's ever touched your glossa. Lubricant tracks down your cheekplates.

And despite it all, you want to live. A feeling that builds in your chassis and sings in your spark. You want to live, you want to leave this place. You don't care what you have to do. All you want is to tear free of the rubble and rip yourself from the metal melting down around you.

"Inquiry: Free to dock?" You grasp the opportunity with firm servos.

[fandom-trash-247]

Parents (In Training)

Logan Howlett, Wade Wilson & College Kid!Reader with female pronouns/general descriptors

Requested?: No 2.6k words I've never written for either of these two before, so I'm sorry if it sucks. ______________________________________________________________ It all started for Logan the day after the get together Wade had when the two of them had returned from the TVA and saved the world.

A new timeline meant a new life for him, and that meant meeting new people whether he liked it or not.

He woke up in the morning, had got up from the couch that he was frequenting for the time being and made his way to the kitchen. Not everything from the party had been cleaned up, but that didn't bother him so long as he had a bottle to look forward to and a place to drink it.

He grabbed one of the half empty bottles of alcohol available on the counter, opening the top with practiced ease before bringing the mouth of the bottle to his own.

Or, rather, tried to.

Knock, knock, knock.

He looked at the windows, the sound of something knocking on glass alerting him to someone being outside. Maneuvering himself from around the counter, he checked the windows by the fire escape, seeing a young woman perched outside. Her hair was kind of messy, and she had a tied off plastic bag in her right hand. His brows furrowed as he looked at her. Who the hell was this? She wasn't at the party last night. He supposed she might've been one of those college kids coming home from their walk of shame. "You've got the wrong spot, bub. Go home." She gave an irritated glare at him before more insistently knocking at the window, maintaining eye contact. He gave an irritated growl, the sound starting to piss him off. "Let me in! I'm supposed to be here." the woman called from outside, her voice somewhat muffled by the glass. He shook his head. "I'm not falling for that. Get out of here!" he called back, gesturing with his right arm to shoo like a giant bug in his face. Then suddenly he saw her irritation turn to disappointment, and at first he thought he'd successfully got her out of the fire escape and out of his life. "My sweet Papaya!" Logan's teeth had grit from the sound of his roommate's voice. Shit.

Wade quickly scooted to the window, unlocking and opening it from his side and quickly moving aside, letting her in. "Hi Wade." she said with a smile that Logan could only describe as tired. "Hey, sweetie." he replied, pulling her into a hug, which she relaxed into, the bag she had in her hand thumping against Wade's back due to the momentum. Pulling away, she turned to look at the stranger in Wade's home. "Who's your boyfriend?" she asked the burnt man. "We're not boyfriends." Logan firmly denied. "Okay, lovers, husbands, friends with benefits, I don't care. Who are you?" "That, Papaya, is Logan. More people know him as Wolverine, to strike that bell in your head." Wade said before seemingly looking somewhere entirely away from her and Logan for no reason. "Quite the well known household name, one could say." She looked at Logan and gestured to Wade with furrowed brows and a tilted head of confusion. He merely shrugged in response, lost himself.

Wade looked back at the two before looking at her bag. "What's up with the bag of secrets?" She gave a groan before ripping open the top of it, revealing a carton of eggs, a deli container of ham, half an onion, and sliced cheeses. "I was going to surprise you with breakfast this morning, but your guard dog wouldn't let me in."

Wade gave a gasp of delight at her words. "Special breakfast for me? Marvel Jesus? Aw, you're my favorite disciple!" Her confusion only grew. "What Jesus?" she asked before she looked disappointedly at him. "Did you do coke with Al already?" "No, no! I've already established with people that Disney won't let me." the talkative man said, pushing her towards the kitchen. "Don't worry about it, just make us some of those sexy ass omelettes!" he said, giving a final push to have her pass the threshold of the living room/dining room to the kitchen. From inside the kitchen the two men heard her call back. "I don't like your funny words, magic man!" "Just cook!" Wade called back as he wandered back over to Logan, who looked at the other man with disapproval. "Who is that?" Logan asked. "That's the college girl from two floors up. I call her Papaya. She made some ice cream with it and shared it in the communal kitchen on the ground floor, and agh, it was stellar. She comes by and hangs out with me and Al when she has free time." Wade replied before turning his attention to the kitchen's door frame, pointedly speaking louder so she could hear him. "You would've met her last night had she decided to be social!" "Fuck you! I was up til midnight in the school library trying to finish a final that was due!" was heard in rebuttal from the kitchen.

"Yeah, yeah, just say you don't love me anymore. It would hurt less." Wade called back. "Hey, I can stop cooking!" she playfully threatened. He in turn gave an overdramatic and well chastised gasp, hand clutching his imaginary pearls and everything. It caused Logan to roll his eyes and finally start drinking from the bottle he'd opened up minutes ago. Felt more like years at this point.

Having seen the response, Wade felt the need to clarify. "No seriously, she has a gift. Her food? Almost better than sex." "Almost?" Papaya called from the kitchen. "I've had lots of great sex, girlie, I think I'm gonna need you to cook for me a few more times before I can say anything with certainty." he teased. "Ha, ha." was the final response for a little while, and while it wasn't completely silent due to Wade still running his mouth when he could, the sounds of what the woman in the kitchen was cooking, and the music she played while cooking, it was as close as Logan knew he could get for now. Admittedly, from his spot on the couch he couldn't help but think that it was almost nice. When the food came out, the three of them each had a plate of an omelette and some toast. Wade was the first to take a bite, releasing a pornographic moan and practically melting. It caused Logan to look at the other man weirdly, and it seemed the woman wasn't thrilled with it either, as she smacked him in the shoulder. "Dude, you're gonna ruin my hard work doing that. You're not a judge on Food Wars, no need to sound like you're gonna bust." "Not my fault you make nothing less than sexy food." Wade replied as he cut off another piece and continued to eat. Logan bit a piece of his own omelette and had to admit, it was good. Very good. The talkative man at the other end of the couch wasn't kidding. This was one of the better omelettes he'd had in his lifetime. _____________________________________________________________

And so it went from there.

Every so often she would come around and spend time with them, usually at least once a week. Sometimes she'd be able to spend time talking to them or showing them a new video game or some other interest she had that she wanted to share, other times she would be stuck in her textbooks and her laptop, needing to focus but also wanting company. As her laptop sticker said: home is where the wifi is. The days turned to weeks which then turned further into months and years. Before any of the three of them knew it, she was graduating at the end of this semester. The ceremony wouldn't be for a few more weeks, but there were some events on campus that the school was hosting to celebrate those who had put in the hard work to graduate. A few had passed by already; a barbecue yard party here, a dip and sip gathering there, but nothing really big. At least, that's what Logan thought. He had been making himself one of those seven minute flavored rice packages, having tossed the parcel away when he'd put the rice into the boiling water. But now he needed it again, so he was searching the trash for it, the package seemingly disappeared from the top of the garbage. He thought he had it, but he'd pulled out something else. A small paper poster. Graduate's Parents Gala Come enjoy your success with the people who support you as you prepare for your finals, and dance the night away! Hosted in the Performing Arts Center Starts at 9pm

It caused him to furrow his brows as he gazed down at the poster. Why wouldn't the kid tell them about this event? They'd told them about the other ones. Always stopped by, letting them know what the event was, and when she'd be back. But not this time. He checked the clock in the kitchen and saw that it was now nine. Briefly Logan wondered if she'd decided to go, and if she did then if she had made it there okay. Over time he'd come to care for the silly but serious woman who was doing her best. At times it even felt like she was his own kid. Well, his and Wade's, he supposed. There was a hiss behind him and a quickening of steps. "What the fuck, Richard? I know you're still getting used to this timeline, but cooking flavored rice can't be that much different between worlds." Wade said, turning off the stove top, the rice having had begun to boil over while Logan was preoccupied.

"Did the squirt tell you about this?" the adamantium bladed man asked, handing Wade the poster. He skimmed it quickly before looking at the other much more ripped man. "No. Maybe she decided not to go." Logan shook his head. "Nah, she told us she was going to all of the events just to say she did it, remember? She went to this." Wade looked at the poster, then looked Logan up and down before making eye contact with him, causing the latter man to stiffen up in discomfort under his gaze, knowing nothing good could come of this man. "No." he told the burnt man firmly.

Wade merely nodded, a smile growing on his face. "No!" Logan replied, glaring at him. However, as Wade pulled him away to the front door, he didn't put up much of a fight. ______________________________________________________________ Meanwhile at the gala she was sitting on the sidelines watching the many families enjoy themselves. She'd been spending time with her best friend and her father during the night, and the two girls were taking a moment to drink some of the punch as one of the slower dance songs played. "Are you sure? I can stay you know, if you want." her friend said. "I'm sure. Your dad came all the way from New Mexico to be here for you, go dance with him for the parent dances. I'll be fine. I'm not much of a dancer anyway." she replied. "But-" "Go dance with your dad or I'll fuck him and make you my stepchild." she playfully threatened, causing her friend to laugh and concede. "Alright, alright! Just...have fun okay?" her friend said. "Sure thing. Now get going." "I'm serious, girl. Just because your dumbass parents decided to suck doesn't mean you can't have a good time." Once her friend left she sighed, pulling out a flask and pouring some of the alcohol inside into her punch. She just hoped that Logan wouldn't mind. Putting the flask back in her bra she took a good sip of the mixed drink. Her gaze fell to the clock in the room. It was ten-thirty, and the event ended at midnight. She supposed she could always go home early, but she wanted to see all of the graduatory events through. When would she be able to do something like this again? "Now what's a beautiful woman like you doing in a place like this?" she heard a familiar voice say. Looking to her right she saw both Wade and Logan, dressed up in tuxedos. Wade's was the more vibrant of the two, with suspenders and a bowtie adorning his black and red color schemed suit, whereas Logan's was more of the standard suit type in dark blue with a yellow pocket handkerchief. Her eyes widened. "Guys! Wh-What're you two doing here?" she asked them, surprised to see that they were with her. "Well, a little birdie told us that there was an important event going on," Logan started. "And we'd be stupid to not take advice from birds." Wade finished. Logan smacked him in the chest, causing Wade to wince and rub at his diaphragm. "Sorry to disappoint you guys, but this is a parents event. I have parents." "Yeah, us." Wade said, sitting down next to her. "Look, I know you were probably holding out hope that mommy and daddy were going to walk through that door and apologize for all of the shit they'd put you through throughout the years, but Papaya, honey, sweetheart, light of my life...it's not happening. They're not coming." She looked at him with a sad glare before hitting him in the chest, causing him to groan and rub at it again. "You're so much like your father." he muttered, keeping up the charade.

Logan stood in front of her, looking down at her sitting form. "Hey Bub. I know I'm not your dad, and I know Wade certainly isn't mother material, but tonight isn't about us. It's about you." he said, handing her a piece of paper. Opening it up, it was the poster for the gala. 'Come enjoy your success with the people who support you' was highlighted. She looked at the poster, then up at him with a small smile tugging at her lips, and slightly teary eyes. He held his hand out to her. "What do you say, kid? Care to treat an old man to a dance?" It was then that the slow song was winding down. "But the song is over." A lively pop song started to play right after it ended, and Wade popped up. "Slow songs are boring to dance to anyway, come on let's have some fun!" he said, he and Logan each taking a hand and leading her to the dance floor. The dance floor came to life with the change in song, and the trio were no exception. With well crafted and improvised timing the two men danced with the woman they'd come to think of as a daughter, passing her back and forth between them as the songs went on. Even once with some help from her friend, she'd gotten the two of them to dance together without her. Then as the night waltzed on, the two were back against the wall with the chairs where they'd met up with their Papaya, watching her as she danced with her friends with a smile on her face and her eyes gleaming. "We did good, Peanut." "Yeah. She certainly seems happy." Logan replied, taking a quick sniff of her drink before huffing in mild annoyance. "Brat stole some of my whiskey." "Is that what you call it? From what I remember, you left it out on the coffee table, bottle opened but nothing drank." Wade said, calling Logan out on his facade. "Tch, whatever." "Oh come on, you can't tell me that seeing this doesn't make you happy." the red tuxed man said, gesturing to her with her friends. Logan's gaze softened as he watched them before reluctantly nodding. However, the peace couldn't last forever. "Do you think she'll call me dad now?" "Don't push it." "What about papa?" "No way." "I would ask about mom, but I think that's you. You have the bazongas for it." An annoyed growl, and the sound of metal. "Wade." "Just asking! Sheesh."

[flowerprincesscherryblossom]

bully me - chapter one

pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader word count: 1401 warnings: angst, smut, explicit language, bully kook, daddy dom kook, bathroom sex, dub-con, degradation kink, choking, breathplay, spanking, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, dirty talk, dacryphilia series masterlist A/N: request - hiii ! can you do an enemies to lovers where bully!jungkook catches the reader playing with herself and it just turns into smut ? with a daddy kink pls ? i love your writings and i hope you have an amazing wonderful day ! Hope you like it and that you have a wonderful day wherever you are💜

Maybe you had a bit of a masochistic side, it would explain a lot.

Jeon Jungkook had been bullying you for as long as you can remember - pulling your hair, pushing you against the lockers, tripping you over, ripping all of your hard-working papers, name-calling you, the whole shebang. It was the way you'd react to everything that left you puzzled.

Like yeah, you'd cry because there's so much a person can take before they burst, but even with your tears still fresh, you felt a sudden need between your legs, of which you'd quickly escape to the bathroom, lock yourself in a stall, and get some sweet release.

Today was no different.

After making you trip and fall in the middle of the hall and ripping your homework into pieces you made your usual run to the bathroom, ignoring anyone that called your name.

Entering the bathroom you were quick to lock yourself in a stall, pulling up your skirt and pushing your panties to the side, not really caring if you weren't alone.

You ghosted your fingers over your slit, trying to tease yourself, before sliding your finger between your dripping folds as your thumb started to make circles around your clit, all the while as you bit your free hand in order to muffle your moans.

Inserting another finger you fasten your pace, head thrown back against the stall and so lost in your own pleasure that you had failed to notice when someone stepped into the bathroom, however, when the knocks on the door happened you were quick to stop.

More knocks came and you remained petrified, not knowing what your next move would be. Hell, you didn't even know if you were still breathing.

The knocks became rougher until, suddenly, one bang against the door was enough to open it. Your eyes widen when you saw that the person was none other than the reason for you to be playing with yourself in the first place - Jeon Jungkook.

"Well, well, well," he smirked looking at you from head to toe as you lowered your head in shame and started to bite your bottom lip. "So this is what you do when you run from me."

He stepped closer and closed the door behind him. You were screwed. Not only had your bully found out what you did but you were alone with him, meaning he could do whatever he wanted to you and nobody would be none the wiser. You just hoped that he would go easier on you.

The silence was suffocating you, you wanted to run away from him as fast as you could but you knew that he would easily catch you, and the punishment would only be worse. "J-Jungkook I-I-"

As the words fell from your lips he was quick in tightly gripping your hair and forcefully pushing you against the stall, pinning you between the wall and his chest. "Did I say that you could talk?"

You whimpered, feeling tears start to form as the familiar need between your legs made itself known once more, making you start to rub your thighs. Despite your best wishes, the action didn't go unnoticed, Jungkook's eyes focusing on your legs with a cheshire smile on his face.

"Oh you absolute slut," his grip on your hair tighten, making you let out a whine. "So desperate, I could do anything to you and you'd still thank me, wouldn't you?" at your lack of a response Jungkook's free hand moved to wrap around your throat, squeezing it forcefully. "I demand an answer bitch."

"Y-Yes," you said as your nails dug into your palm.

Letting out a hum your bully seemed pleased with you, as he released you from his grasp, however you could barely regain your breath as you felt his fingers rubbing the wetness around your covered slit.

"Hmmm, so wet for me already," you let out a gasp as he pulled your panties to the side and inserted two fingers into you, pumping them at a rapid pace. You tried to push him away but that only resulted in him taking both of your wrists and holding them above you.

Leaning closer Jungkook whispered in your ear, his voice lower than before. "You're gonna be a good slut for daddy, aren't you?"

He removed his fingers from you, waiting for your answer as you debated on whether you should or shouldn't tell him, especially considering that the situation you found yourself in was basically a dream come true.

After much back and forth you decided what the hell, it wasn't like that his words and actions hadn't an effect on you, even before today. "I'll be good."

Hand on your chin, Jungkook forced you to look at him. "Louder!"

"I'll be daddy's good slut."

With a smirk Jungkook pulled your panties down, putting them in his back pocket, and then his length out of his pants, giving it a few strokes, before wrapping one of your legs his waist and positioning himself at your entrance.

"You're gonna be quiet," his hand on to you tightly. "Not gonna get caught because of a slut that doesn't know how to keep her mouth shut."

Jungkook slammed into you at full force, making you let out a loud moan, causing him to slap you across the face with his free hand before gripping your hair with it.

"What the fuck did I just say?" With a tsk he took your panties out and stuffed them in your mouth. "Stupid bitch, doesn't even know how to follow simple directions," slamming into you once again, you arched your back and let out a muffled scream, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Oh fuck," his thrusts were rough and fast, snapping his hips against you with such force, the sounds of lewd squelching and of your body constantly hitting against the wall bringing you closer to your high.

"You're so tight for daddy - ah f-fuck - I should've done this sooner." Jungkook gripped your other thigh, pulling you closer to him and pinning you between the two, in such a way that you knew would leave bruises.

And you couldn't be happier, as you threw your head back at his unrelenting pace.

"You like taking daddy's big fat cock?" At your muffled moan Jungkook pulled your panties out with his teeth and then spit them to the ground, proceeding to give your ass a hard smack. "Answer me whore!"

"Y-Yes! I-I love daddy's big cock," you felt yourself getting closer to your end, your walls clenching around his length as he kept ramming into you. "D-daddy, I-I'm c-close."

"Then come," his fingers began to rapidly rub your clit. "Come all over daddy's cock."

With the combination of his words and actions, it wasn't long before your knot broke and you released, drenching him in your juices.

As your walls gripped him like a grapevine Jungkook's thrusts became sloppier, jackhammering into your cunt as he chased his high. With a few more thrusts and a whiny cry of his name, he tipped over the edge, shooting deep inside you and painting your walls with his warm release.

As you both caught your breath Jungkook slowly slid out of you, carefully letting you stand on your own feet and gathering the cum that started to spill and fingering it inside.

"You're gonna be good and keep it in, if I see a single drop I'll guarantee that you won't be able to sit tomorrow," the gaze he gave you almost made you want to hide from it. "Understood?"

"Y-Yes daddy,"

"Good girl," after pulling his pants back up Jungkook bent down, picked up your panties, and shoved them in his back pocket. "I'm keeping these."

Your eyes widen at his words, was he just trying to make your life harder? " B-but then, how am I supposed to-"

"Try," he shrugged. "I'll meet you when school's over and then I'll take you to my house."

"Why?" you asked confused, he never made any effort of trying to interact with you before.

"Because now that I had a taste of you, I'm not letting go," he pinned you between the wall and his chest once again. "And besides," he got closer to ear. "I have some interesting things that I know will make you so wet for me, and I can't wait to try them."

[hrefna-the-raven]

Hope is a waking dream

Masterlist - BG3 masterlist

Notes: as promised, some sweet time with our favourite old man Zevlor 🥰

Words: 954

Warnings: smut (18+), heartache

Summary: you defeated the goblins and sought out that old tiefling you've grown so fond of

Zevlor didn't know how he ended up here but he had no intention of complaining as his lips met yours once again in a passionate kiss. Originally, his plan had been to enjoy a single glass of wine and then retire for the evening, allowing the younger ones to revel in their victory over the goblins. But then you sat down beside him, offering to share a bottle of fine wine. Before long, you had moved on to a second bottle, laughing and engaging in lively conversations about various topics. Then, unexpectedly, your hand found its way to his, gently squeezing it. In a hesitant whisper, you confessed that you craved more than just a friendly conversation with him, you longed for something deeper, you desired him.

Zevlor didn't believe you at first, not able to comprehend why you'd settle for an old man like him while you had so many younger men to choose from. However, you reassured him that he was the only one you desired from the first moment you entered the Grove. It was hard for him to believe, but he decided for once not to question it. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, but this time he wouldn't shy away from feeling happiness. He would accept that even someone with a worn-out soul like him deserved moments of goodness every now and then. So he broke the kiss, his gaze quickly shifting downwards as he hurriedly untangled the laces of his trousers, pushing them down. He moaned your name as soon as your fingers greedily wrapped around his cock, stroking him teasingly. The way you touched him felt almost too good, your perfect soft lips planting kisses on his neck, your heated heavy breaths caressing his skin while your delicate fingers skillfully trailed up and down his throbbing member, teasingly circling the tip, it almost pushed Zevlor over the edge.

He had to take you now, your confession and your touch, after all these years of loneliness and the silent yearning for a partner or any kind of intimacy awakened and unleashed a burning craving, concealed deep within his very being, that he couldn't control any longer. Zevlor's claws dug into the fabric of your thin linen pants and he tore them off you, ripping the last barrier of fabric between him and you into shreds. His eyes were glued on your glistening arousal as you stood there in slight shock, dripping and willing for him. He licked his lips, a primal growl rumbling in his chest before he grabbed your thighs and effortlessly lifted you up, pressing your back against the sturdy tree behind you before he pushed himself inside you. Your initial gasp tunred into a sinful moan so loud and unhinged, that probably everyone at camp m heard it despite the music and the chatter. But neither you nor Zevlor cared in this moment. He grunted as he continued to vigorously take into you against the tree, the lewd sounds of your wetness and rhythmic slapping of skin merged with the nightly sounds of the forest around you. Your fingers curled around his neck, pulling him closer into a heated kiss, your tongues intertwining as he pounded into you with an intensity fueled by desperation and lust. It didn't take long for either of you to come undone, burying his face in the curve of your neck, breathing heavily as he whispered something against your skin.

"I...Zev", you panted, lost for words.

He let you down gently, cleaning you up before handing you your torn pants with a sorry look.

"I apologise, I don't know what possessed my in that moment", he whispered as he turned around.

As the initial euphoria of your encounter subsided, shame and remorse pierced Zevlor's heart like a venomous blade. Doubts consumed him, feeling like a wretched old man who tarnished the purity of youth with his touch. So he turned around, his mind urging him to flee where his heart begged for him to remain.

"Where are you going?", he heard you from behind, his footsteps refusing to halt until a gentle hand rested on his shoulder, encouraging him to turn around.

"I'm sorry", he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.

"What for?", you tenderly cupped his cheek, tilting his face upward.

The sadness in his eyes pained you. You couldn't help but wonder what had transpired in his life to bring him to this state of anguish. From the moment you first laid eyes on him, an unexplainable attraction drew you towards him. And once you talked for the first time, catching a glimpse of his kind soul, you knew deep within that there was no one else you desired more to share every aspect of life with.

"Everything", he exhaled wearily.

"You know", you feigned a pensive expression, "it's about time for you to make amends for your actions."

Zevlor's lips parted, but the real meaning eluded him; he felt his heart fracture, on the verge of shattering as a grim idea of your next words formed in his head.

"You should remain by my side from now on and continue to make me as happy as you did just now."

Zevlor blinked, struggling to process the unexpected turn your words had taken. He had thought he knew what you were going to say, but instead, you were asking him to stay. Tears streamed down his cheeks as the floodgates of emotions burst open. In that moment, he realised that he wouldn't be alone anymore after all those years. He had you now, and he vowed to keep you happy and protect you, sealing it with loving kiss as his arms wrapped around you, determined to never let you go.

[princesspastel8]

Chapter 8: Finally

Dipper POV

Once we appear not to fair from the shack, I notice the trace of unicorn hair glued to the base around the shack. "Damnit..." I mubble, also noticing those two idiotic police officers.

"....I remember that one..." Bill said, pointing at the tall one. "Can I kill him after all of this?"

I shrug, not understanding why he asked. "Sure. I don't care... just how are we -....oh." When I begin to think of a plan, the two began to make out.

"I've seen a lot of things pinetree...but that's a first." Bill said in a disgusted tone.

I chuckle, watching the back door of the shack open. To my luck, it's Mable. I smirk, looking at Bill. "You know what to do."

Bill smiles wickedly as he floats. "Now, this is going to get interesting." He said before disappearing.

Bill POV

I appear behind a tree, not too fair, from shooting star. I hear her mubble sorrow filled wishes. How hilarious.

"Wh-Why....it was one mistake....r-right?....I just want my old life back... I want mom and dad back.. I want Pacifica back! H-how can I see them again?" She questions out loud. Well, that's my cue.

I grace my presence in front of shooting star with a wicked smile. "I think I might know a way."

Her eyes widen in fear. She quickly stands, trying to run back into that dusty shack, but I stop her. I grab her wrist, squeezing it tightly. "Why in such a rush shooting star? Thought you'll be glad to see me!"

She opens her mouth to scream, but I snap my fingers, her lips turning into a zipper. I grab the end, zipping up her lips as I laugh. "Shhhhhhh, wouldn't want to let everyone know I'm here, right? Scream, and I'll rip your tongue out. We clear?"

She quickly nods her head. I snap my fingers, making the zipper disappear. "Great! Now, I'm sure that little brain of yours understands why I'm here."

"Th-the rift..." She stutters, trying to pull away, but I tighten my grip even more.

"Ding ding ding! I'm not an unreasonable dream demon, so I offer you a deal. You provide me your vessel to get the rift, and I'll grant you a way to see all of your dead loved ones."

Mable stares at me hesitantly. "B-but if I give you the rift you'll-"

"Weirdmageddon for the second time? Take over this world? Yes, and yes! But why do you care? You lost everything! Do you think your old farts are getting any younger? Give it a few weeks, and I'm sure they'll both be dead. But you don't have to worry, right? You'll be able to see them once they past and the ones that gave birth to you! So shooting star, it's a deal?" I said, letting go of her wrist as my hand arups into blue flames.

She lowers her head in shame as she sobs. She shakes my hand as I begin to laugh maniacally. I rip her soul out of her body, my form turning into one as well. I enter her body, taking one step and then another. "Wow, shooting star, your body is weird! What are these things on your chest?" I question.

"Wait, no! Bill, I change my mind! G-give me back my body!" She begs, but I laugh.

"A deal's a deal shooting star. Catch you later!" I said, walking towards the door. I grab the handle and laugh. I quickly pull back and frown. "Ah! Pain! It's hilarious to be safe! Well, pinetree was smart for having a backup plan."

"What?! Dipper is here with you? Where is he?!" She shouts as I smile.

I didn't respond. I walk back to pinetree with a heavy sigh. "Soooooo....phase two?"

Dipper POV

"Well, would you look at that. I was right. Never make fun of my plans again."

"Ok, ok! So snappy..." Bill said and pouts.

I roll my eyes, flipping through my journal. I come across a spell I learned not too long ago. "Here it is." I point to the writing. "I'll use this to summon that printer, I'm sure they didn't throw it out. I'll make a clone of myself and cause a distraction while I sneak into the back door of the lab. You just stand by. With Mable out of the way, our chances of getting caught went down."

Bill begins to laugh as I raise an eyebrow. "What's funny?"

"You're sister. She won't stop crying and yelling your name. She's right next to you trying to get your attention! Ahahahaha!"

I look up and see nothing. I smirk, "Now she knows what it feels like to be invisible and worthless. Anyways, let me get the printer here." I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath. "I summon the object in need. To carry out the objective at hand. In order to complete my diabolical task. Bring forth the printer to place on my mask!"

Nothing happened until I hear something crash down behind us. I take a peek at the two officers and roll my eyes. The two are still enjoying their heavy make-out session. "How did they not hear that?" I question to myself. I look at Bill, tossing him my journal.

He holds his hand to grab it, but it hits him in the face. Bill laughs, "Oh pain! Shooting star, your reflexes are so slow!"

I roll my eyes and open up the busted down printer. I lay myself down, closing my eyes. "Close it, Bill." I said, and he closes it.

The green neon light scans over my body twice. I push the top up and lower myself down. I watch the paper come out the other end as my clone emerges from the paper. "Alright, Tyrone. You know the plan, don't you?"

"Uh... yeah. I'm you, Dipper." Tyrone said with a chuckle at the end. He looks at Bill. "Let's go, dorito." He said while walking towards the shack.

Bill looks at Tyrone then at me. "Really pinetree? Tyrone? Of all names?" He questions with a raised eyebrow.

I shrug. "It's a name I always wanted. Now go put on a little show so this world can be ours."

Bill smiles. "Sir, yes, sir!" He said before saluting me.

Tyrone runs up to the police officers and knocks both of them out with a punch to the back of their heads. He grabs Bill, who's still inside Mable's body. "Some protection you have grunkle Stan and Ford!"

I quickly run to the other side of the shack, hiding behind a tree close to the back door. I see Stan and Ford rush out of the shack, but I don't see Wendy. I'll have to be mindful of her.

"Grunkles! Help me, please!" I hear Bill beg through mable's voice, making me chuckle. It's pretty good acting.

I rush inside, closing the door as quietly as I can. I glance around while speed walking to the vending machine. Right when I'm about to punch in the code, I hear footsteps behind me. I pretend to not notice before turning around and punching whoever it was. Not to my surprise, it's Wendy.

She steps back and coughs, glaring at me. "What are you doing here, Dipper?"

"My my, you lost your skills over the years, huh? You used to take punches and still fight. Anyways, be a good little red head and - "

She cuts me off by trying to throw a punch to my face. I grab her fist, twisting her wrist. I pull her towards me, letting go of her fist. I use my elbow to hit her in the back of her head, knocking her out. Her body falls to the ground with a loud 'tub'. I look towards the front, making sure those two idiots are still outside and they are.

I smirk, quickly punching in the code. I wait for the doors to open before running down. I stop, noticing a faint glow of red on the ground and the walls. "Security system? Nice one, Ford...nice." I said in annoyance. "My bag isn't here.....I'm sure there's flower in the kitchen. I need to see the lines better." I said while rushing back inside the kitchen.

I grab a bag of flower and walk back down. I reach in for a hand full and throw it at the dim red lines. Slowly, the red lines on the ground becomes more clear. "Now the next step....being as flexible as possible."

I place my journal in the back of my pants, slowly walking under and around the red lines. "damnit, this is hard!" I shout in frustration.

I notice a sheet of paper tapped to the wall next to a drawing of Bill. "How to...turn a human into a dream demon? Wow, Ford, I think your age is finally affecting your brain. That will be extremely useful to me..." I said, slowly reaching for the paper.

I didn't notice a red line barely shining in front of the paper. My eyes widened, but it's too late. My finger touched the line, causing a loud horn to go off all over the shake. "Fuck this!" I shout, grabbing the paper and quickly running towards the rift.

Before I cad get to it, I hear a gun go off. I turn around, and my eyes widen slightly. "Tyrone!" I shout.

"I'm fine, Dipper. Just hurry up and get the rift! Before Ford does something to Bill!"

"But you -"

He cuts me off. "You know my weakness! A bullet won't kill me! Now hurry up!" He orders.

I nod my head, running further down the lab. "When did this lab get so huge?!" I come across a steal door with a key code. Damnit, Ford! I left the flower in the front. I have to find something similar to it!" I rush around, trying to find any type of white dust to use.

I notice a small bag labled 'fairy dust'. I quickly grab the bag, running back to the door. I throw the dust onto the keypad, fingerprints appearing on four different numbers. "Now for the hard part." I said, trying different patterns of the four numbers.

"Dipper, hurry up! He's coming!" I hear Tyrone shout in pain along with more gun shots.

I take in a deep breath, the screen over the key pad telling me I only have one more try. "This time...will be different." I said, keying in the last pattern I haven't tried.

My eyes widen, hearing the lock to the door come undone. I pull the door open quickly, not wasting any time to grab the rift. I turn around, greeted by Stanley. My eyes widen, but I smile nonetheless. "You're too late, grunkle Stan!" I see Tyrone standing behind Stan.

"I can't believe you, Dipper...why would you do something like this?! That damn triangle is only using you!"

I laugh, shaking my head. "Oh Stanley... you shouldn't have let your guard down....now!" I shout at Tyrone.

I watch as he jumps on Stan back, pushing him down to the ground. I hear a crack, "Ah! My metal hip!" He said in pain.

"Hope you brought enough gold to last you the rest of your lifetime." I said, walking over the two. "Because when Bill and I reform this planet, gold will be the last thing you'll get your hands on." I laugh while slowly walking out of the lab and towards the front of the shack.

I walk outside with a bright smile, chuckling at Bill flying around and Ford chasing after him. "Darn, you Bill!"

"Enough fooling around Bill. Turn back into yourself." I said loud enough to gain their attention.

"Great work, pinetree!" Bill cheers, leaving Mable's body to fall to the ground.

"Bill could've given you the world, Ford. Infinite power, fame, and riches. But you would rather play hero. Tsk tsk tsk. It's too bad for you, but it's great for me!" I said, dropping the rift onto the ground, enjoying the sound of it breaking.

"Dipper no! Do you have any idea what you've done!"

"Uh yeah, become one step closer to ruling the world. While you take big steps towards your grave."

I watch as gravity falls transform into a world straight out of the weirdest side of hell. I begin to float alongside Bill, who has the biggest smile stretched across his face. "Oh, pinetree! It's finally happening!"

I chuckle, holding onto him as his demon friends fall from the sky. "Yeah, for the second and last time."

"Dipper! You foolish child! He's only using you! You're just his puppet!"

"Puppet? PUPPET?!" I burst into a fit of cackles. "Oh, Ford. Don't lump me in the same pile of fools' Bill used over his lifetime. The only difference is that I'm able to give Bill what he wants. And you unintentionally gave me something I wanted." I hum while pulling the sheet of paper from my pocket. "Thank you so much for the instructions on how to become an unstoppable dream demon!"

Bill raised an eyebrow in interest. "Oh wow, sixxter. Nice going!" He laughs mockingly.

Ford eyes widen in fear. "No...." He looks at Mable, her face covered in shame.

"This is....a-all my fault!" She cries.

"For once, you're right about something. Take my thanks, it'll be the only time you hear me say it. Thanks Mable, for being a complete selfish bitch and giving me a chance at true happiness!" I cheer.

Bill snaps his fingers as the confetti appears over the two. "CONGRATULATIONS!! For being stupid meatsacks! Here, have deer teeth as my thanks." Bill said while pulling teeth from a deer's mouth and throwing it at them.

I roll my eyes and smirk. "Let's go have some fun."

"Gladly." He said as we begin floating towards his castle.

He places me down at the doorstep as he flies in, greeted by his demon friends. I smile softly, turning around to look down at gravity falls now covered in complete weirdness.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath in, enjoying the smell of blood and sadness. I blow the breath I'm holding out as I open my eyes. "There's no place like home..."