#and parents who don't like hearing me have stomach issues

[cmdrburton]

look. if you've been after your child to "vomit quieter" for months you're not allowed to be surprised when they throw up and you don't hear it

[rizsu]

ꪆ୧ ── REAP WHAT YOU SOW ┊ LOVE TO LOSE ﹑ JJK. ⤿ starring: gojo satoru x fem!reader.

꒰ heart to none ﹢ if only he knew karma would come back to bite his ass a few years later. now he misses his ex while she's moved on.

𖧷 · love, ‘su: nothing much!! just moments of him suffering

co-parenting with satoru truly isn't all butterflies. as reserved and respectful as he is (to a selected few), satoru never hesitated to taunt you whenever you mentioned going on dates.

“a date? hmm, good luck with that.”

“if it happens to kick off, good for you, but i don't want him near my child.”

“how exciting! i hope it fails.”

those are just some examples of his behaviour. he's vocal about disliking you and the idea of sharing you. had he known beforehand he'd become slightly possessive, he would've avoided you and relationships altogether.

loving someone his mind hates but his heart longs for isn't an experience he'd wish upon his worst enemy — it's too much. the wretched feeling in his chest deepens whenever he's with the kid; scenarios of you being beside him at that very moment flashes before his eyes, but his pride's too high to crash whatever you're doing.

that doesn't stop him from texting, however. he never had an issue with double—triple texting you. if he had something to say (which is never anything important), he'll say it.

satoru: hey.

satoru: did you forget you have a family at home?

satoru: my child's asleep btw, we had fun all day.

you: my* child. not yours.

satoru: so what am i, an elf on babysitting duties?

you: sure if that's what you want. now stop texting my phone.

satoru: what if i'm dying?

you: i'd pop some champagne. throw something on the grill. light up a cigarette, even.

satoru: you don't even like cigarettes.

you: exactly. now bye i'll be there for six.

yeah, there's no doubt that you'll never entertain him again. he, too, wouldn't entertain himself if he was in your position. sure, he was an ass in the relationship but— you're both older and wiser. maybe you can put the differences aside and come together? a flat no is what you'd answer.

satoru doesn't even hear from you often; most of your activity reports come from your child who excitedly tells their father the details, wishing he was there.

“you guys had fun. i wish i was there too, bub.”

a sentimental tone settled in his voice. he's suffering the consequences of his actions, and he desperately needs you to help him through it.

just like old times: you'd be there for him, going along with whatever he needed to calm down. whether it's wanting to be in you or on you— as long as your arms were wrapped around him.

but it's all a memory now. a bitter one.

do you show your vulnerable side to the guys you date, too? do you hold them the way you held him? do they even know what you like? do they know you the way he knows you?

jealousy, regret, longing— everything mixes in his mind. his stomach aches. it feels as though his insides are hollow.

he adores your child. they look mostly like him, but the personality stems from you. the attitude, tantrums, even the way they hold things — it's all you. he guesses the kid's observed you and eventually picked up your habits. satoru relates; after all, he still has some of your habits he picked up.

as the clock ticks on, his fingers hover over the keyboard on his phone. somehow, he found himself in your pinned chat— debating whether he should text or not. he's been typing and deleting for the past ten minutes. unless you're not on the app, there's no way you didn't notice the ‘typing...’ under his contact name.

satoru: i've been thinking.

(message deleted)

satoru: fuck your date let's get back together.

(message deleted)

satoru: or whatever you're doing right now. let me apologize — it's been years. our baby's four now.

(message deleted)

satoru: hey.

you: what's with these deleted messages?

you: are you okay?

he wonders. is he okay? would you come over if he said no? are you going to be mad if he re-sent what the deleted messages said?

satoru: uhhh yeah. everything's fine.

satoru: i'm bored that's why.

satoru: you should totally come over.

you: no.

you: talk to you later.

satoru: please? i'm serious.

you: fine.

satoru: might as well spend the night.

(message deleted)

satoru: thanks.

(message delivered)

“well fuck...” he sighs, raking his fingers through his hair. he doesn't have anything to say nor do with you. actually, he does — he has quite a few, but he wouldn't push your buttons. he'd love to, but the chances of him receiving a slap is high.

[yelenasdiary]

Princess reader x intersex knight yelena

Knight yelena, whose job is to guard a princess reader. She's a cocky and a bit self-absorbed. While she is great at her job and being a knight, she also has no respect for what she considers stupid royal rules. Which includes keeping her hands off the princess.

How can she when the princess is a pretty thing waiting to be devoured. Another rule she breaks is sitting on the throne. Only the king or queen may sit on it. Anyone else who does would be executed. So when reader sees her on the throne, she panics, saying she'd be killed if she got caught, only queens and king can sit there. Yelena smirks and replies "well princess your the future queen.

Why don't you come and sit on your throne?" while she pats her lap. When ends up with the princess riding knight yelena on the throne.

For anyone to see if they walked in. Yelena telling her, "Be careful princess wouldn't wanna alert the other guards what were up to, sitting on the throne defining the princess would no doubt get me killed."

The Queen's Throne

Pairing: Knight! Yelena Belova x Princess! Reader

Summary: When you catch the castle’s knight sitting on the throne, you fear for her safety.

Smut 18+ ONLY! Minors & Men, DNI!!

Warnings: Yelena has a penis, praise & degradation kink, unprotected sex, p in v, nipple play, exhibitionism | 1.6K

AC: Thank you for sending this! I have been looking toward to posting this one since you sent it hehe! I hope you enjoy! x 

October Special Masterlist 2024

The royal castle was quiet, nothing but the wind softly whistling through could be heard through the cold stone walls of Rivenspire. Yelena Belova, a noble knight never cared too much for King and Queen’s rules as she strolled down the grand hall towards the King’s mighty throne. Her polished armor glimmering slightly in the soft candlelight as she stepped up to the platform and took a forbidden seat. 

With one arm draped casually over the armrest, her eyes traced the room and wondered what it would be like if she were the one to rule the castle. She pictured the civilians of Rivenspire gathered in the hall to see her, to hear her speak, to listen to her orders. The trill of sitting on the throne could get her killed only excited her. 

Frozen in the door with eyes widened in disbelief, the protective Knight smirked at you. “What are you doing?!” You exclaimed, not too loud to wake anybody else in the castle. “They’ll execute you if anyone sees you!” You added, your heart pounding in your chest. 

Yelena chuckled lightly as she tilted her head in amusement, “Unless you’re going to run off and tell daddy, I won’t think anybody will notice” she said as she stretched her legs out to make herself more comfortable. 

“It’s not just a chair! It’s the throne! Yelena, please!” You begged in a panic, fearing for her life. 

“Relax, your Highness” the knight teasingly smirked, “I have to say, I find it rather sweet that you care so much about me” she adds, making your cheeks feel warm.

“I..I don’t…I just don’t want anything to happen to you” 

She knew just what to say to have your stomach flutter with butterflies. Ever since your parents hired her to guard not only the royal castle but also the princess set to take over the kingdom when the time comes. Although you knew Yelena was cocky and a bit self-absorbed, you got to know a sweeter side to her. 

“That’s not your job, princess” Yelena said, leaning back in the throne, “It’s my job to protect you. Besides, I don’t see the issue. I mean, after all, you are the future queen” she adds.

“And that makes it okay?” You shot back, your voice laced with frustration trying to ignore just how good she truly looked sitting on the throne. “You’re going to get in trouble!” 

“I will if you don’t keep it down” she replied, her eyes taking in every inch of your body covered by your night gown, “We could make it fun for the two of us, what do you say?” 

“What do you mean?” You asked, watching as she placed a hand on one of her thighs. 

“Like I said princess, you’re the future queen” Yelena smirked, “why don’t you come and sit on your throne?” She added, patting her lap. 

Your cheeks flustered as you took a hesitant glance over her shoulder while biting your bottom lip. With nobody else in sight, you quietly closed the heavy wooden doors of the grand hall all while the knight watched your movements with a proud smirk. “That’s my princess” she said softly, “I promise you it’ll be our little secret” she added as you slowly walked towards her. 

As you got closer to her, you could see the sparkle in her soft green eyes from the candles hanging above her. The thrill of breaking the rules surged through you as you looked into her eyes before taking a deep breath and swinging one leg over Yelena, straddling her lap. A mischief smirk hugged her lips as she gently brushed a lock of your long hair behind your ear, “what’s the pretty princess doing awake so late anyways?” She asked. 

“I couldn’t sleep” you replied, wrapping your arms around the back of her neck and glancing down shyly. 

“What was keeping you up, Princess?” Yelena asked, slightly raising an eyebrow. Your cheeks became warm with her gaze which didn’t go unnoticed by the knight as she teasingly grinned, “come on princess, you can tell me” she encouraged. 

“I…I w-was thinking about you”

“Thinking about me huh?” Her ran her tongue over her bottom lip, “and what exactly were you thinking about?” She asked. 

“A dream I had” you replied, trying to hide the guilty look in your eyes. “A dream huh? What about? Was I saving you from a dragon?” Yelena lightly chuckled.

“Not quite” you said in a whisper, “we….kissed” 

Yelena’s smirk softened as surprise flickered in her eyes. “A little kiss has kept you awake?” She questioned, her hands once resting comfortably on your hips now moved up to your waist. “Yelena” you murmured as she lent a little closer to you. 

“Shh, remember, it’ll just be our little secret” She spoke softly before her lips pressed against yours. The royal rules were forgotten about when you didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, allowing the knights hands to bunch up the bottom of your night gown and pushing it up past your hips. You paused, pulling back slightly, “we can’t do it here” you said in a soft panic. 

“Come on Princess, I know you can quiet” Yelena spoke as she moved ever so slightly brushed her thumb over your clothed clit making you sigh with relief. 

“But what if we get c-caught?” You asked, hiding a moan while she rubbed light circles over your clothed clit. “Then they’ll see just how much of a dirty little whore their beloved princess is” Yelena smirked, her cock growing with every whimper you let out. You couldn’t help yourself from blushing after her degrading comment, “does the Princess like that huh? Being called a dirty little whore?” The knight teased, speeding up her actions on your clit.

Nodding shamelessly, “I can be quiet, I p-promise” you replied in a soft moan while you dropped your left hand to her growing bulge, “W-want you, please” you begged. 

“Nothing’s stopping you my darling Princess” Yelena showed you both her hands, her Russian accent only adding to your arousal. Her gesture allowing you to free her throbbing cock from its restraints, your eyes widened at her thickness as you wrapped your hand around her length before giving her a few pumps. 

As you gently pushed yourself up a little, your lips crashing onto hers once more while her cock stood tall just waiting for you to sink down onto. She helped swiftly move your panties to the side while you hovered over the tip of her length before you gently rubbed it through your folds a few times. 

Your soft, semi-quiet moans filled the grand hall as you slowly sunk down on her cock, allowing yourself time to adjust to her stretching you out. Her lips capturing your exposed neck to lessen the pain while your nails chipped at the arm rest of the wooden throne. “You’re doing so good princess, take as long as you need” Yelena whispered, “let your knight fulfil your dreams” she added. 

Her dirty, flirtatious words sent throbs to your stretched out pussy as you bottomed out on her, “feel’s s’good!” You moaned in a whisper, looking over your shoulder to assure nobody was in sight. 

“Eyes on me baby, wanna watch you fall apart while you ride me” the blonde said, gently cupping your face to face her once more. Your body had a mind of its own as you began to rock your hips against her, your eyes locked deeply into hers. Yelena’s hands resting on your hips once more, guiding you while you broke the rules with the protective Knight. Your moans slowly becoming louder, “remember sweetheart, gotta be quiet” Yelena groans softly as you unintentionally squeeze around her.

“D-don’t care!” You moaned once more before Yelena captured your moans in a deep kiss. 

“Be careful princess, you wouldn't wanna alert the other guards what we’re up to!” She reminded you, bring her hands up to cup your bouncing breasts, “sitting on the throne defining the princess would no doubt get me killed” she added. 

“B..but you fe-feel so good!” You whimpered, speeding up your hips now practically bouncing on her hardened cock. 

“I know baby, but if you keep quiet, this can be our little secret for a long time” she said, twisting your hardened nipples through your night gown. “That’s it baby, claim your throne!” She whispered as you clenched harder around her. 

“Don’t w-wanna stop!” You moaned, speeding up once more. 

“We don’t have to stop princess, if you make a mess on me, I’ll take you back to your room and fuck you like the dirty little whore you are” Yelena smirked before attacking your neck once more with kisses. 

The tip of her cock hitting that spot that you kept riding for, you felt yourself getting closer to letting go, your nails chipping hard at the wood of the thrones armrest and you were sure it wouldn’t go unnoticed, the thought of your mark being left was the last thing you needed before your orgasm washed over you. 

Yelena quickly crashing her lips onto yours to prevent your loud moans from being heard throughout the castle, keeping you steady as she fucked up into you, prolonging your orgasm. “G’nna make me cum baby” she groaned between kisses. 

“Do it, please!” You begged but she shook her head, “I c-can’t” she replied with another groan, “they’ll kill me” she added. She kept fucking you until your whimpers turned to tears and with her strong arms, she carefully lifted you up and off her cock just before she blew her load. Spurts of her cum landing on your thigh and her clothing. 

She looked up at you, trying to catch her breath while you gently cupped her face and kissing her once more, “we both made a mess” you said softly causing her to lightly chuckle, “lucky I’m done with you just yet” Yelena replied as she softly bit her bottom lip.

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[pricegouge]

Been gorging on your stepcest etc for price 👀 and I do be lurking. And it got me thinking about a couple things….

First of all. Not as taboo, but best friend’s dad price? Knows you have a shit home life, with the way you hang around with his daughter at his house so much. And how you’re so grateful for any little sliver of pride or affection he shows you. And he realizes how easy it would be to twist that into a relationship. He’ll give you what you need, yeah? Let him teach you what you need to know. Sneaking into his bedroom whenever you stay the night. Staying with him on the couch after your friend has gone to bed, laying your head in his lap and letting him fuck your mouth.

And. Uhm. Stepbrother!Soap (alternatively brother’s best friend if you prefer) becoming obsessive about being your virginity guard when you start college— he was a college boy, and he sure as fuck doesn’t trust college boys. Cockblocking you at every turn— those guys aren’t gonna treat his little sister right 😤 (meanwhile he’s telling himself that he’ll stop when some guy who deserves you comes around, but the truth is that that’s never going to happen. Only one guy deserves you, and it’s him). And you get sexually frustrated, jerking off in your room louder and more often, and eventually you get into an argument with him, telling him to lay off, until he snaps.

“Ye want yer cherry popped so damned bad, hen? I’ll fuckin’ do it, then—“

And uhhhhh. Stepdad/dad price being protective over your online activity, and he ends up making a profile for some older guy. And it’s so easy to catfish you, coax you into sending him pictures, all while he’s justifying it to himself that he’s just gonna mortify you with all of this so that you’re more careful. But then you send things that are a lot more racey than he thought he’d get. And you give him that “do you like them 🥺?” Message. And what is he gonna do, disappoint his baby girl? Make her think she’s anything less than the most beautiful girl in the whole world?

So he does what any rational guy would do and he jerks off to your photos, cums all over his stomach, takes a picture, and sends it to you with a “loved them ❤️” message.

I have like 100000 thoughts like these ahskfkoskdn

(Can I be 🦷 anon?)

cw: age gap, stepcest/incest, implied grooming. all written on my phone so sorry for issues/typos

You're absolutely killing me here. Thinking about being unable to sleep when you're at your friend's place so you creep out for a drink of water to find mr price on the couch watching some boring old western and he's got the lights dimmed, the volume low and it all just looks so cozy and you're so sleepy. So what if you linger, trying to get yourself in that right headspace for sleep? He doesn't seem to mind, even lets you slump across the couch with your head on his thigh, rubs at you scalp absently as he rumbles down at you about actors you've never even heard of. And if you fall asleep there and roll so your nose is buried in his belly, well, he's just being nice, letting you sleep when he knows how tired you are, can see in the gaunt skin around your eyes you haven't been sleeping or eating well. It's a good thing you have his daughter, have him.

And omg step bro Johnny 😵‍💫 he was sooo excited when your parents married, had always wanted a little sister of his own. The protectiveness he felt - it was only natural, a big brother's job, keeping predatory boys from you. You can keep snapping at him all you want but he's not gonna stop, and every time you get yourself all wound up it just fuels his fire because he sees how pretty you are like that and he knows what those boys must be thinking, planning all the ways they can get you that flustered on their cocks. Not on his watch, but his job would be so much easier if you'd stop acting like such a whore, moaning so loud every night it's a miracle you don't wake the whole house. And he can hear the porn you're watching too, the deep grunts of men who probably aren't even pleasing their co-stars properly. It's gonna fill your head with the wrong impression, make you think sex is all overproduced, cookie-cutter bodies and jackhammering. It drives him insane for weeks until he ferrets out your search history (seriously, he'd have to teach you better about that too) and grind when he realizes, while it's a brother's job to keep you safe - it's a step brother's job show you the ropes

Fucking. Catfish dad price is gonna put me in an early grave. I had to lay down after reading that my goddddd.

Just imagine connecting with someone online like that. He's older but he's so nice, likes all the same things you do. Sometimes the way he knows exactly what to say to have you melting, or to bring you up after a rough day, it seems like he was created in a test tube, just for you. And when you start to send him pictures (innocent at first, mostly of your dorm, just showing him what you're up to), he doesn't even make fun of all your girly decor. Just comments on how cute your stuffies are, or how good your nails look when he spots glimpses of your hands hovering around the edges of the frame.

So of course when he asks if he can see more of you, you send him a video of you playing with your clit, those same pretty nails framing your cunt, dipping teasingly through your folds.

You sit on your bed after hitting send, an anxious bundle of nerves after seeing it's been opened but. It's silly to be so self conscious. He's a busy man - maybe even at work - and you'd sort of blindsided him with that, unsolicited. But you're needy and you can't help it, following up your video with the cutesiest message you can manage while still getting your point across

<do you like it? 🙈

Embarrassing stings in your throat as you watch his bubble of text spring to life once or twice, each time fizzling back out into radio silence. Rejection hurts worse than you'd ever thought it would, makes you feel useless and ugly, makes you want to cuddle up with your stupid stuffies - makes you wish you were home.

When your phone pings some minutes later there's no helping how quickly you snatch it up, too far past caring about appearing desperate, and your hands shake as you tap on the thumbnail that greets you, taking in the still engorged cock flopped over his strong belly, and each inch of hairy, sweaty skin so greedily you nearly miss the cloudy, thick mess that clings to his pelt.

The caption tells you he 'loved it, sweetpea' and you tell yourself it's the image that has your clit throbbing back to life, not the memories it tugs of the other man who calls you that.

Banners/dividers by @/adornedwithlight and @/rookthornesartistry

[baronessvonglitter]

Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 18 🍒

"I Wanted It To Be You"

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 7,467

Summary: Moving on from Joel, your life takes many unexpected courses: college, marriage.. yet you keep wondering What If..?

(Warnings contain spoilers, so please check beneath the cut if you're curious)

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, age gap (the difference is 17 years, and there are a few time skips throughout this chapter), starts in late 2003 and ends in 2023, Angst Angst Angst, brief mention of jailtime, breakup, parental issues, heavy on the mom guilt, underage drinking, dry humping, anonymous drunk sex (never ever do this, folks), vomit, reader going through a slutty era after getting her heart broken (just like Joel in Chapter 14), allusions to smut, time skips (labeled), panic attack, mention of drugs and alcohol, rough sex, creampie, surprise pregnancy, infidelity, lil bit of a makeout sesh with Tommy, semi-public sex, pussy pronouns, light degradation, Ellie is Joel's daughter, mention of cyberstalking (not as serious as it sounds), mention of reader having a therapist, Joel and Tess are married. If I left anything out, please LMK!

Author's Note: this took forever to write because the more I edited the more I wanted to add. And I know this chapter has quite a few time skips, I just wanted to highlight the important parts as much as I could. ALSO: I apologize for the unrealistically speedy law process at the beginning. I have no idea how that situation would pan out, but it would almost definitely drag out for months if not years.

So much angst here, but now the reader is all grown up! I wanted to add the convo with Sarah but this chapter was already getting so long, and I think it'll fit better in the next installment anyway.

Series Masterlist

"I would've said yes."

You've lost count of how many voicemails you leave Joel, who's been ignoring your calls, but this is the only time you say it, that you admit your love could have gone a different way if you'd just gotten back to that hotel room together.

You replay that night over and over in your head, but with different endings. In a perfect world, your father would never have even been there in the first place. In a separate, less perfect world, you would not have called out to him, just ignored him the way he ignored you. Then you'd have some peace of mind, and you'd belong with the man you love.

Each time you call Joel, you expect to hear his gruff voice on the other end of the line. And soon enough the ringing stops and goes straight to voicemail, where you leave him the words of your bleeding, broken heart:

"I would've said yes."

You haven't taken the ring out of its box, worried you'll jinx whatever luck you have left. Joel is supposed to kneel, take your hand in his, and place the ring on your finger. You've never envisioned what getting engaged would look like, but it definitely bears some semblance to tradition.

When Chris refused to press charges, the law stepped in and did it for him. Thirty days in the Bexar County Jail is what they sentenced Joel. That was why you couldn't reach him, why you felt like you were hitting a brick wall. It's a relief when you're finally able to speak to him.

"I'm so sorry," you cry to him over the phone, his voice like a warm and soothing balm. You imagine yourself curling into his embrace, allowing his arms to enfold you, make you small and safe, hidden from the dangers and ugliness of the world.

"You ain't got nothin' to be sorry for," he grunts.

"I love you." You sound pitiful over the phone but you don't care. "Joel, let me come see you and we can work it out. Please."

He sighs. "I got somethin' I need to tell you. Might change your mind how ya feel about me."

"What?" you ask quickly, your young mind scrambling to imagine what he could say, as if to fortify your already shattered heart. Your stomach sinks, nausea threatening to make the bile rise in your throat. "Joel, what is it?"

He's quiet for awhile and when he speaks it's monotone. "I've been seein' someone else."

It sounds like he's speaking a foreign language. You shake your head, looking at your wall calendar. It's only December. You last saw him in late September. The biblical manger scene on the church calendar your mom put on the fridge is an evil harbinger of time now lost.

"Who?" you ask, dreading the answer.

"Doesn't matter," he says gruffly, sounding uncomfortable.

"Tell me who," you insist.

With a deep sigh he relents. "Hailey."

Again, it's like hearing a foreign language. "Hailey? The girl I worked with? The one who went to Sarah's party? That Hailey?"

"Yeah."

"How.. how did this happen?"

"Ran into her at a bar my first night out of jail. I was lonely and she was.. she was there for me."

"What do you mean? Did you-" you take a moment to breathe, try not to let your emotions take over.

"I slept with her. That's all it is between us, just fuckin'."

It's like a punch in the gut. No, worse. It's a blade plunging into your heart over and over.

In a blur of upset and disappointment, you utter the words of anyone who's ever had a broken heart: "How could you do this to me?"

There's no answer for it from his side. His refusal to go into detail feels like he's hiding his fling with Hailey on purpose, withholding part of his new life to you, but you never stop to think he might be saving you from the pain he knows is due.

You cry after hanging up on him. You cry more than you did when he left you in San Antonio. You cry until you can no longer see because your eyes are puffy, nearly tiny slits that still somehow shed tears when you think of Joel with your ex-friend.

Once the sadness has been cried out, there remains only rage, simmering and profound. With small, practiced movements, you take the engagement ring in its box and mail it to Joel's address. No note, and no explanation needed.

"You're not yourself," your mom mentions one night when you push your plate away, your dinner barely touched.

"Not hungry," you mumble.

She sighs in exasperation. "I don't know what to do with you. You won't talk to me." She pushes her own plate away and downs the rest of her cheap wine. "You come home from God-knows-where, with a damn bruise on your face."

You touch your cheek where your father had accidentally knocked you backwards, wishing it was the only physical pain you endured from that night.

"..you don't bother with the chores anymore, you lock yourself away in your room, probably not even studying. Do you even attend classes anymore? Do you even care about your future?" she continues.

"No," you say quite simply.

"No??"

You shake your head and shrug, as if answering something as easy as 'do you want to watch a movie later?'

"I don't. Give. A shit."

Anita scoffs, refilling her glass. "Great. That's just great. Maybe I'll drink this entire bottle and give myself alcohol poisoning. Then I wouldn't have to deal with your shitty attitude anymore."

The scrape of your chair as you push away from the table is as loud as nails on a chalkboard. "You want me to talk? I'll talk." You lean forward, relishing this moment where your mom looks scared as shit.

"I said I was in College Station, but I lied. I was fucking Joel every weekend I was away. We met up in hotel rooms and fucked each other's brains out. And the best part of it all was that he loved me," your voice breaks but you're wickedly delighted by the look of shock and disgust on your mother's face.

You're on a tirade now that can't be stopped. "Two months ago I found Dad in San Antonio. I did," you nod, a psychotic kind of laughter breaking from you when she gawks. "And do you know what? He's forgotten all about us. He has a new family, new kids, new young wife. And he doesn't give a shit about you or me. He never really has, has he?" You realize you're standing, towering over her as you spit out all the venom she's ever poured into you right back at her.

"Now.. how does it feel to have the truth shoved in your face? To be deprived of the fantasy world you wanted so badly to live in, cushioned by your idiotic pretenses? Because I'll bet you could've gone your whole life not knowing, staying innocent. Well, Mother Dearest, fuck you."

Without a word you pack your things, your body moving way ahead of your brain, stuffing every necessary item into a couple of bags before you leave her house, with the intention to never return again.

Summer 2004 Louisiana

Staying with friends in a shitty apartment, you finish the rest of the semester before transferring to another school. Three schools in one year probably isn't a very good look on your transcript, but it's the first choice you make that is truly your own. Working two jobs over the summer you finally have the money you need to survive as you begin a new chapter in Louisiana.

You do everything in your power to get over Joel. The first step was deleting his number from your phone, even though you've already memorized it by heart. To be safe, you also delete Tommy's number, and Sarah's. It feels final, and a small part of you wishes they could get a notification informing them you no longer consider them important enough to keep, even as data.

It still stings when you think of Joel with Hailey. She's older, more experienced, and can probably do whatever he wants without being asked. After you've deleted the Millers from your contact list, you hover over Hailey's name, pressing it and, in a moment of antagonism, send her a text. I thought you were my friend, Turns out you're just a fucking slut Then you delete and block her number.

Dating other guys doesn't come very easy. It's as if they can smell the heartbreak on you, sense your loneliness and unease, the untempered anger simmering below the surface of your smile. You're a walking red flag and you know it, but that doesn't stop you.

You grind on a guy at a club after he buys you a few appletinis. Never mind that he's twenty five and trying to get you drunk so you'll fuck him. With your twenty-dollar Charlotte Russe dress hiked up as you drag your sopping panties over his clothed hardness, he sucks the apple flavor off your tongue, one hand gripping your hips while the other slips inside your underwear to rub your clit and you come for the first time in months. So loud, in fact, that you're caught and promptly kicked out of the club. When your partner (you never remember his name) asks to continue at his place, you decline, already walking to the next bar.

Once the high wears off, you are consumed with guilt as you think of Joel. What would he say if he found out? Would he even care? Maybe he's fucking Hailey right now.

And it hits you that it's already been a year since you first slept with him.

You pause in the middle of the street, coming back to earth when a car honks at you, cursing at you to hurry up and fucking move dumb bitch!

Walking on, you can't get the memory of the feel of Joel out of your head: the way his tongue licked into your mouth, fingers traveling down to play between your folds, telling you he needed you nice and wet before he fucked you, those thick fingers slipping in and playing you like a well tuned instrument, his lips gliding over your throat, resting just above your pulse point, then finding their way down the slope of your breasts, taking each nipple between his lips, his beard rasping against your skin.

You try to force the thought away, but it returns manifold. His mouth, the stiffened warmth of his tongue lapping at your cunt, drinking up every fucking drop and telling you you taste so sweet. He doesn't stop until you come more than once, finally fitting himself inside you, teasing you with the first few inches. Sure you can handle the rest, babygirl? before sliding in in one smooth thrust, joining you body and soul, moving against you just how you need.

You cover your face with your hands and wander into an alley, overcome with despair at the loss of your love, the loss of what innocence you thought you had. Both of those things given to someone who only saw fit to fuck you as he wished and discard when he couldn't handle the reality of your personal life.

"Are you okay?" a voice asks, approaching softly from behind. You turn and see a man, another college student like yourself, dressed in jeans and a striped button down. His features blur together until all you hear is his soft Southern accent and all you smell is his Curve cologne. The next thing you know you're kissing him, begging him to touch you, fuck you, and then he's spinning you to face the wall, dress hiked up, panties pulled down. Your arms support you against the wall as he pushes into you from behind and all you think about is him fucking the pain away, pumping into you hard and fast. He's nowhere near as big as Joel, but you've been so touch starved that the sounds coming out of your mouth are shameless.

Without warning you vomit, splashing your shoes and the wall in front of you with appletini puke, and the guy pulls out immediately, getting away from you as fast as he can, tucking himself back into his jeans.

You rest your forehead against the cool brick wall, spitting out the sour taste in your mouth as tears weep freely from your eyes.

September 2004

At the start of sophomore year you're the only one who doesn't have family come down to help move in, to visit with and take silly, memorable photos with. Nobody comes to your dorm and helps you decorate and put your belongings away. By the time your assigned roommate comes with her parents and little brother you're already set up, fresh sheets on your twin bed, your side already claimed.

You're reading when she comes in, a young girl, freshman, with hope in her eyes, excited to meet you, looking forward to her new life away from Montana or Missouri or wherever she says she's from. You're barely listening.

Who you do notice is her dad: mid-forties, slight beer belly, wearing a polo shirt and cargo pants with brand new New Balance shoes. You make eye contact immediately before he shifts his gaze away. His daughter, your new roommate Jessica, starts to unpack, asking you questions about the classes, what student groups to join. You offer what advice you can, stretching out on your bed in your tank top and running shorts. Her dad's eyes roam over your curves when his wife and kids aren't looking, and you unabashedly flirt back, making sure your shorts ride up, pulling down your tank just a little to expose more cleavage.

Once they leave for a quick tour around the campus you're back to your reading.

Jessica's dad comes back. Alone.

"I think I forgot my wallet in here," he says, giving a forced look of timidity as he checks his pockets.

"You didn't," you smirk, putting your book down and sitting up. "But you can stay if you want.."

He doesn't make an excuse about his family and you wouldn't care if they walked in anyway. Once the door is locked his hands are on your body, grabbing your ass while your hand goes down his pants. You tell him exactly what will make you come, and he does it so willingly it almost touches your heart.

Later as he's leaving and you're trying to get his cum off your bedsheets, he's asking you not to say anything to his daughter, as if you'd proudly exclaim that you fucked him, having barely remembered his name.

You're learning that a lot of men are the same at their very core.

You're a fantasy for the older ones, a college coed with daddy issues and an IUD. Having already been with an older man, you know just what they like, and when you give it you live for the way their eyes light up, and a little of their youth comes back to them for a moment.

It's almost pitiful how easy you figure out the opposite sex. Once you know what they want it's easy to become that, to dress how they want, to feign interest in the things they like, even to keep your thoughts to yourself. You learn to live inside your head, which until now has been the hardest thing to do.

But it's necessary when you're holding onto the headboard of some frat guy's bed while fake moaning as he's holding your hips, going as fast as he can because that's what they do in porn. Each and every guy has a Scarface poster above the bed, or Playboy centerfolds taped to the walls, neon lava lamps on the nightstand along with CDs by Kanye West, Franz Ferdinand, or Velvet Revolver. Your thoughts are elsewhere as you give halfhearted head.

You learn to feel nothing, not even pleasure, because they certainly can't tell that you fake every sigh and gasp.

But the older men, the professors, TA's, even men you meet off campus at the bars in town.. they are what interest you. It's not common for you to find yourself bent over a desk during your professor's office hours, or with your panties around your ankles when a one-on-one study session turns to something else.

You fuck men who remind you of Joel because you can't fuck Joel. It's his hands on you instead of theirs, his breath hot on your ear.. but no one else can fill the part of you that Joel hollowed out for himself when he made you his on a hot Texas summer night.

Though you think about him every day, soon enough, you start to wonder whether he was ever even real, or just someone you made up.

March 2006

Spring Break finds you at a beach house on the coast. The friends you came with are nowhere to be found, and you're pretty sure your drink is laced with something. The music is so loud that you hurry out into the night, seeking solace before the roaring waters of the gulf, black water topped with silver waves. Their rushing sound is soothing, yet you sink to your knees because your world is too heavy.

"I'm dying," you whisper to yourself, crying. Your chest feels tight. It's so hard to breathe, and it feels like your heart will explode.

Only one person on the entire planet comes to mind, and after all this time you still remember his number. You dial it, fingers savoring the press of each button on your phone. How many times have you called Joel and hung up before he could answer? There have been a couple of times when you dialed him while having sex, not sure if he ever picked up, hoping that he heard you moving on and moving away from him. That'll show him.

But you can't even breathe to talk to him. And what if he doesn't answer? What if he's changed his number?

You leave all his numbers entered on the screen but you don't hit the call button. Not yet. You have to think of something to say. Tell him you love him before your body rejects the air it's trying so desperately to claim into your lungs.

"Hey, are you all right?" a gentle voice asks behind you, and a hand is on your shoulder.

You flashback to that night in the alley, the guy who took advantage of you, but this time it doesn't go that way.

A man with soulful eyes and a kind smile kneels next to you, his hand remaining on your shoulder. "I think you're having a panic attack. Can I help you with that?" His voice is as kind and gentle as he looks, and you nod.

"Can you breathe for me? Like this." He inhales deeply and slowly, and when you try it it feels so foreign but you manage it.

"There you go," he says quietly. "Now breathe out.."

Soon he has your breathing back to normal, and you don't have to force your body to do what it naturally does.

"Tell me five things you can see," he continues.

A shaky breath in. Hey, at least it's a breath. "Um.. the water.. the sand.. the moon.. you.."

That's when you get your first good look at him, beyond the smile that works its warmth into your heart, and the eyes that search yours, exuding humanity that you haven't experienced in a long time. He's really cute. You can't deny that your heart skips a couple of beats.

"One more thing?" he says, his voice soft.

You snap back to reality. "Uh.. a ship.. out there in the distance?"

He glances behind him at the water, seeing the great big liner, possibly a cruise ship, on the inky horizon, and takes a seat next to you. "How are you feeling now?" he asks.

"Good.. I think. Better." You nod. "Thank you."

"May I?" he lifts your hand from your lap and turns the palm up, his fingers poised above your pulse point. You nod again.

He presses his touch to your wrist, and you watch his eyes calculating, his lips silently moving while counting. Despite everything you've been through the past two years, this is the most intimate thing you've felt.

"Your pulse is normal." He gently places your hand back on your lap. "Do you want to go back to the party or do you want to stay out here a little longer? If you want to go back," he adds, "I'll be with you, make sure you're okay."

You opt to stay on the beach, embracing the quiet for a little longer. This is the first time a man has had you alone and hasn't tried to fuck you. It's nice, for once.

Towards the end of the night he leads you back to the party house, guiding you through the throng of people there, the air rife with alcohol and the pungent aroma of weed. You're holding his hand, you realize as you walk together. He's your lifeline in this very moment. You grab your jacket and purse from one of the bedrooms, passing by couples making out, some slipping into rooms to do much more than kissing. To think you could have easily ended up there with a random guy makes your skin crawl.

"What was your name again?" you shout to him over the music.

"Justin!"

"Dustin?"

"Justin!"

You both laugh. You tell him your name and of course he mishears you.

He drives you to the small motel room you're sharing with your friends who are inevitably crashing at the beach house, too drugged or drunk or fucked to return for the night.

Justin smiles at you as the engine idles. "Is it okay if I ask you out?"

You exchange numbers, your heart thrumming with a pleasant nervousness. You haven't had a boyfriend since..

..not since Joel.

Don't think about him.

"You can reach out to me if you ever just feel like talking," he says. "I'm here."

So you do, and after a week of texting and a couple of late night calls and getting to know each other, you go for a date for the first time in three years.

Justin picks you up in a Honda Civic, and as you get comfy in the passenger seat you breathe in the scent of the black ice air freshener and his spearmint gum. The radio blasts Smashing Pumpkins at a level you know is too much but it only adds to the excitement of the evening.

He's a year older than you, native to Louisiana, and on leave from the Army.

Living just a half hour from your campus, you start to spend much of your time together. Movie dates, dinner dates, and dates where you just drive around, talking about nothing and everything.

You only sleep with him three months into your relationship, desiring to take things slow for once, to know him better than you have ever known anyone.

It's nice. It's like what you see in the movies, two people wrapped up in each other, soft, no words needed. For once your head isn't forced down into the pillow, or your pussy spit on. For once it's just normal, and normal feels so good.

June 2008 New Orleans, LA

Bourbon Street is alive, electric, no matter that it's a Sunday night. People will drift into work tomorrow still drunk on Zombies and Hurricanes. The entire street reeks of piss, but people either don't care or have been here long enough that it no longer harasses their senses. But more often than not, people are having too much of a good time to care.

You're behind the bar at little hole-in-the-wall place, slinging daiquiris and kamikaze shots when you hear a familiar voice and a tap on your shoulder. "Hey there, Cherry."

You turn and your eyes go wide. "Tommy!" You reach over the bar to hug him, nearly spilling a beer on him in the process. "It's been ages! How are you?

He looks older, more mature, even though it's only been five years since you last saw him: he's letting his facial hair grow, but his eyes still sparkle with mirth and kindness. "It's good to see you, girl." He's no longer with Sofia, their romance having ended a few years before, on friendly terms or so your cousin claimed. You always blamed yourself for the demise of their relationship, believing that your breakup with Joel cast a shadow over her own connection with Tommy.

"What are you doing here?" you ask.

"We're good, just here in town, expanding the business."

"We?" Your hands start to shake, and you put away the bottle of gin you have your grasp on. Your heart starts to pound before the next words even leave his mouth.

"Yeah, me and Joel are lettin' off a little steam, wanted to toss back a few before we go back to the hotel."

You feel his eyes on you before you're even aware that he's here. Looking up, at a small table near the entrance, is Joel Miller. Your heart stops, and you don't know how it is you're still alive. He looks you up and down, appraising every feature and detail about you, and you wonder if you've changed in five years or not. You wonder if he still loves or hates you.

"...and we thought this was that bar where girls dance and pour tequila down guys' throats, but this is just as good 'cause you're here."

Tommy manages to snap you out of your trance. "Oh.. you mean Coyote Ugly.."

"Yeah, they opened one in Austin a couple years back but this one ain't never wanna go nowhere," he motions back with his head to Joel.

You return your gaze to the older brother but he's no longer looking at you, his glance dotting along the crowd, following a younger woman as she saunters up to him, smiling, flirting. Your stomach turns and you force a smile at Tommy.

"Whatever you want is on me."

Tommy's smile and laughter is infectious. "You sure about that, Cherry?"

"I'm sure," you say, pouring out a shot for yourself. "You know, nobody's called me that in a long time."

"What's that?" he catches a bright sparkle on your left hand, and quickly takes it within his own. "Cherry, you didn't tell me you were engaged!"

Joel must have one ear straining to listen because Tommy's outburst got his attention right away and he swivels his head to look at you.

"Yeah.. he's a nice guy." That's how you describe Justin to everyone: he's a nice guy. He'd proposed last year after your one year dating anniversary. "He's in the Army, they're shipping him out a week after our wedding. And I'm going with him."

"He's a good guy if he's an Army man," Tommy approves, just as Joel approaches, the woman he was talking to now gone. "So? Are we invited to the weddin'?"

You can't tell if he's teasing or not, and Joel's poker face gives zero indication as well. "I already sent out save-the-dates, but if you'd like to come I won't object. The more the merrier." For the first time you see Joel up close and your heart stutters, an irregular beat that you'd gotten used to in the aftermath of your disastrous breakup.

He's still so fucking handsome: the dark brown of his hair fading to what you can already see as gray, with gray patches in his beard. There are more lines around his eyes. There's still that jolt of electricity when your gazes meet.

"You happy?" he asks, his countenance giving nothing away of his true feelings, so it's difficult to gage whether he's legitimately asking, or simply being nice.

"I'm happy." But it sounds forced, like taking the pliers to your own mouth to fix your own abscess.

Joel only nods as you pour a couple whiskeys for them. "To Cherry getting married!" Tommy beams his salute and the three of you down the shots quickly.

It's sometime after your shift, and you're in the parking lot with Tommy, his arms around you as he presses you to the side of his truck. Or maybe it's Joel's truck. You don't know and you don't care, all you want is to feel something again. The nearness of Joel all night has rewired your brain, and as Tommy deepens the kiss, you're disappointed that it's not Joel's taste, not Joel's scent that surrounds you. Luckily he's not a bad kisser, and his hands roam everywhere you want them to be.

Better the wrong Miller than no Miller at all, your whiskey-soaked brain tells you.

"Always thought you were pretty," he whispers, hands palming your breasts over your shirt. "But you were Joel's from the moment he set eyes on ya, told me so himself. Leave that one alone, she ain't for you.'"

"He didn't want me enough.." your voice cracks as tears spill effortlessly down your cheeks.

"Don't cry," he says gently. "I don't got any tissues with me." He uses his thumb to wipe away your tears. "Still want me to give you a ride home?"

You nod, telling him you need to make a quick trip to the ladies' room to fix your makeup, and in the narrow hallway where the restrooms are hidden from the rest of the bar, you run into Joel.

"Sorry," you mumble, trying to get around him, but he puts his large hand on your shoulder to stop you.

"You gonna take my brother home and fuck him? Then marry some Army jackass?" he says as in disbelief.

You put your guard up, tougher now than you were five years ago. "What I do is my business. By the way, how's Hailey?"

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb." You push past him and start for the women's room to fix your makeup when Joel stops you again.

"You ain't gonna fuck my brother tonight, or any other night, babygirl," he utters.

There's a fire lit under you now. "Oh? What are you, the Morality Police? Fuck off."

"Fuck me," he says. "You know you want to. You're probably wet from Tommy, and I appreciate his gettin' ya ready for me, but I notice the subtler signs: your eyes are glistenin', you've been lickin' your lips every time you look at me, and you probably haven't noticed, but your nipples are pokin' right through your shirt. I bet they're just beggin' for attention, huh?"

He says all this while just standing in front of you, not crowding you like any other guy would. And you realize he's not even trying to rile you up. He's giving you a choice.

"What makes you think I want you? I have a good man who loves me. He's all I need."

"Needs and wants are different, babygirl. Once you're married you're stuck with him til' death. Hope you realize that."

"I'm aware." But it's already hit you: you'll be with Nice Justin for the rest of your life. You'll be a Nice Wife and maintain a Nice Home for the inevitable Nice Kids you'll have. You hate Joel for putting this thought in your head.

"He fuck you like I did?" he asks in an intimate tone.

You shake your head, already pulling him into the restroom with you. "Joel, no one's ever fucked me like you did."

Your body delights in the quick, sweet reunion with him. It's as if time has never separated you, as if both your hearts are whole again. His mouth greedily devours your kisses. He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, the latter a bad habit. You're shoved into one of the stalls, fumbling with the lock while Joel's hands find their way across your body, one under your shirt, palming your breast, the other going into your jeans, expertly finding your soaked panties, crooking his fingers into your cunt.

Your back is pressed against his broad chest, his cock already hard inside his jeans, rubbing furiously against your lower back until he bends you forward to press against your ass, finally pulling your jeans and panties down in one go.

Too much time has passed for you to be gentle or even careful. He presses you to the stall door, nothing but heat and raw need between you. Words not needed, your only communication grunts and whispered curses that echo against the tiles of the cramped space.

"You ain't takin' no slow and gentle with me, sugar. i ain't got the patience for that right now." He nudges against you and it's a wonder you don't burn up with all the fire that inflames you. After so long it's a labor of love to fit him again, but as his fingers add pressure to your clit you get wetter, opening for him as easily as you did years ago.

"There she is," he says. "Been waitin' for me, been needin' a real man to fill ya up, ain't ya, babygirl?" he huffs in your ear, breath warm against your skin. "Answer me, baby."

"Yes.." your voice comes out in a hiss, your brain only thinking about his cock, the way it stuffs you, the only thing that completes you.

"That's what I thought. These lil' college boys don't know what to do with such a tight, pretty pussy. And neither does your fiance." He hikes one of your legs up, tucking your knee under his arm, keeping you nice and open, watching himself slide in and out of your weeping slit, slamming himself against you as he sinks his thumb into your puckered asshole, eliciting an all-but muffled gasp from you. "I know you called me just so I could listen to them fuckin' ya.. I know you never came with them, not once. This pussy is mine, has been from the very start."

You're no longer a virginal high school grad, and he takes what he wants from you, giving you what he knows you need.

The door opens but he doesn't stop, just quiets his own noises and clamps his hand over your mouth to squelch your sounds. The stall door jiggles and you put your hand over it until the person grumbles and walks away, muttering about having to piss. When they're gone Joel pumps into you relentlessly, chasing his pleasure and yours. He knows by now what will make you come, which combination of touches and kisses make your knees weak and your clit stand at attention.

"Fucking come for me, you little slut," he whispers, his tone almost loving if you didn't know better, and when you let go the pleasure is almost painful. Years of need and pent-up longing are released as your cunt squeezes around his rigid cock, milking him, smiling when you feel the warm spurt of his come as he presses deep at your cervix.

"That's my girl," he says proudly, your come spilling out already, lining his dick with a mix of both of you. "She's wrecked, split wide open like she's meant to be.. gonna send you back to your man drippin' with my come, used up like a good lil' whore."

His words add a sweet sting to the pleasure that has yet to ebb, resounding through your veins like thunder that takes its time in rolling away from the storm. Whore.. well, he's not wrong.

When your heavy breathing has subsided, you feel him start to slip out of you and you put your hand back on his thigh, a silent gesture to hold off.

"Missed you.. needed you," you mutter, tears of joy and relief and heartache brim in your eyes, until you allow the pleasure of the moment to take over without thought or feeling.

"I know.." he says softly, slipping out of you, careful as you're still sensitive.

That could have been the end. You could have gone your separate ways, but you're drawn to each other, and that doesn't go away easily. When you emerge from the rear entrance of the bar, Tommy looks up, and you can tell he expected that you'd end up with Joel instead. He simply nods as you pass him, walking with Joel to the tiny apartment you share with Justin, who's out of town visiting family. And as you and Joel spend the rest of the night locked in each other's embrace, you realize you don't care if he walks in on you, kicks you out, breaks off the engagement. You're with Joel and nothing else matters.

By dawn you wake up to find that he's gone, leaving only the scent of him on the pillow next to you. No note, no explanation, no goodbye. And once again you're sure you only dreamed up Joel Miller, used him as a mental escape for the life you were tying yourself down to.

It's very atypical for you to forgo a period, even at your most stressed, you can count on seeing that bright red stain on the toilet paper around the middle of every month. And when, by mid-July, you haven't even spotted, the first thing you do is take a pregnancy test.

All the men before have been careful, or you've been fortunate enough not to have a scare. But when you finally force yourself to look at the the little blue plus sign developing on the test strip, you realize this is no scare.

You're pregnant with Joel's baby.

The wedding takes place as expected, and your heart sinks when you walk down the aisle, seeing the joy on Justin's face. You've told him the baby is his, and he doesn't doubt it for a moment, that's how much he loves you. But for a fleeting moment you want so bad for it to be Joel at the altar instead.

The ceremony goes by in a blur, as everyone warned you it would. Group pictures are taken, the videographer is capturing the moments that photos alone can't encapsulate.

"Over here, honey!" photographer gets your attention. You barely hear him as you watch a figure walking out, one of the last guests to leave the church. From behind he looks like Joel, but you can't quite tell, and when your eyes fully focus, he's gone, and your own vision can't be trusted.

Tommy gave his regrets that he couldn't attend, and Joel simply never RSVP'd. But in your heart you know it was him, you know he had to come and see for himself that you're moving on, growing up and growing away from him. The only tether you have to him is the baby growing in your belly.

"Front and center, Mrs. Williams," Justin smirks, giving your cheek a soft kiss. "One more picture then we're onto the reception."

March 2009

Your daughter is born in the springtime, a loud and howling child from the moment she leaves you. The only time she's quiet is when she's in your arms.

"We need to decide on a name," Justin says, a little miffed that his daughter cries when he holds her despite his best efforts to soothe her.

"I told you, I like Ophelia," you say, gathering her into your arms to feed her.

"It's such a prissy name. And I can already tell she's not gonna be prissy."

"Then what do you suggest?" you ask tiredly. He doesn't seem to understand you've gone through labor for twenty four hours, only thinking of himself.

"Eleanor, after my mother."

You groan. "I always hated that name."

"Please, babe. It'll make her so happy to have her granddaughter as her namesake."

"Fine. Fine. But her middle name is Ophelia."

"Deal." Justin smiles as he fills out the paperwork.

"Eleanor.." you tell your baby. "But I'm going to call you Ellie."

Your mother once told you that when you become a parent, your life is not your own anymore. She said it as a kind of warning, a prophecy yet to be fulfilled when you were just a pre-teen, rolling your eyes at her warning you away from all kinds of danger.

You never expected she'd be right. Every waking moment holds more weight than ever before. Ellie is completely dependent on you, even as she grows and becomes more independent. It's you she looks to for validation when she does something right, and you she looks to when she knows she's in trouble.

She's smart as a whip, quick with a comeback and well versed in anything she can get her hands on. She excels in sports too-- individually, at first. As she gets older you notice a little bit of a mean streak in her. While she craves friends and wants to be part of a team, she has trouble making connections sometimes.

You have to wonder if part of that comes from Joel, his stubbornness and his lone wolf tendencies. Has he unknowingly passed down the most insecure parts of himself to his daughter? Sorry, his secondborn daughter?

Now there's literal proof of Joel Miller as a person, in human form, and she's trudging upstairs with her field hockey equipment and slamming her bedroom door.

Between the years of 2004 and 2008 you could almost convince yourself that he didn't exist, that he was a figment of your runaway imagination, born of a father complex and attachment issues. You work on yourself in therapy, feeling small as you divulge the innermost secrets of your heart and the intrusive thoughts, even going so far as to reveal that you've looked for Joel on social media, now that everyone has a profile.

Born of an intrusive thought, you type his name into the search bar on Facebook. Getting quite a few findings of those with the same name, you narrow the search. Joel Miller, Austin Texas His company logo comes up as its own page, and you notice it's changed, probably Tommy's idea as Joel never liked change.

Searching further you find his picture. There it is: Joel Miller, Boston Massachusetts

Huh?

You click on his profile while your heart thumps strongly within your ribcage. You wish you could let it out, set it free.

There he is, looking older than the last time you saw him, the grey more prominent in his hair, looking serious in his selfie. Even though it's just a selfie, a random moment in time, you can't help blushing, as if he's looking at you through the screen, appraising your own measure of aging. You wonder what you were doing that exact moment he took the picture.

But your hunger for knowledge needs to be fed, and scrolling down you swear you misread it at first.

Relationship status: Married

There's a roaring in your ears as your mouse hovers over the name next to those words: Tess Servopoulos

From there you check out her profile, see that she's from Detroit, five years younger than Joel. While his profile pic is only of himself, hers shows them together, on a hiking trail somewhere, Joel's arms around her from behind.

You slam the laptop shut, your blood buzzing in your veins. You feel distractingly alive, the heartache spreading through every muscle and nerve ending. Your past is brought to full fucking focus.

Against your better judgment you open the screen again and search through Tess's photos, specifically the ones of Joel. Most of the comments are from a couple of guys named Bill and Frank, who after some digging you come to find are married, and friends with Joel and Tess. You hit the jackpot when you find a video she uploaded, a fifteen-second clip of Joel holding a baby. Your heart stops when you realize the baby isn't his but Sarah's, and he's now a grandfather.

It feels like you're spying on them. You know so much about them by now, and the one glaring omission is children. They don't seem to have any.

Going back to Joel's profile, you hover the mouse dangerously over the Add Friend button. When you click it, it's the strongest rush you've felt in ages.

Weeks later, he hasn't accepted it. The sparkle of your anticipation is dulled, and with a heavy heart you click to cancel the request.

A couple years down the road you get a notification from Facebook Messenger while you're watching Narcos.

Message Request. Sarah Miller Hey! It's been forever! How are you?

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

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[xerotiny99]

Trouble in Paradise // Our Precious #3

Trouble in Paradise (Our precious series 3)

M.list ┃ Previous ┃ Next

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Reader

Warning: smut, dom!yunho, sub!reader, bits of food play (a little disgusting if you aren't into that kinda thing), frottage (non-penetrative sex), cunnilingus (oral sex), nipple/breast simulation, dirty talk & degradation (ofc, because Yunho's really got a foul mouth on him, and we like it <I need therapy>).

Note: do not proceed if you're uncomfortable or triggered by mentioned tags. Please, if you're really grossed out by "transferring" food from one's mouth to another's, then do not proceed. (Here, it's just strawberries, tho. So totally upto you 💀)

Gist: after the deliberate game night, you're left to contemplate about Jongho's and his flatmates' proposition of being their fucktoy. If that wasn't enough of an issue for you, a phone call from your parents leaves you in a mess. And the only way to relax during your hard times is something you know Yunho does all too well.

Word Count: 12,686

  "So, have you thought about it?"

You bite your lip, obviously contemplating every word of his.

"You know, Jongho just asked me about it a couple of days ago." you stifle a groan and shake your head, "agreed you all are very eager to have me on board, but I'm going to need some time to think, right?"

You take a deep breath, listening to his deep voice murmuring, "and we don't mind how long you take to give us your ultimatum. Of course, I am aware of the kind of plight you're put through. So, don't sweat it and don't make a decision you would end up regretting, okay?"

The grin on your face widens when you let his words sink in; well, he was right. But there was something which was quite tedious to figure out.

"Can I ask you something, Yunho?"

Hearing him lowly hum against your ear, you resist every urge to stuff your hand in between your legs; you roll over your stomach and grab a pillow to hold it under your chest. Your lethargic body relaxes almost immediately when you feel the soft coziness of the pillow and silk sheets draped over your bed. The mattress sinks once again when you move, shifting on your back to stare at the bland ceiling before pushing your phone closer to your ear.

Your heart thumped in your chest, words itching to be said, somehow balancing off the tip of your tongue yet having no grit to let them out. This question, the supposed doubt you had in your mind was troubling you ever since Jongho dropped you off at your dorms the next day of your game night. It was a fiddling question, not too serious or brooding, yet you had your conscience tied in a knot over it. The after-bearing sentiments of your proposed 'bargain' had been irking you to your ultimate limits.

What if, keeping a sex exclusive relationship with the people you barely know, turns out to be the worst decision of your life?

Or, what if your feelings come into play with this superficial relationship?

It may seem crazy, but spending only a week with Yunho had already made you sublime; you could only dream of experiencing the better half of a relationship because Yunho was certainly the boyfriend material, the exact kind you had been craving for years. As truth would have it, and as it would sting your morales, you had couple of exes who were shitty and contemptibly obnoxious. So, now that you had a man who was ticking off every single wish on your list, the profuse quandaries were messy.

"Princess, did you fall asleep?" he teases you through the phone, his tone making you envisage him smirking.

You might as well—after a hectic day of chemistry lectures coming into a play for your lethargy and hebetude, you certainly didn't mind letting off some steam before falling sleep.

"No, I'm here. I'm just..." you trail off, "...I'm thinking of ways to voice my thoughts."

"Have I ever judged you? Even though for the past week you've told me some really disturbing shit," he laughs, and you retaliate, "and don't act as if you didn't enjoy as much as I did narrating it to you."

"I did. I did," his laughter wrings out to a sigh, "don't think too much, okay? Be openly honest with me, ask me what you want to."

"I don't want to ruin your grocery store trip," you let out a soft titter and could picture him rolling his eyes, "understandable, because grocery shopping is all rainbows and unicorns anyway."

"If you had me there with you, it would've been fun," you mumble, turning on your side to stare the dingy wall of your dorm room.

"If that was the case, we'd probably not even make it to the store." He adds, "and we do not want to piss Seonghwa off. He's not pretty when he gets mad."

You drawl on your lower lip and squeeze your thighs together, "it's hard to believe, but okay."

"Ask, Angel." His stern and commanding tone makes your heart palpitate faster in your chest, fluttering sparks in your pussy as you prepare yourself to question him, "okay, it's a simple question, so...why me?"

"Why you, as in why we asked you to be our fucktoy?" he muses and you groan softly yet again, rolling back on your stomach to hold the pillow tighter under your chest.

"Yes. Why me? Why not someone else—maybe Wooyoung's friend, or San's or you know, Mingi's even." You grit your teeth, nervously chomping on your cheek to rid your anxiety.

Yunho chuckles, heartily, very proudly so because he wasn't sure if he had heard you right or not. "Do you think those losers have any girlfriends, Angel?"

"Why not?" you let a smile fleet on your lips.

"Because Wooyoung is a manwhore, he's slept with entire female population in his department and if it isn't obvious, I'm not interested in someone who could be a prospect carrier for herpes," he titters still, "I'm not slut-shaming him, but—ah well fuck it! I am slut-shaming him. Not my fault, he is a pathetic excuse for a human because hit and run is his specialty. Now, you tell me why any of his casualties would agree to our demands, let alone would want to sleep with us?"

You shake your head, trapping your lower lip with your teeth. "I get it. So, am I supposed to feel special?"

"Hmm, I'd rather consider myself lucky to have a cum-slut like you." you squeeze your thighs again, remembering the two nights you had spent with him. "Hold on a moment, let me park my car first."

You hum, restless and exhausted; your day hadn't been decorous since the morning, and considering you had two consecutive chemistry sessions today, you were definitely drained of your frisky energy. Yet, there's something about Yunho and talking to him while he drives around the town to get to the grocery store; at this point you questioned your motives and abilities—why were you getting turned on by a man driving his car to the store?

Maybe because it was very much attractive in your mind. Him, driving a hatchback (probably, you hadn't seen what car he drives), wearing a dress shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black shades on his eyes, the dainty rattling bracelets he usually adorns around his wrist—to conclude, the picture you were painting in your mind was the cause of your panties getting drenched.

Silence engulfs you, not necessarily, you could catch up on the soft shuffling sounds his clothes, or even his delicate grunts as he puts the car in park and gets out, slamming the door behind him. Although, there's a momentary hush when his phone gets disconnected from the car Bluetooth; he holds his phone close to his ear, while he straightens out a stray crease falling on his shirt near his waist.

"Angel?" he calls out, breaking your trance of staring at your study desk adjoining your bed, "you're still on line. Are you...?"

"I'm here, I did not fall asleep, though I think I might because of the very tiring day I've had." You pout, shifting on your bed to rest against the headboard, while you bring your legs to your chest.

Yunho chuckles, "ah my dear princess, I am coming over after I'm done with this tedious task. You're not gonna get much sleep then. I'd suggest you take a nap till I get done here."

"Oh." you bite your lips, glancing down at your chest. "Wake me up when you get here, and ah—p-s, I'm not wearing anything under my dress."

You hear him let out a breathy chortle, more like a scoff which taunts you into slipping your free hand to the hem of your silk dress. Coming back from the university, you were too exhausted to care about your outfit. You simply put on a coral shaded silk babydoll which barely covered your ass, with spaghetti straps and called it a day—of course, by also abandoning the underwear. So, you were practically naked under the flimsy silk dress, your breasts loose and hanging, your nipples taut from the friction and they really did poke through the material of your dress.  Both of you are quiet for a minute, but then you're also deeply submerged in the thoughts of him coming to your dorm room and fucking you. An annoying chime of bell dings in the background, followed by a soft sound of mechanical doors sliding open—that brings you down to earth, and so does his grumbling voice.

"An open invitation for me to wreck you in any way I want?" he muses, tittering as he moves past the doors and grabs himself a cart. "Princess, you better know what you're getting yourself into. I won't be gentle."

His warning only makes you wetter, your hand slithering past the hem of your dress to trace your fingers on your wet and slick folds. Biting back a whimper when the warmth of your fingers melts around your skin, you take a deep breath and throw your head behind. You knew your breathing would sound wispy to him if you tried to speak but you couldn't control yourself from not uttering a word.

"Yun—you can do—ahh..." you stutter, pressing your fingers against your mound, just above your clit, "I'll be waiting."

"Is my princess touching herself to the thought of me fucking her raw again?" he slurs his words, merely in a whisper considering he was in public. You were deaf to the somber tunes playing in the mart, you were too busy controlling your raspy breath because your desires were flaming you out.

"Yes..."

Yunho lets out a laugh and shakes his head, muttering under his breath then, "can't wait to taste that tight little cunt of yours. Rest well, princess."

He's the one to hang up on you; rather than throwing an imaginary fit, your mind is filled with the images of his cock straining in his pants as he meanders through the aisles of the supermarket. You might be too over in your head, but the exhaustion was slowly crawling up your spine. In no time you find yourself slipping against the headboard and slumping yourself properly in the bed. And in the few passing minutes, your eyes close and you're drifting away into your dreamland.

Dreamland. An alternate universe where you were living your wildest fantasies—maybe a little too realistically. The resonating voice of Yunho and his words were dwelling on your mind. Your imagination was coming to life, nonetheless in your dream. Soon, you're breathing out whimpers of desperation, squeezing your thighs together and murmuring your moans; you never thought you'd be having wet dreams, but you weren't fazed by the unpredictability. The tingling sensation in your pussy only grows when you envision Yunho with his head buried in between your legs, licking and lapping his tongue in your slit, over and over again.

A harsh tug at your lungs makes you breathe deeply, eyes squinting to the imaginary pleasure you were experiencing—with your brows scrunched together, you knew you were pooling in your lingerie. Though, in your dreams, Yunho doesn't stop, and it feels too real to not react to it; however, in the dark corner of your mind, you feel another presence.

Jongho.

The grinning man stands behind Yunho, arms folded over his chest, lips quivering with his eyes fixated on Yunho. Him watching Yunho eat you out was a turn on you didn't think you'd have. But there he was, with his twinkling gaze not once wavering off of you two. Why was it so hot? Why...? Out of the blue, a knot tied itself in your stomach and your guts loosen; the urge to just let go crosses your hazy mind but you try to hold it in. Until it gets too hard to bear and you're jerked out of your sleep.

You don't know how long it has been but when your eyes crack open, you're in direct contact with your open window and furling curtains. The space holds a beguiling view of the evening merging with the night, dark at the seams and bright in the middle. Purple and orange hues mixing together to a crisp shade of the fore-night; you're immersed in admiring the sky, too much to realize you had been holding yourself in. Though when the dire need starts tickling your stomach again, you rush out of your bed and head to the bathroom to relieve yourself.

Once your conscious clears out, you notice several things which have been cluttering your mind. One, you had a wet dream about Yunho and Jongho, two people you never thought you'd ever dream of. Two, as you're staring at your reflection in the mirror, you discern a wet patch on your dress, right near your lap; the dress must've been wedged in between your thighs when you were having that sensual dream. Three, you are really horny. Really really horny. Which sort of reminds you of yours and Yunho's conversation before you dozed off to sleep.

Biting your lip, you get out of the bathroom and dump yourself on the edge of the bed. Your eyes glance over at your desk to read the time on your alarm clock. 5:56 pm, it read, almost 6:00 pm you thought and heaved out a sigh. You run a hand through your hair and stroke out the tangles with your fingers. Searching for your phone, you find it near your pillow and grab it in a haste. When you watch the screen blare with the notifications, your breath hitches in your throat and then delves deeper down in your stomach.

Ten missed calls from your mom.

"Fuck," you curse under your breath and dial her number.

The ring resonates in your ear, infuriating and anxiety striking; yet you listen to it till it echoes out into the obnoxious droid voice telling you the 'number you've dialed is unavailable. Please try again'. You huff and call again but are met with the same outcome as before and it continues on for the next ten attempts you make to call her. Giving up at what you could remember as your twelfth try, you throw your phone aside and let the anxiety eat you out. How ironic was that, in your dreams it was Yunho, and in reality, it's your own mom.

You were certainly restless, weaving all these uncertain notions about your mom—your father too, but since you and your dad didn't really share much of an intimate bond, you weren't surprised to receive no calls from him. Soon, the anxiety reaches your gut, you're quivering with fear and second thoughts; what if it had been an emergency? What if your mom had something really important to say to you? What if you—what if you were too late to call her back? Everything was eventually gone in the blink of an eye.

Knock! Knock!

Two knocks sound on your door, and you flinch; even though you knew who was at your door, you couldn't shake off your perturbation regarding your family. It was true, you had stood up for yourself when your parents were against you pursuing your higher education in a different state but now all those moments were disappearing into a heap of worries. Did you even make the right decision of coming here? Given, you had scholarship and exempted tuition fee, was your decision to come here really ethical from all other perspectives?

Troubled, you drag your feet to answer the door. A trifling gasp is caught in your throat when instantly you're pushed against the door by someone's burly arms, closing the door in process. You were quite used to Yunho's scent, knowing he always carried around a delicate whiff of amber and peonies. The addicting scent rakes your senses to its fullest when his lips capture yours in a searing kiss. His lips move with yours, one arm around your waist tightly wound to keep you in place while his other hand cups a side of your face. Delighted, but mostly razed by his touches, a frail smile sculpts your lips, and you slide your arms all over his back to hold onto his shoulders.

The worries plaguing your mind soon melt away into the heat of your kiss; you're leaning in for more, diving headfirst into this beautiful mess when you know he's only going to tease you and not give in so easily. You're left whining when he bites down on your lower lip and tugs on it. Watching your lips wobble with a smirk on his plump ones, he chuckles softly and shakes his head. He grabs your jaw and pushes his fingers deep into your cheek for your mouth to open wide.

"Hey, Angel," one of his eyebrow twitches on his forehead when he calls out your name with a smirk. "You asked why you, right? I'll tell you why..."

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and sucks at a random spot on the juncture between your jaw and head. Warm tongue rubs your skin, before his teeth sink in and his lips suckle. You groan at the sensation, your mind numbing to any anxiety you felt before. His hand drops from your waist skims over the hem of your babydoll before diving under to trace it along your inner thigh; his fingertips graze against your wet folds before rubbing you down gently.

You prevent yourself from moaning out loud when his finger moves in and out of your slit at a slow pace. Holding your jaw tightly, he nudges your head back into the door.

"This—this fucking thing you have going," he mumbles against your neck, "I don't care about others and why they want you, but for me it's this—the way you're attuned with my body. And also, how fucking addicting you are to me."

You swallow thickly and throw your head further back against the door, banging yourself but you weren't bothered in the least. Hearing soft crinkles of a polythene bag, you peek at him through your half-lidded eyes; lustful gaze rummages around till your vision fills with the sight of him remaining buried in your neck, sucking deep purple bruises on your skin. The carnal darkness in your room is scattered when the lurid rays of moon wash over your invader. You notice him wearing a long coat over his outfit, you carefully listen to every crinkle of his dainty silver bracelets, and you're definitely lost in the appreciation of his teeth creating blotches on your skin.

"This thing started with us," he adds, a little breathless, "as much as I am willing to share you with my piddling flatmates, I can't pretend to be I'm okay with our arrangement. I'll be jealous, I'll be possessive. At certain times you might even see a side of me you probably won't find too adorable."

"I like it when you get jealous, though," you slur your words, smirking at him diligently. "I'm not sure what it is, but you rather have what belongs to you in your own ruthless ways."

Yunho coughs out a tiny chortle before stepping back and shaking his head; you stumble on your weak feet, watching him shrug off his long coat before flinging it over on the seat of the chair in front of your desk. Sighing dejected, as the anxiety once again starts bubbling under your skin, you make yourself comfortable on the edge of your bed. You kept your eyes on him as he loosens first few buttons of his pastel blue shirt—his bracelets keep chiming in time to time, with every movement of his hands. Just as you pictured him to be dressed; he wore a blue dress shirt adorning thin vertical white stripes and paired it with black trousers and boots. The faded blue hair of his was complementing the look, alongside the bits of silver jewelry he wore. He takes a step close to you and leans over to get to your face level; he slips a polythene bag in your lap and when you inspect into it, there are two plastic containers of peaches and strawberries. Did he get those for you? How thoughtful. He clears his throat, lips ghosting over yours as his arms plant themselves on either side of your thighs, trapping you against the bed this time. 

"The first time I saw you at the bookstore, all lost and bemused, like a deer in headlights—I wanted to ruin your innocence so fucking badly," he murmurs, his hot breath fanning your cheeks, "if only had you taken a peek in my head that day. It's a bit exhilarating, isn't it? —" he nudges you with a subtle nod of his head, his hands tracing along the length of your arms, "—how you had to be Jongho's friend. How you were dragged into this mess."

For the purpose of your sanity, your fingertips grasp onto the plastic containers, tightly so because the proximity between your faces kept on dithering to nothing. Running his hands back and forth along your arms, he trails one up to hold you in place by your neck; you gasp the sensation of his fingers tightening around your throat, sinking into your skin, suffocating you.

He presses his lips against yours in a mere touch to whisper, "maybe it's some sort of fate's blueprint or whatever. I don't really care what it is..." he hums out low and drags his words in a gentle mumble, "but I know there's a spark between us, between our bodies to be so profoundly in sync with each other."

Stifling a moan, you mutter against his lips, "are you done with this banal folly? If you are, then just shut up and fuck me."

He raises an eyebrow at you, a small smirk then fleeting on his lips. "Your wish is my command, princess."

"What...?"

You muse to yourself when he pulls away and takes a step back, he eyes you with a lustful twinkle in his eye and strides towards to the full length mirror you had accommodated beside your study desk for the time being. Your dorm wasn't much, to be honest. It was spacious, yes; a bed to a side, a study desk adjacent to it and other trivial things you had lying around, including a closet to the right side of the door, a mini fridge situated next to it, and to the left side of the door was the bathroom. Single room dormitories were expensive compared to the shared ones, but you didn't like the idea of having a roommate or two even.

"Was this the same mirror you used to send me that picture?" he questions, observing it closely.

"Yeah, what about it?" you place the plastic bag to your side and bite your lip, considering.

"Hmm," he purrs softly and picks the mirror up to place it right in front of you. "Let's set it here, shall we."

"What's on your mind, Yunho?" you whine softly, turning it into a chuckle when he prepares to get down on his knees before you. "Really...?"

As exasperated as your voice is, you can't hide your anticipation of your body when he slides himself closer to you. His hands on your thighs, sear a burn on your skin when he grips your flesh. Thumbs rub circles, till they're pressing down and sinking in; he pushes your legs apart, and you let him do as he pleases. One of his hands is already skimming across your thigh to the hem of your dress, pushing it up till it rolls around your chest. He holds it there, exposing your glistening cunt for his eyes to feast on.

"I said I'd be pining to taste you," he mutters in a breath, and gazes up at you, "so here I am. Unlike others, I deliver what I say, princess. And I've been craving a taste of you for quite a while now—since the day I saw you. But with the mirror in front, you can see it for yourself, the kind of mewling mess you become for my tongue."

He shrugs and pouts, tightening his hand which rested on your thigh, while he prompts you with a nod of his head to hold your dress up. You do as said, letting your trembling fingers clip on the hem of your dress to hold it up. Perusing your glistening cunt with his lust-filled eyes, his lips curl into a sly smirk. He slots himself closer to you, tracing his delicate lips down your abdomen, fluttering kisses which tickle your spine and your spark your cunt. Watching his reflection in the mirror was already fucking you up; but watching his reflection when his head is buried deep in between your legs was certainly savage. 

"And what are those fruits for? You were going to treat yourself, weren't you?" you mumble softly under your breath.

Dropping one hand to stroke his hair away from his forehead, you tangle your fingers in his luscious locks while trying to clasp your lower lip to bite back on any possible moans you might voice. His kisses trace up your stomach, up till he's giving your skin short kitten licks under your breasts. Your fingers pinch his hair, other hand struggling to hold your dress up—his thumbs help you soothe by rubbing circles on your thighs, engulfing you in a trance of comfort and ease.

"Of course, I'm treating myself," he mumbles under his breath, skimming his wet tongue down your abdomen to your stomach again. "Strawberries just taste better, you know."

Scoffing out in bewilderment, he presses a deep kiss just over your belly button and drags his lips slowly down, purposely teasing and nicking his teeth at your skin. You tilt your head back, your lips carved in a sleazy smile when the sensation of his soft lips flutter further down; your fingers tighten their hold on his faded blue locks, while other let's go of your dress. The silky material of your babydoll slips over his head, but he does not seem bothered as he continues littering soft kisses down your belly button.

And then, a moan hitches in your throat, anticipating. You're urged to squeeze your thighs together; only because his hot breaths were caressing your mound. His thumbs carried on rubbing circles in your flesh, soothing you bit by bit. In a way, his placid ministrations were helping you to keep your legs spread from him.

"Hmm, fuck," you gasp, voiceless, under your breath, screwing your eyes shut to the feeling of his soft lips pressing insanely close against your clit.

But you're left high when he pulls back, angling his head up to look at you; he wasn't fond of your dress slipping down your chest and waist, he didn't like it when your skin was covered. If you had the body to flaunt it, then why would you or anyone else want it covered? That was his logic, according to what you could stipulate from the week you had spent with him. Phrases and words like that made you an absolute puddle for him, you'd melt into a cold and sybaritic plash for him—all because you knew he would worship your body like the goddess you are, whenever he had the chance to. He has a chance now; he wasn't going to let it slip.

"You really like to tease me, don't you?" you squeak, listening to some shuffles of his clothes while your eyes peel open. "Now, what?"

"Getting rid of your lingerie," he grunts, huffing out a stubborn breath while lifting your babydoll over your head. Groping a handful of your tits, he buries his face in the valley of your chest and showers your skin with a few kisses. "I'd rather prefer you wearing nothing when you're around me. Can't get enough of this body, can't get enough..." he pauses, mulling over as his fingers dig into your fleshy tit, "...fuck, I'm all out of words to describe what this body means to me. Not just a fucktoy, no. Not at all. This body...hmm, this body should be displayed in a museum for being so fucking perfect. You're perfect for me, princess. Don't think otherwise, or else..."

Or else? You wondered. Not as much as exalting yourself in the way he was slurring his words, rambling even to get his point across. His teeth scratch your skin, his fingers now rolling your taut nipple; his other hand has been on your thigh all along, stroking circles to keep you levelheaded. You whimper at the sensation of his calloused hand kneading and groping one of your tits, while the other wasn't getting the attention it deserved. Turning your whimper into a whine, you look down at him, surprised to find him staring at you with the loudest smirk he could possibly scour.

"Aww, is my princess needy?" he tugs his lower lip out, brows scrunching down at the corners to feign his discretion. "My needy princess will get everything," he mutters against your skin, and leaves behind open mouth kisses when he gets to your other tit. "Hmmfyou—pfneeded—fthis?"

It drives you crazy how he was being muffled by your tit in his mouth; you glance down, biting your lip to avoid yourself from getting too aroused by the sight beneath. Oh lord, were you wrong. His lips had encased themselves around your flesh, tongue lapping and licking at your hardened peck; though, you could not resist being tempted by his doe eyes staring up at you with such nativity in them. His other hand squeezes your other tit, keeps it going till you're blabbering his name in wispy voice.

"Yunho...please," you shudder to the stimulation of your chest.

He hums around your tit, teeth slowly sinking in and biting lightly, his tongue was at it too, slicking it in his spit and unprecedented licks. Muttering a string of incoherent curses to yourself, you let your hand slip from his hair to the back of his neck, gripping tight. His moan gets muffled around your tit, sending spine-tingling vibrations to your cunt. You needed him, now. There was no way you could handle him playing with your chest like this.

He pulls his mouth back, reverberating a 'pop' sound on purpose as he does. "When I first saw you at the bookstore, I imagined you tasted like strawberries or peaches. So..." he blindly reaches out for the plastic containers of fruit he brought with him, while his other remains on your tit, caressing and pinching. "...coming across these at the grocery store was a good trip to the memory lane. I was reminded and I thought why not?"

"Let me devour you, princess."

You don't know what it was, but it was enough to make you leak. And in that while, you couldn't figure out how he got one of the strawberries out of the box you had placed to the side on bed before, and already had it in his mouth. The leaves were off the strawberry, conveniently—as he bites on it, the faint crimson juices slop past his lips and further down on his chin. You wanted to lick him clean. Maybe it was a silent yet coherent thought beeping in your mind, and maybe he had just read your mind. He slithers his hand along your arm and grabs the back of your neck, pulling you down, he lets his lips collide with yours.

Sweet. The redolent taste of strawberries fills up your mouth, eventually, a few bits of it when he forces his tongue in your mouth. There you are, frenching him while he shoves down the broken and mushy pieces of strawberries down your throat. Now, both of your chins are sticky and stained from the juices, though for you, a stray drop trickles past and falls perfectly in between your tits. 

A spark goes off in Yunho's mind when he feels the coldness of the drop dribbling over his hand which still played with your tit. You trace both of your hands to his shoulder and grip them tight, crinkling and creasing his shirt haphazardly—well, as if you cared.  He breaks the kiss and takes a deep breath in, while you're still breathless at how hard his tongue was shoving itself down your throat. A few pieces of strawberry are stuck in the gaps of your cheeks, and you swallow them down as you stare at him.

Picking out another strawberry, Yunho smirks slightly as he brings it to your mouth and prompts you to take a small bite out of it before he engulfs it whole. Again, the juices fill up his mouth, cumulative drops collecting themselves by the edge of his lips—but then don't spill, not until he buries his head back into your chest. A few drops roll down on your skin, his kisses soon turning into open mouth suckles. Pale stains of crimson trail with his mouth as he takes one of your tits in; it was the other one this time. His mouth wraps perfectly around your flesh, sucking and squeezing your tit with his lips and teeth. One of his hands snakes around your waist to rest on the small of your back, while the other cups a side of your face.

"This is awfully freaky," you mumble, dragging one of your hands to play with his hair falling on his nape. "But I like it freaky, you make it seem—ah," you gasp when you feel him give your nipple a gentle tug with his teeth, "—ah fuck, that feels good. So, fucking good..."

Your chest heaves up and down in his face, too bothered by him and his innocent eyes gazing up at you. The warmth of his mouth and the vague gelidity of the strawberry juices dissipates when he detaches himself from your chest; his smirk grows in his cheek, perusing the piece of art he had left behind on your chest. The sticky red strawberry pulp had adhered to your skin quite magnificently and he couldn't be prouder.

"This is just the tip of the iceberg," he winks, swallowing the remnants of fruit in his mouth. "I can get freakier."

Confidence in his eyes strikes you in the best way possible; you for sure know your cunt had drenched your bedsheets by now, all slick with the arousal his mouth was causing.

"Then get freakier, I need more from you."

In the erratic moment of time, he grabs another strawberry from the containers and props it right over your mound. The frigidity of the fruit was searing against your skin, that is only until he had fisted his hand around it and squeezed the life out of it—the pulp and juices trickled down, slotting itself perfectly in your folds and slit.

"Ah, fuck—you fucking bastard," you half-moan-half-chuckle, but it soon turns to an astonished gasp when his hot breath casts itself on your cunt before his wet tongue licks up your slit. "You—fuck—you fucking—you fucking freak!" you succumb to breathlessness and close your eyes tight; clutching his nape with both of your hands, you held onto him for your dear life.

He chortles against your slick folds and delves further down; the tip of his nose nudges with your clit at first, and then slides along your slit. How fucking good did that feel? You moan, your chest ripping itself apart when you do. It was unlike anything you had felt, especially considering pleasures received through oral stimulation. Yunho knew what he was doing, and he was doing it really well. His tongue licks up a stripe, lips sucking around your clit for a hot second before he drags them down to repeat the long and hard licks. You were squirming with a want, the oh-so sweet want of release.

Yunho's hands grip your inner thighs, his thumbs nudge and spread your cunt apart for the remaining pulp and juice of strawberry to roll down in between your folds. He leans in close and picks out the granules with his teeth, biting down softly as he does. It sends tremors under your skin, forces a saccade series of moans and groans out of you while your eyes squint tighter to let out tears. The pleasure was immeasurable, wooing you off into a faraway land of orgasm and joy.

You were delighted, so delighted to find your stomach knotting itself without having to be stimulated with penetration. He continues to lick and suck on your folds, gradually giving your clit some attention with his tongue while his hands groped your thighs and fingers dug in; they were leaving bruises tomorrow, but you were looking forward to it. Those handprints of his, they were going to be something you'd love to show off to your friends or someone.

"Fuck, Yunho. Your mouth—" you take a breath in through your mouth, "—it feels like I'm in paradise."

When your eyes open you see stars twinkling in the corner, your sight was full of them eventually—that is, as he carried on with his ruthless licks and flicks to your clit. The knot was intensifying, if anything, you really were on the verge of letting yourself go and watching you cum all over his face. Your face twitches and you're about...

Ring! Ring! Ring!

The high you once sought to, was now a deliberate low laying fruit; the knot disappears as the blaring sound of your phone's ringtone grows louder. You click your tongue, and blindly swat your hand on the bed next to you to find your phone. As you would recall, you did fling it somewhere when you went to answer the door. However, Yunho wasn't bothered by the deafening rings percolating in the room, he continues. A man on a mission. You mentally groan at that thought and sigh heavily when you find your phone in your hand. Checking the caller ID, you couldn't help but swipe the screen to answer the call.

Mom's calling you. She's calling you back. You needed answers, something to appease you about the ordeal where she felt the need to call you ten times.

Pressing the phone close to your ear and while gasping for air, you mumble, "he-hey mom."

"Oh, hey Angel—wait, did I get you at the wrong time?" you shake your head, trapping your moans in your mouth, "uh-huh, I was worried—I was worried about you and da—and dad. Giving me ten misse—ten missed—fuck."

All breath is knocked out of your lungs when you feel Yunho's tongue slither along your slit and his spit cover you up in its warmth; you're left to drawl on the remaining air in your lungs, specifically when he places his hand on your lower abdomen and forces you to lean behind into the mattress. Your back arches, your hips lift off the edge slightly for him to fix himself better between your legs. The angle your body now holds, gives him the perfect view of your hole. You squirm, wiggling your ass and bucking your hips into his face to get that much needed contact you had been craving for so long.

"Keep it hush, princess," he whispers, glaring up at you, "and watch your mouth when you're talking to your mother, hmm?"

You slightly glance down, hand trembling to hold the phone close to your ear—his face was breathtaking, glistening with your juices and the saccharine scent of the strawberry mixing in with your musk. The tip of his nose goes back to being buried in your slit, while his tongue rolls on your clit till it trails down to your hole.

Knowing where this was headed, you clutch the sheets under you and press your lips together. You so hoped your mom wasn't getting any ideas in her head about why your words were slurred or whimpered.

"Angie, I can call some other time," she murmurs from the other line, reminding you that you were still on call with her.

"Mom, just—just tell me—fuuc—hmmm," you cry out in pleasure when his tongue thrusts into your cunt. "I'm good—I'm good, you had me—hmmm—you had me worried—it's—"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, darling," she interrupts you, her tone soft and gentle. "The thing is, your dad..." she sighs and continues, "...in the last quarter of your dad's business—we're going under, Angel."

She comes straight to the point and bemused you; but your mind is occupied with Yunho's tongue shoving in and out of your cunt, slurping your juices, squelching your fleshy folds, and pressing the tip of his nose against your slick slit. You were done for better this time. The familiar knot ties itself in your stomach again. This time, your body rather hoped you'd get to come undone and release your tension all over his face. But, Yunho had some different ideas in his mind.

Hearing a bit of static from the other side, your mom continues, "you're understanding the weight of this situation, right? It brings me no peace to tell you that," she pauses and you hum, sinking your teeth further down in your lower lip as Yunho's tongue carries on with the abuse, "we can't support your accommodation, Angel. The tuition is already paid for, which we have no concern about since you're on your scholarship—but your dormitory fees, they'll be—you'll have to pay them yourself. Maybe, get a job? Or look for a new residence, where you have to share your rent?"

Her words were going over your head, regardless you were able to catch up on few phrases which sounded important and held grave promise to them. 'Look for a new residence.' Okay. 'Get a job?' Surely something you weren't looking forward to. But 'sharing a house with strangers?'A big no-no.

Though, all you could do was nod along and release your lip from your teeth to mumble, "sure—sure, fine. I'll—mom, I'll call you later at night—I promise, I'm busy—fuck."

The moment the curse escapes your mouth in the form of a moan, you hang up the call and squint your eyes shut; Yunho was thumbing your clit at an accelerated pace, stroking circles to let your orgasm delve deeper into your soul. Your phone slips out from your hand, falling down on the ground with a subtle thump while you bring both of your hands to rest them around his neck. Oh how tempted were you to push his head down, to make his tongue reach deeper into your swollen cunt.

"Fuck, Yun—Yun, I was on call—I was on a fucking call with my mom—fuck, couldn't you—couldn't you tone it down?" you stutter, trying to steady your erratic breath. 

Yunho hadn't stopped thrusting his tongue into you, neither had he stopped stroking your clit with his thumb—he doesn't utter a word and continues to do so. You were done with his teasing, huffing to yourself, you push his head down against yours cunt; now his tongue reached deep, submerged completely in your flesh and your walls clenched tightly around him.

"Yes, fuck, yeah, feels good. So good," you drool, throwing your head back and arching yourself to let the pleasure wash over you.

More importantly, your orgasm was only a few thrusts away; maybe a few flicks of his thumb could have you mewling at him as you release all over his tongue and face. The imaginary sight in your mind was riling you up in the worst ways already—you wonder what it'd be like if it were to come to life. Now that you do think about it, your dream comes crashing through—merging with the reality to spread goosebumps on your skin. Just imagining Jongho being present in the room, watching you get fucked by Yunho's tongue, was pushing you further to your edge.

"Yunho...? I'm—" you tap his shoulder twice, but he doesn't budge and continues to push his tongue in your cunt.

"Fuck." You yell and then scream out his name when you feel your walls clenching around his tongue one last time, "Yunho!"

His thumb stops toying with your clit, but his face remains buried in between your legs, his thumb having quit shoving itself into your cunt. You're flooding down his face, squealing and mumbling his name under your breath in a voiceless chant before catching a beat to respire properly. In the daze of your orgasm hitting you like a bucket of bricks, you hear him hum and nuzzle his head further into cunt; a second passes by in the heat of the moment, and he reels himself back. Leaning away eventually, he straightens himself and wipes his face with the back of his hand, getting some of your slick on the sleeves of his shirt.

"Are you insane?" you breathe out.

"Insane to get my princess cum on my face," he chuckles and shakes his head, "I hope you're feeling better now because I felt you tense up when you were talking to your mother."

He begins unbuttoning his shirt, one by one he undoes the button and shrugs his shirt off his shoulders. Exposing his toned body, he throws his shirt off to somewhere and gets on his feet. You're still trapped in the stupor of your orgasm, to even notice him shimmy out of his pants. Clad in his black briefs, he leans down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss.

"I've got a problem, Yunho," you murmur, and he nods, "and is it bad enough to keep us from fucking?"

Rolling your eyes you scoff, ready to shove him away, "are you really thinking with your dick, right now?"

He traces his lips down your jaw, leaving behind open mouth kisses along your skin to your neck. His hands roamed to her bare back, skimming his fingertips up front till he drags them painstakingly slow to your stomach and then further to your clit. You hug his shoulders, tight enough to hold onto him.

"You are less tense now, princess. I'm guessing my tricks are working, so...why won't I think with my dick?" he chuckles, kneeling down before you to slot himself between your spread legs.

"It's not about that, Yunho," your whine, suppressing a titter to yourself. "I'm practically homeless."

"What?" he gasps, amused and pulls back to stare at you, a confused smile sculpting on his lips.

"My parents are having some financial troubles; they are falling short to pay me for my accommodation," you pout, noticing the tent in his briefs, "so, I have to find a new place to live. And I don't where I can find an affordable apartment."

The worry lines on your forehead, concerns Yunho too. He licks his lower lip and sighs, "Angel, you can live with us."

"What now?" you massage circles into his shoulders as you hold them.

"Yeah, we've got a spare room in the loft. Well, Jongho occupied it not too long ago, but he can surely move back in with Mingi." He explains, wrapping his hands around your waist, "you don't have to pay us rent because you're going to be paying us in a different way...in all, it's the best arrangement you could ever ask for."

You think, muse and contemplate. To one side of your head you were agreeing with his proposition, but on the other side, you were marred with the thought of living with eight men out of which five were sexually interested in you and two had already fucked you good. Well, you're given no choice but to agree and get along with his deal.

"Hey, you don't have to give me an urgent answer," he mumbles, thumbing the sides of your waist, "after we're done here, you can come on over and we'll talk it out with Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Capisce?"

"Why, are they supposedly the alpha males of the household?" you joke, giggling softly.

"Technically," Yunho shrugs, "Hongjoong owns the loft and he was generous enough to let us stay and share the rent. It started with me and Seonghwa, others eventually joined us through mutual friends—it was the beginning of our freshman year, so..."

"I'd need their permission?"

Yunho scoffs playfully, "princess, no. They'd be happy to welcome you in. But this is supposedly my suggestion and I fall a little short on making such decisions as compared to them. It's better if you talk with Hongjoong."

You sigh, "fine."

A smile fleets on your lips and it delves deeper in your cheek. "So, are you going to ease my mind or not?"

"You don't need to tell me twice, princess," he smirks, diving in to kiss you passionately so.

You kiss back with the same want, same heat crawling up your gut as his; the intensity wasn't dithering, neither was your anticipation. He pushes you back on the bed till you're laying under him and he straddles your lap. The kiss never stops, even when he fumbles with the waistband of his briefs to get them off in a haste. He somehow manages to tug his briefs down till his knees and his hard cock pokes your inner thigh, until the tip of his cock brushes past your lower stomach. His hands are back on you, holding your neck to position you better to deepen the kiss; his tongue wriggles its way in your mouth. For the moment it does, you feebly taste the redolence of strawberries and your cum on his tongue. There goes without saying, you still couldn't believe he let you cum on his face.

But who's to judge his preferences? You aren't a saint either. Definitely not.

Moaning into the kiss, you drag your hands up his back and let your fingertip tickle his skin. Breathless, Yunho breaks apart from the warmth of your mouth, missing the way his tongue was shoving down your throat, and uses one of his hands to pump his cock, while his other supports his weight when he places it next to your head. His back arches, his fingers stroking the reddened tip of his cock as bits of precum drips from the slit—he angles his hand in a way to spread his precum along the shaft with the palm of his hand.

"Fuck," he grunts, closing his eyes shut tight and continuing to pump his cock into his hand.

For you, this was definitely a sight more than breathtaking to witness. How often do you see a pretty blue haired man stroke his cock so eagerly for you? It went on to show how sorely he needed you and yearned to fuck your cunt. This only takes you back to the time when he had railed you so good and hard; you knew it he was untamed and being so feral with that huge cock, was indeed going to deliver the best.

You let out a soft whimper, adding in to the gentle sounding moans of his. Insane, absolutely insane. His moans were pretty, just like him and you know you could never get enough of him moaning.

"Take a deep breath for me, princess," he indicates you with a nudge of his head while he opens his eyes to look at you.

Taking a breath, you prepare yourself for his cock. He chuckles at you, admiring your intrepidity as he eases himself into you. Your face contorts in pain, with only his tip submerging in you. Knowing the pain would soon subside into pleasure, however it doesn't. Your brows twitch and your eyes squint tight enough for tears stream down the side of your face; your mouth falls agape, wide to the ache your walls sensing with the stretch.

"Ah—Yunho!" you gasp out loud, breaking out into a yell. "It hurts, stop."

And he stops. With same ease, he guides his cock out of you and cups your face immediately after noticing the tears in your eyes. You flutter your gaze across him, a little blurry but you still discern the concern etched on his face. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, voice gentle and wispy. "Am I hurting you?"

"It just," you hiccup, "it hurts like hell when you..."

"Oh," he trails off, "is it because of last week? I think it is. I was too rough back then, wasn't I?" Sighing, his caresses your cheeks and leans in to kiss a stray drop of your tear away from your lips, "you're not used to such a huge cock, are you? It's fine. I'll have to be more careful with you next time—were you feeling any discomfort after that night?"

"I'm not sure, I felt sore and really raw at that time. Maybe I couldn't decry between vaginal tears and soreness," you mumble, assuring him with a faint smile before continuing, "look, it's not your fault. I failed to identify—"

"God, Angel," he groans, "it's not your fault, and for fucks sake put the blame on me. I should've been gentle with you for the first time. You're not used to it—ugh, never mind, I'll have to get you used to my size otherwise..."

"I'll be fine, stop worrying so much," you cup his face in your palms and reassure him. "Now, can we just...let's just forget about it and focus on making you feel good. It's only fair if I return the favour."

You lick your lips and let your tongue poke out through your lower lip; glancing down at his still hardened cock, you drool and your eyes twinkle with lust. He grabs your chin and forces you to meet his eyes.

"I am not so fond of blow-jobs," he says, smirking and then looking around till his eyes fixate on your chair and study desk. "Get on your feet, I've got a better idea." He then stands up and holds his hand out for you.

"Okay, mister," you roll your eyes and set your wobbly feet down, grabbing his extended hand before pulling you close to his body.

Your naked bodies crash into each other and heat emanates from both of you; his arms wrap around your waist and tug you around. He positions you in front of the chair, and pushes you down by the small of your back to have you leaning over the chair. He's right behind you, situating his cock perfectly against your ass which was raised high in the air.

"Legs apart," he whispers his command too close to your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

Slapping your inner thighs, he establishes a small distance between your legs and slips himself into it, his cock slides easily amid your thighs, a little below your folds. The tip of his cock rubs against your slit, rubbing back and forth—you're driven wild with the sensation, and even more so when his hands grope your thighs from behind. His fingers dig, sink in tight enough for bruises to appear. Again, you looked forward to it, being decorated with his marks. Perfect for a possessive man like him.

"Fuck, this is your idea to make yourself cum?" you dreamily laugh out, throwing your head behind on his chest.

"Your thighs feel godly, princess," he susurrates, licking up the shell of your ear before biting down hard on your earlobe. "Squeeze them."

You do as he says, squeezing your thighs together to feel his cock slip in and out at a steady pace. He bucks his hips a little higher to let himself rub against your slit in long and consistent strokes. This was certainly new to you, yet you were getting stimulated close to your second orgasm. You didn't think you would because this wasn't the same as the time he had actually penetrated you. There's no space for you to complain, you were slipping close into the world of pleasure and sensuality to give a damn about whether his cock was pounding in you or fucking your thighs.

"Fuck, just as I fucking thought—just as I fucking imagined what it would be to fuck your thighs," he whimpers close to your ear and later on you realise he was leaning over to kiss your cheek. "Princess, you've got unquestionably the best thighs to fuck. So thick, so tight—just fucking perfect."

You know he had lost it riding himself in between your thighs but you, on the other hand hadn't quite recovered from your last orgasm yet. Or even figured out how you weren't alerted to your vaginal injuries. It'd be unfair to call them injuries, they were basic nicks in the muscles of your vagina and cervix, from tremendous and tedious sexual activity. Pushing those thoughts to the far corner of your mind, your knuckles turn white while holding onto the chair, you were starting to get hot and bothered—so close to your orgasm again.

His cock thrusted along your cunt, hard and slick with his precum, which supposedly provided enough lubrication for his strokes to be smooth and pleasant. Your skin was covered with it however, and you were resisting to picture how his cum would paint your thighs. Picking up his pace, he thrusts faster yet keeps them long and sharp. Your walls clench around nothing, while your stomach drops to your knees; your legs buckle under you, under the weight of sensory overload his cock was proffering.

He flattens his palms on your thighs and gives you light slaps on either of your thighs, "we need to keep them thick and fleshy like this. I bet others would enjoy fucking them as much as I am right now."

"Hmhm, yeah..." you moan, shutting off your cognitive dissonance and mumbling along with him, "thick for you—thick for Seonghwa—thick for everyone."

"Ah, you're already blabbering bullshit, aren't you?" he titters heartily, pulling his hips back and driving them in sharply. "My cock makes you dumb, doesn't it? Hmm...a pretty little slut like you would be dumb for anyone's cock, isn't it?"

His taunts make you shake your head, lips parting to whimper, "no, fuck, only for you—only for you, Yunho."

"That's what I thought," he gasps, increasing his back and rattling his hips into yours.

His death grip is back on your thighs, his eyes are shut tight as he lurches forward to rest his forehead on your shoulder; sweaty chest presses up against your back, while you hold onto the chair for your dear life and to sedate the tremors his thrusts which caused your body to keel. The same tightness grows heavy in your gut, your spine tingling with how close you were to your second orgasm—your nails scratch off the varnish on the chair, scrapping bits of wood in them as he plunges his cock ruthlessly in between in your thighs. You squeeze them firmly, sensing the knot coming undone in your lower belly.

"Are you going to cum for me, princess?"

You nod your head, closing your eyes shut and leaning back into his touch; the heat creeps up your stomach and in a second's beat, the tension slips into comfort. You're releasing all over his cock, splashing on his and your thighs, a bit on the floor too. This time, you were knocked out for good; this orgasm was far more intense than the last one, far more overpowering too. You're mumbling his name like a chant, while he lets a laugh rumble in his chest.

"Fuck, my princess really made a mess on my cock, and everywhere else." he adds, "now, be a good little whore and help me cum too."

Without any warning, he goes even harder and faster than before, causing your body to convulse to his relentless thrusts. His untamed desire was evident in the way his fingers were bruising your skin, how tightly he was groping your thighs to stable himself from his ever increasing pace of his thrusts. He could go for long, and he does; your brain is turned to a mush in regard to the time or energy—his cock keeps hitting your folds, and the tip keeps abusing your clit.

You were past the point of sanity, breaking apart at the seams with your foul mouth screaming out his name and moaning it as if he was your god—technically, he was starting to show you stars, galaxies and miracles behind your shut eyes. All this from only rubbing himself between your thighs; it makes you wonder how much wilder the sex would get once you get to move in with him. Those ideas are for later, right now, you were vicious with his cock.

"Princess, I'm close. Don't worry—fuck—squeeze them tighter, for me—fucking please," he babbles out in despair, and you clasp your thighs even tighter on his cock.

"Fucking perfect."

He words out in a heavy breath, bucking his hips in your thighs as the tip of his cock remains close by your slit; heaving out, the warmth of his cum coats your folds and your slit. Gradually, he starts pulling back, still letting his cum sputter on your skin before he releases all of him on your ass and back. A few of it streaks down your butt-crack, eventually seeping down your butthole. You're groaning out in pleasure and possibly due to overstimulation. Nonetheless, you were satisfied, more than satisfied to know he had painted your back with his cum.

You're both breathless when he leans away from your shoulder and steps back; his small laugh resonates around you before dissipating into a soft titter.

"Princess, you just fucking know how to take a cock, don't you?" he mumbles in his post-orgasm daze, while grabbing his trousers to pull out his handkerchief. "Well, let's get you cleaned and then we'll take a shower together. We are both...sticky."

"Sounds good to me," you manage to gibber, not sure if it was audible or not. "I could use a hot shower and thorough cleaning after this."

"Hmm, I'll gladly help you clean."

You're too weak to turn around, so he helps you swivel on your feet while he holds your body close to his for support. Lethargic and drained, your eyes were closing themselves involuntarily. It was the lack of sleep—the sleep deprivation was slowly catching up with you.

"Keep your eyes open, princess. I need you here with me, okay?" his voice soothes a nerve in your mind, and you nod, opening your eyes. "Guess I'll have to be quick."

"Of course."

The rest of the evening, basically half-evening-half-night goes by smoothly. You both did take a shower together without engaging in anything and got rid of the sweat and stench of sex—but unfortunately, your room still reeked of sex, sweat and cum. You didn't care. Not particularly when you were dragged out of your dorm room by Yunho, after getting dressed in fresh clothes. You wore a long and oversized hoodie, shaded black and didn't bother wearing shorts or pants underneath as it covered most of your skin. To your surprise, as soon as you had your lip gloss on (because you liked lip gloss more than lipsticks), he had your hands intertwined and he was pulling you out of the door. He was eager for you, and the seemingly harmless arrangement you were about to propose to Hongjoong and Seonghwa.

You would've never guessed that this man drives a red corvette stingray if you hadn't been strapped in the passenger's seat of his car. An innocent looking man like him, driving such a flashy sports car, was indeed a shock to you. Looks can be deceiving, so who really cares? Everything passes by you in a blur when he speeds down the road; eventually, the city lights turn into streaks of neon haze and starbursts, until you're by the complex where his loft was located. He parks his car, and helps you out. Your hand in his, he guides you in and takes you to the loft.

Your heart is in your throat, not because you were back to this place with Yunho by your side but because you were too scared to anticipate Hongjoong's and Seonghwa's judgment on your proposition. This has to go well, and it will. Right? You have Yunho with you. What could possibly go wrong?

Yunho unlocks the door and pushes it to usher you inside. His hand never leaves yours; his grip doesn't loosen up for even a second as his pulling you further up to the living room. You and he had taken off your shoes in a haste and did not bother slipping into the house slippers. However, the commotion of your footsteps and Yunho's constant murmurs of 'it'll be okay', 'they won't bite you' and 'just relax' had gotten certain attention from the people sitting on couch.

You're soon greeted with San and Jongho, especially Jongho who has a twinkling and excited smile carved on his face. Both of them were seated on the couch, San having a laptop perched on his lap while Jongho made his observations on the screen—they were clad in their night clothes, San wearing a pair of black pajamas with white cats all over it and Jongho, a pastel blue pajama set with brown bears on it.

"Angel!!" he glees, catching your glimpse next to Yunho, "what brings you here so late at night?" his tone simmers down to being confused.

San adds, "yeah, it's not our game night tonight."

"Guys, stop pestering her, okay?" Yunho groans, looking around, "where are Hongjoong and Seonghwa?"

"Seonghwa's in the kitchen—"

"What is it Jongho...oh hey, Angel!" Seonghwa interrupts Jongho and quickly turns it into an elated greeting. "Should I be concerned for you to make your appearance this late into the night—can't ignore the fact that Yunho's here too. Are you two eloping?"

He's walking out of the kitchen, draped in a variedly stained apron and a wooden spatula in his hand. He looks gorgeous as usual, covering his white turtleneck and black trousers with a grunge red apron—not only his outfit made you quiver, but his hair was also pushed back and tied in a small ponytail behind. If he looked this alluring even when you move in, then you don't think you'd be able to resist the urge to suck him off every time he appeared in front of you.

Yunho clears his throat, aggressively and it becomes a series of wretched coughs till he's gasping for air. "Don't go too hard on me, Hwa. You know how I am."

"Fuck your preferences, Yun," Seonghwa rolls his eyes, "what is the point in bringing Angel here?"

"Well, I'll let her explain it," Yunho sighs, giving you a nudge of his head.

"Uhh, yeah, I need to talk," you mumble, scratching the back of your neck with your other hand.

Your words alert Jongho and San, and they're saturated completely on you, regardless of a certain video playing on San's laptop. Seonghwa hums along, encouraging you with a nod of his head while biting his lower lip. Yunho only stares at you, keeping a frail smile on his face.

"So, go on."

A coarse yet pitched voice booms through the room, followed by nifty footsteps of the man you had been waiting to come. You assumed he was in his room or something, but not thinking he could be at work. Hongjoong strides in, running one of his hands through his hair and other stuffed in the pocket of his jogger shorts. You watch him adorning a black tank top over his toned chest and nothing else; his complexion was striking but wasn't as pale as Yunho. A pop of melatonin makes his skin a little tanned.

"I suppose, Yunho bringing you here is rather crucial for you." He says, walking over to sit next to Jongho. Spreading his legs apart and relaxing back on the couch, he repeats, "go on, Angel."

You clear your throat, "I—I actually—I actually need a place to stay. My parents—"

"—she's in no condition to pay for her university accommodation, so she's looking for a new place to stay. I asked her to come with me since we have a room to spare," Yunho interjects, his eyes trailing over at Jongho, "you'll have to move back in with Mingi, baby bear. You're understanding enough, right?"

Jongho ponders for a minute before silently nodding, "sure. I don't mind. Angel needs it more than me."

You can't help but crack a smile at him, heart palpitating faster in your chest. Yunho could hear your heartbeat, and he squeezes your hand to ease you out. Seonghwa notices it and smiles to himself, shaking his head at the two of you before excusing himself from the living room and going back into the kitchen.

Hongjoong finds it amusing, his lips twisting in a knowing smirk before he asks you, "that's not the issue, Angel. What I need to know from you is—rather what I'm aching to hear from you is, your riposte to my proposed idea of you..."

"I agree to it," you're too quick to reply, taking the man off guard and others too.

San remains confused because he had no clue what you were talking about. Now that he is here, does it mean he'll also be involved in this reverse harem thing you have going on with others? If San gets involved then would the others be involved too? Of course you're thinking about Wooyoung and Mingi, one is a reputed manwhore and other is a man who resents you. That too for no apparent reason—or for something you don't know.

"You do?" Jongho squeals, questioning you.

"Yeah, I don't mind being your..." you trail off, glazing your eyes over at San.

From the kitchen, you hear thudding of metal dishes and spoons, soon Seonghwa comes rushing out with his wooden spatula.

"She agrees?" he asks, and Yunho nods, "she said she'd need more time to think about it, but I guess..."

"Are you agreeing to it because of your living conditions, Angel?"

There it was, Hongjoong comes straight to point. Even his stare was detrimental for you, and how insanely intense it was to pierce through yours. Hongjoong clearly liked to dominate submissive women like you—he has how own share of kinks and customs he likes to follow in the bedroom. And some of them, might seem too unconventional. You didn't want your mind to stray too far off, but he seemed like the type who definitely delighted himself in playing with chains and cuffs.

"I'm not!" you retort, explaining yourself further, "I gave it some thought and I don't think it's a bad idea."

Your pout melts through the stubborn and ice cold heart of Hongjoong's—for a man with domineering aura, he sure is letting himself submit to you. He doesn't let his stoicism waver on his face, rather his purses his lips together and spreads his legs apart further.

"Don't think it's a bad idea?" he repeats your words in coherence to your judgement, "Angel, we don't want you doing anything you are uncomfortable with. Your consent means a lot to us."

"And you have it," your pout grows, and you vaguely point at Seonghwa and Yunho, "I've already gone to the extreme with him and him."

Hongjoong chuckles, and keeping his lips parted, his canines rest against his lower lip, "we'll add it to the very list of your sex chronicles with us."

Your face heats up and turns red, before you could open your mouth to retaliate, San pipes in, "so, you've discussed this before? She's our new...fucktoy?" he cringes thereafter, shrugging his shoulders and scrunching his face in disgust, "with all due respect, let me rephrase, you are our new arrangement to satisfy our sexual desires?"

You nod, your heart hammering in your chest. "Yeah, one and only."

"Are you really sure, Angel?" Jongho wants a confirmation from you and smile at him, wide and bright, wanting to erase his doubts. "Then I guess we no longer have to wait for your answer."

Seonghwa chimes in, "so, when are you moving in?"

"Oh, once this month gets over. There's only a week left anyway," you shrug, smiling a little, "I'll start packing right away."

Yunho hugs you from behind, kissing your neck; first you're caught off guard, second, he's doing this right in front of everyone and third, his scent was driving you crazy.

"I'll help you." He mumbles against your skin.

"Yunho, you know the ground rules," Hongjoong threatens and the man who was sticking to you like glue before, now detaches himself from you in an instant. "So, less P-D-A."

"Ugh, ground rules," Yunho whines, but steals a kiss from your cheek. "I'll go get changed and you are staying over tonight. Let's have dinner together, shall we?"

"Of course!" San sings, "we'll get to know you better too. I bet Wooyoung would be pretty excited to know more about you."

"Speaking of him, where is he?" Hongjoong inquires and Jongho answers, "it's the peak hour, where else would he be?"

Hongjoong nods, getting his answer and Seonghwa sprints back into the kitchen not long before announcing, "we've got enough food for you too, so you're staying here."

You quietly agree to him and swallow thickly, striding over to sit on the lone chair adjacent to the couch. That's when Mingi comes into the room from upstairs, his hair tousled and messy, wearing grey sweatpants and a grunge green graphic sweatshirt. He eyes you as he crosses the living room, glaring at you to set his point through. He didn't want you here. But, he couldn't go against Hongjoong's or Seonghwa's wishes.

"Look who's finally out of their room!" Jongho cheers, laughing and joking around before clearing his throat and informing Mingi, "oh well, guess what, Mingi. I'm shifting myself back into your room. Angel's moving in with us and taking over the spare room."

"What?" Mingi grunts, burning his eyes on you, through you, in all hating your presence in the room altogether.

"Y'all really addicted to this whore's cunt, aren't ya? Keep me out of your fucking deal. I ain't getting involved." 

And that fucking hurt your soul. But you keep quiet and while you're at it, Yunho walks in the heated room—Hongjoong and the others are about to defend you when Yunho does it himself. He adorns a conceited smirk and folds his arms over his chest, they bulge out through his grey hoodie somehow, but your eyes travel down to somewhere where they shouldn't have. His jogger shorts are too thin to show off the outline of his cock, he wasn't hard, but he was huge. Why are you drooling on his cock when you're having trouble in paradise? Not that you hadn't seen his cock before. And you are his damsel in distress.

"That's more for us then, Min." Yunho steps closer to him and gets all in his face,

"If you're not involved in this with us, then it's one less person we'll have to share her with."

M.list ┃ Previous ┃ Next

[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.

[inevitablysomber-dark]

Under The Radar 1

Started a new AU called Affectionate Obsession, with Steve Rogers as the first Character Story Series to be told I hope you all enjoy and don't be afraid to tell me what you think.

Dark! Steve Roger x Kiwi! Reader

Warnings:

This story contains themes of emotional manipulation, power imbalance, dubious consent, toxic relationships, and psychological control. It deals with difficult subjects such as forced dependency and mental/emotional abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

Description: Kiwi thought she had her life under control—until a chance invitation to the Maldives from her former friend pulls her into a web of manipulation and control. What starts as a luxurious vacation turns into a slow descent into captivity as Steve, the wealthy man funding her escape from reality, begins to tighten his grip on her life. Now trapped in a toxic relationship where affection becomes control, Kiwi must navigate a world where every decision is made for her, every boundary crossed, and escape seems impossible.

Is it too late to reclaim her freedom, or will she succumb to the life Steve has crafted for her?

Story Masterlist

The low hum of the factory machinery buzzed in my ears as I sat in the breakroom, staring at the sad sandwich I’d slapped together this morning. How did I end up here? After years of hard work and late-night study sessions, my Finance degree didn’t seem to mean anything anymore. Instead of crunching numbers and living the life I’d dreamed of, I was here—packaging cardboard boxes and watching my future slip away.

I glanced down at my phone, a knot forming in my throat. Rent was coming up in two weeks, and I had no idea how I was going to scrape the money together. The thought of moving back in with my parents twisted my stomach in knots. No way could I go back to their judgmental looks, the snide remarks about my life choices, or their constant need to belittle everything I’ve done. I'd rather sleep on a park bench than deal with that.

My phone buzzed on the table, jolting me from my thoughts. I looked down at the screen and felt my heart sink a little deeper.

Sharon.

Of all the people who could be reaching out, she was the last person I expected—or wanted—to hear from. We hadn’t spoken since graduation, and that was by design. Things between us hadn’t ended well, and the fact that she was contacting me now couldn’t mean anything good.

With a sigh, I swiped to answer. "Hello?"

"Wow, you actually picked up," Sharon's voice dripped with that same smugness that always made me grit my teeth. "I wasn’t sure if you were still alive."

I rolled my eyes, immediately regretting answering. "Yeah, still kicking. How are you?" I shot back, not even trying to hide my sarcasm.

"Fabulous, of course." Her voice was so sugary sweet it made my stomach churn. "Anyway, I’ll get to the point. A few of us are going on a trip—Maldives. One-month private villa. You should come."

I blinked, trying to process what she’d just said. A month-long vacation in the Maldives? Out of nowhere?

"Uh… I don’t think I can," I muttered, the discomfort rising up my spine. "I’m working right now, and I can’t afford a trip like that."

There was a brief silence, followed by Sharon’s familiar, annoyed huff. "Steve’s paying for everything, so don’t worry about that."

As if money was the only issue. I shook my head, feeling my frustration rise. "It’s not just about money. I can’t take off from work for two months."

"Why not?" she snapped, sounding genuinely confused, like the concept of having to work to survive was foreign to her. "Just quit."

I almost laughed at how ridiculous she sounded. "I can’t just quit, Sharon. I need this job. Some of us actually have bills to pay."

"Whatever," she sighed, clearly losing interest. "Look, if you change your mind, you’ve got three months to figure it out. We’re leaving in July."

I clenched my jaw, fighting back a smart remark. "I’ll let you know."

And with that, she hung up.

I stared at the phone, my mind spinning. Why now? Why was Sharon suddenly interested in inviting me on this extravagant trip after all this time? After everything that happened?

Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I shook off the nagging feeling. Whatever she and her clique were up to, I wasn’t about to fall for it. Not this time.

I had more pressing things to worry about—like making it through the rest of my shift without falling apart.

***

Three weeks after Sharon’s call, I found myself standing in the manager’s office, trying to make sense of the words coming out of her mouth.

“Budget cuts,” Diane said flatly, as if that explained everything.

“But I’m the only one being fired,” I pointed out, confusion mixing with anger. “How does that make sense?”

Diane shrugged, clearly uninterested. “It’s just how things are.”

I knew better than to push back too much, but it still gnawed at me. Budget cuts? No way. This factory wasn’t exactly rolling in dough, but I’d seen plenty of new hires lately. So why me?

As I walked out of her office, I thought back to the time I’d corrected Diane on… well, something trivial. She’d been going on about a new process we had to follow, and I’d pointed out a mistake in her instructions. It wasn’t even that big of a deal. I remembered she’d gone all red in the face, tight-lipped, and I could tell she didn’t appreciate being corrected, but it seemed like she was over it.

Did she have something to do with this? It didn’t make sense. I was practically invisible at the factory. Why would she care?

Still, it stung. Whatever the real reason, I was out of a job.

A few weeks later, my luck hadn’t changed. I spent every waking moment job hunting, praying something would come through before the end of the month. But it didn’t.

When it became clear I couldn’t afford my rent anymore, I had to make a decision: drown in debt or swallow my pride and move back in with my parents.

I hated the idea. But bills were piling up, and the pressure was too much, so I chose my parents.

The moment I walked through the door with my boxes, my mom took it upon herself to help me unpack—which, of course, meant a nonstop commentary on all the poor decisions I’d made in life.

“I told you this would happen,” she said, folding one of my shirts with military precision. “You never listen. You should have stayed closer to home, gone into something practical. But no, you wanted to follow your dreams.”

I clenched my jaw, biting back the urge to snap. It was always the same speech: how I should’ve done this, should’ve done that. As if I didn’t feel bad enough already. But I stayed quiet, nodding along while she reminded me just how incapable I was.

I’d been living with my parents for a month and a half now, and I was at my breaking point. Their constant nagging, the tension, the way they hovered over me—it was driving me insane. I needed out.

One week before Sharon and the girls were set to leave for the Maldives, I caved. Desperation took over, and I found myself texting Sharon, asking if there was still space for me on the trip.

Honestly, I didn’t expect her to respond. But then, there it was: a yes. Along with a list of things to pack and an address of where to meet them.

I stared at my phone in disbelief for a second. I was actually going to do this. Anything to get away from my parents.

When I told them about the trip, their reaction was immediate approval. Of course, the second they heard Sharon and Steve would be there, they were practically pushing me out the door.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” my mom beamed. “Sharon’s such a successful young woman. You should really try to get back on her good side.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course they loved Sharon. She was everything they wanted me to be—successful, put together, and always in the right circles. And Steve? They practically worshiped the guy. The heir to a tech empire. Who wouldn’t?

“Just make sure there’s no more falling outs this time,” my dad added, like I’d ever intentionally ruined things with Sharon.

I remembered the first time I told them about our fallout. They acted like I’d told them I was addicted to drugs, and they never really forgave me for it.

Now, it seemed I was being given a second chance to make everything “right.”

And honestly? I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but at this point, I’d do anything to get away from here.

***

I couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole trip might be some elaborate prank. I half-expected to show up and find a hidden camera crew waiting to embarrass me. But here I was, standing in front of a private jet, struggling with my heavy luggage.

“Need a hand?” a man’s voice cut through my thoughts. Before I could even respond, he was already taking my bags, prying them from my grip with an ease that felt almost dismissive.

"Uh, thanks," I muttered, watching him haul the luggage up the steps of the jet. Was this even real?

Inside, Sharon was waiting, her bright smile as fake as I remembered. “Kiwi! Oh my God, look at you!” Her eyes swept over me, lingering on all the wrong places. “Still… you,” she added, her tone too sharp to be anything close to nice.

“Yeah,” I replied, biting back the instinct to roll my eyes. Same old Sharon. Still poking at me for being shorter and curvier than the rest of them. “Still me.”

I looked to Natasha, Jane and Pepper and waved before following them into the Private Jet.

Sharon smirked, gesturing toward the jet's sleek interior. “Welcome aboard. I bet it’s been a while since you’ve ridden in anything like this?”

I didn’t bother with a response. There were a million reasons why I didn’t fly on private jets, one being that I couldn’t afford too, but it wasn’t worth the energy. I followed Sharon inside, catching sight of the group lounging around like they belonged there.

Steve was the first to greet me, his golden hair practically glowing in the soft light as he flashed that easy smile. “Hey, Kiwi,” he said, patting the seat beside him. His tone was friendly—maybe a little too friendly—but I hesitated. Before I could move, Natasha grabbed my arm and steered me toward a different seat.

“We saved you a spot over here!” Natasha chimed, squeezing my arm with just a bit too much excitement. She shot a quick glance at Steve, then back at me, like there was something I wasn’t picking up on.

Peter was already seated across from me, leaning back with a casual confidence that made me uncomfortable. His dark eyes met mine for a split second, and he gave a small nod. There was nothing awkward or out of place about him—if anything, he looked like he belonged here. Like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

“Glad you could make it,” Peter said, his voice smooth and low. There was something about the way he said it, something that felt off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

The conversations around me were light, but every now and then, I’d catch something—a quick glance between Steve and Peter, a soft chuckle from one of the boys, or Sharon’s eyes sparkling with something that wasn’t amusement. It felt like they were all in on something, like the air was thick with an inside joke I wasn’t a part of.

I tried to brush it off, joining in on the small talk and ignoring the strange tension. But with every shared look between the boys, every lingering gaze from Sharon, that unease just kept creeping back.

It was like they were waiting for something.

Something I wasn’t in on.

***

I stirred awake to the gentle shake of my shoulder and a soft voice calling my name. “Hey, Kiwi, we’ve landed,” Natasha said, with a small grin, wiping her own hands on her lap. “You’ve got a little drool there.”

Still groggy, I wiped at the side of my mouth, feeling my face flush as I tried to erase the evidence of my nap. I sat up, blinking a few times, trying to get my bearings. When I looked around, I noticed the plane was emptier than before.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, my voice still thick with sleep.

Natasha stretched, her arms raising above her head. “They already headed to the villa. I guess they didn’t want to disturb you.”

I glanced over at Peter, still slouched in his seat, eyes closed, completely knocked out. The soft rise and fall of his chest made him look so peaceful, like the weight of the world wasn’t even a concern. He hadn’t noticed anything either.

Natasha smirked, shrugging. “I felt bad leaving you two alone, so I stayed back.”

I looked between Natasha and Peter, my stomach twisting. “Oh… right,” I muttered, feeling a familiar awkwardness settle over me. My head dropped slightly. It wasn’t the first time I felt like an outsider with these people, but moments like this seemed to make it worse.

Natasha didn’t say anything, but she gave me a look, one that spoke volumes without needing words. Then she moved toward Peter, giving him a nudge. He jolted awake, eyes wide as if he had no idea where he was. “Where is everyone?” he asked, his voice a little too casual.

Natasha repeated the same thing she told me, though this time, there was a teasing edge to her tone. “They left for the villa, but I didn’t want to leave you two sleeping on the plane.”

Peter ran a hand through his messy hair, giving a lazy stretch before standing up. I wondered if I was overthinking things, but Natasha’s earlier look stayed in the back of my mind.

“Alright, let’s catch up,” Peter said, flashing that easygoing smile of his.

As soon as I stepped off the plane, the warm, salty air hit me, carrying the scent of the ocean and sun. Waiting outside was a sleek black car, ready to take us to the villa. Peter led the way, while Natasha shot me an encouraging smile, like she knew exactly what I was thinking but wouldn’t say it out loud.

But once we got in the car, the excitement that had been bubbling inside me during the plane ride started to fizzle. Reality was sinking in, fast. I stared out the window as the scenery blurred by, and that familiar, sinking feeling crept in.

What am I even doing here?

Every part of me was screaming that this was a mistake. I didn’t belong here. These people had made me feel out of place back then—why would now be any different? I had spent so much time trying to distance myself from them, so why was I here now, in the same circle that made me feel like I wasn’t enough?

Was it going to be like this the entire trip? A constant feeling of not fitting in? The idea of spending two months like this, constantly questioning why I came, made my chest tighten.

I imagined stopping the car right there, getting out, and figuring out a way to go home. But how? I came here with them, and I was stuck until they decided to leave. There wasn’t exactly an easy way out.

I sighed, feeling a knot form in my throat as the tears threatened to well up. But I fought them back, forcing myself to take a deep breath. ‘Hold it together,’ I told myself. There was no way I was going to fall apart in front of Peter, Natasha, or anyone else.

I stared out at the horizon, the villa still nowhere in sight, trying to clear the anxious storm swirling inside me. I would just have to figure this out somehow. I always did.

***

When Natasha, Peter, and I finally arrived at the villa, the others had already claimed their rooms. The place was breathtaking—open spaces, stunning ocean views, and a luxurious atmosphere that screamed money. I was almost tempted to be impressed until Sharon appeared, smug as ever, pointing to the far side of the villa.

"Natasha, Peter, your rooms are down the hall," she said with a wave of her hand before turning to me. Without a word or explanation, she just motioned to the other side of the villa, not even bothering to look me in the eye.

I stood there for a second, waiting for...something. Maybe an explanation, a reason for the sudden isolation, but nothing. No one said anything. Natasha gave me a quick, apologetic glance, but even she stayed quiet.

“Guess I'm on my own then.”

I walked in the direction Sharon had pointed, my suitcase bumping against my heels as I made my way down the corridor. The villa was massive, sprawling in all directions, but as I got closer to my room, I noticed how much plainer and utilitarian the space became. The opulence of the rest of the villa seemed to vanish the farther I went.

And then I found it—a small, one-off room that looked like it had been tacked on as an afterthought. My stomach twisted as I stepped inside. It didn’t have the same elegance as the other rooms I’d seen. The furniture was basic, the decor minimal, and there was no sign of the luxury that was displayed on the other side of the villa.

It looked like a remodeled servant’s quarter. I knew the vibe all too well. Being around people like Sharon, I had seen enough servant quarters to know what one looked like, no matter how much they tried to pretty it up.

I stood there for a moment, soaking it all in. There had to be at least one or two other rooms left over in this massive villa, but I wasn’t given one of those. No, this room was chosen specifically for me. The message was loud and clear: *Know your place. *

I set my suitcase down with a sigh, biting back the frustration swelling in my chest. I should have expected this. I knew what I was getting into when I accepted the invite.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my half-unpacked suitcase, trying to figure out a game plan for the next two months. The thought of spending all that time with these people—people who barely knew me, or worse, remembered me only for what I wasn’t—made my stomach twist. I didn’t want to be ignored the entire trip, but becoming a complete recluse would probably just make things worse. What if they just... left me behind?

The more I thought about it, the more frustrated I got. The walls seemed to inch closer, squeezing the air out of the room. My anxiety gnawed at me from the inside. Was this really worth getting away from my parents?

Before I could spiral any further, a light knock on the doorframe jolted me from my thoughts. I turned to see Natasha standing there with a soft smile and a casual “Hey.”

I forced a smile in return. "Hey," I said, trying to sound less flustered than I felt.

Natasha stepped inside, looking around the room before glancing back at me. “Nice room,” she commented.

I glanced at her, trying to figure out if she was joking. Was she being serious? Because this room—my room—was anything but nice. It was clearly the smallest, most tucked-away space in the entire villa. My little corner of the world, far from everyone else.

“Yeah,” I muttered, not sure what else to say.

“They’re about to get ready for lunch in like two minutes,” Natasha added, a little too breezily, as if she hadn’t noticed how awkward this all felt.

"Okay," I said, figuring that was her cue to leave. But instead of leaving, she sat down on the edge of the bed, her gaze still fixed on me, like she was waiting for something.

I shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do next. “Was there… something else?” I asked, hesitantly, trying to figure out what this impromptu visit was really about.

Natasha took a deep breath, still staring me down before stating “Sharon invited you to keep Peter busy.”

  I froze for a moment, blinking in disbelief as Natasha’s words settled in. "Wait… what do you mean I was invited to keep Peter busy?"

Natasha’s shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze for a moment before facing me again "Look, it wasn’t meant to be a big deal. Sharon didn’t want things to be awkward, you know? If you didn’t come, there would've been an odd number, and Steve didn’t want to leave Peter behind."

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “So, I was invited to… what? Be Peter’s distraction?”

She shrugged, looking almost apologetic. "Well, it’s not like it’s a bad thing. You two are both nice people, right? It’s not like it was meant to offend you or anything"

I stared at her, still trying to process this. Peter? Then it hit me.

"What about Clementine?" I asked, my curiosity spiking. Last I heard, she and Peter were still together. Sure, she hadn’t been on the plane, but I figured maybe she was meeting up with us later. They were inseparable, after all.

Natasha shrugged again, but there was something uneasy in her eyes this time. "I don’t know. Sharon thinks they broke up, but…"

"But?" I pressed, sensing there was more to it.

She sighed, glancing away. "Clementine kind of just… disappeared. She stopped coming around, and Peter stopped talking about her. It’s weird, though. I don’t think anyone really knows what happened."

The room suddenly felt colder, and the walls seemed to close in again. Clementine disappeared? And now I was supposed to… what? Be Peter's distraction? None of this made sense, and yet, it felt like I was being pulled into something I wasn’t ready for.

I stared at Natasha, my mind spinning as she casually shrugged off the fact that Clementine had just disappeared. Clementine wasn’t the kind of girl to just vanish without a trace. She was... put together. Confident, smart, driven. The kind of girl who had her entire life mapped out from the moment she could walk.

Clementine had been a scholarship kid, just like me, but that’s where our similarities ended. She had that type of grace and poise that people like me only dreamed of. I remember seeing her around campus, always looking so polished, so in control, even though she came from a background as modest as mine. She had Peter wrapped around her finger—he adored her. At least, that’s what I’d always thought. They were practically inseparable.

The last time I heard anything about her, she was starting some fancy job after graduation, and Peter was supposedly gearing up to propose. That’s what people like Clementine did. She climbed the ladder, no matter where she came from, and she always seemed to have everything fall perfectly into place.

I couldn't wrap my head around this. How did she go from being Peter’s "forever" to just... disappearing? And now *I* was here? Supposed to "keep Peter busy" like some sort of replacement? None of this was making any sense.

Natasha’s voice brought me back to the moment. "Yeah, it was weird, right?" she continued, leaning back casually. "Peter just stopped mentioning her, like she never existed. He’s been pretty chill about the whole thing. But Sharon thinks they broke up, and... I don’t know, maybe she’s right. Maybe that’s why you’re here."

I shook my head, trying to process. "Clementine wouldn’t just disappear. She wasn’t like that. She had a plan, she was going to—"

Natasha cut me off. "Well, plans change, right? Maybe she wasn’t as perfect as you think. People always hide stuff. Maybe Peter saw something in her that no one else did."

The idea didn’t sit right with me. Clementine always seemed untouchable, like she had everything figured out. Now, she was just… gone. And here I was, caught in some ridiculous plan to "keep Peter busy."

I started gearing up to confront Sharon, but Natasha quickly stepped in front of me, stopping me before I could make it to the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, her voice edged with concern.

"I just want to have a little chat with Sharon," I replied, trying to sidestep her. But Natasha moved again, blocking me. She lowered her voice, clearly not wanting to make a scene.

"You're being ridiculous. Just calm down and think about this." Her eyes darted around nervously. "This is supposed to be a vacation. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You could still enjoy yourself, Kiwi."

I paused and turned to face her, frustration bubbling up. "That was always the plan, but why did you have to tell me about Sharon’s little setup with Peter?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but it was sharp.

"I was just giving you a heads up," Natasha said softly, her eyes pleading.

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. But I couldn’t just let it go. Without saying another word, I turned and marched toward Sharon and Steve’s room, Natasha trailing behind me, still begging me to think it through.

When I reached the door, I didn’t hesitate—I slammed it open. There, on top of Steve, was Sharon, practically tangled up with him. She scrambled off him the second she saw me, her face flushed. Steve, on the other hand, just stayed where he was, smirking like the whole thing was a joke to him.

"What the hell is your problem?" Sharon snapped, straightening out her clothes.

I didn’t flinch. "I want to go home."

I thought about calling her out right then and there, exposing the whole plan about setting me up with Peter. But I couldn’t do that—not without throwing Natasha under the bus. As much as I was irritated with her, I wasn’t ready to burn that bridge. So I kept it simple.

"This whole trip has been uncomfortable for me since I got on the plane. If it’s going to be like this for a whole months I don’t want to stay."

Sharon's expression shifted, her irritation melting into a smirk. "Sure, whatever."

Just as I was about to turn and leave, Steve’s deep voice cut through the air. "No."

I froze, watching as Steve got up from the bed, his frame towering over me. It was then that I realized how much bigger he was compared to me. He took a step closer, his eyes locked on mine.

"Why not?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Steve gave me a cold, calculated smile. "The itinerary is already set, Kiwi. We can’t just change everything around because one person is feeling a little uncomfortable."

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "I’ll pay you back," I offered, even though I knew it was a desperate move.

Steve laughed, a low, mocking sound. "You have over a hundred grand to pay back?"

My stomach dropped as he kept going. "I heard you were working at some factory for, what, twenty bucks an hour? I’m guessing since you suddenly had time for this trip, you lost that gig, huh?"

I could feel my face flushing as I tried to think of a way out. "I don’t need a private jet home," I said quietly. "Just a ride and an economy seat. I’ll figure it out."

Steve shook his head, stepping even closer. "You still owe me for your part of the trip," he said, his voice cold and final.

The reality of the situation hit me like a punch to the gut. I was trapped, and Steve was making damn sure I knew it.

Steve’s eyes softened as he stood in front of me, his posture relaxed, like he was trying to show he wasn’t a threat. He moved to block my way, but not in an intimidating way—it felt more like he was trying to keep me from making a mistake.

“You’re upset,” he said, his voice gentler now, almost coaxing. “I get it, Kiwi, I really do. But leaving right now? That’s not what you really want.”

I frowned, crossing my arms, my defenses already up. “I’m uncomfortable, Steve. Why would I stay?”

He sighed softly, brushing a hand through his tousled blonde hair. “Look, I get that things have been a little weird, but think about it. Going back home, what’s waiting for you there? Things weren’t exactly great, were they?”

I blinked, surprised by his words. It was vague, but it still struck a nerve. My chest tightened at the reminder of how suffocating life at home had been.

Steve stepped closer, but there was no malice in his movements. If anything, his presence felt like it was wrapping around me, enveloping me in something familiar yet foreign.

“Why rush back to all that?” he asked, his voice low, almost tender. “You’ve got a chance here to take a break, to really breathe.”

I swallowed hard, trying to maintain my composure. He wasn’t exactly wrong. I hadn’t been thrilled about the idea of going back to my parents’ house—being treated like I’d failed, like I was just in the way.

“That’s not the point,” I muttered, my voice not as strong as I wanted it to be. “I didn’t come here to feel like an outsider.”

Steve’s expression shifted, softening even more. He moved closer, but not threateningly—just enough to let me know he was serious. “You don’t have to. No one here is against you, Kiwi. You’ve got space here to be free, to enjoy yourself. You’re not stuck.”

His words, smooth and almost too perfect, started to chip away at my defenses. He wasn’t wrong. There was a kind of freedom here that I didn’t have back home. No hovering parents, no endless job hunt. Just sun, sand, and a chance to let go of the chaos.

“I just want you to give it a shot,” Steve continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “If, after a week, you still feel like this… I’ll make sure you get home. Personally. But for now, just relax. Let yourself enjoy it.”

I hesitated, my mind a tug-of-war between the stress and frustration that had been building and the calm that Steve was offering. He seemed so reasonable, so understanding. Was I just being paranoid? Maybe I needed to take a step back and see if things improved.

“Alright,” I said finally, my voice soft. “I’ll stay. But just for a week.”

A slow smile spread across Steve’s face, his satisfaction clear, though he tried to hide it behind his cool demeanor. “Good. I knew you’d see things my way.”

He stepped back, giving me space, and for a moment, I felt the weight lift just a little. Natasha, who had been quietly watching, caught my eye, but her expression was hard to read. Maybe I wasn’t seeing the full picture. Or maybe I was just overthinking everything.

Am I making the right call? ***

Steve moved me out of the servant’s quarters and into a small, luxury room. It wasn’t anywhere near the others, but it was closer to the pool in the back, so I figured I could make do. At least it didn’t feel like a forgotten corner of the house.

As I unpacked, Natasha stayed with me, folding clothes and organizing things like she was trying to smooth over the mess from earlier.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, not entirely sure if I believed her or if she was just trying to stay on good terms. The side-eye I gave her must’ve said enough because she added, “Seriously, Kiwi. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

I sighed, my shoulders relaxing a little. “It’s fine,” I muttered. "Just... don’t spring shit like that on me again."

Natasha nodded, her expression softening. “I promise. I just want you to enjoy the trip. We all do.”

Enjoy the trip. Right. That’s what I kept telling myself. I needed to enjoy myself, no matter what. To hell with everyone else. To hell with Sharon’s power plays and the thinly veiled insults. To hell with my parents, and their endless nagging about how I should’ve been more like Sharon. To hell with all of it.

I glanced around my new room, taking in the sleek design, the comfortable bed, and the view of the pool. This wasn’t so bad. Maybe I could actually breathe for a while. Just focus on enjoying the sun, the beach, the space.

Yeah. Fuck everyone. I was going to make this trip mine.

[pink-princess-pussy-pop]

Scream for Me - Rafe Cameron Ghostface! x reader PART 1

Warnings: none

Scream For Me Masterlist

"I'm thinking about not letting her go to school tomorrow!" You could hear your parents, most likely talking about the recent serial murders occurring throughout the Outerbanks. Even though the killer seemed to be a bit of a slacker, the police had no leads on who it could be.

"Honey, we can't just keep her home! Besides, he's only killed at night, she'd be perfectly safe."

"How do you know it's a he?"

"I don't know honey, but there isn't anything we can do."

As you listened to your parents talk about the OBX killer, your nerves settled in your stomach. You didn't want to be out and about while there was a serial killer on the loose, but what could you do? Senior year of high school with only three weeks left of the year? That would not be ruined by some asshole with a knife and anger issues. You walked down the stairs, which silenced your parents, putting an end to the conversation.

...

"So who do we think it is." You were sitting at lunch with your friends, and the hot April weather called for more relaxed uniforms and unbuttoned shirts. Kenzie, your friend was fanning herself with her homework while sipping on her water. Her question made your face scrunch.

"Why do we have to talk about this?"

"C'mon, don't you have your theories?" She leaned closer to you. "I think it's one of the pogues. If he's only killing kooks, it has to be, right?" Your eyes roll in response.

"Kenz, I don't know." You continue eating your lunch.

"You're no fun."

...

Later that day you and Kenzie went to the country club to work on homework. It seems all she could talk about was the OBX Killer.

"The victims have all been rich guys who have done terrible things. Arnold Norris was stealing money from his company, Andrew Williams had several affairs, Thomas Carlson did-"

"Kenz, calm down! You're almost yelling!" Her face flushed as she glanced around the country club, meeting the eyes of a few curious patrons.

Including the OBX Killer himself, Rafe Cameron. He was lounging at the bar with his friends, acting like he was getting increasingly drunk along with them but had secretly been listening to your conversation for the past several minutes. He grinned to himself, your little friend was acting like such a sleuth and hadn't even thought that a kook could be the killer at school earlier either.

Yes, Rafe had been listening closely to that conversation as well. In fact, he was always keeping tabs on you. He shared many classes with you and had always been drawn to you, though he didn't know why.

But he didn't want to kill you.

He had his reasons for the murders. All of the men deserved it.

He wanted you for different reasons. Rafe decided he would make his first move tonight.

...

Your parents were working late and you were alone in your house. The music playing from your phone drowned out any noises from outside. The pasta cooking on the stove was almost finished when the music cut out and your phone started ringing.

The number was blocked but you thought nothing of it until you heard the distorted voice on the other side.

"Hello, sweetheart." As soon as you heard it, your heart stopped, the wooden spoon you were holding clattering to the floor. "Didn't mean to scare you." You were stunned.

Out of all the people in the Outerbanks, all of the big businessmen, why were you the next victim? Your hands were shaky as you glanced around your home. Searching through the night to see if you could see him. See anything.

"Trying to find me?" The laugh that rang out chilled you to the bone. "You're adorable." The condescending words did nothing to appease your fear. "Why are you so scared?"

"Why me?" The silence on the other end is loud. "All of your other victims have been men who've done awful things. So why-"

Rafe cuts you off.

"Who said you were my victim, sweetheart? You're my new friend."

It's your turn to be speechless.

The distorted voice begins again.

"Unless you tell the cops about our little conversation, then you'll be my victim. Do you understand, Y/N?" Something about him saying your name makes you agree right away.

"I understand."

The laugh rings out again before he speaks one more time.

"Talk to you tomorrow, sweetheart."

Then, the low beep of the line disconnecting fills your ears.

Rafe Taglist: @iameatingmyhair @cherrrywraith @lil2023 @lcvrsheart @sophiah2253 @mila1224 @iamlilykrav @emotionalldamage @earthruled @bluuuughh @sunsetargent @kingedmund007 @iluvbunnyhops @steveharie @rafelover @tarrenshayne @stcrkeyluvr @idktheusual @eddiemunson86 @taylorswiftloversera @wh0r3-for-klaus @housekeeperjjswife @wildwallflower24 @poge-life @fuckmelikestilesstilinski @user556677889900 @lonnielain @sachaa-ff @xhaliemax @kravitzwhore @coryisagee @multidimensionalslut @fratboyharrysgf0201 @iheartthe90s @settingmoxn @lewisroscoelove @hannahxhoney @iluvcatslolol @x2skyler @user36376373 @kkmstblog @kinokorii @pickingviolets @somebodys-enola

I'm so so sorry that this took so long, I've been going through it mentally and had no time to write. I'll roll these out as quickly as possible.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Falling 💞

Summary: Steve is one of the most sought out eligible bachelors in the US, he craves love.

He longs for someone who he can spoil, have a relationship with that is nothing like the cold, relationship that his parents have.

He worries he will never find it...then he meets you.

Warnings: Sugar Daddy Steve vibes, daddy issues, angst, fluff. Minors shoo!

Don't copy, reuse or repost my work.

❤️🍸

A year or so after High School Steve began to work for his dad. It wasn't so bad, there was a lot of benefits, he could easily look after the people he cared about which was a major draw for him.

He avoided his dad whenever he could, even with Steve working at his company, Mr Harrington still found fault whenever he could with his son.

His style, his friendships, who he dated. Nothing was off the table. Steve rebelled against it, he leaned into his noteriety, slept with beautiful women whenever he wanted.

He ignored that ache in his chest that wanted something more, something deeper, the desire for a woman he could take care of and spoil like a queen.

After a while he broke off and built his own company from scratch, it started off small but steadily grew and grew.

The bonus? He didn't have to see his dad, except for a rare few occurrences. Usually, it involved watching his parents cold indifference to each other, the cracks in their marriage wide open for all to see.

Steve never wanted a marriage like his parents. Never wanted to be like his parents.

Steve though he wouldn't admit it, was a hopeless romantic, he wanted to find someone special, someone he felt he could be himself with. Not businessman, cold and focused Steve just Steve, who he was around his closest friends.

There was a niggling worry deep inside him that he'd never, ever find a love like that. People only ever wanted to know him for what he did, not who he was.

Then he met you.

❤️

Steve first laid eyes on you while you were at lunch with your friends. He had just closed a deal and felt like celebrating.

High pitched giggles rang in his ears and he turned to find the source of the noise. He skimmed past your friends raucous laughter and focused on you.

It was ridiculous when he felt his heart skip a beat, he hadn't felt this giddy, lovestruck feeling in a long time, like since High School.

Ordering champagne (the finest bottle) he sent it over to your table, the gesture earning delighted murmurs from your table and your eyes met his as the waiter pointed over to him.

He raised his glass of scotch and nodded to you, the other women were whispering excitedly but he only had eyes for you.

When you found your way away to where he was sitting at the bar your smile was sweet, curious. Steve was smitten with that smile.

🍾💞

All you wanted to do was thank the kind stranger for the champagne, the gesture was unexpected but very kind.

There was also a part of you that was very intrigued on why this handsome man had zereod in on you in the first place.

When he notices you approaching him at the bar his eyes light up, he's in a black suit that's tailored to perfection, hair slicked back and there's just this aura of confidence that exudes of him.

"Thank you for the champagne" you tell the mysterious stranger, he smiles and takes your hand, pressing a tender kiss to it.

There's a swooping sensation in your stomach, the feel of his lips on your skin is electrifying.

"You're welcome beautiful, I'm Steve. What's your name?" you tell him and he pats the seat beside him for you to sit.

Talking to him gives you butterflies, you can't remember the last time that happened and it's an intoxicating feeling.

"I'd like to get to know you better honey. How about dinner tonight? 7pm. Give me your address and I'll send my driver to pick you up"

You can practically hear your friends screaming at you to say yes. So you accept, excited and wanting to know more about Steve.

He has a meeting to attend but before he leaves, he tells you that he's looking forward to tonight.

As soon as your back with your friends they are in a frenzy or excitement.

"Don't you know who that is babe?" Alice asks you and you shake your head.

"Steve Harrington, he's like uber rich, the most sought out eligible bachelor. This is amazing"

Dinner with Steve that night was incredible, he was attentive, charming and funny. The way he would look at you made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Never did you suspect that on that very day you had met you're soul mate.

❤️

Steve fell for you hard. He adored everything about you, his princess. There was nothing he loved more than spoiling you, showing you how much he cherished you.

You were resistant to the spoiling for a while, you had your own job and didn't need anyone to take care of you or buy you expensive things but Steve was persistent.

He loved finding the prettiest things for you to wear, sent you flowers every Friday, found first editions of your favourite books.

Steve loved taking you out, spoiling you and loving on you and you knew it made him happy, seeing the beautiful smile lighting up his face made you happy too but you still worried.

"Steve, this is too much. I'm so so grateful but I don't want you for your money, I adore you" he pauses, swallowing down a lump in his throat before he addresses you.

"I know honey but I love seeing my pretty girl smile, love spoiling my baby" he murmurs as he wraps his around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

"Look at you, so beautiful" he sighs softly and you bury your head into his chest beaming, no one has ever made you feel so special.

❤️

The fairytale dream you were swept up in, came crashing back to earth one cold Friday night. Steve was working with his secretary Eliza, a no nonsense, fiery yet sweet woman, she was like a second mother to Steve and it was adorable watching them together.

Sometimes it made you forget about the fact, that Steve's parents were out there, a few times Steve had opened up about growing up with distant parents, trying to be the perfect son to them but it was never enough.

Especially for Mr Harrington.

While Steve was busy working and you just finished your own work for the night, you decided to relax, maybe have a bath and watch a film.

When the door opened around ten pm you expected it to be Steve. However, the older man who came in, while he looked like your Steve there was a coldness to him. None of Steve's warmth and sweetness.

His father you realised and wrapped the silk robe tighter around yourself, away from that icy, stare.

"Hi, Mr Harrington? Steve is working" You tell him with a smile and he gives you a look of utter dismissal that makes your stomach drop.

"Let me guess? One of his little whores he's acquired? Stupid boy, he never learns does he? Wasting his money on you gold diggers"

Heat burns all over your body, tears prick your eyes and you attempt to calm down your racing heart.

"You don't know anything about me or Steve" he looks bored of the conversation now and merely smirks.

"Mmm, you're just another woman that Steve will disregard when he's bored, enjoy it while you can dear" he sneers and heads out but not before delivering another blow.

"I'd ask you to tell my son that I stopped by... however he's still nothing but a disappointment, so why bother?"

This makes your blood boil. "Steve is a good man, honorable and kind, the best. He's not a disappointment. He's amazing"

Mr Harrington snorts, then that is replaced with a smile as Steve walks in, fury written over his features.

"Nice of you to join us son"

❤️

Steve wanted nothing more than a hot shower, time with his girl and peace. It had been a long, stressful day and he just wanted to be with you.

That hope shattered when he walked into his apartment and saw you looking close to tears and his father smirking, cocky and full of malice.

"Get out. Get the fuck out" he snaps and presses the number on his phone for security. The gall of this asshole to walk right into his home without a care in the world infuriated Steve.

His main concern though was you. The urge to protect his girl overpowering everything else, his father's words were brutal and he didn't want you on the receiving end.

"You okay honey?" he asks you. Ever so gently he places a kiss to your forehead and you nod but still look sick to your stomach.

What did that bastard say to you?

"Steven. Did you mother and I raise you to be so rude?" his father titters mockingly and Steve stands taller, no longer intimidated by his father.

"You never raised me at all, that was the nanny's job or I'd look after myself whenever you got mad because I didn't conform to your bullshit, dad"

His fathers eyes narrow, then he turns his gaze to you and Steve hovers protectively beside you.

"I do admire this latest woman of yours, she's deluded yes but what a little spitfire, willing to defend you at all costs" Steve meets your gaze and squeezes your hand, love for you fills him, so intense and deeper than ever before.

"You don't get to come in here and insult my life. I'm a disapointment to you? Well dad guess what? you and mom are just the same to me" he snaps and then he turns to you.

"Baby, go to bed okay? I don't want this asshole to upset you with his bullshit" he strokes your cheek, body tensing as his father laughs.

"Oh, that little whore knows what I think of her" your eyes fill with pain and Steve attempts to control the fury he's feeling but he can't. Frankly, he doesn't care what his father says about him, he's heard it all.

But you? You were a line that was not to be crossed.

"Get the fuck out. You do not get to come in here and insult the woman I love. She's light and love, happiness. She's my everything, so keep her name of of your fucking mouth! "

His father looks stunned, he's never provoked a reaction from Steve like that before, every part of Steve feels like it's on fire, hatred poring from him.

Security arrives, finally, and as his father is led away he feels your hand tighten in his, soothing him.

The anger fades away and he holds you in his arms, when he's with you he feels the most calm and at peace.

❤️

It's a little while later, Steve has his arms wrapped tightly around you. He kisses your hair and listens as you tell him what happened with his father.

Steve listens to what his father told you and he shakes his head, kissing you gently, soothing you with words of assurance.

"I've never felt like this before. I'm not bored of you nor will I get bored of you. You're my girl, my love"

Tears sparkle in your eyes, you shift so you can look around at him, his hand entwines with yours.

"You said you love me," You do not get to come in here and insult the woman I love" You trail off and wait to see what he's going to say.

Pink dusts his cheeks and he speaks sounding reverent, gentle.

"I love you honey, I'm so in love with you, would have liked this to be more romantic, was planning on it" happiness, sheer happiness floods you and you kiss him giddily.

"I love you Steve, so much" You rest your head on his chest. The events from earlier forgotten, Steve didn't care about anything happens his father said at that very moment.

All he cared about was you loved him as much as he loved you. That's all the world needed, not the hateful bullshit his parents spit out, no.

Just love.

❤️

[ohpike-mycaptain]

Shore Leave

Pairing: Captain Christopher Pike x Reader

Prompt: "Could you... hold my hand?"

Word Count: ~650

"Lieutenant?" Captain Pike questions when he catches you peeking around the corridor of the space port where the Enterprise is currently docked. "Is everything alright?" His voice is thick with amusement.

"Captain! Hi!" You wince when you hear how strained your voice sounds and it's almost an octave higher than usual. Great. Totally not suspicious. "I… uh…" Your thoughts trail off when you finally get a good look at him.

It's been a while since you've seen him dressed so casually. The henley he's wearing clings in all the right places and his blue eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief even as his posture straightens slightly in response to your nervousness. "I have seen you stare down the wrong end of a phaser without blinking, lieutenant. What part of shore leave could possibly have scared you?"

"I'm not scared. It's just…" You let out a sigh, trying not to get defensive because of some light-hearted teasing.

"It's just… what?" He says the last word in a hushed tone like you're about to confess some big secret as he steps closer to you.

"This is my home colony, sir, and my family came to welcome me back…" You try to look anywhere but at his face.

"We're off duty, you know you can call me Chris. And that sounds like a good thing. Or do you not like your family…?" He leans around the corner, not sure what, or who, exactly he's looking for. 

"No, they're fine." You wave off his initial assumption. "They've never really been thrilled that I joined Starfleet, but it's not a big issue. Or at least, I didn't think so…"

Chris focuses back on you and tilts his head slightly, prompting you to continue.

"I figured they would try to convince me to stay and finally 'settle down' but apparently they brought my ex to help." You rub your temple, trying to soothe the headache you can feel starting. "I don't know why I can't make them understand that I'm happy where I am. I love exploring space, and I love the family I've found aboard the Enterprise even more." You blush and look away. You didn't mean to admit all of that.

Your heart skips a beat when warm hands settle on your shoulders and your attention snaps back to the captain as he starts to speak. "Would it help if I went with you to meet them?"

"You don't have to do that, Chris. I'm sure you have plans for your leave already." Energy sparks through your nerves as he slides his hands from your shoulders to your arms.

"I'd be happy to help if I can. I don't want to lose one of my favorite lieutenants. And you can pay me back by showing me around." He grins and your stomach flutters. "Now, I'll defer to your expertise, how do you want us to handle this?"

You consider your options. What would show your parents that you're happy in a way they will understand? "Could you… hold my hand? And maybe not mention our ranks?"

He smirks. "Oh, I can do better than that." Chris slides an arm around your waist, pulling you protectively into his side. "How is this?"

"Perfect." You reply quietly, taking a moment to cherish the embrace, wishing it wasn't just an act. "Thank you for this, Chris."

He ushers you around the corner and starts down the corridor. "Just point me in the right direction." He glances down at you and grins, the mischief returning to his eyes. "Depending on how this goes I might need your local expertise for the remainder of our shore leave."

You blush at the implication of spending your entire stay with Chris instead of your family. "I think I'd like that."

He laughs, head tilted back and you curl into his side. Maybe this shore leave won't be as bad as you thought.

[lupinmoonlight]

Hi hi hi!!! I am literally obsessed with your fics, they quite frankly give me life, they're so amazing. Could I potentially request something hurt/comfort with Remus, maybe r with family problems and doesn't like talking about it, but Remus lets her confide in him? Btw I love your fanfics, I always check your blog for updates, and seeing a new fic just makes my day :)))

Masterlist AO3

Home

Summary - "You couldn't quite decide if you wanted him to be your father, or if you had a crush on him. It was a weird feeling, but it made you feel warm inside." Your situation at home is not ideal. Your dad is abusive and you are afraid to go home for the summer. Lupin notices and comforts you.

Warnings - mentions of abuse, alcoholism, parent passing away, mentions of food and struggling to eat, mentions of bruises and cuts, implied student having a possible crush on a teacher, my grammar.

Notes - Anon, your message absolutely made my week! I hope you enjoy this one. I was trying to include some "daddy issues" in this one as I thought it would be fitting. Lupin tends to trigger that in me (lol). The address refers to Lupin's cottage in Yorkshire.

You felt the familiar dread building up inside you as the end of the term approached. Most students were excited to go home for the summer, but the simple thought of being under the same roof as your father made your stomach turn. He was a muggle, and he hated people of your "kind"- as if he had not been married to a witch for half of his life- that is until she passed away. You were 4, and nothing was ever the same again. Your father, who was once loving and kind, became an abusive drunk who would take his anger out on you. Although he always refused to tell you what really happened to your mother, you always had the feeling he blamed it on you- or on the entire wizarding world for that matter. He grew to despise anything "magical". The sight of you alone was enough to set him off. He was broken. Soulless. Unloveable.

Every time you went home, it was the same story- you tried to make yourself as small as possible, to pretend you didn't exist. You would spend hours locked away in your room, thinking about the next time you would be able to go back to Hogwarts. But even this wasn't enough, as you always ended up boarding the train with bruises and cuts. This year it was a black eye. No one really noticed anyway and you were good at lying about those things. You were used to it.

As the days went by, your anxiety only grew stronger. You couldn't concentrate in class, you lost interest in things that usually excited you, you distanced yourself from your friends, and despite being surrounded by them, you felt lonely. So you just sat there in the Great Hall, picking at your food. You couldn't even eat anymore. You were drowning and no one was noticing. No one except-

"Y/N, are you alright?"

Your heart stopped as you felt a hand on your shoulder, but you soon relaxed as you recognized the voice. It was soft and gentle, yet deep and rich at the same time, like warm honey, and it went straight to your stomach.

You glanced up at him, startled by the concern in his voice.

"You haven't touched your food," he pointed out.

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. "I'm not hungry," you mumbled. But inside you were screaming, there was a storm and it was threatening to take you away.

He studied you for a moment and it was like he could hear your internal screams. The man was perceptive.

"Why don't you come to my office for lunch? It's quieter and perhaps we can talk."

You hesitated, but the genuine kindness in his eyes was hard to resist. You nodded in agreement and followed him to his office, feeling a little less alone for the first time in weeks. There was something about him, something that made you feel safe and comforted. You couldn't quite decide if you wanted him to be your father, or if you had a crush on him. It was a weird feeling, but it made you feel warm inside.

"Cup of tea?" he asked as you took a seat in the cozy office. You nodded again, not trusting your voice.

He tapped the kettle with his wand a conjured a plate of sandwiches and fruit for you to share.

"Eat as much or as little as you like," he said, giving you a warm smile and setting a steaming cup of earl grey tea before you. "Sometimes, eating with someone makes it easier."

You took a bite of the sandwich, finding comfort in the simple act of eating in his presence as he gently steered the conversation. He talked about random things like the pranks he pulled when he was a student, where to find the finest chocolate, why he preferred earl grey over green tea…and you just listened. He even made you chuckle a few times and you allowed yourself to get lost in his soothing voice. It was nice because he never pressured you to talk and nothing ever felt forced with him. He was just there, offering comfort. Before you knew it, the plate of sandwiches was empty and you were on your second cup of tea. You felt more at ease than you had in a long time. He seemed to have sensed this and took the opportunity to gently probe further.

"Y/N, you've seemed quite…preoccupied lately," he began. "I know it's not my place, but I can't help but worry about you. Is something on your mind that you'd like to talk about?"

The weight of everything you had been holding inside began to overwhelm you. Your heart tightened and suddenly, the office felt too small and there was not enough air in the room. You felt tricked, and you were almost angry at him for setting a trap like this. You wanted to bolt out. But he just sat there, patiently waiting for your response, his eyes full of understanding.

"I… I don't really want to go home for the summer," you finally admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

As the words left your mouth, your hands started to tremble, and you could feel the panic rising within you. It was like he could feel it too, because he immediately moved closer to you. "Y/N, take a deep breath," he said gently. "Focus on your breathing. I'm right here with you."

You tried to take a deep breath, but it was like there was a vice around your chest. Tears started to blur your vision, and you felt like you were losing control.

His voice remained calm and steady. "It's all right, Y/N. You're safe here. I won't force you to talk about anything you don't want to, do you understand?"

With great effort, you nodded, closing your eyes and trying to pull yourself together.

"Now, I want you to take a slow, deep breath through your nose, then slowly breathe out through your mouth. Do this with me, all right?"

You followed his lead, inhaling deeply and then exhaling slowly, focusing on the rhythm of his breaths, using his presence like an anchor. Gradually, the tightness in your chest began to ease, and your trembling hands started to steady.

"Good. You're doing great, Y/N," he encouraged you.

You managed a shaky nod, and after a few more deep breaths, you felt the worst of the storm pass. You opened your eyes to see him watching you with a gentle, caring expression. You knew then that it was going to be okay.

"It's okay to feel overwhelmed sometimes, and there are people here who can help you through those moments, like me."

His words resonated with you, and you decided that it was time to confide in him about the root of your anxiety. With a shaky breath, you began to share your story about your father, the alcohol, the abuse, the bruises, the scars, your mother.

"I-I just… I don't know how to deal with it anymore. It's just getting worse, and I'm so scared to go back home."

As you continued to open up, he listened attentively, maintaining a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"It's understandable that you're scared," he said softly. "But you've already taken an important step by talking about it. That takes a lot of courage."

As you kept talking, your body instinctively leaned closer to his, as if seeking the comfort you were denied your entire life, and he let you. You found yourself slowly relaxing, the knot of anxiety in your stomach loosening a bit replaced by a familiar warmth only he could provide.

After a while, you went quiet again, feeling empty yet relieved. You just sat there, enjoying the physical proximity. You knew nothing was fixed, but you also knew you had someone to lean on. He pulled back slightly to grab a piece of parchment from his desk and scribbled something on it before handing it to you. It was an address- an address in Yorkshire.

"If you ever need anything, day or night, you know where to find me."

You kept staring at the piece of parchment, confused.

"Y/N look at me."

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with tears and uncertainty.

"Day or night, do you understand?"

You nodded. You wanted to throw yourself in his arms, to tell him no one had ever done this for you, to tell him how safe he made you feel, but you didn't need to. Before you could do anything, your face was already buried in his chest as he pulled you into a hug. It was warm, gentle, safe. It was home.

[ybklix]

Salvatore | 01 & 02

♡ hwang hyunjin

⤷ intro

⋆cw: mention of suicide ⋆notes: narrated from fem character’s pov. the character narrates the circumstances that lead her to meet hyunjin, in later parts. updated masterlist here! •⩊•

a/n: i had this in my drafts i just decorated a little to post it (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

chapters one & two

ONE

word count: 986

The world seemed to move the same. But it wasn't, she was missing. The days are long and the nights are a living nightmare. I don't think I'll ever get over something like that. The huge emptiness, the deep sadness and the endless constant guilt that kept repeating in a loop and managed to slowly consume me as I lamented over and over again for not being able to avoid something as terrible as death. Suicide.

A supposed suicide.

But it happened. And there was nothing else to do. The important issue, is that I would never see her again, or hear her, in the presence of her.

I think every second of the day I found out and the heartbreaking memory it was to say goodbye to my sister forever. The desperate, heartbreaking screams of my mother, dressed in traditional clothes on the most horrible day of our lives.

I don't think anyone ever thought something like this would happen. Much less in the way it happened… it was totally bizarre, as if I suddenly didn't know the person I was bound to by blood, forever; until now. Suddenly everything got weird, she stopped calling home, but I tried to go on with my normal, carefree life; as I didn't want to intrude and I assumed she had a busy life now, plus the time difference could be annoying at times.

Even so, what kept me motivated was that soon I would go to see her, it was only two weeks away… I would go to visit her, I would see her apartment and we would walk around the city. But suddenly nothing. Just a great upheaval in my soul.

Even so, in my ignorance, I continued with my activities. I was visiting my friends, graduating from high school and getting ready for what was next in my life, a university life, in the career I had shown interest in for a couple of years; unlike my sister, for me it was in the city near our childhood home, only a little more than 2 hours away in Rome.

It had been a while… yes I was curious about what was going on in her life; but with Bethany you never knew what her next move was. She was like that, spontaneous. Quite the opposite of what I thought I was. At 16 she left home, with the help of my parents convincing them to study out of the country, to a place far away but not foreign to our family.

She loved to talk, to explore, but with my parents she was always serious and distant, almost as if they dulled her glow. So taking advantage of them to alienate herself was the best decision she could have made. She shone on her own, for a period. Until it managed to extinguish itself so suddenly. Without explanation, leaving a huge void in the people who truly appreciated her, in me.

I guess things like this just can't be explained.

I can't even process it, my empty stomach is spinning, the insomnia became real and the tears are hard and burning as they slide down my face.

Despite all the chaos formed; seeing my sister there, lying motionless and lifeless —an action I didn't have the courage to take until the last moment before she was taken away—… I thought and thought about certain things, like how we were somewhat alike, about the fact that when an idea gets stuck in our minds… it's impossible to get out of there. I was more rigid; I wanted answers and kindness was not my forte, as she was. Charming, pretty, brave.

This couldn't stay that way. Not just like that. There had to be an explanation and I wasn't referring to needing it for my loss and despair. I was thinking logically, I guess, I need her. This wasn't just happening for the sake of it.

I hadn't slept in days. I guess I was losing track more and more, if it was Wednesday, if it was the fourth; not since what happened. I guess when this kind of thing happens you really seem to tune out. During the dark nights of that hellish summer I manage to remember moments… of which keep me afloat and think how sad it is that I haven't spoken in days and no one seems to notice. Everyone was immersed in their own world dealing with something like this; just like now.

I remember being 6 years old and she was 11, playing that we were looking for a reward chest, mysteries to solve that after all I took a great liking to… as Bethany explained that if it something happened there would have to be a reason, even if it was pure spontaneity… there was the cause. So why… why leave without even a letter. Should I have been a better sister and noticed the signs of depression? If I had paid attention, so I could have avoided it, none of this would be happening?

Why would the person who since she was a little girl kept firm and mature ideas standing, determined to her philosophy suddenly decide to leave like this. Something strange was going on… or she was just going through a mourning that was hard to accept.

The whole world was going absolutely crazy. Or at least mine. Because that was all I have. All I know, unlike my sister, I wasn't as adventurous, or a born visionary as she was.

I just lived in the present and that was my problem. Bethany always seemed to have a bundle up her sleeve, just something new and fun so she would never get stuck and bored.

But my days in my comfort zone were coming to an end. From now on. I would finish whatever Bethany couldn't and find out the truth because something deep down inside doesn't seem right, my heart tells me so.

And when an idea like that happens… the universe knows I could become someone else.

TWO

word count: 1.7k

It all started a while ago, years ago. 7 years ago to be exact, during the spring. Bethany was enthusiastically showing me, with a big smile on her face and her school uniform on, pictures taken in the park near her high school, with 3 of her friends, Mia, Isabella and Chiara. She had told me how Mia was able to buy a digital camera and then take them pictures, she thought it was so much fun.

I know now, that that evening was more than just one of her types of goodbyes, as she was planning something that day that suddenly changed everything.

We had just left school. She was leaning on my bed holding the pictures she had taken with her friends gently passing them, one on top of the other. I don't remember the day but it was maybe, sometime in April.

Bethany asked me if no one else was home besides me, leaning against the edge of the doorway before making herself comfortable in my room. I replied that our mother had most likely gone out to buy something.

I asked her about the sudden interest, more as an automatic response than out of curiosity, “why?”, “I have to tell them something”.

I didn't make a big deal out of that sentence, I didn't want to intrude plus she quickly changed the subject. At the time I was eleven and Bethany was fifteen, a month shy of her sixteenth birthday.

She told me about her friend’s plans, Chiara's trip to Ibiza, Mia at her grandmother's vineyards and Isabella's summer job helping her mother at her store. When I asked her what she would do a grimace appeared on her face, unsure and doubtful of what could be the right answer; from which I assumed it was because of our parent’s sudden change in not spending the summer in Seoul, as every year, but to wait until the winter vacations, where it would now be with our aunt, for the island. It was usually on both occasions when we would visit South Korea, to be connected to that part of the family we shared with our mother.

I remember suggesting to her to go to the beach, both of us; which she complied with at the end of May, a week before she left home. We had our 3 days at the beach, under the Fregene sun, eating soft ice cream. Only 40 minutes from Rome by bus, and just over an hour by train. I remember everything so well. The sound of people talking, the sound of the sea, Bethany's noisy sandals slapping the sand and my mother's sudden cursing in her first language, sitting in that blue beach chair with her hat. I loved the beach, every aspect of it… My sister seemed to be darker, and tended to like to play hide and seek, being a big part of the crowd, under the city lights, I always thought the town we grew up in was never for her. So she found her place once she got away from us.

After the first day Bethany's friend had joined us, Isabella. At times I watched them primp and preen, in awe; ready to stroll through the noisy city, leaving me wondering what two teenagers were supposed to do when you feel the city belongs to you. Giggling, putting gloss on her lips and high heels, glittery eyeshadow, fixing her hair between the two of them, once again leaving me with ideas in mind, like whether I would ever do those simple little things with my older sister once the age difference is not so stark and when I'm no longer a child. Once I start getting interested in those things more and more; maybe when I'm 15 too. But Bethany wasn't around after I turned eleven. I did get interested in those things and I did it too but with friends. During those nights, I would just stay up late with my parents, watching TV; waiting for Bethany to come back. But that day in April, after dinner, with both parents gathered; after clearing the table and cleaning up, when I was finally supposed to go to my room, I stopped to listen to what Bethany had to say.

The sentence was as simple as: I want to go to study in Seoul. Finish my high school and start college there. And all of a sudden. Silence. I couldn't see them but I could perfectly picture the scene in my head; of which it was approximately like this, with the two of them sitting, slightly leaning on the table, Bethany standing in front of them, with her hands together, a gesture she used to make when announcing something. The bright light of the room reflecting on my sister's forehead and the confused face of my mother, who suddenly started speaking to her in Korean, in confusion, her confused expression permeating my mind even though I didn't see her, what, "what are you talking about", she would suddenly say in her strong korean southern accent.

I can't quite memorize what my exact thoughts were at the time… as I just wanted to hear everything and then generate an opinion. I guess it just took me by surprise too.

She went on to explain that, for some time now she has been in close contact with Joomi, a cousin a year older than Bethany whom she is very close to, and spends all her time wiith her, whenever we go to visit. She said that they talk a lot on the internet and that she somehow managed to convince her to study there and rebuild her life in that faraway place.

She argued with a tone that tried to persuade them, saying that she had all the support of my uncle's family, my mother's brother. That if they allowed her to have that opportunity there would be no reason to let them down and she would finally be fully connected to her roots that our mother instilled in us so much.

Her answer was no. No from my mother. A 'I don't know' from our father.

2 days later, Bethany received the final answer. She would finish the rest of the school year and leave for the summer to try to adjust and go to study at the same school as Joomin, living under that family's roof.

My mother just wanted her to suddenly connect with what she suddenly felt was lost and out of her hands, among her other two older siblings, she had been the only one to marry a foreigner, migrate and raise two of her daughters in a different culture than her own… and suddenly her first born had the idea to take a big step… it was hard for her; especially when her future was strictly planned, to graduate at the top of her class and continue her studies at the university in Rome. It was surprising the sudden change of plans, especially when my mother had everything in the palm of her hands and with how extremely stubborn her character was; but her older brother managed to interfere and persuade her; he promised to take care of her and love her like another daughter.

And I knew all this from Bethany's spontaneous change of mood, her smile was bigger, her eyes sparkled and she had her characteristic grimace of when she manages to win or something goes as planned, in victory. I was told in detail a week after confirming to her that yes, she would be leaving.

Honestly at the time I don't think I said any words; there was nothing clear to say… other than "wow, I really hope everything goes very well". And I meant it with my biggest will and heart.

I guess I stayed in shock for a while until I saw her leaving, boarding that plane; that's when I could finally come to my senses. I saw my mother and then my father, simply letting his first 16 year old daughter leave. It was all confusing, I thought everyone over there was trying to run away from the school system… I guessed Bethany really had a plan.

And she did. She even managed to get into college… but the career of her choice was not at all satisfactory to my parents. It was, to a certain extent, disappointing, causing Bethany great sadness, I could feel it in her eyes that summer when we went to visit her. Suddenly she would contact us less, making excuses that if we were to see her that summer, her stay would be short because she would be very busy… which, what was once an annual visit, became a very irregular tradition, every two years… separating us little by little.

The first three years were strictly adhering to the family rule of our annual visit to my mother's and Bethany's home country, who unlike me, I was born in Italy, like my father. During that period everything seemed fine; my talks with Bethany consisted of being amazed at how much I had grown up, apparently, what I had made of my life in Italy and simple things like that… until the year she entered college, during that summer, the pressure from my parents was very high; Bethany tried to remain calm, but nothing worked out for her. The following year, she announced the news of her career causing discontent. I tried to cheer her up and that somehow created a bond again in us that I thought was lost, since she left I felt she was not the same person I admired so much, suddenly her life was a mystery to me, who her best friends were, her life at school, her daily routine, even everyone knew her by her Korean name, she seemed like someone else.

The change in her was there. For good, while she could. And for bad when the poor thing felt she was the family failure. Despite the estrangement between our parents; Bethany always tried to keep in touch with me, calling constantly, leaving e-mails in my inbox, giving me little things that reminded her of me… the truth is that I found it tender and funny the way she didn't know me, since with her demonstrations of affection she reminded me how much she was stuck in my tastes when she was 10 or 11 years old. But that quickly and without warning turned into 15, 16… the age when she left.

Despite all the ups and downs… I never really knew the way her life was, her own life thousands of miles away from me, still, I tried to be close.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Eyes and Ears

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: An AU where Barbara finds Jason instead of Bruce.

Chapters: 7/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon, Jim Gordon, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Sheila Haywood, Original Character(s)

Relationship(s): Jason Todd/Original Character(s), Past Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Older SIbling Barbara Gordon, Jason Todd-centric, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Jason Todd is NOT Robin, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Has a Crush, Adopted Siblings

Chapter Seven: Seaside

Barbara went out as Batgirl shortly after dinner, leaving Jason home alone to wait for Jim. As the night progressed, Jason lay on the couch watching tv. He wanted to be awake when Jim returned. It reminded him of how Jason often waited for his parents to come home, and that's what worried him most. As hard as he tried to stay awake for Jim's return, he couldn't keep his eyes open past two in the morning.

Jim dragged his feet as he entered the house around three in the morning. His body and mind were weary as he hung his coat up and kicked his shoes off. He turned the tv off and smiled at Jason, who lay curled up on the couch, holding one of the throw pillows to his chest. Jim picked Jason up and held him for a moment before taking Jason to his room to tuck him into bed. Jason took hold of Jim's wrist and mumbled, "Don't go... Please don't go." His voice was broken. Jim pushed Jason's hair back.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here... We might have to go get ice cream in the morning, though," Jim whispered as he sat down on the floor by Jason's bedside. Jason turned on his stomach, facing Jim, and he opened his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Jason asked. Jim took a deep breath.

"Mind if I tell you what happened and why I was gone so long?" Jim asked. Jason nodded.

Jim talked about his work with Batman and how many bombs they had to defuse around the city, and Jason stopped him. "But are you okay?" Jason asked. Jim paused, and his shoulders dropped.

"I'm exhausted, and I feel bad for how I left you earlier... I want you to know that I would've come home hours ago if I could've. I don't want you to think I abandoned you," Jim whispered.

"You were working," Jason yawned.

Jim left the room and showered, and climbed into bed. He lay awake for a few minutes only to hear Jason's footsteps in his room. Jim lay still and listened to Jason make a shuffling noise before complete silence. He turned on his side and met eyes with Jason. Despite the pounding in Jim's head, he opened his mouth and whispered, "It's cold down there. Come up here." Jason hesitated for a moment before climbing into Jim's bed, and he closed his eyes. Jim threw the blankets over Jason and took a deep breath.

"I was dreaming about my mom... My birth one. I mean, I don't know her, but maybe this is the way she wanted things to be. Maybe she didn't want me," Jason whispered, "Maybe she doesn't want to be found..."

Jim kissed the top of Jason's head. "I can't imagine someone not wanting a kid like you... But I honestly hope that even if you do find her, you'll consider making this your home for good," Jim whispered.

"You'd want me to stay for the next five years? Like until I turn eighteen?" Jason asked.

"Or until you're ready to leave home. I figure if you're still living with me by the time I retire, we could go live in Maine... Get away from all the noise. We could go fishing there," Jim whispered as he went on to describe the coastal cities and the lighthouses and the silence. Jason's breathing slowed, and Jim kept speaking as if Maine was some fairy tale place.

Jim drifted off to sleep only after he knew Jason was fast asleep. They both slept late into the next day, only waking once the sun was too bright to ignore. "Pop?" Jason asked as he sat up, and Jim groaned. "Therapy?"

"Mhm, we'll pick someone out together... But first, let's go eat, okay? I promised my son I'd take him out for ice cream," Jim smiled. Jason got out of bed, and he stood in the doorway.

"I know I just kind of got you, but... You're the best dad I've ever had," Jason whispered before waving. The words made Jim's heart heavy. He got cleaned up and dressed before leaving his room and ran into Barbara in the kitchen.

"You do realize that you just can't promise him ice cream and make things okay, right?" Barbara asked. Jim nodded solemnly.

"I know," he replied, "But I did talk to him about therapy, and he said he'll give it a try as long as I'm there with him."

"How'd you manage that? He wouldn't even—."

"I took a different approach. Do you want to come with us to get ice cream?" Jim asked. Barbara nodded.

"Sure, why not. I have a day off... Also, I noticed... This is the second night in a row that he hasn't slept in his bed," Barbara noted. Jim nodded.

"I know. But last night was sort of my fault. He was gonna sleep on the floor," Jim explained. Jason came out of the bathroom and stretched out. "Hey, I'll be downstairs." Jason nodded and moved to follow Jim before Barbara took his hand.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" Barbara asked. Jason nodded and stood in the kitchen with her. "You okay?"

"Train me," Jason whispered.

"What?" Barbara exclaimed. "No! Are you crazy? You're just barely thirteen, that's way too young—."

"How old was Robin when he started? He didn't exactly look like he was in his early twenties," Jason whispered.

"Robin wasn't my baby brother. You are," Barbara replied as she tried to walk past him, and he grabbed her wrist.

"I already lost one family. I'm not gonna lose this one," Jason tightened his hold on her wrist, not to hurt her, but to let her know he was serious. She sighed.

"I'm not letting you in the field, but I'll consider it," Barbara replied, and he embraced her. She stood still in shock for a moment before hugging him back. "I'm serious. It's not a yes. I'm just thinking about it."

She tried to keep a stern look on her face, but she couldn't help but smile. "I call shotgun, Barbie!" Jason smiled as he ran down the stairs.

"Wait! No one calls me that!" Barbara shouted as she locked up and followed him down the steps and out to the car. Jason chuckled to himself in the front seat.

While they were eating ice cream, Barbara tried to think about the idea of a partner, but she knew he was far too young and much too traumatized to be out in the field. On the other hand, he would be too busy training to worry about losing them and decided that keeping Jason preoccupied was her best option.

She understood where Jason was coming from, but she was no Batman. She could only allow him to dream, nothing more. Barbara secretly hoped that he would lose interest as his fear of loss subsided. Only time would tell.

[flamingo-writes]

Hello Flamingo!!! how are you? I hope ok.

This is an idea that came to my head a few weeks ago, if you'd like to write it, it's up to you! I hope you like it💕

Reader who was generating a great addiction to the medications that were prescribed for his anxiety and depression, adding other types of addictions such as cigarettes or alcohol, meets Hobie/Spider-Punk and helps they with this problem, empathizing with their situation, Hobie would visit Reader from time to time to ask how things are going or develop some kind of relationship with they.

I think it's an essence of Hobie that you don't often see and I think it's something he would do quite often.

I am finally replying to this! Jesus, I am so SORRY for the delay!

I absolutely loved this request! And I learned so much about addictions during my research. And got google constantly concerned offering me hotlines every google search.

Flirting With An Addiction — Hobie x GN!Reader

Title based of the song Particles by Nothing But Thieves. Love this band, love this song, helped me set the mood for the angsty parts. Especially any live or acoustic version 😭

A/N: i have to clear some stuff first, because some of you are too quick to feel victimised. I do not specify colour nor gender of the reader. I do mention the reader looks pale at some point. Now, because it happened to me once, that someone tried to get sassy with me because dark skin can’t get pale, yes, yes it can. If you have a heartbeat you can get pale, period. Pale is not only a synonym for white, paleness is a medical term used to describe the loss of normal colour in skin or membranes. Pale is a way to describe someone who presents paleness. If you have dark skin, you can still get pale when you’re sick.

Warnings: drug consumption, needles, depictions of several withdrawals symptoms like stomach issues (emetophobia), depression, anxiety,

Word count: 2.7K

Hearing from your parents first hand that you had gone missing was the worst that could have happened to Hobie Brown. You were his favourite person, his best friend, his go to confidant, his partner in crime. And hearing you had gone missing felt like the ground on his feet started crumpling down. His lungs ran out of breath as he mouthed:

"What?”

And your mother explained, drowning in her own tears. And even as she did, he couldn’t understand what was coming out of her mouth, as a horrendous buzz was drilling his brain. He simply heard: "drugs" "weed" "ecstasy" "used needle" "gone". His stomach turned, making him feel nauseous as he couldn’t find anything to say to your parents other than:

"I’m so sorry" he said. "I could’ve helped them" he said. "I wasn’t there for them," he said. And with that, he was gone. Somewhere along the line, he put his mask back on and took off.

Pav and Gwen were there with him when it happened. What started as an innocent hangout at his place, turned into a search party. When Hobie thought of inviting you over as well and realising you weren’t picking up the phone in your house, he decided to look for you. You weren’t at your place, you weren’t at his, your coworkers said you hadn’t showed up for work in three days, and that’s when he went to your mother.

"They’ve been gone for the last five days…" were the last things he heard before that painful buzz started echoing in his head.

He took off. And he’d never swung so fast in his entire life. Pav and Gwen didn’t even have the chance to exchange glances when both of them were running after him. "Running". Between not being familiarised with Old York’s building distribution, nor being familiarised with the streets, they had absolutely no clue where Hobie was heading. They simply guessed Hobie knew where you were.

Boy, we’re they wrong.

Hobie had not the faintest clue where you were. He had a notion of where you could be. But with every fibre in his body he wished he was wrong. "Used needle" was perhaps his best clue, and possibly the one that terrified him the most.

He had a pretty decent notion of where the most famous crack houses were. He’d grown in the streets, of course he knew. More than once he’d been in them, not to make business, but because he was looking for something or someone, or doing Spider-Man duties. And truth was, the very last person he thought he’d ever go looking into a crack house was you.

As he arrived to the first one and kicked the door open, the few junkies there flinched, expecting to see a copper. But instead they saw Spider-Man. He looked around. Pushers, burnouts, and crunched junkies passed out on the floor. Some, Hobie wasn’t even sure they were still alive. He walked around looking for you.

Pav and Gwen caught up with him, and soon realised what was going on. Hobie did not know where you were, he was looking for you. Gwen didn’t have much experience with the darker side of her New York, she was creeped out. Pav, on the other hand, was the youngest of the gang. And he’d been Spider-Man for so little, he hadn’t had the misfortune to end up in the lower parts of Mumbattan. Pav was terrified.

"Hobie?” Gwen asked as he quickly walked out of the flat.

"Not ‘ere" He mumbled, more to himself and took off again.

It went on like that for the next few hours. Crack house after crack house. Desperately looking for you, whether you were baked out of your mind, or simply OD. But the fact that with every place he went to, his chances of finding you grew narrower and narrower, he didn’t know what he preferred. To find you dead on the floor of one of those nasty places, or not finding you at all. With each location, Hobie’s anxiety grew, his movements became clumsier, rougher, even more aggressive.

"Hobie, wait—" Pav yelled after the fifth crack house.

But Hobie didn’t stop. He listened, but his mind was rushing with adrenaline, hyper focusing on his task at hand: finding you.

The guilt accumulated in his chest, weighting more and more with every passing minute. Why was he even feeling guilty for? It’s not like he’d given you the drugs, and forced a needle up your arm. But he knew you had problems with loneliness, he knew about your consuming anxiety and your seasonal depression. He knew you had a strange relationship with your medication. He knew you were picking up a liking for recreational drugs. Harmless stuff like weed and shrooms. Acid at most. He should’ve imagined you’d eventually try to stray into the drugs you swore never to mess with. Ice, dust, junk…He should’ve guessed something like this was going to happen. But he was busy. He was busy being Spider-Man, he was busy jumping between universes. He was busy helping others, but not helping you. Not when he knew you had it rough. That guilt consumed him. He was busy helping everyone else, but you. He was busy helping people from another universe, but not that one person who he considered his family, his world. And boy, that guilt was drowning him.

Was it good luck or bad luck when he found you? He couldn’t tell. He felt his blood turn cold the moment he saw you.

Despite the pale look on your face, and the dark circles under your eyes, but you looked so peaceful. Lying on a dirty mattress, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, relaxed face. You looked so beautiful in the most disturbing way. Thinner than what Hobie remembered. And so terrifyingly still. Were you alive and lost in some euphoric dream? Or were you dead? It was hard to tell. You didn’t seem to be breathing.

Hobie rushed to your side, and he quickly checked your pulse. He called your name, almost in a desperate cry as his eyes quickly teared up behind his mask with the most suffocating feeling of powerlessness and incompetence that he’d ever felt washed over him. You groaned in response, unable to form coherent words and simply stuck to noises, your mind was far too dissolved, drowned in heroine, trapping you in a haze.

He checked your pulse. He checked your breathing. Your eyes of course were almost completely black due to the high. And you had a couple of marks on your arms from needles. Hobie didn’t even dare to count them, the less he knew about your newfound addiction the better for him, or so he thought. He looked around and next to the mattress there were various classic heroine use paraphernalia, making Hobie’s throat close.

"No, no, no, no baby…" Hobie whispered as he stared at you as you lied there, relaxed and heavy in his arms. He pulled his mask off to better look at you. For you to look at him if you were there by any chance. "Not heroine, why heroine…" He whispered as he pulled you closer and kissed your forehead. "You knew heroine wasn’t to be messed with, one time is fine, two makes you an addict, sweet’eart…" He purred with his lips pressed against your skin.

"Hobie…" Gwen said gently touching his shoulder.

"We have to go," Hobie said at once as he carried you.

Once in his boathouse, Hobie gently set you down on his bed as he sat on the edge and stared at you attentively. His eyes looking miserable, as he caressed your cheek delicately.

"Hobie?” Pav said, slowly walking inside his room. "We’re very sorry…"

"I am too…" He murmured in response.

"Can we help?” Gwen asked softly.

Hobie was ready to tell them to leave him alone for a while, when he actually thought of something.

"Yes…"

He then gave them a short shopping list with food and over the counter painkillers and some medication for stomach issues. It seemed very random to them, but in that moment Hobie thought he’d keep you in his boat and help you through your detox. At least as long as he could. A week or two, to start, and from then, he’d improvise along the way.

His impulsive and spontaneous thought of keeping you there over the period of detox didn’t really prepare him for the absolute torture it turned out to be.

To him, it was terribly, awfully, agonisingly painful. Watching you suffer like that. The way you whined and curled up on his bed, crying in silence from the pain, dealing with the tummy issues. The nausea, the not being able to leave the bathroom, looking weak, constantly upset, the shivering, and awful ups and downs in your anxiety and your mood.

Everything hurt, your head, your limbs, every muscle in your body, your stomach, even organs you couldn’t exactly pin point where they were, now you could because of the sharp pain. Even the smell of food made you excruciatingly nauseous, and puke green bile across the room, even feeling nausea was painful. It was hell. You were dying, you were sure your entire body was shutting down and you were going to die in this aching hell. Too anxious to sleep, to weak to move, too nauseous to do as much as roll over on the bed, too shaky to even be able to hold things in your hands. Sometimes you didn’t even feel your limbs at all for hours.

He could only imagine how it was like for you. How it was going inside your head. But sitting and watching was awful for him. He wanted to help, and from an objective point of view he knew he was helping, but he didn’t want you to hurt. He wished time and time again that he was able to take that pain away from you. The first three days were the peak of your suffering. And there was nothing Hobie could do other than keep an eye on you and get you what you needed.

When the physical symptoms started to subside, when you were able to keep food in your stomach, and when you stopped complaining about everything hurting, the psychological symptoms began. The consuming guilt and anxiety, the fear of showing up at work or at your parents’ house, the fear of the disappointment. Pitying yourself, pulling yourself down into that depressive hole you’d been digging.

Crying every night before going to bed became a recurrent event. You crying your heart out as Hobie held you tightly in his arms, comforted you until you’d fall asleep. You cried several times a day, but the one before bed was always the worst.

And soon, it became a recurrent event. Hobie keeping you all in one piece, as you cried and your heart broke all over again. His long yet strong and warm arms managed to hold you together every single night. Soon, sleeping together became a habit. And more than a habit, soon, Hobie’s company became a better painkiller than the pills you took. His scent managed to soothe the nausea which was thankfully decreasing with every day. His warmth seemed to help you control the shivers and the goosebumps. His voice quieted down the mean anxious thoughts in your brain. His company drifted you to sleep for several hours without waking up with tachycardia and short breath.

Falling asleep in his arms became just the right medication, although the long term effects were still there. But they were much bearable. The mornings were the best time of the day. First thing in the morning, drowned in the aftermath of that sleepy haze, you’d always find yourself staring at Hobie.

He didn't like mornings, he wasn’t a morning person. But something about seeing him sleep, his face relaxed, thick lips slightly parted, and the dim sunlight hitting his face, making him look absolutely gorgeous. Had he always been this attractive? Easy, yes; he had always been an attractive lad. But had you always felt that feeling in your heart? That was new. And you were sure it was not the usual tachycardia you’d get from the drugs, but something Hobie did unconsciously.

"You know it’s real creepy that you stare at people while they sleep…” He whispered softly as he woke up slowly, opening his eyes slowly and seeing you staring at him with a subtle and sweet smile on your lips.

"Shut up" You chuckled.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was low and raspy, still creeping with sleep.

"Better…although that might change in a couple of hours" You sighed, already getting mentally ready for the awful up and downs in your mood and anxiety.

"I’m sorry"

"That my life now, I guess"

"It’ll get better…it’s been getting better hasn’t it?" He immediately added as he looked at you, slightly more awake, taking in the details of your face, as you were snuggled next to him, most of your body touching his, sharing the same comforting heat.

"Yeah I think so" You purred.

"Hey, I’ve got you, okay? Not letting you fall again into that dark place"He whispered, leaning forward, bumping his forehead against yours, as one of his hands caressed you cheek, making your heart skip a beat.

"Thank you" You closed you eyes, as you savoured this sweet intimate moment with Hobie.

"Don’t mention it, luv"

"But I mean it…" You whispered. "You’ve been basically the entire time here…keeping an eye on me…ignoring your Spider-Man duties…I’ve heard you argue with that Miguel guy over your watch…"

"He can fuck off," He said with a cheerful whisper and a chuckle "he’s got another hundreds of spider-people at his service, he doesn’t miss me, he just likes to be patronising…"

"I still appreciate it very much…" Your eyes opened slowly with your statement as you stared into his eyes, and he seemed to immediately get lost in yours.

"No problem…I’d do anything for you…"

You both stared into each other’s eyes. And something about his eyes was slightly different. The eyes you grew up looking at, those eyes you knew how to read perfectly, almost being able to read his thoughts, now had something slightly different about them. Something that made your heart race and your cheeks grow hot. Something Hobie saw reflected in your own.

And you both read each other’s minds. And you both leaned forward without having to be told. Closing your eyes, you felt your breath leave your lungs when you felt his warm lips against yours.

Hobie wasn’t by any means a slow tender guy, he was the passionate dude who knew how to use his tongue. Not this time. This time he felt the world stop, time stop, and all there was, was you. And he wanted to savour it. He kissed you slower than he was used to. The kiss was gentler than what he was used to. He was used to kissing strangers, perhaps someone he shared chemistry with, but never really someone he cared for as much as you. This felt far more special, far more unique. This felt like something he could get addicted to, and something he wanted to relive often.

As he broke the kiss slowly, catching his breath, he opened his eyes and stared at you as you remained with your eyes closed, still processing what you’d felt. He smiled and bumped his forehead against yours.

"I promise you, you’ll be alright, okay? I’ll make sure you’re safe and sound…even if it kills me" He reassured you.

"Please don’t say that," You murmured.

"What?" He chuckled.

"Anything that’s in some way related to you dying," Hobie chuckled, thinking your concerns were very cute, although very understandable as well.

"Fine…" He replied "I’ll make sure you’re safe and sound even if…it’s a near death experience…better?"

“No, not really…" You chuckled, "but I appreciate the effort

"Hey, you mean so much to me, you know that?"

"You mean mean so much to me too…"

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 1

• Gen Tags. Found family, Daddy issues, Hurt and comfort, Gore.

• Summary. Harley D. Dixon is a tough yet sweet little girl who until the dead started eating the living, thought she had seen it all. Alongside a mismatched group of survivors in rural Georgia, Harley and her Dad are forced to leave their small life behind and learn how to survive all over again through the horrors of the apocalypse.

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

❤️Cross-Posted from Ao3.

Author's Note. Here we gooo! Argh, I'm so excited.

I've been wanting to write something like this for a long, long time. I've read just about every 'Daryl has a daughter' story out there, and now I've finally got my own to share. I just love Daryl, and Daryl with a kid is a whole other thing. We all know he wouldn't be the perfect parent, so you bet I'm gonna play right into that. He's gonna swear, he's gonna be strict, and he's gonna mess up. As for Harley (Yes, as in the motorcycle brand), I love her too. So ready to write her.

This story will cover the general plot of the show. To keep things fresh, I've made sure that almost every canon scene has undergone at least one small change. Plus, of course, many new scenes. Occasionally, I'll make bigger changes just to keep you on your feet! Nobody's safe! I'm also gonna be expanding on all the characters. And lastly — FOUND FAMILY! Piles and piles and piles of found family, eventually. I live for found family.

Please enjoy reading! :)

My Uncle Merle died today.

I'm sitting in a crinkly green camping chair, watching embers die.

I don't wanna think about my Uncle right now, so I think about something else.

The fire was built last night by Glenn and Morales. Then Lori came along this morning very quietly and made it alive again with logs and wads of notebook paper. Thinking about facts is easy. It's like sucking on a plain candy that tastes like nothing. There's a navy-blue blanket across my lap with three holes in it, perfect for nibbling, poking, and ripping. Dale gave it to me when the cold settled in this afternoon. He told me he reckons it's around June, as he covered my shoulders, which used to be his niece's birthday.

He says she looked a little like me. That means she's dead. So many people are dead, now.

A thin log in the campfire cracks and tumbles over after trying to stay upright all morning. I hope I don't look like that log.

I can hear Officer Rick approaching. My stomach becomes a stone.

I can tell it's Rick because he's got one of them power walks that you can hear coming from a mile away, which I think makes him pretty stupid. He's loud, and loud is dangerous, and dangerous is stupid. My Dad's not like that. Unless he's angry or running, ain't nobody hearing my Dad coming; especially not no squirrels.

He's almost as big as my Grandpappy Dixon, who people used to say was as big as a house, and he wears super heavy boots from a hunting store near our house — but he's still not loud, or dangerous, or stupid. Not like Officer Rick.

"Hey, Harley."

I think I hate Officer Rick. I think I hate everyone.

And I think I might be crying now, too. I focus on twirling the blanket strings around my finger so I have something very simple to think about, which is that it hurts real bad when I twist it tight. I see Rick crouch down in front of me. He takes a while to say anything else, and it's prolly 'cause he's tryna be real careful, so he don't make me cry even more.

If my Dad weren't out hunting, he'd prolly slap Rick and everybody else that's tried badgering me today dead for tryna do his job for him. I feel like, just by sitting here, I'm disobeying him. Rick ain't my Daddy.

"We, uh..." He clears his throat. "Me and Lori, and some other folks are uh... Well, we're all a little worried about you, honey, okay?"

I imagine a small group of folks gathered by the RV right now, watching me and Rick; wondering if he's gonna be the one to get through to me.

I'm worried for when my Daddy comes back. When he finds out about Uncle Merle, he's gonna be fuming. He's gonna be like one of them cartoon characters with the bright red faces and the smoke comin' outta their ears, stomping all around, and he's prolly gonna kill somebody. It's prolly gonna be Rick. He always told me cops are bastard liars, and that they can't help us.

I look up at Rick. Yep, I've been crying.

Rick's all blurry, but I can still make out his ugly Sheriff's badge and his scary blue eyes and his frowning eyebrows that look like clenched fists, and I can tell he's been waiting to be the one to talk to me. I bet he thinks it makes him better than everyone else; better than my Uncle Merle, who he left to die just 'cause he ain't like him. I wanna kick Rick right in the face. I think he knows this, but he doesn't move.

"First off, I wanna say that I'm sorry about what happened to your Uncle Merle." Rick says all nice and gentle.

Nothin' happened to him.

It weren't no freak accident, which is what Uncle Merle used to say happened to my Momma.

Rick killed him.

"I know he meant a lot to you. And I'm sorry. If I had'a known he had a niece to come back to, maybe I woulda been a little wiser with my decision makin'. But Harley," He tilts his head and puts a hand on my knee for this part. "You gotta know, like I know, that your Uncle was a danger to us all."

There's a little angry parasite inside of me. It's been growing and growing ever since the group came back from Atlanta, and I couldn't find my Uncle Merle in the crowd. I've never noticed my Uncle Merle so much than when I realised he wasn't there. It was like there was the wrong amount of space left in the air and Rick was taking up the too much of it. Ever since the cars showed up, everything has been wrong, wrong, wrong.

Ever since Rick showed up.

"If I hadn't stepped in when and how I did," Rick says, "Your Uncle wouldda gotten us all in a lotta trouble."

Another log crumbles in the campfire. My finger aches and pulses around the string.

That hungry little parasite — hungry for Rick to hurt like I'm hurting, needing it more than anything — makes me tell him, "I wish he did." And again, because it feels good. Rick becomes even more blurry, as my voice makes an embarrassing hicking noise. "I wish you died."

I expect to be hit. That's what happens sometimes, when little girls don't know their place.

Tellin' adults I want them dead — That ain't my place. And I know it. I just don't care.

My Uncle Merle wasn't a danger, he was just Uncle Merle; Has been since I could talk. He used to feed me bits of his sandwich out on the deck back at home, like the tomato, 'cause he ain't like the taste. He used to fix my bike when it was broken. He used to make sure I was the first one to open presents at Christmas, and help me wrestle the wrapping when there was too much tape. He used to pull my wobbly baby teeth out for me and let me outside without shoes. He wasn't mean, or bad, or loud, or dangerous, or stupid; at least not always. He wasn't the one that got my Momma killed. He was good. And now he'd dead.

If someone had to die, I wish it had'a been Rick — Stupid, noisy, idiot Rick who ain't shed one single tear after what he done to my Uncle Merle.

I wanna get hit. I want him to hit me so bad that I'm allowed to hit him back.

"Okay." Rick says, and I can't breathe.

I feel like everything goes silent throughout camp, like the chairs and the cars and the people are all holding their breaths like I am. He actually looks a little sad, which feels really, really bad, because I wanna be angry.

"Okay. That's okay."

But as I think about my Uncle Merle, and the tomatoes, and my old bike, and what Christmas used to feel like, and my Daddy, and how he ain't even know about Merle yet, I realise I'm just really, really sad.

I can't even see Rick anymore, my eyes are so watery. My whole body hurts from being sad. I feel like I'm sick and I need to go to the doctor, but I don't even know what for. There aren't even any doctors here. Just two bastard liar cops, some campers, and a space where my Uncle Merle should be.

I think, after a while, Rick leaves.

My Dad still keeps his wallet.

It's in a backpack under his sleeping cot. He says that everything inside that bag will keep us alive some day, if we ever need to leave the quarry camp. He said I need to know exactly where it is so that I can grab it if he can't. He showed me everything the night we got here, because he forced me to, because it's important. The other kids don't learn stuff like this from their parents. It makes me feel smart. I'm in on a secret. He showed me the bug spray, which keeps our skin healthy from bug diseases, and he showed me the flashlight, which has two batteries and a big black button. He showed me the compass, the box of matches, the big knife, the little knife, the rope, and the map. It's like a Jenga tower. If we lose even one thing from the backpack; everything topples, and we die — I die. You gotta listen t'me, chicken. My Daddy's always been like this.

But the wallet made no sense.

We don't gotta pay taxes no more, like Merle said. I don't know what taxes are, except they're bad, and gone, and nobody liked them anyway. And I saw my Dad burn all his money in a campfire one night, so it can't be that.

It's the pictures, Dad told me. He flipped it open like a book, and we looked at 'em together on top of his sleeping bag. I felt like crying for a second because we forgot all my storybooks when we left our house, but Daddy hates it when I cry, so I dried up. Crying is for babies, and I'm a big girl. He showed me a photo of an actual baby, and after he touched the baby's face with his fingertip, he said the baby was me. I didn't think I could look like that. He stopped talking for a while. I listened to the cicadas in the trees to pass the time while he touched the photo. Then it was bedtime.

I'm looking at the photo now, waiting for him to get back.

I was a very pink baby. I was only the size of his forearm, which in the photo, hasn't been tattooed yet. The tattoo of my name is missing, which goes up his wrist in curly letters. Harley Davidson Dixon. It's the name of a motorcycle. The tattoo of the skull and the bleeding angel are missing, too. He's fixing my baby blanket around my chin. I guess he's been doing that since the day I was born. Every night, at least up until last week, my Dad tucks me into bed and sings me the same song. Hush little baby, don't say a word. Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird. I like his voice when he sings to me. Usually, he's yelling, or grumblin', but in those twenty seconds before I have to go to sleep, and nobody else is listening, he's softly whispering the lyrics to me, and touching on my ears and my cheeks. In the photo, he's crying down into his smiling mouth. That's something he doesn't do anymore.

The next photo is of us at the zoo. I know it was taken on one of the weekends I was at my Dad's house, because my Momma's not in this one. Just my Dad and two of his friends, I think, who are throwing rock star hands in the air. I'm wearing a black shirt with a videogame character on it that my Dad likes, and brown pants. I'm sitting on my Dad's hip as we pose in front of three giant elephants. My Dad's got a tiny purple backpack over his shoulder that makes him look sorta funny. It used to be mine. I'm looking at the elephant's long, silly-straw trunk as it tries to sniff us, but my Daddy's lookin' at me. I wish I remembered this day.

The third photo is a school photo with a swirly blue background. I remember this one. My Momma did my hair that day.

I know why he keeps his wallet, now. Just like how we need the bug spray, and the matches, and the rope, and the knives, and the map, and the flashlight to stay alive — I think my Dad needs these photos. They won't keep him warm or stop bugs from chewing on him, but he needs them.

I shove the wallet back where I found it, 'cause I'm not meant to be goin' through my Dad's things.

My Dad comes back while I'm vomiting under a tree.

At first, he doesn't see me. He calls for me to come get my little butt over there, so I can help him and Uncle Merle stew up some rabbits for dinner but when he hears me retch, he comes running over. I hear his crossbow drop and some more people call after him.

One minute, Lori and Amy are holding back my hair and patting my shoulders the best they can, and the next, my Daddy's forcing his way in. I'm rocking and I'm swaying like I'm on a life raft in the ocean, and I can hear Rick's voice and then Shane's and then Dale's. My Dad grabs the back of my neck and squeezes it, the way Lori and Amy would never know how to do, and tells me to lean forward some more. It works. I vomit up a chunky puddle of peaches and jerky into the dirt.

Then, I'm empty, and I'm crying — crying hard — into my Dad's lap.

"Someone wanna tell me what the Hell's goin' on here?" He snarls at whoever's around.

Feels like half the camp is here.

"How 'bout we all just try—" Shane's suggesting, but my Dad cuts him off.

"How 'bout ya'll just spit it out? And where the Hell's my brother?"

That makes me bury deeper into my Dad's legs, moaning and hiccupping. He puts a hand over my head. He's clocked the problem.

"Where the Hell's my damn brother?"

"Look, Daryl," Shane levels, "I'm just gonna come out and say it, alright? There was a problem in Atlanta."

My Dad's panting, now. "What fuckin' 'problem'?"

"Listen—"

"He dead?" Underneath me, my Dad's muscles are lurching and stopping, lurching and stopping, like he wants so much to just jump up and knock Shane to the ground, but he won't bring himself to leave me. The camp has gone completely silent.

Shane stammers. I've never heard Shane stammer. "We're— We're not sure."

The silence just keeps on goin' and goin' and goin', and somehow, it's even scarier than the yelling.

"There's no easy way to say this," Rick says, voice lowered. I wonder what my Dad looks like; if I was right about the cartoon thing.

Dad presses my head further into his stomach. "Who're you?"

"Rick Grimes."

"'Rick Grimes'." He spits, like it's an insult. It is. Bastard cop liar. "You got sum' you wanna tell me?"

"Your brother was a danger to us all." Lies Rick. "So I handcuffed him on a roof; Hooked him to a piece of metal. He's still there."

After he says this, something in the air must have changed; something must have snapped without even makin' a sound, because Lori's whispering to me that I should follow her back to camp, like we're running out of time. She tries to pull me away, but I kick her; kick her hard, in the shin. She tries again. I realise she's trying to separate me from my Dad. Then, I realise he's sorta shaking. Lurching, stopping, lurching stopping. Silence, silence.

"Lemme get this straight." Dad whispers, and it's not the nice kind, like when he sings. "You're tellin' me that you handcuffed my brother to a roof."

Glenn's pulling at me now, too. Nobody else moves a muscle.

"And you left him there?!"

This time, he lurches and he doesn't stop. Glenn catches me as I'm flung from my Daddy's hip, and he passes me off to Lori as Dad goes lunging at Rick. The brown pebbles go flying up into the air. My Dad tackles Rick at the waist, and they crash into the leaves and the twigs, and his fist — The one with my birth date tattooed on each knuckle — goes smack, smack, smack, into Rick's cheek. There's yelling; scrambling. Glenn and Shane pull my Dad off of Rick, and that smacking sound stops. Dad beats Shane offa him and then, — 

"Watch the knife!" T-Dog yells. Now there's a swishing sound, and grunting sounds, and I was right — My Daddy's gonna kill Rick.

My Daddy's killed someone before. He did it on accident, 'cause he got so angry that he didn't stop until the guy was dead and gone, which means that it was aggravated manslaughter. It was in the afternoon, just like it is right now, and I was playin' in the front yard in the sprinklers. My Dad and Uncle Merle were in the open garage, smoking and poking at their bikes with tools. Ronnie lived two trailers down. I was small, and easy to pick up, so I don't remember much, but Ronnie snatched me up right there in the yard. My Daddy says he was gon' take me. But he didn't let him. Ronnie got chased into the woods, and for two days, my Daddy and Uncle Merle searched for him. Then they beat him so bad his Momma ain't recognise him when the ambulance people dragged him out in a big black bag, and the cops took my Daddy away while the sun rose. I wasn't allowed to see him for four and a half years.

I need my Dad. Suddenly, I'm shrieking at him to stop, even though I want Rick dead so bad. By now, Shane's got my Dad in a chokehold up against a tree. Are he and Rick allowed to take my Daddy away? Lori and — I think that's Amy — are shushin' me, but I just keep hittin' on them and shouting.

I writhe in the dirt. "Stop! Daddy!"

"Damn pigs!" Dad growls. "You're stressin' out my kid, now! Lemme the Hell go!"

Shane laughs. "Nah, I think it's better if I don't." Then he turns to Lori, because what my Dad said is true. "Get Harley out of here."

I don't let her move me when she tries.

Dad struggles. "Chokehold's illegal, bastard!"

"You can file a complaint later." Shane scoffs. "We got all day here."

Rick steals my Dad's knife off the ground and gets in his face. His cheek is all red and purple. The fight's over. "What I did was not on a whim," He tells my Dad straight. "Your brother does not work and play well with others. I did what had to be done in the moment, to keep us all alive."

He's lyin'. He's lyin' again. My Uncle Merle chopped these people's firewood and brought them meat. He worked well.

My Dad shoots out a foot to try hit Rick in the crotch. He misses. Shane pushes his face harder into the tree.

"It's not Rick's fault." T-Dog holds up his hands, coming close. "It's mine. I had the key. I dropped it."

"You couldn't pick it up?" Dad sasses.

"It fell in a drain." T-Dog serves up this answer like it means anything at all. I hate him.

"If that's 'posed to make me feel better, it don't." 

"Well, maybe this will." T-Dog's lookin' at me, now, too. "The door to the roof — I locked it with a padlock so the geeks couldn't get to him. There's a good chance he's still alive."

I heard this all before, when all them people kept coming up to me at the campfire. Lori told me to get some food in my stomach; the peaches and jerky. Shane tried to make me go play with Carl. T-Dog said sorry over and over again. Dale gave me the blanket. Rick made me cry. I know how this goes, though. Gettin' someone killed and killin' them with your actual hands are the same thing. I know that.

"To Hell with all'a ya'll!"

He shakes Shane off and beelines for me. He takes me from Lori with bloodied hands — Rick's blood — and I let him yank me by the back of my shirt to my feet, and I fall into his chest when he crouches. His breath is heavy on my neck. Even his skin is hot.

Lori's pale as an egg. I think she's scared of my Dad.

He takes a big breath, stands up, and drags me by the hand back to our tent without sayin' another word.