#I almost exclusively draw her in it because of that

[purpleleafsyt]

Redraw,, this frame of her is absolutely adorable

Original down below

[mysandwichranaway]

i love boichi but he is a coward for not making her have more muscles i think

[cuteniaarts]

Behold, my latest and most enamouring new obsession:

Malina, Lady of the Chief of the Northern Water Tribe. As if Red Lotus child OCs weren’t niche enough

[beguilingcorpse]

weaponry in the locked tomb is so interesting because when you break it down it's like:

guns exist in-universe but are used by the freedom fighter terrorist organization almost exclusively

swords are (were?) commonplace enough that gideon was able to find and train with a decently well-balanced two-hander on the ninth, despite the fact that the ninth has no military force or even interplanetary traffic. gideon's sword is at least 20 years old, probably older

swords are definitely still in use within the empire, at least by cavaliers, but likely within the cohort as a whole. to my memory there are no mentions of cohort members carrying military-issue guns

even though they're trained in a variety of weapons and techniques, cavaliers (are supposed to) carry exclusively rapiers. gideon prefers her two-hander and cam carries twin shortswords, but these seem to be rare and shocking exceptions to the standard.

rapiers are used by cavaliers explicitly for the purpose of lyctorhood. they're light enough that a scrawny necromancer without swordfighting experience can pick it up and rely on their cav's training without needing to build the muscle to wield the sword effectively

because of the secretive nature of the megatheorem, and lyctorhood as a whole, most people just follow the rapier rule because it's tradition. it is what is done. harrow makes this pretty clear at the beginning of gtn

cavaliers can carry a variety of offhand weapons. it seems like the full spectrum of middle age weaponry is possible - but still, no guns. not even secretly, as with cam's dual blades. some cavs choose to carry material for their necromancers as their offhand - ortus carries a bowl of bones for harrow, and i can only assume "the powder" mentioned as harrow's choice for gideon's offhand towards the beginning of gtn is some kind of bone dust

from a doylist perspective, all of this creates a aesthetic that starts very analog and gothic and gradually grows into a more standard sci-fi space opera through the series. by ntn, we've hit most of the established genre weaponry tropes that we've come to expect from older futuristic space media like star wars and alien. blasters and guns are standard fare, and it makes sense to hold off on introducing them until the scope of the story gets broader and more interplanetary

from a watsonian perspective, it's a little more difficult to draw concrete conclusions without the context that atn will inevitably provide. but if i had to hedge a guess, i'd say that, as with most things, It's All John Gaius's Fault. when he resurrected the galaxy i'd assume that he wanted to keep the aesthetics of medieval imperialism, and given his 21st century liberalism probably didn't want guns to be part of the equation. but they were anyways - we know this because wake carries a big one - and instead of standardizing firearms within his military and for his lyctors, he clings to the aesthetics of swordplay. please correct me if i'm remembering it wrong, but to my knowledge every gun shown in the series is either directly linked to boe or implied to be sourced from them. jod dooms his own lyctors and military by refusing to update their weaponry.

all of this poses a lot of questions about atn: who will carry a gun, and why? where did the gun come from? why DON'T the lyctors just use firearms? and most importantly: will they be fighting zombies with swords???

[jay-soaring]

What if I did one of those note goal things?

If this gets:

10 notes - I'll start working on revamping some of the accessories for my Halloween costume early

20 notes - I'll finish The King in Yellow by the end of the week

25 notes - I'll do a stupid Murder Drones meme animatic that's been stuck in my head all day

30 notes - I'll use the planner my school gave me for more than one class

40 notes - I'll make an effort to draw every day for 2-3 weeks

50 notes - I'll make an effort to do almost exclusively anatomy studies during the aforementioned time period

75 notes - I'll try to convince my parents to get me the Cyn keychain and a plushie from the GLITCH store

100 notes - I'll put in the effort to figure out a system to remember to brush my teeth every day

125 notes - I'll make an effort to go to bed before 10:30 on school nights

150 notes - I'll tell my dad what pronouns I actually go by

175 notes - I'll tell my dad what name I go by

190 notes - I'll ask to go shopping for actual gender-affirming pants and not just what my mom thinks makes me look cute and fem

250 notes - I'll tell both of my parents my preferred pronouns

300 notes - I'll talk to my mom about her constant disrespecting of my boundaries

5 notes per person. Also for my own safety I'm allowing myself to not do the 175 notes or 250 notes goals if the 150 notes goal puts me in danger.

Edit: Added more things and changed some goal markers because I wasn't expecting you guys to pull out the gimmick blogs. D:

[vigilskeep]

i think one of the things i find hard to understand about the aveline hawke dynamic is that. okay the basic setup is that aveline, regardless of her opinions of hawke, has an intense loyalty to them from lothering onwards that is almost impossible to break even seven years later. spying on hawke and potentially interfering with hawke’s brother’s career is what, in aveline’s words, saves her protectively “camping on [hawke’s] doorstep” after what they went through together. i can see what aveline thinks she owes hawke; hawke got them flemeth’s help, and helped deal with wesley in whatever way, and aveline got into the city off the back of the hawkes’ year of indentured work. although the way she shows it is weird and invasive, the reasoning all basically checks out, sure

i guess i just don’t understand what aveline ever did for hawke for hawke to let her do all that without the option to draw a boundary. fleeing from lothering, she doesn’t particularly protect hawke’s family, and all she says as long as she still has wesley is that they can all go back to hating each other when it’s over. and in kirkwall, she never does anything for hawke or hawke’s friends with her guard position, as i’ve been seeing people point out today, despite the extreme danger many of them live in day-to-day through no fault of their own. (and aveline only got that guard position in the first place because the hawke siblings were doing a year of ugly work to get her into the city at all!) she even makes hawke do the work that she doesn’t expect of the guards, and protects guards accused of rape from investigation the way she never does for hawke’s friends. i think a simple conversational mention that, idk, she spent a year helping feed your family while you and your sibling were working off the debts, or a personal quest where the protectiveness of you that she talks so much about actually happens, would do a lot.

the game often acts like she’s doing you a favour just by descending to walking around with the likes of you and your friends. but it’s not like you need that; you can leave aveline out of the party and go the entire game without getting anything from her at all. and it’s not like aveline is actually better than the rest of them to be lowering herself by working with them. the difference, exclusively, is that the privilege she was born with got her access to an above-board position and a legal life. which she shows no awareness of and you can’t point out. annoying!

i don’t just wish you had the option to kick her out of the party because i don’t want her there, although, admittedly, i’d be tempted. i feel like having the option would just make sense for her role as a companion. it’s irritating that you have to deal with how presumptuous and judgemental aveline is without any option to not put up with her, as if you owe her anything. the game lets you treat most of the other companions abysmally, but locks a lot of your roleplaying choices by for some reason always operating on the basic assumption that you and your character must like aveline and want her there, even on 100% rivalry. and i don’t understand why it expects that or what she did to earn it

[hotshotsxyz]

i might be a little stupid (but it's okay, you are too)

(buddie) (1.2k words) i have nothing to say for myself idk

The way Maddie says it, it kind of sounds like she thinks it should be obvious. It’s not obvious. It’s not even true, actually, because if it’s true then Eddie has no idea what to do with it. And he can’t—Buck is the stability in his life. He’s the anchor, the foundation, the crossbeam that keeps the roof from collapsing in the wind. So it’s not true. He says as much to Maddie.

“You’re both—” Maddie cuts herself off with a frustrated noise. “I should have listened to Howie. You’re both impossible.”

Eddie shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know what you want me to say, he’s not.”

Maddie sighs. “He is. He really, really is. And you—never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She blows a stray lock of hair out of her face.

And yeah, she shouldn’t have. Not because Eddie’s upset, but because it’s not true. Buck absolutely is not in love with him. He’d know. So it’s fine.

It’s fine until it isn’t, because a day later Buck is grinning at him like he hung the moon, and it’s so obvious that Eddie has no idea how he ever missed it. And he still doesn’t know what to do with it. But Maddie was right. Buck’s in love with him.

.

“Maddie, can you stop?”  Buck asks, nearly sloshing the wine out of his glass as he gestures. “It was funny, the first couple of times, but—”

“I wasn’t joking!” Maddie interrupts him. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Why are you like this?”

“Me!” Buck exclaims. “You’re the one insinuating things.”

Maddie blinks at him. “Buck. I’m not insinuating anything. I’m telling you. He’s in love with you.”

Buck throws his head back dramatically, knocking it into the cabinets. Ow. “Did Chimney put you up to this? Is this his idea of a prank, because—”

Maddie drops her head to the counter, burying her face in her arms. “No,” she says, muffled by the fabric of her sweater.

Buck rolls his eyes. “Sure,” he says. Eddie isn’t in love with him, obviously. He’d know. So it’s fine.

.

Buck keeps looking at him. And that’s not abnormal, necessarily, but now that Eddie’s paying attention, he’s starting to notice it happens a lot. Buck, catching his eye when he walks into the room. Buck, glancing at him before he does anything at a scene. Buck, making eye contact any time he finds something funny. He’s just—always looking.

And it’s not like Eddie isn’t looking back. He is, obviously, otherwise he wouldn’t have noticed, but it’s different. Especially right now, because Buck’s very clearly watching him over the top of his book, but every time Eddie catches him at it, he goes right back to pretending to read.

It’s infuriating and endearing in equal turns.

.

Eddie is always there, Buck’s starting to realize. He’s at his elbow on every call, in the kitchen when he’s making coffee, in the bunks when he’s trying to sleep. That last one might just be because they’re mostly stuck with the same sleep schedule on shift, but still. He’s starting to think Maddie might be right.

Which isn’t a problem, necessarily, so much as it is an idea that feels almost impossible to wrap his head around. It’s just—it’s Eddie. Buck knows Eddie better than he knows himself. It’s kind of hard to believe he missed something this huge. But—

He gets this look in his eye, sometimes, one that Buck had only ever really categorized as warmth, but that he’s now realizing is reserved exclusively for him. So, okay. Eddie might be in love with him. Maybe.

.

They’re going to have to talk about it, obviously, so Eddie drags Buck home with him after shift. Not that it’s very hard. He kind of just tilts his head toward the truck and Buck follows him.

Buck’s eyes are on him the entire drive. He’s pretty proud of the restraint he shows, waiting until the front door closes behind them to start talking.

“So—”

“I’m—”

Buck huffs an amused breath. “You first,” he says.

Right. “Maddie said something,” Eddie blurts.

“Okay?” Buck says, drawing out both syllables.

“She said that you—” Eddie swallows, mouth suddenly, inexplicably dry. “She said you’re in love with me?” It comes out as a question.

Buck’s eyebrows climb higher on his forehead than Eddie thought was possible.

“And it’s fine,” Eddie says in a rush.

“She—”

“Seriously, Buck, I’m not like,” Eddie flaps his hand in place of an actual end to his sentence.

“Eddie, you—”

“No, really Buck, it’s—"

“She said you’re in love with me!” He exclaims.

Eddie’s brain short circuits, just a little bit. He hadn’t—he hadn’t actually considered that. At all. “She—what?”

“She said you’re in love with me, and honestly Eds, I think she might be right.”

“Since… when?” Eddie manages to get out.

Buck throws his arms in the air. “I don’t know, you tell me!”

“Maddie told you I’m… and you believed her?” Eddie asks.

“Not at first, but I mean,” Buck gestures vaguely.

They’re in Eddie’s house, but there’re traces of Buck everywhere. It’s his handwriting on the grocery list in the kitchen. He’s in half of the framed photos that adorn the walls. Buck’s sweatshirt is draped over the arm of the couch, and he isn’t the one who wore it last. Huh.

“So,” Buck says, looking at him expectantly, “are you?”

“Are you?” Eddie shoots back, borderline hysterical.

Buck opens his mouth and closes it. Blinks a few times. “I… am I?”

“I mean,” Eddie says, mirroring Buck’s earlier gesture.

Buck looks around and frowns. His brow furrows, and Eddie finds himself wanting to smooth it with his thumb. “Eddie,” Buck asks faintly, “are we stupid?”

It startles a laugh out of Eddie, and once he’s started, he can’t stop.

“It’s—it’s not—not funny,” Buck protests as he fails to suppress a giggle of his own.

“No,” Eddie gasps, bracing himself against Buck’s shoulder as he doubles over in laughter.

“St-stop,” Buck honest-to-god giggles. His fingers fist in Eddie’s shirt. “We have to—have to—” Whatever he was going to say, he can’t get the rest out.

Eventually, Eddie straightens enough to look Buck in the eye, and slowly catches his breath. All at once, he’s aware of how closely together they’re standing. “Buck,” he says, soft and warm and—

He can hear it in his own voice. He is. He is in love with Buck and it’s absurd, because how could he possibly have missed that? How could Maddie have known before he did?

“Eds,” Buck says. His fingers release the now-wrinkled fabric of his shirt, but his hands stay on Eddie’s waist. There’s a sparkle in Buck’s eyes that Eddie’s seen so many times, and not once before has he ever thought to examine why he’s so drawn to it.

“I think we’re a little stupid,” Eddie breathes.

.

“Told you,” Maddie says, watching Buck as he laces his fingers with Eddie’s.

Chimney snorts. “That you did,” he says. “They would’ve figured it out eventually. Probably.”

Maddie shakes her head. “I’ve never met two people who were so stubbornly opposed to their own happiness.”

“Eh,” Chimney says, “I think they were happy. They’re just happier now.”

Maddie laughs lightly and lets her head fall to Chimney’s shoulder. “Yeah,” she says. “They are.”

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

Casey Novak x autistic fem!reader Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI. Graphic sex, oral, fingering, language, homophobia, homophobic slurs. Word count: 2,443 "Onions and relish!?" you observed, watching Casey scoop condiments onto a ballpark hot dog. Your face screwed up. "Gross."

"I've got highbrow taste," Casey retorted, glancing at yours. "And you shouldn't talk. Ketchup and mustard? Are you five?"

"It's a classic," you argued, both pushing your way through the crowded line of Yankees fans waiting for their own ballpark snacks.

You returned to your seats, up in the nosebleeds along with a scattering of other die-hard baseball fans, the humming of a summertime crowd and the buzzing of the lights wrapping around you like a blanket. You heard the crack of a bat, and both you and Casey froze, watching the field.

"Yes!" you yelled, pumping your fist in the air as your team–the Cardinals–drove in another run. "Fuckin' Redbirds!"

Normally, you'd be a lot more self-conscious about drawing attention to yourself in a crowd like this–almost exclusively Yankees fans, including your girlfriend. When the Yankees weren't playing the Cardinals, you wore some of Casey's Yankees gear and cheered them on with her. But the Cardinals? They'd been your family's team for generations. You'd grown up on Pujols and Molina and Wainwright, and you were nothing if not loyal. But in this crowd, you stood out amongst the black-and-white like a red thumb. Casey had looked embarrassed, and you'd worried for a moment that she really was bothered by your vocal support of the away team.

"Am I embarrassing you?" you'd asked.

"Yes."

"In a bad way?"

Casey looked at you and smiled at your serious expression. "No, honey. Like, embarrassing but it's endearing. Does that make sense?"

You thought about it for a moment. "I think so. You would tell me if I was bad embarrassing?"

"I would," she confirmed, patting your hand.

It was one of your favorite things about Casey that she was so patient when you misread or didn't understand social cues. She never made fun of you. She always explained, and she always reassured you when you were afraid you'd done something wrong.

But this time it was definitely Casey who had done something wrong. You watched her shove a bite of hot dog into her mouth, beautifully messy, as always when she wasn't at work.

"Your whole mouth is gonna taste like pickles for the rest of the night," you muttered, taking a bite of your own hot dog.

She looked at you, smirking. "And why are you so concerned about my mouth, huh?"

You blushed. "No reason..."

"Mmhm." She took another bite, smug, then grasped your chin, pulling you to her for a kiss. Her lips were salty with sweat, and she smelled like the ballpark dust and the leather of her glove. She was intoxicating, but then you always felt lightheaded when Casey kissed you. Something about the stadium lights and the summer heat just made you that much more dazed.

"That's fuckin' hot," you heard someone say behind you. You shrank and glanced back, Casey's hand squeezing yours protectively. Two men, unshaven, with beers to go with their beer bellies, leered at you from the row behind.

"Nobody asked you, asshole," Casey shot back, flipping him off. You avoided eye contact with them, trying to make yourself smaller. Having grown up in the south, you'd been in enough unsafe situations because of your sexuality that your go-to defense was to ignore and hide. Casey's was not. She was tall and strong, and she'd grown up with absolute confidence in who and what she was.

Your nostrils flared in disgust as one of the men licked his lips, raking his eyes up and down Casey's body.

"What's a hot piece like you doing with a dyke? You oughta let a real man take you for a spin."

Casey stood and pushed him–hard. The man reeled, sloshing his beer all over his front. "You better shut your fucking mouth or I'll shut it for you," she growled.

The man's arm shot out, grabbing Casey by the back of her head. He dug his fingers into her hair to pull her closer. "That's okay, honey," he said. "I like 'em feisty."

Any fear you had dissipated into white hot anger as you watched, as if in slow motion. You, however, were not stuck in slow motion. Without thinking, you lunged forward, grabbed the man's wrist, and wrenched it back until he squealed. You shoved Casey behind you.

"Get your fucking hands off her!" you spat, puffing yourself up as you stood between him and your girlfriend. Which, considering your diminutive height, probably didn't do a whole lot to deter him.

Your teeth clenched and your whole body buzzed with rage. It took a lot to make you angry, but you were spitting angry now. All you knew was that no one–no one–was going touch Casey on your watch.

The man laughed, knocking your cap off your head with a swipe of his finger. "And what are you gonna do about it, Tiny Tim? Or should I say Tiny Tina?"

Without warning and, for once, without considering the consequences, you slammed your first into his groin as hard as you could which, considering you played softball, was pretty damn hard. It was a perk of your height that you were at the optimal angle to punch someone in the dick.

The man doubled over, coughing, and spilled the rest of his beer. "Fuckin' dykes," he muttered. He motioned to his friend, cupping his balls, and they sidled off. Probably looking for another section to harass women in.

You let out a shaky breath and turned to face Casey, your heart beating rapidly as the adrenaline faded and the nerves returned.

"Are you okay?" you asked, frantically looking her over, placing a gentle hand at the back of her head where the man had grabbed her.

You hardly noticed Casey watching you, biting her lip. You were too concerned with making sure she was safe and unharmed. As you rambled, checking her hands and neck and hair and face for any signs of hurt, Casey stared.

Finally, she interrupted you. "Y/N."

You stopped and made yourself meet her eyes.

"I think we should go." She looked at you pointedly.

You face fell. "Oh, love. I'm so sorry. We can go home if it'll make you feel better."

"No, that's not why."

A look of confusion crossed your face.

"We should go home because we have things to do."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "I don't understand what you're saying, Casey."

She stepped closer, placing your hat back on your head and her arms on your shoulders. Her expression was self-satisfied as she leaned in, so close you could feel her breath, and whispered into your ear.

"Y/N," she breathed. "I need to do things. To you. Now."

"Oh," you said, the realization hitting you. "Oh my god. Okay."

You started gathering your things, then stopped and glanced at her. "From this? Really?"

"Y/N," she said, cheeks already flushed. "Don't make me wait. I'm gonna have a hard enough time making it home."

You tried to hide the mixture of shock and excitement on your face as you left the stadium, walking by the now abandoned concession stands and into the quiet parking lot.

"What's the alternative?" you asked her as you climbed into the driver's seat.

"What?"

"To making it home. You said you were gonna have a hard time making it home. But, like, where else would we–"

You were cut off by Casey's lips on yours, her breath hot and desperate as she grabbed your collar. She slid her tongue into your mouth, her teeth clacking against yours as she surged toward you, pushing for more.

When you separated, you both breathed heavily. Casey's face was flushed with lust. "If it were up to me," she said, leaning back in the seat. "I would've fucked you in the ballpark bathroom. I'd take you right here in the car. But I know that's not your style, so for the love of god..." Her eyes bored into you. "Drive."

Usually a slow driver, you made it back to Casey's apartment in record time. And, true to her word, Casey did have a hard time making it to the apartment, stopping at every chance she got–stoplights, outside the car door, in the elevator, the hallway–to kiss your neck, your mouth, undoing buttons of your Cardinals jersey as you went. Her hands slipped inside your shirt whenever you stopped for so much as a second.

When she finally got you into her bedroom, she was ravenous, tugging your clothes off and tossing them to the side with a singular focus. Her eyes were glazed and her face red as she struggled with your bra clasps.

"Fucking hell," she muttered, her fingers fumbling.

"Jesus, Casey," you said, reaching back to do them for her. "Calm down."

She groaned, letting her eyes rove over your now nude body, pushing you gently but forcefully on your back. She pecked you on the lips, then took your bottom lip between her teeth. You gasped, filled with both pain and pleasure. When she let you go, she was grinning.

"I'm gonna make you feel so..." She kissed your neck. "Fucking." Your collarbone. "Good." She lowered herself over you and pressed her mouth into yours, breathing you in, letting her tongue roam freely.

You moaned, arching your back. "Don't hold back on me now," she growled, leaving bite marks down your neck and across your chest. Usually quiet, you gave yourself permission to make some noise. After all, it drove Casey crazy.

"Fuck, Casey," you whined as she swirled her tongue across your nipples, first one and then the other, her hands pressing just above your hips. You writhed into her, squirming for more, your center already sopping wet.

"Tell me what you want," Casey said, trailing her tongue from your chest down to your stomach.

You struggled against her hands, pressing you into the bed. "Come on," you complained, nearly begging.

"Tell me," Casey said again, more forcefully, her fingers grazing over your clit.

You saw stars. "Fuck me."

Casey chuckled, her low voice vibrating against your already swollen clit. "That's my girl."

You gasped as she sucked your clit between her lips, swishing her tongue back and forth, back and forth. Her arms pinned your thighs in place, holding your writhing body tight. You heaved and moaned as you pushed Casey's head into your center. Her hair was soft and damp with sweat under your fingers, and you felt desperate for her as you chased your high.

She waited until you were nearly bursting, your breath hitching and your back arched against her, then pulled quickly away, wiping her mouth.

You gasped frantically. "What the fuck, Casey!?"

"Shh," she commanded, crawling back up your body and grabbing your chin. She straddled your hips, her own soaked center resting over yours.

"Casey, please," you begged, your eyes fluttering shut, the need of her flooding you.

"Don't close your eyes, honey. Look at me."

You huffed but opened your eyes, staring defiantly into hers, green and hungry and lustful.

She held your face still with one hand, then crept back down your body with the other. You let out a moan, squirming.

"Now arch your back for me," she said, the heel of her palm pressing hard into your clit.

Your body nearly exploded with the sensation, and you thrust into her with everything you had. You grabbed at Casey, pulling her into you, elated to know that she was using you, too, unable to put off her own pleasure any longer.

Your breath came faster and faster, your body jerking into Casey as Casey thrust toward you. You watched each other, both on the brink of losing control. Casey moaned, shutting her eyes briefly before squeezing your chin and staring at you.

"Now," she said.

And that one word was all it took. Your body shook against Casey's, your hips riding into her again and again, desperate for the friction as you moaned. She did the same, her nails digging into the skin at the top of your throat as she rode out her own orgasm. It felt like the two of you were hurtling across space, starbursts and supernovas and whole galaxies flashing inside you as you held onto one another. You quivered against her as the fireworks dissipated, spent and sweaty and heaving.

Casey grinned and planted kisses across your collarbone, counting. "One. Two. Three..."

You laughed and groaned. "Casey," you protested.

She'd discovered early on that, if she timed it right, she could make you come indefinitely. The only thing that stopped her was you getting overstimulated.

"Twenty-two," she finished and, once again, pressed the heel of her hand into your clit, harder and harder until she had you ready again, your hands grasping the bedsheets.

Your orgasm washed over you again, like a wave this time, pouring over you from head to toe.

Casey started in again, this time with her lips at the back of your knees. "One. Two..."

By the fifth round, you were nearly delirious, and Casey was salivating.

"Casey," you groaned, your body still pressing into her hand, almost against your will. "It's too much."

"Come on, sweetheart," she said, kissing you roughly. "Give me one more."

She continued grinding her hand into you, meshing her lips with yours, her tongue roving. Your breath caught and you moaned into her mouth, your orgasm taking you over one final, quaking time.

Casey cradled your head in the crook of her arm as you continued to shake, finally letting you relax.

"Thank you," she whispered, peppering your face with kisses.

You scrunched your nose. "For what? Letting you beat your record?"

"Well, that, too." She chuckled, deep and throaty, then brushed your sweaty bangs out of your face. "For protecting me. From that asshole."

You turned to her and tucked her hair behind her ear, running your thumb across her eyebrow.

"I would die before I let someone hurt you." Your voice was so quiet that, had anyone else been in the room, even they wouldn't have been able to hear. But you did. And Casey did.

She looked at you for a moment, then leaned down and kissed your forehead, hard and purposeful.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you, too."

You lost yourself in her arms for a bit as she ran a hand absentmindedly through your hair.

"We should go to more baseball games," Casey mused after a while.

You laughed. "Only if there's no relish involved."

"Deal."

[gazkamurocho]

“The year is 1988. The young Goro Majima is a prisoner in Sotenbori and is forcefully working as the manager at the biggest and most successful cabaret in the city: The Grand.

During his captivity he discovers a way to momentarily forget his predicament. By freeing himself as ‘The Queen of The Night’, Goromi. 

Together with his new-found love, Kazuma Kiryu, the two of them have fun and enjoy each other’s company as much as they can because their time together is limited and it’s almost coming to an end.

Kiryu will make sure to give Goromi and Majima a night they will never forget.”

--

It's finally here! The first look on the opening sequence of 80s Goromi doujinshi ❤ (title still in the works~)

More info about this project under the cut!

--

Different from my usual comic strips, this is a long doujinshi and the total page count will be something around 40~50 pages. Besides Kiryu and Majima, we will also have characters like Sagawa, Yuki-chan, Youda and the Sunshine Club girls making an appearance. The plot, script and scenes are all ready and I’m storyboarding and drawing the pages as I progress through the script!

This is also a R-18 adult doujinshi. There’s a lot of fluff, angst and fun interaction with the other characters but a good chunk (mostly half) of the comic will be dedicated to hentai (so rejoice you horny ones fdsjkfhdj). (For those who are curious about the spicy parts, it’s my established 80s Goromi and Y0 Kiryu’s dynamic: Goromi is the top and dominant one and, as a good and obedient boy, Kiryu will obey all of her orders and will do anything to please his queen. 👀 So basically, Goromi will destroy Kiryu dhsfksd) 

I’ll be sharing the first 4 pages and then some random ones to the public, but after those, all new pages will be exclusive to my patrons on Patreon! I’m gradually posting over there WIPs, behind-the-scenes and new pages as I make them. I’ll always let you guys know on my social media when I post a new finished page on my Patreon!

I expect half a year or a year for the whole doujinshi to be finished. But the more support I have on Patreon, the faster I can make this doujinshi!

Once finished, I’ll make the complete doujinshi available for purchase in one of my online shops! Yes, this will be a paid comic. I’m pouring all my love for Kazumaji and 80s Goromi in this doujinshi but it also takes a lot of time and dedication to give life to this project so I hope you guys understand that decision. ❤ Of course, all the patrons who support the comic on Patreon will have the whole doujinshi available to them from the get-go.

It will first be available as a digital PDF but I’m also planning to release it in physical format down the road.

Making long comics has always been my true passion, ever since I was a little kid. And I also have other long adult doujinshi planned. If everything goes smoothly, this comic will be the first one of a series of Kazumaji doujinshis! ^^

[taintedcigs]

eddie w tattoo artist reader..... trying SO hard to seem like he's not dying from pain while she tattoos his chest, bc he's trying to impress her. she's the coolest girl he's ever seen and the fact that her art is on him forever makes him so giddy and happy, almost as happy as getting her number

call me if you need a groupie — e.m.

yes yes yes yes yes. a thousand times yes to this. thank u for this request omg i looooove lovesick cutie eddie soooooo much. this was meant to be a blurb but now its a 2.8k+ fic oops. idk if there were exclusive shirts ok i tried to do my research but this is the best i could get and idk how tattoo processes are so take everything i wrote w a grain of salt !! not proofread as always so ignore any mistakes and also idk why but i looved writing for this dynamic and if anyone would be interested i could write a pt.2 for some smut !! (maybe sub!eddie or switch!eddie? 👀)

pairing: eddie munson x fem!tattoo artist!reader (wc: 2.8k+)

warnings: MINORS DNI w any of my works!!. just pure fluff!! maybe the teeniest tiniest angst, eddie is kinda insecure <3, eddie is a lovesick cutie honey pie !! and swearing? oh also tattooing ofc (needles n stuff)

He doesn't mean to flinch, he doesn't mean to show you how stressed he is, but you can sense it.

Each time the needle presses against his skin, he hisses, mouth biting onto his lips, harsh enough to draw blood.

But Eddie doesn’t care, you—the hottest and coolest girl—that has ever graced the hellhole that was Hawkins was tattooing him, and Eddie couldn’t afford to look like a coward.

So with everything in him, he shut his lips, biting on them, becoming accustomed to the metallic taste because it didn’t matter, not when you looked so fucking pretty when cooing him and your free hand squeezed his biceps for reassurance.

He didn’t know what to admire first, the way your lips quirked sweetly when you answered his dumb questions, the way you looked so focused with your lip between your teeth, trying to tattoo him, or the fact that you were wearing an Anthrax shirt, and not just any regular Anthrax shirt that you could find at those regular shops, it was an exclusive shirt that was only sold at the concerts, and he had to gulp physically at that.

You were a tattoo artist… and a metal fan? How perfect could you get?

Before his questions were answered, the needle pricked at his skin again, he cursed out, and instead of screaming in his mind, he whimpered out loud this time.

Your head perked up quickly and Eddie was now cursing himself, for being a fucking idiot, for looking like a coward in front of you.

“I can slow down if you want to,” You said with a smile, a sweet smile that adorned your perfectly red lips, they looked so fucking kissable.

“N–no!” He stuttered, but you gave him a huff. “C’mon Eds, you’re doing good… better than anyone I’ve ever tattooed has, we can slow down a bit.” You reassured.

His eyes lit up like a child, Eds? His new acquired nickname rolled off your tongue so sweetly, your words dripped in honey. And Eddie decided he would do anything to hear you call him that again.

Not only did you call him Eds, but you also said he was better than the others, and the childish grin on Eddie’s lips was quick to grow again, his entire body relaxing as he almost melted into you.

“You think so?” He asked, tone giddy and all sweet, causing a pretty giggle to escape your lips.

“I know so!” You hummed. “Tattooed a guy yesterday. He was tall. Like really fucking tall, and he had this long beard and tattoos everywhere!” You exaggerated, watching Eddie’s eyes widen. “He cried like a baby the second that needle prickled his skin!”

“And look at you, taking everything I’m giving you like a champ,” You winked.

If only you knew the affect you had on him, Eddie’s entire face grew red at that, he would, without hesitation take anything you gave him.

He tried, so fucking hard not to think about it, but now his mind was filled with the images of you, sitting on his faze, your pretty cunt glistening as he lapped away at your juices.

He imagined those pretty manicured fingers discarding his hair, ruffling while those pretty little lips were hung open, chanting his name. Your whines and whimpers would fill the room as he begged for you to cum in his mouth. He wouldn’t stop until you smothered him.

Until all he could taste was you.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, because the blood was quick to rush to his cock, and he didn’t want to have his bulge hardening against his tight pants anymore than he needed to, you were inches away from him and he wanted to seem cool–so fucking badly.

“Really?” He asked, and you nodded swiftly. “So brave for me.” You coo, lips lightly brushing against his cheek, as you plant a little kiss.

And Eddie was sure this was heaven now, he blinked quickly to make sure he wasn't dreaming, the light kiss you left on his cheeks lingered, and he could feel it burn.

His cheeks were purely crimson red now, he couldn't fucking help it. He ached for you, ached to have you close to him, ached to feel your touch, and everything you did was enough to drive him crazy, make him feel out of his fucking mind.

He was putty in your hands and you had no fucking idea.

His mouth stood agape, a dumbfounded look overtaking his features for too fucking long until the soft buzz of the machine brought him back again, the needle quick to puncture the skin's surface again, causing Eddie to squeeze his eyes shut as he tried his best not to fucking scream.

Be cool, be cool, be fucking cool Edward Munson.

He repeated it like a mantra in his head, and he was glad you were focusing on tattooing the cute sketch you made for him, and not his actual face that probably looked straight out of a horror movie.

“So—uh... c—cool shirt,” Eddie muttered, voice so low that he was surprised when you hummed back at him.

“Oh, yeah,” You muttered.

“You listen to Anthrax?” You asked with a beaming smile, gaze still focused on Eddie's arm.

Eddie huffed painfully but realized quickly that the nervousness of talking to you was overpowering the pain of the tattoo gun drilling into his skin.

“Are you kidding? Anthrax, Judas Priest, Black Sabbath... Megadeth! You name it I probably listen to it,” He hummed, and your eyes glimmered, causing Eddie's breath to hitch and his wavering nervousness to appear again. “Metal is my jam, baby!” He exclaimed, not too loud to disturb your tattooing process but loud enough to cause a giggle out of you.

Metal is my jam? Baby? Who the fuck says that?

Eddie was afraid to look into your eyes now, afraid to see the gaze everyone gives him.

Like he's an outsider like he's a freak.

But when he hears that pretty giggle of yours again, comfort takes over him, nervousness dissipating quickly when he sees the gentle look you give him.

Almost as if to let him know that you also love those bands. Almost as if to let him know that he wasn't an outsider because you were just like him.

“Dio?” You asked with a curious gaze, face beaming up when Eddie nodded furiously.

“Fuckin' love Dio,” He muttered, barely realizing the needle on his skin now, all thanks to you.

“Uhh—how did you even get that shirt?” Eddie asked, almost shyly, admiring the way you were neatly tattooing him.

“I wanted to go to that concert so badly but the tickets were sold out so quickly.” He added.

“Oh! I was Belladonna's groupie,” You muttered mindlessly, the pain as you prickled the needle was an afterthought to Eddie now, almost forgetting how to breathe, he coughed, quite loudly, causing you to look up at him and see the bewildered look on his face.

You stopped the machine when you chuckled lightly, "Oh, Eds!"

There it was, that nickname again, god you were dizzying his mind.

“I was just joking,” You smiled at him, and he wanted to melt, right then and there. "Needed to go a little bit deeper so I thought I'd distract you," You shrugged, and Eddie returned the smile.

He liked the feeling of having someone care about him, he liked talking to you, and he sure as hell enjoyed being with someone so similar to him—someone so fucking cool.

“Though I did go to that concert in 1987.” You could feel Eddie’s curious gaze on you

“My friend knew their manager,” You murmured again.

"Really?!? How was it?" He asked, face beaming again.

“So fucking cool.” You gushed as you started talking about their set list, how the first punch you ever threw was at that concert, and you enthusiastically animated Donais' guitar riff, earning a hearty chuckle from Eddie. He loved every bit of your story, listening attentively as your exaggerations enticed him more and more.

The longer you tattooed him, the more comfortable Eddie got, pain was no longer his main concern when all he wanted to do was make you laugh, hear that sweet giggle escaping from your lips, admire the way your eyes crinkle when you smile at him so sugary.

Minutes stretched into hours as you focused on his tattoo, each pass of the needle causing a smile on your face as the sketch you made became more intricate and alluring on his bare skin.

“All done!” You exclaimed with a smile when you finally finished tattooing him, a sigh of relief escaping your lips when the buzz of the machine was finally replaced with silence.

You couldn't help but trace every part of his face now, you wanted to see if he liked it, anxiety bubbling up in your stomach as you couldn't read Eddie's expressions.

“Oh my god,” Was all that left Eddie's lips, and your lips almost started to tremble.

Jesus fucking Christ, how bad did you fuck up?

“Oh my fucking god,” He repeated again, this time his head tilted upward to your direction, almost snapping as you looked at him with scared eyes.

But your gaze eased the second you saw the admiration in Eddie's gaze. “This is a fucking masterpiece!” He beamed, causing a smile on your lips, so fucking big and pretty that he wished he could have that tattooed instead.

“It's fucking perfect,” He muttered again, shaking his head in disbelief when he looked at the tattoo on his forearm.

“I mean when I saw that sketch, I knew you were good to , but holy shit,” He praised again, causing heat to grow in your cheeks, he had no idea how much it meant to you, to have someone appreciating your art, to have people walk around in the sketches you did, indelible on their skin. It felt so fucking good.

“It's...perfect.”

“Really?”

“Of fucking course,” He gushed. “You're so fuckin' talented it's crazy,” He muttered, fingertips gentle as they avoided glazing through the tattoo, but around it.

You were so fucking perfect it was killing him, and he couldn't help the giddy feeling inside of him knowing that your art would be etched into his skin, forever.

You couldn't shake off the thoughts in your head, swirling when Eddie uttered those compliments to you.

Your cheeks grew hot so quickly that you felt the need to turn around, trying to think of something to say to him so that you wouldn't look like a fucking idiot.

Eddie turned around to face you, the smile that brought out his dimples apparent in his face as he watched you scrabble something on a business card.

“Thank you,” You muttered when you turned around, hands almost shaking as you extended your arm to give Eddie the card.

He scrambled it into his back pocket, not caring when you were this close to him, but you frowned at that. “No, thank you, for this masterpiece” He winked, pointing toward his forearm.

He didn't even know where he got the confidence to even be able to wink at you, and his coolness wore off the second he exited the shop, a silent shrieking scream exited his mouth as he freaked out.

Your sketch. On his arm.

You. Tattoo artist. Metal fan.

You, kissing him on the cheek, talking to him for hours, laughing at his idiotic jokes.

You.

Eddie was sure he lost his mind, hands shaking as he reached for the card in his back pocket.

The card was black and the title on it was dripping with blood. He whined.

How much cooler were you going to get?

He gulped when he looked back, seeing you toward the clear glass door, and he knew.

He knew that if he didn't do it now, he could never do it, this was his only fucking chance, and he couldn't be a coward, not now, not when you were this close to him.

Eddie entered back into the shop in a frenzy, causing your head to pop up swiftly as you looked at him dumbfounded.

God, you were so gorgeous he could feel his heart skip a beat.

“C—can I ask you something?” He cleared his throat to not appear nervous, and you nodded, furiously.

“Look, I know this is weird and all... but... uhm, I really feel like we connected,” He muttered, fingers tapping against the glass counter that you were standing behind in.

“And I thought maybe... uhhh... I could like—get your number or somethin'?” He uttered anxiously, tilting his head slightly to the side, and you couldn't help the giggle that escaped your lips.

And even though why you laughed was reasonable, it was the worst fucking thing you could have done to Eddie.

Especially when your laugh seemed so mocking, almost different than the ones you gave him earlier before. Jogging deep into this memory of the countless times when Eddie tried to pluck up the courage to ask girls in his class out, only to be laughed in his face, or to have them insult him.

But this was more than that, it pained him.

It pained him to think that you thought of him like the others did. Like you saw him as an outsider, too.

His bubble of confidence that was already wavering was even quicker to fizzle out, he could feel that familiar lump in his throat, shoulders slumping as his gaze was quick to show his emotions.

He was hurt. And he was sure this hurt much more than a thousand needles breaking the barriers of his skin, “Uhhh,” He gave you a bitter chuckle. “Just.... never mind” He added, defeatedly turning back around to exit the shop once again as he ignored you calling out for him.

“Wait!” You yelled out after him, but Eddie started walking faster.

“Shit shit shit!” You cursed yourself for your little joke.

“Eds, please!” You called out again, this time effective enough to make Eddie stop in his tracks.

Eds. Oh you knew how to get him hooked, how to get him right where you wanted him.

And he hated himself for being this weak for you, someone he met, just recently.

“What?” He answered coldly, glaring at you with bitterness that made you want to hide out, that gentle soul in him disappearing in mere seconds.

And you sighed, hating that he could ever see you as someone that would make fun of him.

“Flip the card,” Your gaze on him was intense, cheeks growing hot again knowing that you were going to see his reaction to your stupid note.

“I don't have time for your bullshit” He spat, almost on his feet to leave.

You sighed. “Eds, just... will you just please flip the card?” You asked, all prettily that Eddie couldn't help but oblige, but be gentle with you again because he couldn't resist it. He couldn't resist you.

He huffed as he plucked the card out of the back pocket of his jeans, turning it over in one swift motion.

'CALL ME IF U NEED A GROUPIE' and your digits were attached right below it.

His gaze softened immediately, head drooping further as he huffed at himself.

He felt stupid, so fucking stupid.

Why did he ever think you would treat him like the others?

His chest expanded with hope when he looked back up at you, a soft smile graced his lips.

“Oh,” He muttered, not able to help the childish grin that was now stuck to his lips.

“Shut up,” You giggled, nudging him slightly.

“You owe me,” You narrowed your eyes sarcastically, causing his brows to quip.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” He asked, a newfound confidence washing him over when you were so easy to talk to.

“A date,” You beamed, scrunching your nose.

“Okay.” The words left his lips quickly, too quickly that it had you feeling giddy inside.

“How about tomorrow?” He didn't even know how he managed to get those words out without stuttering.

“Uhm—sure.” You were the one stuttering now, cheeks burning up as you could barely look at him. His grin was sickly inviting.

“I'll pick you up at 8?” You nodded so quickly that you were sure your head was about to fall off.

“See you tomorrow,” His voice was sultry as he winked again, making you almost melt, looking cool on the surface when all he wanted to do was go home, freak the fuck out, tell Wayne all about the cool girl who tattooed him, and not be able to sleep until your date tomorrow.

[kellysue]

Members of the cast of #FMLComix tell you how to pre-order #FMLComix.

FML #1 arrives in November 2024 with main cover art by David López and variant covers featuring artwork by Alvaro Martinez Bueno, David LaFuente, Nicola Scott (1:10 incentive variant), and Pepe Larraz (1:25 incentive variant). One additional variant cover will be revealed at a later date. Each issue will feature bonus material such as essays on music, true crime, interviews, and more that will be exclusive only to the single issues.

“David and I have been talking about doing something creator-owned together since Captain Marvel, but it took years for the stars and our schedules to properly align,” said DeConnick. “Now that we’re here though, it almost feels planned — like we needed exactly as long as it took us to grow and change, both as artists and as people, so that we could come back together for this big swing.

“FML is a challenging book — stylistically and in tone — and I’m not sure we could have pulled it off five years ago, honestly. But here we are—and I’m so proud of and impressed by the work put in by everyone involved. David is drawing like he’s got something to prove, Cris is pulling disparate styles together seamlessly, tying them together with her palette and Clayton of course, our ace and secret weapon, works his subtle magic on lettering to make sure you hear everything in your head exactly the way it was intended. McCubbin developed this terrific logo that evolves with each issue, and I don’t even know where to start with how supportive and inspiring Daniel Chabon’s editorial team has been. They’ve given us exactly what we needed at every step along the way.

“For my part, FML feels of a piece with Pretty Deadly and Bitch Planet; it’s as personal as the former and as satirical and of-the-moment as the latter.”

"This is without a doubt one of the best and most important books I have had the honor to edit in my fifteen years in the comic book industry,” added Senior Editor Daniel Chabon. “I have been a tremendous fan of this creative team for a long, long time; and I cannot wait for everyone to pick up this series and to see what an amazing achievement it is."

Riley is a 16-year-old heavy metal kid who draws down his anxiety with a ballpoint pen. His mother is an aging punk cartoonist slam dancing with a true crime obsession. Bound by threads of magical realism, they navigate the absurdities and horrors of our modern lives.

Issue one introduces Riley’s daily life: terrorism diaries, school shooter drills, and social pressures under the constant shadow of encroaching wildfires that rain ash like a morbid snow. His refuge? The Forest Park Witch’s House, where tales of chaos magic and trickster gods promise some semblance of sense in a senseless world.

Echoing the comedy of “Bottoms,” the nostalgic pull of “Stranger Things,” and the coming-of-age journey in “Stand By Me,” DeConnick’s first return to creator-owned comics since Bitch Planet is an apocalyptic odyssey that speaks to the resilience of the misfit and the power of art.

FML #1 (of 8) arrives in comic shops on November 6, 2024. It is now available to pre-order at your your local comic shop for $4.99.

Be sure to follow DarkHorseComics on social media and check our website, www.darkhorse.com for more news, announcements, and updates.

Praise Kelly Sue DeConnick and David López: “DeConnick has always combed top-notch lyrical text with a knack for bringing out the best in the artists she works with.”—Polygon

“Kelly Sue DeConnick either writes with a King Midas pen, is one of the few remaining wizards in the world, or, most likely, is just that damn good because Bitch Planet is yet another amazing series with her name on the cover.”—Word on the Nerd

“Pretty Deadly pushes at the limits of medium, challenging our ideas of what comics can be.”—IGN

“Kelly Sue DeConnick’s Wonder Woman Historia: The Amazons may just be the best thing to come out of the Black Label line to date.”—IGN

“Kelly Sue DeConnick is a force in comics.”—Book Riot

“Kelly Sue DeConnick—a powerhouse in the comics world.”—Salon

“A primal scream in exquisitely worked gold.”—Polygon on Wonder Woman Historia: The Amazons

“López’s pencils are like a breath of fresh air. His style evokes a classic superhero aesthetic while still bringing subtle emotional vulnerability to these characters through strong storytelling and page design.”—Nerds Unchained on Captain Marvel (2014)

[saintodo]

thots: clubbing with maki

♡ note: wrote this with my meat in my hand ... this isn't even that ns/fw tho

♡ pairing: zenin maki x gn reader

♡ word count: .6k

♡ tags: alcohol consumption, unclear relationship between maki and the reader (could be friends, could be something more) but they're not exclusive, maki and reader both like girls, build up / lead up to sex, lmk if i should tag anything else

oh now im thinking of going to the club with maki…

first thing you guys like to do when you get to the club is make a beeline for the bar. you both like to pregame a good amount beforehand, but it’s nice to sip on something throughout the night to keep the buzz going. maki likes something that actually tastes like liquor while you prefer something a little more on the sweeter side so it masks the taste of the alcohol. she pulls a face when you playfully offer her taste of your drink, full well knowing she hates how sweet your drinks typically are. you shrug, telling her to “suit herself” before taking a quick sip and dragging her towards the dance floor with your free hand.

maki follows you easily as you pull her to the outskirts of the crowd, bumping to the beat as you go. once you’re satisfied with where you are, you turn towards her, wrapping an arm around her neck as she places a hand on your hip. you make small comments here and there about the club between sips of your drink. it’s a struggle to make yourself heard over the loud music, but maki cranes her neck, nearly pressing her ear against your lips to listen to whatever you’re saying. she can’t hear much, but she nods along anyways.

when you mention that there’s a cute girl in your line of sight, maki perks up, skillfully turning you two so she can get a look at the person you’re talking about. her eyes scan the crowd, trying to pinpoint the person you’ve described for her. maki finally finds the girl you’re talking about - she’s dancing in the thick of the crowd with what looks like a group of her friends. maki leans in to murmur her agreement that “she is cute,” eyes appraising the girl in the crowd.

you pull back a bit, and maki easily recognizes the familiar gleam in your eyes - terribly excited and almost bordering on predatory. your smile is a little sharp around the edges when you suggest that you should move closer. maki shrugs and says “sure,” but she knows that your expression is probably reflected on her own.

you move your arm from the back of her neck to take her hand in yours as you begin to weave through the throng of people in the club. maki presses herself close to you, tossing glares at people who bump into you a little too roughly for her liking. it goes unnoticed by you, who offers apologies as you make your way closer to the pretty little thing you spotted earlier.

you turn towards maki again, slinging your arm around the back of her neck and pressing yourself closer to her than before. you start swaying your hips along to the music, in a way that even maki finds captivating. she knows this routine well enough to know that you want to put on a show, and she follows along. maki slips her hand into your back pocket, enjoying your little yelp when she gives your ass a quick squeeze, and draws you even nearer, to the point where you can feel the outline of harness she has on. the dildo that attaches itself to it sits snug in your shoulder bag, just waiting to be used.

when maki glances over your shoulder to look out at the crowd, she grins to herself. it looks like the little show you both put on worked because the cute girl you spotted earlier has her eyes glued to the point where your and maki’s lower halves are rubbing against each other. the girl finally lifts her head to meet maki’s gaze, looking startled and totally taken aback at being caught red-handed.

maki simply motions the girl over with a tilt of her head, and when the girl shyly makes her way over, maki knows that you both have trapped your prey for this evening.

[greythemed]

𓂃 ♥︎ⴰ bloodhounds . kim gun-woo

˚ TITLE 𓂃 ♥︎ⴰ lovesick ˚ WORD COUNT 𓂃 ♥︎ⴰ 1936

he looked unreal, all tanned with his beautiful eyes half closed as he looked down, full lips unconsciously forming a pout. his chest was bronzed and openly displayed for anyone with two eyes and a drooling mouth.

you wanted to eat him alive.

it was supposed to be a peaceful morning at your parents' beach house on the coast but, apparently, your boyfriend chose violence that day. with sleepy eyes and a drowsy appearance, you immediately realized that you accidentally fell asleep while trying to get tanned by the summer sun in the morning. luckily, the book you were reading fell from your grip at some point and didn't leave a funny mark on your stomach for woo-jin to laugh about later.

how can one person be so beautiful, inside and out? was he even real, or will you inevitably wake up to find the space beside you empty, his presence fading with your dreams?

you get goosebumps just imagining it.

feeling your eyes on him, gun-woo looked up from his drawing, a big smile forming on his pink lips.

"you look like shit, babe".

oh wow, what a day to feel loved.

"fuck off". you grumbled while sitting up and picking the book from the floor next to you, gun-woo's eyes never leaving your bikini form. "what took you so long to get here?". you asked him pouty.

"your mother asked me to move the sofa three times so she could do her pilates session in the living room". gun-woo couldn't help but laugh at his answer, never imagining he'd be in this position someday.

it was your first family trip as a couple, and also the first time gun-woo went on a plane and traveled since his school's excursion in 9th grade to say the best. you were happy to see him happy. it was thrilling to see the man in another setting, different from the usual gym clothes or café outings you guys first got to know each other. you considered yourself a good girlfriend, providing these opportunities for both of you while so young, even if gun-woo was paying for basically everything other than the house you were staying. you were a good girlfriend, right?

so why the living hell was he acting so mean towards you?

"i'm sorry about that". you grimaced embarrassingly because of your mother. "just because you have an insane amount of muscle she thinks you're her personal guard". gun-woo laughs. that bright innocent smile that makes his eyes disappear.

fuck you kim geun-woo for being so mean.

"my mom used to say we should never neglect help from others, including offering help in the first place". he tells you with innocence, a sudden wave of sympathy running through his veins strong enough to make him vocalize his thoughts. you were too accustomed with this side of him, being together for almost 6 months. “she also used to say that we always must look for the best in people”.

he was too pure. so why could you only think other things like what was this man saying? and why wasn't he kissing your mouth right now?

you embarrassingly found yourself in this predicament more times than you could count with your boyfriend.

the sound of his voice didn't shake you out of your sleepy daze, looking up at him with eyes full of love and wonder. like a lovesick puppy whose brain didn't seem to register the spoken words, too caught up in its own reverie.

when he didn't get the reply he was hoping for, gun-woo finally put down the pen and paper and leaned closer to you, your knees now touching and you almost choked on your saliva.

you loved him too much. and he was so hot.

“y/n?” he asked softly, placing a hand on top of your lap, the feel of his surprisingly cold hands against your warm skin almost making you shiver.

"i was so worried when i woke up and didn't see you, figured you'd be reading here". his smile continued to be nothing other than soothing, comforting, and exclusive.

exclusive for you and only you.

"woo-jin tried facetiming early this morning but i was still sleeping, i kind of feel bad for him not being able to come this time". he rambles. "and i also feel bad for sleeping so late, i hope your parents don't mind it. yesterday was a good day".

of course it was a good day. it was gun-woo's first ever private flight and you couldn't put your mind around the fact that this man's whole life was a huge unfair exposure to only the bad in life. you wanted to cry suddenly. cry for everything cruel that happened to him. cry for his still pure but poorly scarred heart. cry for his smiles and goodmorning pecks. cry for his fucking six-pack and spy reflexes.

cry because he was yours. exclusively.

without saying a word, you gently pulled his hands away before wrapping yours around his shoulders in a much-needed hug, the love you felt for him overwhelming all your senses. his arms found their place around your waist immediately, pulling his body closer and pouring all his love into you in return.

it was his fault for dating such a crybaby and he knew it, because the second he touched your waist and ribs, the boxer knew you were about to cry because of your uneaving breathing.

gun-woo hesitated for a second, giving your body another squeeze before finally speaking.

"are you okay, princess?" his voice was calm as he gently stroked your hair, knowing damn well you got emotional in the mornings sometimes. his 'bedroom voice' - that's what you called, don't judge - was enough to make your eyes sting, causing you to snuggle closer to his neck with a nod.

"'m okay".

you loved his bedroom voice - again, don’t judge the name you came up with -, it was special for you. it held something ethereal in the fact that he dropped a few octaves to talk to you and only you. the intimacy he could bring only by speaking more calmly to you, everywhere you both were together and tangled in each other's arms like right now.

everything was different. the setting, the weather, the clothes - it made you realize for the very first time in the six months of your relationship that dating itself shouldn't be overwhelming, tiring, or burdensome.

dating should feel like the books you grew up reading and the movies you grew up watching. anything other than that, it didn't belong to you in the first place.

you felt so comfortable in his embrace like you were floating on a fluffy cloud as the sun was slowly disappearing, so warm and safe. it was just the best, being with the man you loved, and nothing could come close to how you were feeling in his presence, surrounded by his unconditional love and care.

fuck, you were sounding like a corny teenager and it was embarrassing.

"y/n, you're going to tell me what's on your mind, aren't you?". the sound of his concern was evident in his voice, reminding you that - even if this man's thighs were the size of your head -, he still was worried and soft on the inside type of boyfriend.

you were his first girlfriend. gun-woo didn't know how to do things usually.

without missing a beat, you looked him in the eye for the question.

"i love you, gunwoo-ya". you started to pour your eyes out for no reason. you blamed the hormones, your mom would blame the weather and woo-jin would blame the books you read but you didn't care.

the corners of his mouth turned up in response, a soft, sincere smile stretching across his face because he was also just that: a lovesick puppy.

"i love you too". gun-woo wasn't expecting that, you could tell. he was too nonchalant for his own good sometimes.

like who the fuck wears pink bright shorts at his parents-in-law’s beach house? WITH NO SHIRT ON.

his eyes were full of love as he looked at you, the sun making the already beautiful landscape even more dazzling as time seemed to stop once more, everything but him disappearing at that moment. not being able to wait any longer, gun-woo then leaned his head up, pouty lips brushing yours teasingly for a moment before connecting in a proper kiss.

his touch was soft and tender, brushing against your mouth as he had so many times before, your tongue darting out to meet his briefly as his arms around your waist pulled you even closer. the sudden change in height since you got up from the bench was a different angle for both of you.

a silent moan escaped your lips as your barely clothed breast brushed against his, giving your boyfriend the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue properly inside your mouth for another taste.

his hands squeezed your sides lightly, applying just the right amount of pressure to feel good, and just as you were about to pull him even closer to deepen the kiss, he slowly pulled back, making you want his lips more.

a smile appeared on his face at that, the smugness behind it pouting in response. you straddled him so your faces were on the same level and suddenly the boxer went exe.error404

"jagi, your mom-". he spoke, his hot breath hitting your face with each exhale. you smirked at him.

he was so mean.

"how can you act innocent right after sucking my mouth dry a second ago, you monster?".

"but-". oh no. his cheeks were red, wide eyes searching for one of your parents to pop up from nowhere suddenly, hands finding no safe spot to grip at your sides, finally opting to put them in your waist, almost engulfing its whole circumference because of the size of his hands.

when a few moments passed and you still remained in the same state, he finally relented and sealed your lips once more in a quick kiss, one of his hands moving up from your waist to gently caress your swollen lower lip afterward.

“is that what you've been thinking about all this time, baby?". he asked embarrassingly, eyes avoiding your brown ones for all that was worth.

you nodded, your eyes roaming all over his face before reaching out to move some of the hair away from his eyes, gathering his attention.

"sorry, but yes". you pouted, a small smile starting to appear on the boxer's mouth. you could tell he was embarrassed to hear you confess he occupies your mind 24/7 as if he didn’t know that yet. "and that you are so irritably sexy".

not even one second after, gun-woo's hand is covering your mouth with his eyes wide open and a laugh escapes your lips. he instantly mouths for you to be careful.

"i didn't even say anything wrong!". you defend, automatically tracing his scar on the right side of his face like you are already used to, brushing his hair at the end.

"you want sexy time, i know you!". he whisper-shouts, now completely avoiding your gaze. you laughed.

"sorry". you were not. "it's not my fault you're wearing pink shorts! you can't do this to me, you're mean!". you whined on his lap.

"you were crying seconds ago, what happened?!". it was his turn to pout, looking genuinely confused at your change of emotions. "woojin-hyung said you were crazy when you guys first met".

"that old f-". gun-woo covered your mouth again, warning you. "he's lucky he didn't make it here".

this one is for my crybaby girlies i got you don't worry, gun-woo is here to wipe your tears and fuck your brains out - in a loving way. loved imagining beach!gunwoo a little too much.

[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.

[gynandromorph]

a smaller NofNA style emulation strip with the girls... this one takes place after the misgivings comic, but before the comic at sunset. pegging doesn't score until almost the end of the story, the critique is kind of the catalyst for the climax (no pun intended).

they are looking down on Cape Town from the devil's peak, which i was kind of happy to draw. the NofNA canon emphasizes that the animals need to stay away from people because the denial royally fucks them up, so it kind of sucks, because it means that you have to put the characters in deep jungle/barren wasteland territory forever always, and Africa has a problem in American media where it's like exclusively portrayed as uninhabited savannah or starving children. was just nice to be able to portray a really dense city alive at night Existing Around The Characters. I also tried to add in an active construction site by Pegging's residence (abandoned power plant that has no basis in reality), but it's nothing compared to a city.

i was trying to think of how Legend would express the number of animals that have died ever since life on earth started (from the perspective of a society that doesn't even know what evolution is, but knows that there are A LOT of animals constantly being born and dying intuitively) -- if a character in the canon can just not know what 1 million is because it's not common enough, i figure they probably do not deal with numbers that large, generally, and even trillions would come nowhere close to the number she'd need to use.

i thought about what the MOST NUMEROUS THING Legend would know is, and, well. it's stars. of course. there's billions of trillions of them, and in a habitat largely uninhabited by people, she would be able to see many of them (i actually didn't push the sky enough in the other comic with the moon delusion). she would compare the number of lives that have been lived and died to the stars, probably. then from there it was very easy to just go "holy shit, she can think the stars are LITERALLY the lives"...

i removed a bit about Legend saying she's no longer really afraid of being apprehended by the Rationale because her thesis works well enough that it's undeniable by literate members of society at this point. the Rationale selection process is picky and focuses heavily on grades, from what 10%+ has implied, so i can confidently say that there is no member of the Rationale who would NOT be literate. she is feeling rather bold at this point.

[fatecantstopme]

Undercover

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Summary: You've gotta go undercover for a case...with the last person on earth you'd ever wanna go with.

Warnings: Angst. Cursing. Use of pet names. SMUT, dom/sub vibes, praise kink, sir kink, light choking kink. Mentions of murder. Little bit of fluffy fluff at the end.

A/N: Haley doesn't exist in this story, just FYI.

"So we need two people to go undercover," Rossi said.

"Count me out," Emily said, throwing her hands in the air. "This unsub creeps me out too much. I have no interest in playing his game."

Rossi looked at you and you groaned. "Oh come on."

"You're the only other option, (Y/N)," he insisted.

You looked over at JJ and she shrugged uncomfortably. "Don't look at me, I'm just the media liaison."

"Fine, I'll do it, but only if I can take Morgan with me."

Morgan grinned. "Hell, yeah. I'm in."

Garcia cut in, "Sorry, hot stuff--as much as I'd love to see you go undercover in a tux, you don't exactly fit the required profile."

You looked at Spence hopefully, but he shook his head. "Sorry, (Y/N/N), I'm too young for this one."

You groaned. "Well what's wrong with Morgan?"

"The group the unsub belongs to is very exclusive--if you're not white, you're not getting in," Hotch answered.

You bristled slightly at your boss's interjection. He wasn't wrong and you knew it, but every time he spoke you couldn't help but feel annoyed.

"Fine," you conceded. "Looks like I'm taking Rossi."

Rossi laughed. "Come on, (Y/N). You know I'm too old for this one."

The room fell silent as the realization dawned on every single person in the room, yourself included. Shit, shit, shit.

"It has to be Hotch," Rossi stated.

Even Hotch looked slightly surprised. "I haven't gone undercover in quite a while."

"Better figure it out because you're the only option," you grumbled.

Hotch sent you a glare, but didn't bother to reply to your statement. "When's this party happening?"

"Saturday night," Garcia answered.

"That's two days to prepare," Emily stated. "Should be plenty."

You sighed loudly, but nodded your agreement.

"Good. Let's get started," Hotch said.

The room immediately began to clear out, the rest of the team going back to their desks to work. You stayed behind, which didn't go unnoticed by Rossi.

"I know it's not ideal, but it's the best way to draw out the unsub," Rossi said gently as he sat down beside you.

You sighed, running your fingers through your hair. "He hates me, Rossi, and to be honest, I'm not his biggest fan either. But you want us to pretend to love each other in front of a bunch of strangers? For hours on end?"

Rossi patted your arm. "I know, kiddo, but he's not that bad. It'll be okay."

You stared at him in silence for a moment. "The man never looks at me unless it's a glare. He looks annoyed every time I dare to speak in his presence, especially if it's directed at him. There's no way we're going to be able to pretend to even like each other, Rossi."

"I'll talk to him, okay? But you both need to be the professionals I know you are. It's not about either of you...it's about all the girls this man has murdered."

You sighed lightly. "You're right, you're right--as always. I'll behave, I promise."

Rossi smiled. "That'a girl. I'll talk to Hotch."

You nodded. "Be mean if you have to."

"(Y/N)," Rossi warned with a chuckle as he left the conference room.

It's not that you hated Hotch or anything like that. Hell, you actually found him incredibly attractive--it was his attitude you couldn't stand. He wasn't always rude to you, he was almost friendly when you'd joined the team a couple years prior. A couple months in and he started to act differently. You had no idea what you'd done to him to make him hate you, but it pissed you off to no end.

Hotch wasn't exactly warm and fuzzy with anyone, but he was downright hostile with you. He went out of his way to avoid you when he could, and acted like a sullen child when he couldn't. He always paired you up with someone else on cases, to the point where you'd actually never worked with him alone one-on-one.

You grabbed your notebook and headed back to your desk.

"Hey, you okay?" Emily asked you softly when you sat down in front of her.

"Yeah, it's fine. Just gotta figure out how to make sure we don't kill each other in public."

She chuckled. "You're not going to kill each other."

You raised your eyebrow. "Sure--it'll be great."

"You'll be fine," she insisted. "So you wanna go shopping later?"

You nodded. "I've gotta find something to wear to this damn thing. Invite JJ and Garcia too. I need opinions. If I've gotta dress up, I wanna at least look hot."

Emily laughed. "Girl please--you always look hot."

"Thank you, thank you," you said with a mock bow.

"(Y/L/N)," Hotch yelled from his office. "My office. Now."

You closed your eyes and sighed before getting up and heading to the office. You made eye contact with Rossi as he walked back to his own office. He gave you a soft smile and a subtle thumbs up...but you couldn't help but feel nervous as hell.

"Sir?" you asked as you entered his office.

"Close the door," he said without looking at you.

You closed the door and waited silently for him to speak.

"Are you going to sit or just stand there awkwardly?"

"Standing closer to the door gives me a better escape route," you said stubbornly.

Hotch huffed in annoyance. "You're being childish. Sit down."

"Is that an order, sir?"

His body tensed and he clenched his jaw as he gestured to the seat in front of him.

You sat down and crossed your arms, silence stretching out between you.

After an entire minute of silence, you couldn't take it anymore. "I'm assuming you called me in here for a reason?"

"I did." Hotch's gaze finally landed on you. "We need to discuss this op."

"What about it?"

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "How about your reaction when Rossi said we'd be going undercover together?"

"Can you blame me, Hotch? We have to pretend to be romantically involved--but we can barely be in each other's presence without animosity."

"We're professionals, (Y/L/N)."

"May I speak freely, sir?"

"As if you don't already."

"I'm going to take that as a yes," you began. "You don't act like a professional, Hotch. You act like I'm an actual burden to you--like you despise me so much that merely being in my presence makes you angry. You can't even look at me without glaring and you almost never speak to me unless you have to. Can you see why I wouldn't exactly be thrilled about going undercover with you?"

To your surprise, Hotch looked almost hurt by your words. But that quickly turned back to annoyance--maybe even anger. "Can you really blame me? You're not exactly pleasant to be around," he said harshly.

It was your turn to be hurt--and unlike him, you couldn't hide it. You stood up and walked to the door.

"I didn't dismiss you."

You didn't even bother to look back at him. "This conversation is definitely over." You walked out the office door and straight out to the bank of elevators in the hall. You ignored the voices of your teammates calling your name. You just needed to get out of there--you needed air.

Instead of going down, you went up, making your way out to the roof. It was your go-to place to think, and lord knew you needed to think in peace.

You were angry and you needed a moment away from everyone else to calm down--otherwise, you might say something you'll regret. This was one of those moments where you questioned your life choices...and how much you really wanted to keep working at the BAU.

It was your dream job and you loved your team more than anything, but working with Hotch was slowly killing you. You hated the way he made you feel, but more importantly you hated the side of you he brought out. You just didn't like yourself when you were around him.

It hadn't always been that way. When you'd first started, Hotch had actually been nice to you--you might even say he was sweet. You felt accepted by the entire team, your boss included. You just didn't know what had changed. Somehow he was getting even worse and that attitude was pushing you to your limits.

You knew you had to get through this case and deal with the undercover part--the lives of an untold number of girls relied on it. But after that, you really needed to think about what your future was going to look like.

**********

Somehow, you made it through the rest of the day without losing your mind. You and the girls were now out shopping for the perfect dress for this op.

"Okay so I grabbed 15 different dresses in your size," Garcia said with a massive grin when you, Emily, and JJ walked into the store.

"You only got here 10 minutes before us!" you exclaimed.

Garcia just kept smiling. "I excel at speed shopping."

You laughed as she dragged you to the back of the store, the other two following behind you. You went into the dressing room to try on the dresses. Garcia had pulled various styles and colors, some of which were absolutely not your style at all, so you avoided trying those on.

The first dress you put on was just a basic little black dress. You stepped out of the dressing room to let the girls see it.

"Ohh an LBD. Okay," Emily said. "Spin please."

You spun with a chuckle. "What do we think?"

"Hmm. We can do better," Garcia said. "Next!"

You switched into a different black dress, longer this time, but perhaps a little more revealing in the bodice than you'd prefer.

"Ow-ow!" JJ cat called you as you stepped out.

Emily clapped and Garcia let out a little gasp.

"I think it might be a little...much," you said lightly.

Emily laughed. "The girls are coming out to say hi."

"Yeah, I'm gonna try another one."

The next couple dresses you tried on just didn't really speak to you, despite the reactions of your friends. You finally reached a dress that you thought looked nice on the hanger, but you weren't quite sure how it would look on you.

It was a deep emerald green dress in a silky fabric. It was very simply designed, v-necked with thin straps, floor length, with a thigh-high split up one side.

When you put it on, you let out a little gasp as you looked in the mirror. Even with minimal makeup, messy hair, and no shoes, you thought you looked incredible.

"Was that a gasp I just heard?" Garcia asked.

"Maybe," you said with a chuckle as you stepped out of the dressing room.

"Holy shit," Emily mumbled.

"That's the one," JJ said, eyes wide.

"I second that," Garcia agreed.

"You think so?" you asked, timidly.

"Girl, please. You look hot as hell," Emily insisted. "Hotch is probably going to pass out when he sees you."

You laughed. "He won't even notice, Em. You know he doesn't look at me."

"He's a man, (Y/N). He'd have to be blind not to."

"She's right, ya know," JJ said.

"Well I can't say that I wouldn't love to see Hotch fall flat on his face," you said lightly.

"I don't know why you're always so mean to each other," Garcia said with a frown.

"Oh please--he started it," you insisted.

"Hmm," she hummed. "I suppose."

"Enough talk about Hotch. Go change so we can buy that sexy dress and get dinner," Emily cut in.

"Tacos?" you asked.

"Obviously," she agreed.

**********

The next day was spent in the office, preparing for the op the next night. As always, Hotch was moody and distant, but he did try not to snap at you very much.

He wouldn't admit it, but Rossi's words from the day before, as well as your rightful anger, had been weighing on him all night. He didn't mean to be an asshole--well, yes he did. But he didn't want to be. It was self-preservation. He knew what would happen if he was nice to you...the first few weeks of your time in the BAU had given insight into that.

"Hotch," your voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"What?" he asked.

You sighed. "You weren't listening, were you?"

He winced. "Sorry."

A look of surprise ghosted across your face. You were certain that was the first and only time he'd ever apologized to you. You shook your head to clear it and repeated your earlier statement. "Somehow these guys are rich enough to actually rent out an entire hotel for a weekend. The event itself is in the hotel ballroom and each of the 'couples' in attendance will have their own rooms, us included. Garcia managed to secure us a room."

"What do we need a hotel room for?" Hotch asked.

You sighed. "I'm not going to explain that one, Hotchner."

Before Hotch could snap at you, Rossi cut in. "The hotel rooms are used for the various interactions between the couples. Each couple is required to have a room in order to participate in the event."

"Besides," Reid continued, "we need the two of you to convince the unsub to come up to your room for (Y/N)."

You winced, a look of disgust covering your face.

"Sorry, (Y/N/N)," Reid said sheepishly.

"It's not your fault the unsub is so sick," you reassured him.

This particular unsub was part of an exclusive group of people who 'traded' women amongst each other for various fees dependent upon what the purchaser wanted the woman for. The unsub would purchase a girl to keep, and eventually murder in a horrifically sadistic and brutal manner.

Essentially, Hotch would be operating as your current 'owner', but once you'd identified the unsub, he'd offer you to him for a sordid fee. You didn't like the concept of any of this, but you wanted to catch this guy so badly.

After a few more hours of planning, it was time to wrap things up and get ready for tomorrow. You were meeting the team at a nearby hotel to get ready and it's where they would be setting up. You and Hotch would depart from there and go directly to the hotel with the event.

**********

At 4:30 the next day, you arrived at the hotel the team was setting up at. Most of the team was already there, the only one missing was Hotch.

"How you feeling, (Y/N)?" Emily asked softly. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be, Em."

"Thanks for showing up," Morgan teased as Hotch walked into the hotel room.

"Shut it, Morgan. I couldn't find my tux."

'Tux?' you mouthed at Emily.

She shrugged. "Guess he wanted to match your level of class," she whispered.

"Actually, tuxes are required," Reid interjected.

"Ahh," you said with a nod.

Emily chuckled lightly and grabbed your arm, pulling you towards the bathroom. She gestured to JJ and Garcia to come along. She shut the door behind you all and you jumped up on the bathroom counter.

"Make me pretty," you joked.

"Girl please. You're already gorgeous. We're just accentuating it," Garcia stated with a smile.

"I love you," you said warmly as you pulled her into a hug. "But seriously, who's gonna fix my hair? I look crazy."

JJ laughed. "I'll take the hair. Garcia's gonna handle your makeup and Emily is here for comic relief/emotional support."

The girls got to work on styling your hair and doing your makeup, chatting and laughing together as if you weren't about to go undercover in a freaking lion's den.

While you and the girls were getting ready in the bathroom, the guys were talking over things in the bedroom.

Hotch needed maybe 10 minutes to get changed, so he had some time to kill before he needed to get ready. That time wasn't really a beneficial thing. It allowed him time to think about all kinds of things he really shouldn't be thinking about.

The event was starting at 7, so you needed to be at the other hotel by 6:30 to check into your room. At 6, the girls popped out of the bathroom, leaving you on the other side of the door.

Garcia cleared her throat to get the rest of the team's attention. Everyone turned to face her and she dramatically gestured to the bathroom door. "Presenting the beautiful, (Y/N) (Y/L/N)."

Emily swung the door open and you stepped out into the main room. Everyone was silent as they took in your look. You felt slightly uncomfortable under their gazes, despite being a very confident woman.

"Damn, girl," Morgan breathed out, the first one to recover.

"She looks great, doesn't she?" Garcia said excitedly.

"She really does," Hotch said softly without realizing it.

Everyone turned to look at him in surprise, but none were as surprised as you. Your eyes met his and you inhaled sharply, breath catching in your chest.

Hotch realized he'd spoken out loud, only because of the look on your face. A dark blush crept into his cheeks and he averted his gaze.

"Thanks, guys," you said softly, taking the attention away from Hotch.

He lifted his gaze back up to you, completely unable to keep his eyes off of you. You looked even more beautiful than usual and you absolutely took his breath away.

You looked back over at Hotch while ignoring the chatter of the rest of the team as they gushed over your look. Your heart was racing so quickly, you were slightly worried someone would be able to hear the pounding.

You'd never seen Hotch look at you the way he was looking at you in this moment. You felt almost small under his gaze and if you didn't think it sounded insane, you would say he almost looked hungry as he gazed at you.

"I guess I should change too," Hotch said lightly, eyes not quite meeting yours.

"Oh, right." You stepped out of the way so he could go into the bathroom to change into his tux. You walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it, suddenly feeling a bit faint.

JJ noticed immediately and came over to sit beside you. "You okay?" she murmured.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just a little nervous," you lied smoothly.

It was obvious she didn't believe you, but she didn't say anything. She simply wrapped her arm around you and pulled you into a side hug. It was just what you needed to feel grounded.

After several minutes, Hotch came out of the bathroom wearing a very well-fitted black tux. Much in the same way he looked at you in shock when you came out, your eyes widened as you took him in.

"You clean up nice," Rossi teased.

"Yeah, yeah," Hotch muttered. He looked up at you, eyes not quite meeting yours. "Should we head out?"

You nodded and stood up, taking a deep breath to prepare yourself for the night ahead.

"We'll be close by if you need us," Rossi assured you both as you started out the door. "Garcia will be monitoring the cameras in the ballroom."

You nodded again as Hotch opened the door and gestured for you to go first. "We've got this," he said firmly.

The ride to the other hotel was silent...and not the comfortable kind. You hated it, but you couldn't think of a single thing to say, and apparently neither could he.

When you arrived at the hotel, Hotch handed the keys to the valet, took your arm as you got out of the car, and guided you into the hotel lobby.

"Good evening, sir," the front desk lady said. "May I have your last name please?"

"Carter," Hotch said smoothly.

The woman checked the computer and offered the two of you a smile. "Your room is on the 7th floor," she handed Hotch the room keys before continuing, "elevators are to your left. Please let us know if there's anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant."

"Thank you very much," Hotch responded.

Once the two of you made it to the room, you separated from each other as if your skin burned. You made quick work of searching the room for cameras and/or listening devices. Finding none, you finally relaxed a little and spoke to each other.

"Call Rossi," you said. "We're a go."

Hotch glared at you, clearly annoyed at your commands, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he simply called Rossi, told him the room number, and said he'd be in touch.

"We have 20 minutes until we need to be downstairs for the party," he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

You sat down in an arm chair on the opposite side of the room. "Shall we sit in silence until then?"

Hotch shot you another glare. "Perhaps we should discuss our plan?"

"What's to discuss? You know the plan as well as I do. Just pretend to actually like each other for long enough to find the unsub. Sound manageable?"

He winced as if you'd hit him, but quickly recovered. It did not, however, go unnoticed by you. "If you're silent, I think I can handle it," he snapped back.

You narrowed your eyes. "Don't worry, I'm excellent at faking sweetness."

10 minutes passed in complete silence. You felt bad for being so nasty to him, but it was all you ever did. You didn't banter...you fought, and neither of you knew how to pull a punch.

Much to your surprise, Hotch broke the silence first. "Have you always hated me so much?"

You turned to look at him. He actually looked wounded and it made your expression soften. "I don't hate you, Hotch."

"Coulda fooled me."

"Do you hate me?" you asked softly.

He looked surprised. "Of course not."

"Coulda fooled me," you said, echoing his response.

He looked down at the floor. "I know I'm an asshole, (Y/N), but I don't hate you."

You were silent for a moment. "That's the first time you've called me by my first name since I first joined the BAU."

His gaze met yours. "It is?"

You simply nodded.

He returned the nod thoughtfully. "I don't mean to be like this, you know."

"Well you're not like this with anyone else on the team, so I can only assume you have something against me specifically."

He shook his head. "I don't, but it's just--it's hard to explain." He fell silent, refusing to allow himself to elaborate further.

You sighed and stood up. "Come on. We might as well head downstairs."

He nodded again and joined you at the door.

"Remember," you said softly. "Pretend to like each other."

You opened the door and the op began.

**********

Hotch's hand rested firmly on your lower back as you walked into the hotel ballroom. You closed your eyes briefly, silently willing your body to not react to the feeling of his hand on you or the proximity of his body to yours.

Unfortunately, he felt the tension in your back against his palm. "Relax," he murmured in your ear, causing you to shiver.

You hated your body for reacting so intensely to him, and you cursed quietly under your breath, earning a deep chuckle from Hotch.

You wanted to glare at him for laughing at you, but you knew there were eyes on you both. You decided to lean into the role you were supposed to be playing, while also getting back at him.

You placed your hand on his chest and leaned your body into him, giving him a whiff of your perfume. You felt him tense against you and you grinned. "You okay there, handsome?" you teased.

He gave you a tight-lipped smile, but you noticed the slight flush in his cheeks. He knew what you were doing, but he was quite sure you weren't aware of what you were really doing to him.

He guided you farther into the large ballroom, eyes scanning the room for men that fit the profile. Unfortunately, almost every man in the room fit the profile almost perfectly.

"Are you paying attention?" he asked softly.

"Yes, Sir," you hissed in annoyance.

He bit back a groan, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "Don't," he mumbled.

"Don't what?" you asked teasingly, knowing exactly what got to him.

He shot you a look that sent a wave of heat straight to your core. Your eyes must have betrayed you, because his expression changed to an almost wolfish look that had your pulse racing.

"Behave," he snapped. The harshness in his voice surprised you, until you saw the couple watching you from the corner of your eye. Hotch had slid seamlessly into his role, so you slipped back into yours.

Your eyes looked down and your body language screamed 'submissive', which was what you knew the unsub would want to see. The man nodded at Hotch, clearly appreciating his dominant control over you. Hotch inclined his head at the man, signaling his respect.

Once the couple was out of earshot, you whispered, "One down."

Hotch nodded. "500 to go." It was an exaggeration, but it felt like he was right.

For the next hour, the two of you made it through the room several times, eliminating almost every man there. You were starting to lose hope that you were going to find the unsub, but Hotch was refusing to give up.

Your eyes were dancing around the room when they landed on a man several feet away from you. You hadn't noticed him before, but he was watching you, eyes taking in your appearance with a dangerous hunger.

You turned your head into Hotch's shoulder, so the man could no longer see your face. "Your 2 o'clock," you whispered.

Hotch glanced in that direction and his grip on your waist tightened almost possessively. You instantly knew he agreed with your instincts and his protective nature kicked into high gear.

You felt Hotch move his head, gesturing for the man to come over to you. He leaned down to murmur against your hair, "He's coming this way."

"Hello there," the man said as he reached you. "Who do we have here?"

He was clearly talking about you, so Hotch turned your body towards him, allowing the man to have a clearer view of you. "This is Anna," he lied smoothly. "My favorite girl."

You kept your head inclined to express a very submissive nature, but you allowed yourself to gaze up at the man through your lashes. He was looking at you with an intensity that made your skin crawl, but you didn't show it.

"Anna," he said softly. "Beautiful name for a beautiful woman."

"Thank you, sir," you murmured.

"And so well-behaved." The man looked up at Hotch. "You've trained her well."

Hotch smiled. "She's a very quick learner." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "A little violence goes a long way with this one."

The man hummed lightly, clearly pleased with that information. "Is she available?"

"What did you have in mind?" Hotch asked.

"I was thinking something permanent."

Hotch pretended to think about it, looking slightly disinterested.

"I can pay very well," the man insisted. "I pay extra for complete discretion."

"Discretion is obviously included," Hotch said simply.

The man shook his head slightly. "Complete discretion. After I make the purchase, I expect utter silence on your part, regardless of what may happen."

"Should I be concerned about 'what may happen'?" he asked lightly.

"I'll make it worth your while to not be concerned."

Hotch looked down at you. "How much?"

"$500,000."

Hotch laughed. "She's worth more than that."

"My apologies. I'll give you the 500,000 for discretion and 1 million for the girl."

Every single fiber of your being was telling you this man was the unsub you were looking for and you had a feeling Hotch felt the same way.

Hotch nodded. "You've got yourself a deal."

The man smiled. "I'll transfer the money to whatever account you wish."

Hotch gave him a government-controlled bank account to wire the money to.

Back at the other hotel, Garcia received a notification that the account had received 1.5 million dollars. "Alright, guys. It's go-time. I just got 1.5 million dollars for something...I'm assuming it's for (Y/N). Hotch is talking with a man now."

Rossi and Morgan leaned over her shoulder to look at the camera feed. "Let's roll," Morgan said.

Morgan, Rossi, Reid, and Emily headed out to the other hotel. The plan was to pick up the unsub once you were transferred to his possession.

Hotch's phone dinged with a notification from Garcia informing him the money had been transferred. He looked up at the other man with a smile. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you. She's all yours."

"Excellent. Come along, Anna. We have much to do," the man said firmly as he grabbed your arm to guide you away from Hotch.

You felt Hotch's tension as you were pulled away from him, but you didn't look back. You knew if you did, it would give you away.

The moment the man was out of earshot, Hotch called Garcia. "Don't lose her," he said firmly.

"On it, sir."

Garcia watched the man guide you through the ballroom towards the bank of elevators. The cameras in the elevator showed how clearly uncomfortable you were and it made Garcia upset to watch. The unsub's hands were all over you, but you didn't pull away--you couldn't.

The elevator doors opened and the cameras in the hallway showed the unsub leading you into room 456.

"They're in room 456," Garcia said over the phone.

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Hotch was running across the ballroom towards the elevators. As he waited for the elevator, the rest of the team came into the building.

Hotch held the elevator doors opened and the other four jumped inside and headed up to the 4th floor. When they reached room 456, Emily knocked on the door. "Housekeeping," she called.

A few moments later, the unsub opened the door, looking annoyed. His expression quickly turned to surprise as 5 FBI agents busted into his room.

Hotch looked around the room for you, ignoring what was happening with the unsub behind him. His gaze landed on you and he relaxed immediately. You shot him a small smile and waved your fingers at him from the bed.

He rushed over to you. "Are you okay?" he asked gently as he pulled out a knife and quickly cut the rope that bound your arms to the headboard.

"I am now," you said softly, rubbing your wrists slightly.

"You did good," he commented.

"So did you."

He helped you off the bed and you straightened your dress before making your way over to the unsub. "Gotcha," you said with a smile as you patted his cheek.

Hotch nodded to Rossi and Morgan and they escorted him out of the room. Emily and Reid followed, but Hotch grabbed your arm to keep you from following them. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked softly.

You smiled. "He didn't do anything other than tie me to the bed and awkwardly fondle me, Hotch. I promise I'm okay."

He looked angry for a moment. "I hate that he touched you."

You shrugged. "It wasn't great, but I'll live." You grabbed his arm. "Come on, let's go."

He followed you out of the room and downstairs. The team loaded up in their vehicles and headed back to the other hotel for Garcia and JJ, while Rossi and Morgan took the unsub back to the BAU for questioning.

Garcia and JJ were packing everything up when you walked into the room.

"You're okay!" Garcia squealed as she ran across the room to hug you.

You laughed. "I'm perfectly fine, Pen. I promise."

JJ gave you a hug too before helping Garcia carry stuff out to the car. Everyone else cleared out, but you and Hotch stayed behind to change.

"We'll meet you guys back at the office. Tell Rossi to get started without us," Hotch said firmly as he ushered Emily and Reid out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

"I was kind of looking forward to interrogating him," you complained.

"I'm not letting him anywhere near you again," Hotch growled.

"Little possessive aren't we?"

His eyes met yours and your breath caught in your chest. His pupils were blown wide and his gaze was incredibly intense. Your heart began to beat rapidly and your breathing became more shallow.

You'd never wanted him more badly than you wanted him in this moment, but you found you couldn't move. It was as if your feet had grown roots.

Hotch, on the other hand, began to slowly walk towards you, like a predator hunting his prey. He stopped mere inches from you, so close you could feel his breath against your lips.

He leaned forward, pinning you against the wall, his arms caging you in. "Tell me to stop," he whispered.

"No," you breathed out.

He groaned softly and you watched as the last remnants of his self-control faded away. Without warning, he slammed his lips against yours, taking your breath away.

You kissed him back, snaking your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you. His body collapsed against yours, pressing into you deliciously.

His lips began to move to your jaw and down to your neck, sucking your skin and leaving little bite marks as he went.

"Aaron," you whimpered softly.

He moaned against your skin, nipping at your pulse point. "Say my name again."

You gave the hair at the nape of his neck a tug and whispered his name again.

He looked up at you, eyes black with lust. "I wanna take my time with you," he murmured.

"We don't have time," you said softly. "The team's gonna wonder what's taking so long."

"I don't care," he growled. "I've been wanting to do this for years."

You groaned, the mere idea that he'd wanted you for so long was a massive turn on. You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots gently. "Then you can wait a little longer, baby."

"Fuck," he mumbled, hands tightening on your hips. "I'll take my time with you later. Lift that dress up, baby. Wanna touch you."

You didn't need to be told twice. You lifted up the skirt of the dress so it was around your waist, revealing your black lace thong.

He raised his eyebrows when he saw your underwear and you grinned. "Didn't want panty lines."

He grabbed the edge of the lace and ripped it with ease.

"Aaron!"

"What? You won't need them." He slipped a finger between your folds, effectively silencing your response. "So wet for me," he groaned.

Your head leaned back against the wall and you let out a soft moan. Your fingers reached for his belt, quickly removing it before fiddling with the button and zipper on his pants.

He grabbed your hand and pushed it away. You were about to protest, but he made much faster work of removing his pants than you would have. He pulled his boxers down just enough to release his hard cock, stroking it as he leaned his forehead against yours.

"Please," you whimpered.

"Please what, baby?"

"Fuck me, please," you begged.

"I can't say no when you beg so sweetly," he said softly.

You clutched at his shoulders and lifted your hips up to meet his hands. He chuckled lightly at your neediness, but he couldn't deny his own need any longer. In one swift movement, he sheathed himself inside of you completely.

You gasped as you dug your nails into him, trying to adjust to his size. His length and girth stretched you out almost painfully. You wrapped your right leg around his waist and begged him to move.

He started to thrust up into you, your moans mixing with the salacious sounds of your bodies meeting.

"You feel so good, (Y/N)," he moaned into your ear. "Could stay between these pretty legs forever."

"Faster," you begged.

He chuckled darkly and sped up his thrusts. You gasped loudly, pleasure overwhelming you.

"Squeezing me so tight, baby."

"So close," you gasped.

"Yeah? You wanna cum, pretty girl?"

"Please," you whimpered.

"Not yet," he growled.

You let out a soft whimper as he continued to thrust into you. He was struggling to keep his own orgasm at bay, but he wanted to make sure yours was as intense as he could make it before he came.

"Fuck, baby, you're so beautiful."

"Wanna cum," you cried softly.

He thrust into you as hard and fast as he could. "Cum for me, baby."

You cried out as your release hit you with overwhelming force. You clenched tightly around him as you came, drawing deep moans from his chest.

"Squeezing me so good...gonna cum, baby," he groaned out.

You felt him slow slightly and you worried he was going to pull out. "Inside me, please--Aaron, wanna feel you fill me up," you begged quickly.

"Baby, you sure?"

You nodded rapidly. "Please--need it."

He leaned into you, lips against your throat as he thrust into you a couple more times before he came inside of you, filling you with his seed. He groaned your name against your skin as he came down from his high.

You were both breathless as he slowly slid out of you. His hands didn't leave your hips, which you were thankful for. You were pretty sure you wouldn't be able to stand up without his support.

"You alright, (Y/N)?" he asked softly as he kissed your temple.

"More than alright."

He smiled. "Me too."

You chuckled as you looked up at him. "We--uh...we should probably clean up and get back to the office."

He nodded and pulled away from you a little. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry--"

"Nothing to be sorry for, Aaron. I wanted that as badly as you did."

He looked back up at you, eyes scanning your face for any hint of deception. The fact that you'd used his first name and the look of affection on your face solidified his belief that you were serious.

"For the record, I'd like to do this again later," you said softly as you took in his gentle expression.

He smiled and raised his eyebrows. "Oh really?"

You bit your lip and nodded.

He groaned softly. "Don't play coy now, (Y/N)."

You grinned and pulled him in for a deep kiss, one he returned happily. When you separated, you pulled yourself off the wall and went to adjust your dress. As soon as you stood up straight, his cum began to seep out onto your thighs.

"Shit," you mumbled.

"What?"

"Well, you ruined my underwear and now I'm going to get cum all over my dress."

He grinned. "Good thing you brought clothes to change into."

"I didn't bring another pair of underwear!"

"Sorry, gorgeous. Guess you'll have to just sit with your thighs clenched together."

You smacked him affectionately as he started to take off the rest of his tux so he could change.

"You're terrible," you grumbled lightly. You grabbed your clothes and went into the bathroom to change. When you came back out, he was dressed and ready to go.

He looked slightly uncomfortable, as if the realization of everything that had happened just dawned on him. "We, uh--we should probably talk about this..."

Your expression hardened slightly, unsure of what he was trying to say. Did he regret it? "We can talk about it later. Let's just get back to Quantico."

Hotch nodded, noticing the way you'd closed up when he'd mentioned talking. He couldn't deny that he was worried--and perhaps slightly ashamed that he'd given in to his primal desires. He just had to hope you didn't hate him.

You stayed quiet for the whole ride back to Quantico, leaving Hotch to wonder silently if he'd really and truly messed things up for good.

**********

After the interviews were completed and the unsub had confessed to all of the murders, it was almost 2am. You were beyond ready to go home, as was the rest of the team.

Everyone was leaving except for Hotch. He watched as you started to make your way towards the elevators. He knew he needed to make a decision...

The elevator doors closed with you inside and his decision was made for him. He figured he could talk to you on Monday...or maybe just never bring it up ever again. Maybe that's what you'd prefer.

You'd never admit it to anyone, but you went home that night and cried yourself to sleep. You should have known better--hell you did know better. Giving yourself over that easily was embarrassing...especially when you did it with your boss.

Hotch didn't call that night, nor the next day, and when you came to work on Monday, he tried to catch your eye, but you ignored him more harshly than you ever had before.

Two weeks went by in much the same way. You wouldn't even look in his direction and he desperately tried to think of something to say. The longer this went on, the harder it was for him to say something.

Friday night came and the team wanted to go out for drinks. You declined, opting instead to go home and curl up on your couch.

Hotch overheard your explanation to JJ, telling her you were too tired. He decided tonight would be the night when he would man up and actually talk to you.

A little before 6pm, there was a knock at your door. You were already in your pjs and you'd ordered Chinese food for dinner, so you assumed it was your delivery.

When you opened the door, you were shocked to see a soaking wet Aaron Hotchner standing at your door.

"Well you're not the Chinese delivery guy," you grumbled.

He held up the bag of Chinese food in his hand. "Caught him on the way in. He was more than happy to hand it to me so he could get out of the rain."

You sighed. "Come in then, before you get pneumonia."

He followed you into your townhouse, shutting the door behind him. He stopped in the entryway, clothes dripping all over the floor.

"I'll get you a couple towels."

"Thanks," he said sheepishly.

Even after toweling himself off, he was still soaking wet. He removed his coat and his suit jacket, leaving him in his white button down, which in its current state, did nothing to hide the body beneath it.

You swallowed thickly and averted your gaze. "So what brings you to my house in the pouring rain on a Friday night?"

"I...I thought we could talk," he mumbled.

You gestured to your dining table. "Pull up a seat. I got enough Chinese food for 4 people."

He sat down at the table across from you and you silently pulled out the different containers.

"Just don't touch the potstickers," you said lightly, the ghost of a smile playing across your lips.

He chuckled. "I learned my lesson on that one."

A couple years ago, the team had gotten Chinese food to sustain them on a late night of work. Hotch made the mistake of taking the last potsticker mere seconds before you came back for it. Every other person on the team knew better than to take the last one without asking you first and Hotch learned first-hand that night how aggressive you got about potstickers.

The two of you ate in silence for a little while. Since he'd come here without warning, you decided to simply wait him out. If he had something he wanted to say, he'd need to just come out and say it.

You were half-tempted to start humming the Jeopardy tune when Hotch finally spoke up.

"Sorry for stopping by unannounced."

"It's alright. I didn't have any exciting plans anyway," you said, gesturing to the containers on the table.

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. You could tell he was uncomfortable, but you weren't about to ease his pain. You were still annoyed with him.

"So I--I think I owe you an apology," he began.

You raised your eyebrows.

"I do owe you an apology," he corrected.

"Go on."

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "I shouldn't have done what I did that night at the hotel."

"In what sense?"

"I shouldn't have slept with you," he said softly.

You winced, but he wasn't looking at your face, so he missed your expression. "Right," you snapped, standing up. "Well if that's all--"

He finally looked up at you and you saw the pain in his eyes. It softened your heart and your expression. "Please," he whispered. "Just let me finish."

You sighed and sat back down.

"Can I start over?" he asked.

You nodded. "Please do."

"Do you remember when you first joined the team?"

"Of course."

"So do I. Better than I should, actually," he mumbled. "When you first started, I thought you were amazing. You were so incredibly smart, but so humble. You made me laugh, you brightened my day every single day...you made me feel something I wasn't sure I'd ever feel."

You inhaled softly, his words stirring something inside of you that you weren't sure you wanted to feel.

"Those first few weeks were incredible and I was so glad that you'd joined the team--not just because I enjoyed your company, but because of how good of a profiler you are. I realized there was a problem pretty early on and it changed everything for me." He sighed. "I started to treat you differently from the rest of the team and I'll admit I took it a little too far. I thought if I pushed you as far away as I could, then I wouldn't want you anymore."

He ran his fingers through his hair and stood up. He started pacing the length of the dinning room, eyes trained on the floor. "The thing is, you'd already managed to wedge yourself in my heart and nothing I did changed that. I kept telling myself that I'm your boss and I can't feel what I feel for you--that I can't have you. I was so angry at the whole situation that I started taking it out on you--and you didn't deserve that." He finally looked up at you. "You don't deserve that."

There were tears in your eyes, but you didn't say a word--you couldn't.

"The night of the op...I struggled to keep my composure from the moment you walked out in that dress. You looked so incredibly beautiful--you took my breath away. But when we walked into that ballroom and those men looked at you so hungrily...it disgusted me. The mere thought of any one of them touching you made me sick to my stomach, especially knowing what kind of people they were."

He looked angry even in that moment, as if talking about it was unbearable.

"My natural protective instincts kicked in and I almost forgot what we were there to do. I know I teased you a little and I'm sorry about that--it was unprofessional."

"You weren't the only one doing the teasing," you reminded him gently.

He smiled slowly. "True. But still. I shouldn't have done that." He clenched his jaw. "But when Andrew Connors looked at you, I saw red. I knew he was the unsub before he even came over to us. The way he looked at you...it terrified me. Then I had to watch him walk away with you and I couldn't breathe, (Y/N). The thought of something happening to you was overwhelming."

"I didn't know," you whispered.

"I've gotten very good at hiding what I'm feeling," he conceded. "When we busted into his hotel room and I didn't see you right away...my brain jumped to the worst conclusions. But then I saw you and you looked uncomfortable, but alive. I've never felt relief like that in my life."

You offered him a small smile and he continued.

"When you told me that he'd touched you, I almost lost it, but you were so calm. It didn't bother you the way it bothered me, and I realized that part of the reason I was so upset was because of how I thought of you--the possessiveness I felt--like you were mine. I couldn't stand the thought of him touching what belonged to me."

He paused. "I'm not saying you belong to me--that's just how it felt to me in that moment," he clarified. "By the time we got back to the hotel, I was so worked up I could hardly control myself. That sassy little attitude of yours was the last straw and I broke."

"You didn't actually break--I invited you in," you said softly.

"I literally caged you against a wall."

"And you asked me to tell you to stop. I didn't want you to."

His expression shifted slightly. "You didn't? Like even now looking back?"

You laughed mirthlessly. "Hotch, did you really think you forced yourself on me?"

He nodded slowly.

"You know me better than that. If I didn't want to do it, it wouldn't have happened."

"I just thought that maybe you were feeling confused and pent-up like I was and you just gave in because I was there."

"Do you know how terrible that sounds?"

"You're so out of my league it's not even funny--and I'm your boss! Are you really so surprised that's what I was thinking?!"

You inhaled sharply. "I'm not out of your league, Aaron Hotchner."

"Of course you are!" he insisted.

You groaned in annoyance. "How many men have I dated since I joined the BAU?"

"What?" he asked in confusion.

"How many?" you asked again.

"I...I don't know. You've never mentioned anyone."

You nodded. "That's because there hasn't been a single man. Not one."

"Not one? How is that possible?"

"Not a single one. Do you know why?"

He shook his head.

"You," you said simply.

"Me?"

"I wanted you from the moment we met and for some damn reason that's never changed, even with the way we treated each other."

His face was filled with complete and utter shock, which surprised you.

"You're a profiler, Aaron," you teased. "Did you really not know?"

He shook his head. "Maybe I just didn't want to believe it."

"Why not?"

"Because then I wouldn't have an excuse to keep us apart."

"And now?" you whispered.

He crossed the space between you and grabbed your hand, pulling you up out of your chair. "I can't take any of this back, (Y/N), and to be honest, I don't want to."

You gently caressed his face. "Something real?" you asked softly.

He turned his face into your hand and kissed your palm. "Something real," he confirmed.

You stood on your tiptoes and pulled him down to kiss you, his lips softly caressing yours. You moaned softly as you leaned into him, deepening the kiss. His arms snaked around your lower body, pulling you flush against him.

When you finally separated to breathe, Hotch leaned his forehead against yours. "I don't want to be presumptuous--" he began.

"Bedroom is the first room on the left," you murmured.

He chuckled. "You read my mind."

He slid his hands under your thighs and pulled you up with ease. You wrapped your legs around his waist with a giggle as he carried you to your bedroom.

"So strong, Agent Hotchner," you teased warmly.

"Hmm," he hummed. "I like these titles you use."

"Oh really? I hadn't noticed."

He tossed you down onto the bed and you laughed lightly.

"What are you gonna do to me, sir?"

He groaned softly. "You're going to be the death of me, beautiful."

You smiled and leaned back on your elbows. "I certainly hope not. I have plans for you."

"Sounds ominous," he teased.

You grinned. "You're going to love it, I promise. Now, why don't you lose those wet clothes?"

He smiled. "Only because you asked so sweetly." He started to unbutton his shirt tantalizingly slowly, eyes never leaving yours.

You bit your lip as you watched him, silently begging him to speed it up.

After what felt like an eternity he slid the shirt off his shoulders and onto the floor, but of course he was still wearing his undershirt. He started to very slowly lift it up, eliciting a groan from you.

"Aaron."

He chuckled. "Alright, alright." He pulled the shirt off over his head and tossed it onto the floor.

You let out a little hum of approval, which made him blush. He was a confident man, but he felt very exposed under your gaze.

He shed his pants quickly, leaving nothing on but his boxers. You eyed the bulge appreciatively, the memories of his size on the forefront of your mind.

"I think you're a little overdressed, baby," he teased lightly.

You looked down at your t-shirt and pj pants. "Hmm...you might be right." You yanked your shirt off in one smooth motion, tossing it to the side before looking back at him.

He practically pounced onto the bed, eyes glued to your torso. "No bra?" he whispered.

"I wasn't expecting company."

"I'm not complaining," he said almost reverently as he hovered over you, hands touching your sides.

He licked his lips before kissing you softly, moving down the column of your throat down towards your breasts. He swirled his tongue around your nipple before giving it a light nip as he took it into his mouth.

Your back arched towards him and a soft moan left your lips. Your hands immediately went to his broad shoulders, holding onto him as he toyed with you.

His hands slid down your sides, fingers digging into your skin as he went. He didn't want to let go of you, but he needed to remove your pants. He was dying to bury himself between your legs.

You wiggled your hips to help him as he tugged off your pjs. "Baby," he groaned, as you laid before him completely bare. "Never wear underwear ever again."

You laughed lightly. "If you promise to keep looking at me like that, I'll burn every pair I own."

He grinned wolfishly. "I'll make it worth your while."

He gripped your thighs and tugged your legs apart with gentle force. You gasped softly and his eyes flicked up to you to make sure you were okay. What he saw had him moaning with need of his own.

Your eyes were hooded and filled with lust, lips parted, a warm blush heating your face. You bit your lip when you caught him staring and shifted your hips slightly to get his attention back where you wanted it.

He gave you a little smirk before lowering himself comfortably between your legs. He nipped at the soft flesh of your inner thighs, hands massaging your hips gently.

"Aaron," you whined.

"Patience, sweetheart," he mumbled.

You whimpered softly, but you had a feeling he would make it worth the wait.

His lips slowly made their way towards your core, warming your body from the outside in. After what felt like an eternity, his tongue finally darted out sliding between your folds with ease.

You gasped in pleasure as he settled in, mouth moving against your core with expert precision. Every swipe of his tongue, movement of his lips, and vibration from his moans had you shivering with pleasure.

It didn't take him very long to work you into a heated frenzy. Within minutes, you were coming apart on his tongue, cries of his name reverberating through the bedroom. Your fingers clutched his dark hair, giving it a light tug when the pleasure became too much.

He lifted himself up, licking his lips as he eyed you with a dark look. His ministrations had only served to fuel his hunger and you could tell he was struggling to maintain his control.

"Can I taste you?" you asked sweetly.

Surprise lit up his features. "You--you don't have to."

You furrowed your brows. "I want to--badly."

He nodded hesitantly, rolling over to allow you access. He helped you remove his boxers and you inhaled sharply when his cock sprang free. You hadn't gotten a very good look at it the last time, but you'd known it was large. Now seeing it, all you wanted to do was feel the weight against your tongue.

You gripped the shaft firmly, pulling a soft moan from his throat. You licked your lips before pressing kisses to the head, the shaft, and his balls. You traced the large vein on the shaft with your tongue before slipping his large member into your mouth.

"Fuck," he groaned, hands immediately wrapping themselves in your hair.

Your mouth was so warm and wet, and the way you moved had him breathing heavily and making the sexiest sounds you'd ever heard. Each one spurred you on and your motions quickened.

"Just like that baby," he moaned. "Feels amazing."

You hummed appreciatively around his cock, the vibrations sending a wave of pleasure through his body. His hips jerked up to meet your mouth and you gagged slightly.

A look of panic crossed his face at the sound, but when he looked down at you, it was clear you didn't mind. You pushed yourself a little lower onto his cock, gagging again as you took him into your throat. You wanted to make sure he knew you were into it.

He was surprised by how much it turned him on, his moans becoming almost embarrassingly loud. "Gonna cum if you keep doing that," he said lowly.

You sped up slightly, the only signal you gave him that you wanted exactly that--his cum pouring down your throat.

Moments later, he gasped your name as he came, and you swallowed every drop he gave you. You paid special attention to the head of his cock as he came down from his high, making sure to prolong his pleasure as much as possible.

He tugged your hair gently, pulling you off of him and up to his face so he could kiss you. When you separated, he was completely breathless.

"Where--" he breathed deeply, trying to steady his heart rate. "Where did you learn...to do...that?"

You grinned. "A magician never reveals her secrets," you teased with a wink.

He chuckled. "Best I've ever had, hands down."

You blushed. "Thank you."

"Thank you," he countered. He flipped you onto your back and climbed on top of you again.

"Oh!" you gasped in surprise as your back hit the mattress. "We're not done?"

He looked surprised. "Do you wanna be?"

You shook your head rapidly, causing him to laugh. "It's just--in my experience, most men are one and done."

"Oh baby, you've been hanging out with all the wrong men," he teased. "Besides, you only came once."

Your brows knit together in confusion. "So...?"

"I need at least two more from you."

"Two more? I've never cum more than once during sex."

"Oh now that sounds like a challenge," he said devilishly. "And I love a good challenge."

You blushed a little and wiggled slightly under him.

"Hey," he said softly. "We don't have to do anything you don't wanna do. Tell me to stop and I will, no matter what."

You smiled warmly and touched his cheek. "I appreciate that. I want you...I'm just not used to the whole 'multiple orgasms' thing."

He kissed your palm. "May I try?"

You nodded slowly. "Please..."

"I'll go slow, baby."

In a split second, you decided you didn't want him to go slow. You wanted him to ruin you and you had a pretty good idea how to rile him up.

"I want you to fuck me until I can't walk, sir." You put a lot of emphasis on the title, hoping it would have the desired effect.

You weren't disappointed. His eyes darkened instantly and his grip on your hips tightened. "Is that what you want, huh? You want me to use this sweet little pussy for my own pleasure?"

You inhaled sharply, desire evident in your expression. "Make me scream," you begged.

Hotch shifted his body and thrust into you without any warning, earning a cry of pained pleasure from your lips. "I can't deny such a pretty little request," he growled before he began to pound into you, setting a brutal pace.

You cried out again as the pain faded away, leaving only white hot pleasure in its wake. Your nails clawed at his back, finding purchase anywhere they could.

"Shit, baby--this pussy was made for me," he mumbled against the shell of your ear.

"Oh god," you moaned loudly.

"Keep making those pretty little sounds for me, baby."

His thrusts were measured and precise, each one hitting your sweet spot and sending waves of pleasure through you. Every inch of your body was on fire, from the tips of your toes up to the roots of your hair. You had never in your life felt this incredible and you never wanted it to end.

"Aaron," you gasped. "I'm so--so close."

"Fuck--" he growled. "Say my name again."

"Aaron."

Somehow his pace increased and it sent you tumbling right over the edge. You came with surprising force, pussy pulsating around his cock. As badly as he would have liked to keep his pace, he had to slow down to avoid cumming too.

"That's it, baby," he murmured against your neck. "Doing so well for me. Gonna give me one more?"

You hadn't been sure it was possible for you to have two orgasms, let alone three, but you were 100% willing to try. You nodded, but it wasn't enough for him.

"Can you use those words for me, pretty girl?"

"Yes, sir," you murmured.

He groaned and began to pick up his pace again. "That's my good girl."

Your eyes widened and your nails dug into his flesh slightly. The burning sensation caught his attention and he smiled. "You like that don't you? You wanna be my good girl?"

You nodded hastily. "Yes, sir. Please. I'll be so good for you."

He grinned. "Of course you will, baby."

He shifted his weight and pulled your legs up to his chest, allowing him to thrust even more deeply inside of you. His thrusts never faltered, his pace remained steady.

You whimpered below him, the pleasure almost too much. Your body was so sensitive, but you didn't want him to stop. "Please," you whispered.

"Please what, sweetheart? Tell me what you need."

"More," you begged.

He kissed your leg softly before sliding a hand down between your thighs. He began to gently circle your clit as he continued pounding into you. Your moans grew in volume and your legs began to shake as the pleasure built.

"I know you're close, baby," he groaned. "I need you to cum for me."

You moaned as he increased the pressure on your clit. The feeling of his hands on you, his cock filling you up so thoroughly, and the gentle skill of his fingers combined to send you to the very edge.

You knew you needed something more--but you weren't sure if he would be comfortable with it. Neither of you had exactly had time to discuss what you were into in the bedroom.

You reached up and grabbed his hand from your leg, pulling it towards your face. He watched you, a look of confusion marring his handsome features. You placed his hand on the base of your neck, giving it a light squeeze to ensure he knew what you wanted.

His eyes widened, but he didn't move his hand. "Are you sure?" he whispered.

You nodded quickly. "Please, Aaron--I need it."

He groaned lowly and added a small amount of pressure to your throat, not enough to choke you, but enough for you to know he was there and he was in control.

You gasped in pleasure, the mixture of the various sensations threatening to overwhelm you. Within moments, you were crying out as you came, body shaking beneath his as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

"Shit--" he moaned loudly. "I'm gonna--gonna cum."

"Fill me up," you begged.

It was all he needed to hear to cum, a cry of your name falling from his lips. His cock filled with you with what felt like an endless amount of his seed, his orgasm lasting for several seconds.

Finally, he collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily. He kissed whatever skin he could reach as he tried to catch his breath.

"That was pretty decent," you said breathily, a teasing tone lacing your voice.

"Just decent?" he asked, head lifting to glare at you affectionately.

"Sooooo decent."

He laughed and you shot him a grin.

"Seriously, Aaron. It was fucking amazing."

"I couldn't agree more. I can stay here forever." He kissed your jaw. "Unless I'm hurting you?"

You shook your head. "I kinda like your body weight on top of me. Feels nice."

"Good because I don't think I can move yet."

You laughed warmly and wrapped your arms around him to hold him tightly against you. "You're pretty cute like this."

"Did you just call me cute?" he mumbled against your skin.

"Mhmm."

"Thanks, baby," he said with a little chuckle. "You're pretty damn cute too."

"Just cute?" you teased.

He lifted his head to look at you and smiled warmly. "You are absolutely the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. And right now? God...literal perfection."

You blushed, your entire face turning red. "Aaron..."

"I'm serious, (Y/N)."

"Thank you," you said softly.

He lifted himself up so he could look down at you better. "I'm going to tell you every second of every day so you don't forget."

You laughed lightly. "You're a dork."

"And you're sexy."

You laughed harder. "I kinda like this game."

He kissed you gently before sitting up entirely. "How 'bout I run a bath for you, hmm?"

"That sounds nice."

You watched him as he walked to your adjoining bathroom and began to fill up the tub. You smiled as you watched him, feeling incredibly happy. He was so handsome and sweet...just like you'd thought he was when you first met him.

You had never been thankful for an unsub or a case before...but you were thankful for this one. This case changed everything for you and you had a strong feeling the change was going to be permanent.

Hotch turned around to look at you with a warm smile and you felt it in your bones, this deep adoration for the man in front of you. You felt happy for the first time in years, really and truly happy--and you knew it was going to last forever.