#bc i know none of it matters or counts

[elio-monroe]

im so incredibly depressed. this post is bad and contains a lot of content warnings that i can't even get myself to type out. i have a hard time seeing any of the stuff ive gone through as real or actually mattering. through most of my life if i tried to use the proper words or phrases i was told i was lying and those things dont count.

so im sorry i cant make content warnings for the read more. just take this as a big general one i guess. im not writing this for an audience im writing this for me.

this is also like a novel. so maybe don't read it because you could be doing anything better with your life. i am not exaggerating. this is so long.

i always feel like a huge bother. like im making peoples lives miserable by being around them if i am not doing everything they want to do. lately i haven't been able to make many decisions by myself, i freeze up and i just cant do it. i have to wait to be told and its frustrating, i hate it. i feel so stupid but i also feel so deeply that anything i think to do will be wrong, that ill be stepping on someone's toes.

i know my friends think i should stop making myself smaller and smaller, they encourage me to take up space. which is nice, i think, but i feel nothing but disgust for everything ive ever chosen to do.

i wish i actually didn't know why im like this. but like... i grew up every summer going to east side michigan, my grandma's house. where my cousins were, my mom's side of the family. my cousin's demanded i spend my time equally amongst them. every night i would swap what house i slept over at, if they got into a fight and didn't want to spend days playing with each other id have to make sure i evenly split my time between them and acted like i was equally on both of their sides.

if they got mad at me, even if one got mad at me, they both would ahhh you know theyd do stuff that wasnt great. a... small and lesser example would be the time they chased me and get me into a corner to terrorize me with a mechanical toy hopper (bugs life). i was very scared of that character when i was young because he was the bad guy and i was like 5 or 6. theyd do a lot of stuff like that, that would elevate as we got older. sometimes even doing more... physical stuff. i tried to tell on them when i was younger, get any adult to help me but none would really believe me. i had a reputation for being a cry baby so to them i was making stuff up. my mom would be too drunk to care at the time (she is better mother now), and my dad wasn't present in my early life (navy).

eventually i stopped being a snitch, it only ever made things worse. i guess that was a good lesson to learn early on... maybe... idk. anyways, anything theyd do to me id just keep it bottled up. i still do. and its extended past my cousins.

in late elementary my friend, who was a few years older then me and in middle school and knew a lot more about sexual education ah, well i dont think she ever meant anything bad by it im still like friends with her though we don't talk really. but i think she is a good person who just, i mean i didn't know what was happening other then being confused because i hadnt had any sexual education.... haha aaah ive just been so stupid and behind my entire life...

when we had sleep overs at her place she would usually have me sleep on a single pillow because i was pretty small when i was younger and she thought it was cute and i wanted to please her so bad. i didnt have a cell phone but she did (these were flip phone times) and she use to take a lot of photos of me... kinda non-consensually, not like sexual ones or anything so i just let it happen because there wasnt any real harm other then my mild discomfort.

eventually she moved away. and then i moved away. we kept in contact though. like i said im still her friend.

middle school was catholic and rough. i was the poorest kid going to a private school. i had hit puberty right before entering 7th grade (my first year of middle school) and my boobs had already grown to be nearly double d. catholic school uniforms are not very friendly to more curvy body types. most of the girls called me fat, i really only had one friend (and one kinda weird stalker-like girl) who had much bigger breasts then me and was a little chubby. i tried my best to not be offended at the fat comments because my friend would get them a lot more and i thought that was fucked up. i never liked when fat people where the punchline to jokes, i didn't know the word fatphobia but i was against all the shit they went through.

anyways i joined the co-ed soccer team and all girl basketball team. i had three years of soccer (on an all girls soccer team, aka real soccer) and i was a fucking killer mid-fielder. my thighs were giant and powerful, i could run for and sprint for hours without slowing down. i was a jock and i didn't even know it. i outclassed pretty much everyone on that team and i was benched pretty often because of this. the coach hated me, like literally told me how i shouldn't be as good at soccer as i am because i was making the boys feel bad. he told me it wasnt my place as a girl to do that. he'd make me run lap after lap after everyone else was allowed to stop i had to keep going.

a bit of a back up here. but i am physically disabled... i don't usually like to say that because its... minor i guess and there are so many people who have it worse. so please don't think ill of me if you are reading this, i know it doesn't count but im just getting it out there i guess. anyways my ankles (and do some extent my wrist as well) are very weak. my ankles actually hurt every single day because i am a very active person and must be on my feet a lot for my job too. but basically my ankles never really fully developed despite how much i worked out as a kid. i droll my ankles probably like 3 times a day when i was younger, im a bit more careful now, only about like once or twice a week and i rebound from it very quickly.

anways after my first year of soccer we had a new coach (this was on the all girls team) bc our first couch had to retire due to... being... not a very great person lets say. the new coach noticed i walked and ran a bit funny and one day asked me if i would allow him or my parents to wrap my ankles in bandages. i agreed and let my dad do it since he was a (navy) doctor. and lo and behold i could play soccer so much better. the pain was pretty much gone and i could fully concentrate on playing the game. and i was so fucking good.

back to middle school (in an entirely different state too) the co-ed soccer coach found out about my bandages, because one of my teammates saw me wrapping them in the bathroom and told him, and he made me stop. i got worse but i still kept trying, i wanted to spite him so bad. i wanted to spite all of them. i especially wanted to spite the girl that disclosed this information.

i hated her so much. she commented on my body so often. she bullied me every single day of middle school (thankfully i only went to middle school for two years). she was fat but called me fat, i never retaliated because it was pretty fucking clear she was insecure. sure the comments hurt because they were mean, but god i much preferred her fat comments to what she would end up sticking with after she saw me naked.

we were both on the soccer team (and basketball team), this was a very small school and i was in the largest class, at 18 people. usually we would have a good amount of time for everyone to change in the bathroom stalls individually, but it was going to rain in the late afternoon and because ppl in ct can't handle the rain like ppl in wa our game had been moved up so we all needed to get changed fast. whatever, i did not care, and i began to take off my uniform. it became very apparent to every girl on that team right then that i was not fat. so much so that bully girl had to give her thoughts on my body which was "wow, deadname! you really aren't fat." she said more but i refuse to quote her directly as it was horribly degrading and very rude to sex workers. but the gist was i had a body type perfect for men. i was 13 and appalled by this comment.

i know that probably seems like a pretty mediocre thing to be upset about in the grand scheme of things. but at 13 i had some... unfortunate sexual time on the school bus with another kid. over the fact that i couldn't be ace because of.... being a tease i suppose. before 13 my cousins often commented about how id dress like a slut from time to time. and i guess they had a point, i have a pretty more sense of what my body looks like and what it is doing at any moment in time. through out my life and still to this day i accidentally show more "private" areas of skin. my ass is fat and short skirts look better on me then long ones (and i honestly do not care that much if strangers get a glimpse, its not hurting anyone and you can just fucking look away). as a kid i often had plenty of "outfit malfunctions" that'd show off my boobs, they really don't make little girl clothing that fits around double ds. and once again i was small as kid, i could not fit adult shirts or bras or underwear (despite how fat my ass is i still wear teen/little girl underwear if im not wearing boxer breifs bc most woman's underwear will sag on me unless i go to an asian run store. mass produced clothing is fucking awful and a scam).

one time, with my first soccer team, the first coach had invited us all over for a halloween party. my mom didn't allow me to dress goth (she was and might still be scared i'll turn out to be a serial killer) but on halloween she allowed me to wear anything i wanted. and i wanted to be a skull fairy because i liked skulls and i loved being able to wear mostly black whenever i could. the top was strapless, the breast size a good amount too small for my honkers but that didn't stop me. mini skirt and thigh highs. i added a black feather boa because i loved boa's but being surrounded by other children meant i could hardly live my true camp-self day to day, but on halloween i could wear the biggest sparkly black boa i wanted. i also had some cool black fairy wings.

at the party she had us play some games, typical things like dunking for apples (i didn't participate in that one because im very bad at not breathing in water when its on my face), and pin the tail on the donkey, like super regular kid games. but there was one game where we were split into three teams, where one person on the team was tied up and chained to a chair while the other teammates took turns trying to find the right key to release the various padlocks along the captives body out of a large bowl of keys. first team to get their captive free wins. as you might imagine this game went on for a long time because there was a lot of fucking keys and if the key didn't work you had to return it to the bowl bc it might work for the other teams and all the keys looked extremely similar to each other. i was voted to be the captive (i wasn't really liked on my soccer team but i was fairly good at it for my first year and the coach saw promise in me and the team wasn't about friendship, it was about winning (we won 90% of our games that year)), which i was fine with because i didn't like the idea of running back and forth and getting frustrated. and in all honesty i was a little freak and for reasons unknown to me at the time, i really liked the idea of being tied up so i let it happen.

and oh boy how i had greatly misjudged how disliked i was! i was the first of the captives to get tied up, and i honestly don't know if there was a sorta mistake on the amount of supplies that were needed but after me, the two other captives were tied a lot less strictly to their chairs. they only had their wrists, ankles, and waists tied and padlocked to the chair, where as i also had my thighs and chest and tied up (no padlock on those two areas though). it quickly explained to me those were for like setting the scene or something. i accepted it but i was starting to panic a little because my chest was tied pretty tight and if i moved even a little bit my top would start to slip down. i tried to stay as still as possible and not bring any attention to my gradual double nip slip. but ya know, its hard to not wiggle a little when you've got various girls hands brushing against you as they try key after key.

the horror of it really came after one of the other teams won, the other team finishing seconds behind them, and my team had yet to find a single successful key. my boobs were fully out at this point and my skirt had rode up so my kim possible themed underwear was on full display. i was pretty embarrassed about the kim possible thing, and i suppose i was right to because my teammates absolutely thought it was lesbian behavior to have shego's smug face beaming from crotch. and to make everything worse, there was no skeleton key to this game. i was stuck there until the actual fucking keys were found. the teasing was pretty relentless, even after the mom came back into the room to see how things were going she didn't help. i asked her to help, i was on the verge of crying because i was very humiliated and wanted to go home (plus i was battling the very alien feeling of arousal), but she figured it would toughen me up to... sit through everything. eventually i was freed and i cried in the bathroom and asked to have my mom pick me up. she did, she asked me how the party was and i said it was fun but i was tired. (as a side note i'd be totally down to recreate this in a far more consensual way hahaha. being tied up and played with by some actual friends sounds so lovely)

so yeah, the comment about my body being great for men, for sex, was a bit to raw for me. i didn't say anything back though. i didn't know how to respond because all the other girls agreed. i got into the next stall as soon as possible and never changed in front of girls again.

i also never wore that skull fairy custom again unless it was with a long sleeved black turtle neck.

i became so much more conscious to cover my body up. but that never worked. i'd continue to be touched and groped until i eventually chopped those puppies off in my third year of college.

but even throwing my boobs away, even after starting t, cutting my hair short, wearing the most conservative outfits, people still touch me. i've grown fine with being touched by friends, i know they mean no harm. or... i guess i hope they don't mean any harm. i think overall people are good and have good intentions and sometimes just do things on accident and we don't have to over analyze everything.

i dont like strangers touching me. but... i'm very very awful. im no good at anything and i just, i just let it happen. every time. i let it happen. i guess i try to softly push their hands away, but i get so scared if i try any harder things will go worse. i dont speak up or say no. at most i maybe shake my head. god i wish i wasn't so fucking stupid.

but then maybe im not. the overwhelming majority of people i try to tell about these things don't believe me. or don't think its really bad that it happened. when i was in college i tried to use the woman's resource center for... ah well for like rape related stuff. but they told me i wasn't welcomed in the center and that whatever happened to me was not rape and does not warrant support. i know its wrong to use resources and support for something you've never actually for real gone through, but i was... and i guess still am desperate for something. i don't know what that is. i don't know how to define what i've gone through. i just have been told its not rape, its not really sexual assault, and its so minor that i can't even call it sexual harassment. but... i've seen people with similar stories to mine get those resources and be welcomed, embraced.

i hate to say this... but sometimes i wonder if its because i wore a tie and dress pants everywhere in college. i've never dyed my hair, and i don't really... idk i guess i don't look queer enough or feminine enough. maybe i scared people because i looked like the people who did bad things to them. i hadn't started t yet when i was rejected from the center, i hadn't even had my boobs removed. but no matter where i went there was this overall feeling that i was 100% a man and men don't go through those things very often. and it made it worse that i was a trans man, if i talked about those things i was invalidating my own gender and it made others uncomfortable. i had friends that hated to think of me before i was chosenname, that would tell me i was misgendering myself if i talked about specific things i went through. so i stopped.

i understood then that anyone who claimed themselves to be a safe person to talk to about things, to come to when you needed help, where not for me. i did not count.

i didn't mention my time in high school. i had one good year, 9th grade, at a tech school in ct. i moved to mi a year later. but i was loved, i was popular, i was just me. i still cry thinking about how much better my life could have been if i could have stayed at that school and not moved away. yeah i was being used because i was the smartest kid in the school and i was actively improving the test grades so much that i became a literal bargaining chip at a big conference for the district panel on fund allocation amongst the public schools. i was very happy with this by the way, and i had actively and enthusiastically given consent for the board members to use my grades as a means to afford more for the school, we all pretended that i wasn't moving come the next year. a few teachers joked about kidnapping me so i could keep attending the school (another thing i told them to do but this time they didn't :c). anyways, worked out well, the whole school got funded, more kids with higher test scores started attentending after me, and now the schools been completely remolded (it was originally designed as a cold war bunker turned tech school hahaha. we had a boiler room still that would constantly blow up and we'd just get random days off of school. it ruled).

then i moved to mi. everything went downhill. i become the obsession of one kid in my grade who i unfortunately had a locker right next to. again i wore a lot of short skirts, but at this point i was wearing leggings underneath as opposed to thigh highs, and i wore my blouses all the way buttoned up with a scarf acting as a diy tie. it was a killer look, id still wear it. but this guy decided i was his anime waifu. he'd try to get me alone. he'd push me up against walls to tell me how beautiful i am and how he would do anything for me. it was pretty bad because i didn't know how to make boundaries. i was scared of him getting violent with me (though he never showed any tendancies to do so... i was... well we've established im stupid). so for three years id occasionally just have to deal with some guy with a huge asian festish trying desperately to date me. i avoided my locker as much as i could.

then there was the pathetic guy. he was a year ahead of me and not interested in my at first. i was on the quiz bowl team with him and he had a bit of a reputation of going after woman who continually turned him down, and he often tried to go for the more.... aaa mentally ill girlies. he went after my friend who was a senior (also not a girl anymore) and i hated him forever after being told about it. i tried to be rude to him, though i don't know if he ever understood that or maybe i wasn't good at being rude (though i'm pretty damn good at it i think!). but after my friend graduated he suddenly started to push himself on me. at quizbowl matches, id sometimes get a little overwhelmed by all the buzzer sounds so id occasionally sit at the back of the room to get a bit of distance from the noise (which everyone was pretty cool with!), and well he'd follow me right on back. he didn't want me to be lonely he told me. i never felt lonely, but i did begin to worry that maybe i looked lonely or maybe he was lonely. but i also didn't like him, but also i was at a sporting event and he was my teammate so i can't be rude to him. so id let him sit near me. then he'd get nearer and nearer and nearer until he had his arms wrapped around me. he'd whisper in my ear and dig his fingers into my thighs, sometimes he'd pull them apart. but i never tried too hard to stop him. i don't know why.

eventually a girl in his grade and on my team noticed this, and she started sitting by me too. he stopped. i never told her thank you, but i thought it, i tried to convey it with my eyes. she didn't care much for me but she always kept her gaze on me when he was around. sometimes.... i find it hard to believe she was the first person to ever help me out of something like that.

occasionally at school the guy would get me alone and he'd be rather violent. he'd make me feel bad that i never told her to stop staring. didn't i like him? didn't i trust him? he was so alone and i was too and he was just trying to make me feel better. he threatened to sue me when i told his younger brother i didn't much care for his big brother as he pushed himself on my friend years ago. i did laugh in his face because that was such an empty threat, even someone as gullible and stupid as me could put that together.

god id never want to relive middle or high school, or even elementary school... or college... wild because i was really good at school and i've never been good at anything ever again.

now these days... ah my adult years have been a bit better. i get groped a little less now that i don't have boobs. but i don't wear as much conservative clothing as i use to. i've started wearing feminine outfits again, which are nice. i try not to let the... weird things people say to me get me down. i try not to believe i deserve those words.

i tried to get use to taking the bus again. i live an hours walk away from my job but i live on a direct bus line to it. though over a year ago... when i was trying out the buses again by myself a man came up to me. i was sitting down at the bus stop and he stood right in front me of, very close, as close as he could be. he was very clearly homeless and most definitely mentally ill so i didn't want to be mean about personal space right away. so he started talking and i slowly pushed myself to the end of the bench se we had more distance while talking. but that did not work as he just followed. his questions got weirder. he had commented about how he thinks boys look nice in skirts and stockings and my stupid fucking ass was like "oh well thats great! he seems really supportive! i guess i don't have anything to worry about!" then his hands came down on my thighs. i placed my hands on top of his hand gave them a slight push downwards, i was trying to say "please don't" but that wasn't clear enough. he instead started rubbing my legs up and down.

at this point i was like "ah fuck! again! again with something happening at a bus!" but i could not summon up enough of a fight in myself and i just kept answering his questions like a dumbass.

then he asked "where are your parents", that was an odd question. "not here, at home probably." "are you heading to school?" "no... no." i was so lost at this question. it seemed so fucking bizarre to me "what school do you go to? what school around here? where are you going?" "i graduated!" "from where? when?" "grand valley! a few years ago!" then i watched his eyes grow cold. he stopped smiling. and he turned and left me. no further questions. the bus arrived and i got on. i just stared out the window and cried silently as i slowly realized what had just happened. i was suppose to then take the bus back, but i couldn't. i called my boyfriend and cried to him and asked if he could pick me up instead and he did. he promised me he would if i ended up getting to uncomfortable.

i try so hard to get use to the bus. i think public transportation is great. but i keep getting scared. my looks get me in trouble more then they give me any benefit. he isn't the first guy to think im a kid and try stuff with me. even in college well meaning people told me their attraction to me felt incredibly illegal. i still don't really know how to process that. personally i think i'm rather ugly and unapealing. but i've had plenty of people tell me they are attracted to me but feel bad about it. and i don't know what that means.

i know i can't have an onlyfans. no matter how much i prove my age it just gets reported for being csem, same with instagram. i had to stop posting pictures of my fully clothed body on insta because even those were getting reported! i can't show my face for my works socmed bc it'll get taken down. even when there was just the back of my head people thought i was a child (and were freaked out by the content of the reel due to my perceived age).

i feel like im just trapped forever in this weird... bubble. nothing ive been through is considered to be enough. but all of it slows me down. all of it scares me. all of it continues to ruin my life. i get anxious. i get so scared. i have to be told what to do. i need people to not see me as human because when people care about me at a deeper level, when they don't just see me as some fun toy to play with and throw out in a year, i get scared.

god this has gone on for so long. i did not mean it. but i gotta get in the shower. i have to go to work. im scared and anxious and depressed but i gotta go to work. i wish i could just do art. but i've just started self harming again instead. im so stupid. but i guess writing all this out was better then cutting myself.

now if you somehow read through all this. do not call the cops for a wellness check. i will try my hardest to do suicide by cop.

also never call the cops for a wellness check on anyone ever you fucking moron. do you know what they do? do you? do you fucking know? would you believe me if i told you even a single fucking thing they've done to me? or are you just going to ignore that and call because "youre so scared for me" and you think because im white ill be safe. shut up and unfollow me. never talk to me again. block me. you are a fucking idiot and only view the world in black and white. i do not need that in my life. educate yourself on the history of cops and disabled folks, trans folks, and gay men. seriously. fucking go and learn and be a better person.

[hauntingblue]

I don't know what to say... everyone got a happy ending except the people who actually wanted a real revolution and had a cause for it... but it's not like we had much of their opinions on this I guess... also no final lez sex scene... tragic

[29121996]

for the record ibrlly never undersrood how someone watching u could like makw u feel naked or . like theyre fucking Really Peerjng ibto you. until recently and i Hate This !

[bloatedandalone04]

Don’t Ever Leave My Side

➪the one where you finally let jake take you out on a date after countless rejections, but it turns out that the guy you convinced yourself he was, isn’t who he is at all.

Warnings: smut, fluff, pda, unprotected sex, swearing, pining, oral (f receiving), jake being whipped bc i missed writing for him

Word Count: 4.7k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

You weren’t sure why you had reapplied your makeup for the third time now after deciding that it didn’t look good enough. And you opted to leave your hair how it normally looked right after a shower and to not touch it, but here you were, hastily curling it as you checked the time on your phone for the fourth time since plugging in the curling iron. 

None of it mattered at all. It was just a stupid date. One stupid date you promised Jake Seresin you’d go on with him, that was it. 

The guy had been asking you out for months now, and you’ve shut him down every time since you knew how he was with the women who frequented the Hard Deck. He was a player, in the sky and on the ground, and you wanted nothing to do with it, which is why you’ve rejected him more times than you can count on both hands. 

Yet he was persistent, the fucker. To get him to stop, you agreed to go out with him the last time you bumped into him, and that date was scheduled for tonight. In exactly four minutes, but you were planning on being late just to fuck with him, because there was no way you were going on a second date with him. No way. No.

You just finished your hair when your phone went off with a text, and you glanced down at it as you unplugged the curler and set it down on the counter. 

Jake Seresin: I’m here, gorgeous. Hope you’re prepared for tonight ;)

For some reason, reading that gave you butterflies in your stomach, and you quickly typed out a response before setting your phone down and pulling on the simple black dress you picked out for tonight.

Nice. I’m not ready yet.

The dress was tight around your torso area but got looser around your thighs, and the straps were so thin, you had to wear a strapless bra so it didn’t look dumb. The hem around your chest was lace and provided a small amount of cleavage that left nothing to the imagination, so yeah. It was very simple. 

After checking yourself a respectable three times, you slide on your ankle boots and grab your purse. 

You wondered if Jake was annoyed that you took so long to get ready since he read your text but never responded to it, but you were wrong as you opened your front door and saw him leaning against the passenger side of his truck with a stupid fucking smile on his face. “Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted as you huffed and turned to lock the door. When you made your way over to him, Jake moved out of the way and opened the passenger door for you. “You look stunning.”

“Thanks,” you drag the word out a bit as you hop up onto the seat and place your hands on your lap as he shuts the door behind you. A few seconds later, he was sitting beside you in the driver’s seat as he put the truck into drive. “Where are we going?”

Jake grinned over at you as he flicked the radio on, and some country song began playing quietly through the speakers as he answered, “It’s a surprise. Shocking, I know, but if I’m only getting one shot at this, I’m gonna do it right,”

“Great, I love surprises,” you mumbled, looking out the window before quickly looking back at him once you further processed his words. “And there’s no if, Jake. You are only getting one shot at this.”

You weren’t sure whose head you were trying to get that through at this point. 

But Jake wasn’t fazed as his grin grew. “Better make sure I don’t fuck this up then,” he said, glancing over at you. “I promise, I’ll make it count.”

He sounded so excited and he looked hot in his jeans and button up and jacket. You hated it, because you’ve seen him with other girls before, and he never put on this nice of an outfit, and he never gave them the amount of attention he’s already given you since you left your house. 

And you were even more annoyed when he pulled into a parking spot right outside your favorite Italian restaurant ten minutes later. You looked at the bright sign that said the name of the restaurant with squinted eyes before looking over at Jake. “Why are we here?”

Jake looked a bit panicked for a second as he paused mid-way through taking off his seatbelt. “Is this not…I thought this was your favorite place to eat at,” he sounded nervous now and you loosened up a bit as you took off your own seatbelt. 

“It is,” you confirmed, “But how did you know that?”

Jake looked more relaxed as he finally let his seatbelt go and opened the door. “Bird Boy told me,” he said and you groaned. 

“Damnit, Rooster,” you muttered as you grabbed your bag and reached for the handle, but Jake was already there and opening the door for you. “I’m going to yell at him the next time I see him.” You state as you get out of the truck.

Bradley was your best friend, and the guy who had witnessed a lot of your rejections to Jake firsthand. You weren’t all that surprised that he felt a little bad for the blond and helped him out with this, because your best friend was a decent guy and one of your favorite people. But you were still going to yell at him.

“Really?” Jake laughed as he placed his hand on the small of your back and led you towards the doors of the restaurant. “Because I can’t stop thanking the guy, and that’s kind of a big deal for me.”  

You huffed out a laugh in return as he guided you inside, and a few minutes later you were sitting at a booth with him with your drinks placed in front of you. Your menu was flat on the table while he held his up, his eyes flickering over the options as you subtly watched him. 

“What’s good here?” He asked, “This is my first time in this place.”

You picked up your margarita with a shrug, “Everything, from what I can tell,”

Jake glanced at you over the top of his menu, his brows furrowing as he realized that you didn’t even look at your own. “What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

You set your drink down and leaned back against the booth. “I know what I’m getting. I get it every time,”

Jake’s lips turned upwards at that as he set the menu down and slid his water closer to him on the table. “Oh, you’re one of those people, huh?” He asked with a smirk as he sipped a bit of the bland drink. “You don’t like, I don’t know, trying something different?”

“If it’s not broken, don’t fix it?” You offer with a raised brow as you watch him set the water back down. “You’re seriously not drinking tonight?”

He shook his head as he closed the menu and pushed both yours and his to the edge of the table. “No. I want to be sober the whole time so I can remember this night with vivid detail. I think you deserve that,”

Your face heated up as you cleared your throat, his words doing a number on you as you sat up a bit. “What are you getting?” You quickly change the subject as you felt the sudden urge to kiss the guy you’ve been avoiding for months now. 

“What are you getting?” He asked back and you narrowed your eyes as you told him your usual order. “Perfect, I’ll get that too. Maybe I’ll like it enough to order it every time I come here.”

And that was how you found yourself eating identical meals not long after, and a blush seemed to be stuck on your face as you answered every single question he had for you. Your favorite color, your favorite song, the teacher you hated most in high school, your worst dating experience, all of it.

For some reason, this wasn’t bad. This wasn’t bad at all. Talking with Jake felt easy, like you could do it all the time and never complain about it. Why was this shaping out to be kind of the perfect first date? Why was he kind of being the perfect gentleman? 

He seemed so interested in you, like how he was during the build ups to him eventually asking you out. You were beginning to feel bad about constantly saying no, because you were actually having a really good time with him. 

“Well?” You started as Jake asked for the bill. “How was it? Will you be returning just to order that every time?” You gestured to the empty plates in front of you and Jake shrugged as he took out his wallet. 

“It wasn’t bad. Your taste in food is pretty decent,” he hummed as the waitress, who had been checking Jake out the whole night and who hadn’t been looked at by him for more than a total of six seconds, placed the bill on the table. You reached for your own wallet but he stopped you and handed you his keys instead. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Wait in the truck for me, okay?”

You take the keys from him and give the waitress a soft smirk as you stand up, noticing the scowl that had formed on her face as she heard the affectionate nickname Jake gave you. 

Less than a minute later, Jake was beside you in his truck again as he backed out of the parking space with one hand. You were feeling a bit shy now as you looked over at him and took in just how handsome he actually is. “Thanks for tonight,” you say quietly as he pulls out onto the road. “It was kinda…it was fun.”

“You think it’s over?” He laughed softly as he glanced over at you in the dark truck. “I only get you to myself for one night, you really think I’m just taking you out to dinner?”

Your face heated up for the hundredth time tonight as you quickly broke eye contact. “Oh…where else are we going?”

Jake looked back at the road as he drove with one hand, and you were sure he wasn’t aware of just how hot that was. “To the place we first met,” he answered simply and your eyes widened a bit as you laughed.

“The Hard Deck?”

“Yeah,” he grinned over at you. “I have to show at least one person from work that I actually managed to get you to go out with me. And Bird Boy doesn’t count.”

You weren’t entirely sure why, but that had you smiling like a love struck teenager the whole ride, and when you arrived at the Hard Deck, you allowed Jake to lead you inside with his hand placed firmly on your hip. 

A few of his coworkers smirked at him, a few looked beyond shocked, and then there was Bradley, who avoided eye contact with you as soon as you entered the bar. Okay, so maybe you wouldn’t be yelling at him later. 

The Hard Deck was rowdy as usual, but Jake wasn’t paying attention to anyone but you, and you realized just how much you liked being the center of his attention. 

And he was completely sober as he held you in his arms as the two of you swayed to an old song playing on the jukebox. He looked content and so handsome, you had to look away as you mumbled, “Okay, so maybe this isn’t so bad after all,” and pressed the side of your face against his chest. “You kind of planned the most perfect first date, Jake. I’m actually so surprised.”

Your head vibrated a bit when he laughed and tightened his hold on you as if he was scared to let you go. “Well, when you’re determined to make someone fall head over heels for you, you’ve got to put in a bit of effort,” he said and your whole body heated up in a blush. “So, uh…does this mean there’s gonna be a second date?”

You pull back slightly and look up at him. “That depends on you,” came your quiet response as you slid your hands up his back. “You’ve been the most perfect gentleman tonight, and you’ve been so sweet, but will it be like this every time? Or was this just a show for tonight?”

Jake lifted a hand and brushed some of your hair behind your ear, his thumb stroking your cheek after. “You deserve to be treated right, and I want to be the person to do that. I want to be the perfect guy for you, Y/n. You’re special to me,” he said and sounded so genuine, you had no choice but to believe his words. “Give me a chance to show you that I’m not the stuck up ladies man you think I am. I’m falling for you…and I don’t want to mess this up.”

There it was. Jake had just put his heart on his sleeve for you, and now it was completely up to you what happened next. 

You press your lips together and look down at the wooden floor of the bar. “I was wrong about you. You’re not the player I thought you were. And honestly, I don’t care about how many women you’ve been with. The guy you’ve been tonight…it’s a different side of you, Jake. Or maybe it’s who you’ve been this whole time and I’ve just been too stubborn to see it,” you murmur and place your hands flat on his chest as you look back up at him. “The guy you are right now, I can see myself with him. With you. Tonight has been…perfect, in every single way. You’ve been perfect, Jake.”

There was your own confession that, early this morning, you would’ve never said out loud, but things had clearly changed. 

Jake smiled and leaned down to brush his lips against yours in a teasing kiss. “You haven’t seen anything yet, sweetheart,” he whispered against your mouth before pulling back to look into your eyes. “So why don’t we skip right to the part where you agree to a second date?” He asked in a deep voice as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him.

You laughed, looking up at him with unguarded eyes. “I think it’s safe to say you got that second date. And the third. And the fourth,” you grinned, curling your fingers around his jacket as your gaze intensified a bit. “Tell me something, does the perfect gentleman kiss on the first date? Because that teaser you just gave me wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy what I’m feeling right now.”

Jake’s smile grows before he leans down and presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss. It starts off somewhat soft, and he lets you take the lead as you kiss him a bit deeper, and then his tongue was pushing past your lips and brushing against yours. 

It was clear from the kiss that he had been holding back his desire for you for months, and you suddenly didn’t regret pushing him away so much, because it allowed you to feel every inch of his want for you with every brush of his mouth against yours. 

After a few more seconds, he breaks the kiss. “There you go,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your puffy bottom lip. “But that’s just one of many. I plan on kissing the fuck out of you on every single one of those future dates.”

A content hum leaves your lips, a feeling of excitement for the future settling in your bones as you lean up and kiss him again. Soon enough you’d become addicted. You were sure of it. 

Your fingers slide into his hair as the music continues to play and the patrons of the bar chat amongst themselves, not paying either of you any attention as you lose yourselves in each other. 

Jake’s hands grip your waist tighter, pulling your chest against his. “You’re mine now, Y/n,” he mumbled when he finally broke the kiss after a few minutes, and you held back a squeal at just how good that sounded. “I’ll make you happy, I swear it.” 

You bite down on your lip and trace the sides of his face with your fingers. “Any chance the perfect gentleman takes me to bed on the first date?” You playfully asked, but you were also very serious, even if you thought that you should probably wait to have sex. Maybe until the second date. That seemed long enough. 

“Patience, baby,” he rasped, tugging at your bottom lip with his thumb. “A perfect gentleman knows how to build anticipation.”

He tucks a few strands of hair behind your ear as you hum quietly, threading your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck as you try not to squeal again at the cute pet name. 

“Besides, I have a feeling you’re going to be worth the wait. I know it’ll be…fucking amazing between us,” he added, brushing another soft kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry, by the end of our second date, I’ll give it to you so good, you’ll still be sore when we go on our third date.” 

You grin excitedly and nod. “It’s okay,” you whisper, “I can wait. I know that now, Jake. You’re worth the wait.”

Jake smiled down at you before kissing you one last time then taking your hand and leading you towards the bar. 

-

A couple weeks, and several dates later, you and Jake are officially together and crazy in love with each other. 

The realization that you had only pushed him away for so long because you were so into him was a tough pill to swallow, but when you finally got it down, you threw yourself headfirst into this relationship with him, and neither of you planned to look back. 

It became official shortly after the first date, where he drove you home, kissed you sweetly, then left you wanting more. By the end of the second date, Jake stayed true to his promise and fucked you so good into his mattress, you were addicted by the time the sun came up. 

You’d both been insatiable since then, which wasn’t all that surprising. The chemistry between you two had been undeniable from the start, so of course the sex was fucking amazing. 

Now, having just gotten back to his place after your eighth date, you and he can’t keep your hands off one another as you stumble through his front door, your mouths connected and your hands all over each other. 

You pull off his jacket and let it fall to the floor of the entryway while he helps you slide off your heels, your mouths meshing noisily together. He kicks the door shut before reaching down to grab the backs of your thighs, never breaking the kiss as he lifts you into his arms. He begins to walk towards his bedroom, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he pulls away. “I’m gonna take you slow and deep tonight,” he mumbled against your lips. “Wanna drag it out this time.”

He was referring to the previous date, when he fucked you hard and fast into his couch while you screamed your throat raw, and the reminder of it just turned you on even more. 

Jake lays you down on his bed before standing back up and working on ridding himself of his belt. You lean back on the bed, pulling your dress off to leave you in a matching black lace lingerie set that paired sinfully well with your thigh high stockings. 

Leaning back on your elbows, you spread your thighs and beckon him to you with a curl of your finger. “Come here,”

Jake’s eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you. He’s seen you naked countless of times by now, but seeing you in something so effortlessly hot was something else, especially since he knew exactly what the black fabric was hiding from him. 

His hands reach down to pull off his belt and he shrugs off his clothes, leaving on his boxer briefs for now and showing off just how hard you made him through the thin material. 

Crawling onto the bed, he positions himself between your thighs, his lips peppering kisses along your stomach as his fingers tease the edge of your panties. “God, you’re fucking stunning,” he mumbled, running his fingers over the flimsy fabric. “Tell me, baby, were these expensive?”

You hum, looking down at him as you shrug. “A little, but not too bad,”

Jake smirked, mumbling a quick, “Good,” before he ripped the delicate fabric and tossed it aside, revealing your slick folds to his needy eyes. 

“Jake!” You gasped, your eyes widening as his big hands gripped the backs of your thighs and spread your legs a bit wider. 

“I’ll buy you more, one in every color,” he promised, grinning up at you before looking back down at your heat. He runs his fingers through your wetness, a satisfied hum leaving his mouth, “You’re so wet for me, baby. All for me.”

Then he was burying his face between your thighs, his tongue poking out to lick a stripe up your entrance before sucking on your clit. “Oh, fuck,” you whined and he groaned, sending a jolt of pleasure up your body. You shuddered, your muscles tightening as you reached down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “Just like that, Jake. Feels so good.”

Jake’s tongue pressed more firmly against your clit while his fingers gathered more of your wetness before sinking knuckle-deep inside you. He fucks them in and out of you as his teeth gently nip at your sensitive bundle of nerves, and you fell back onto his pillow as he devoured you. 

The sight of you looking already so fucked out with your hair draped across his pillow had him refraining from bucking his hips against the bed, because it was something he had been dreaming about seeing for months. He was still kind of shocked that he could now see it whenever he wanted.

“Fuck,” you gasped, arching your back as he guided your legs to rest over his shoulders. Your fingers were pulling on his hair pretty hard, and he fucking loved it. He loved every single second he spent with you, and he couldn’t get enough of your sweet taste, your soft moans and the fact that you had finally, finally given him the chance he’s been craving for so long. 

You were finally his, and he was never letting you go. 

“Cum for me,” he mumbled, flicking your clit with his tongue as he curled his fingers deep inside you. “Cum all over my face, baby. Let me taste it.”

If there was one thing Jake knew how to do, it was to spew the most filthy fucking things to you. And he knew you loved it. He found that out pretty quickly the first time he took you to bed, and he was more than willing to delve into your desire for dirty talk. 

Like he suspected, your mouth parted in a loud moan as you tugged harshly on his hair, and a second later you were coming on his tongue and fingers. “Jake…holy fuck, baby,” you moaned as you writhed against his face. “Fuck…feels so fucking good.”

The taste of you on his tongue makes him groan, and he continues to ravish your pussy until you’re shaking and whimpering incoherently. Once you settled a bit, Jake lifted his head, his lips and chin soaked with your release as he grins up at you and begins to place kisses along your stomach while he pushes his boxers down. 

He hovers over you, his hands squeezing your breasts through your bra as he teases your quivering heat with the tip of his cock. “I need you, baby,” he mumbled, reaching down to grip his base as he coats himself in your arousal before slowly pushing inside you. “Fuck, you’re tight.” He groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder as he started to slowly rock into you.

His hand moves from your chest to grip your hips as he picks up the speed a bit, his body fitting perfectly against yours with each deep thrust,

“There you go,” he rasped, kissing along your neck. “Take it all, baby, every inch.”

You moan loudly as you arch your back, and you guide his hands around you to the clasp of your bra. “Fuck, Jake, you feel so good,” you whimpered, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist. 

Jake hums, expertly unclasping your bra before guiding the straps down your arms, all while keeping the pace of his thrusts. His eyes immediately lock onto your breasts, now bare to his dark eyes as they bounce with every movement. “You’re a fucking dream,” he mumbled, leaning down to wrap his lips around one of your nipples as he rocks his hips against yours. “You make me lose control, every single time.” He grunted through ragged breaths, his cock brushing against every hidden spot deep inside you. 

“Jake,” you moan desperately, guiding his mouth to yours in a messy kiss. “I love you.”

He groans, kissing you again as he feels himself close to coming already because you felt that fucking good. “I love you, too,” he rasped, his words muffled against your mouth. “So fucking much.”

You moaned, tugging on his hair as you lazily met his thrusts halfway. “I’m close,” you mumbled and he groaned in both pleasure and relief as he reached down to rub circles against your clit. 

“Me too,” he muttered, pinching and pulling at your bundle of nerves. “Cum with me, baby. Let go for me.”

A few seconds later, you were coming for a second time, but on his cock, and a couple thrusts later, he was too. He filled you up as his body shuddered, his lips pressing soft kisses to your neck as he fucked his seed deep inside you. 

Once you were both spent, he collapsed gently on top of you, keeping his cock lodged inside you as he cuddled you against his chest. “Stay with me tonight,” he begged quietly, turning you both on your sides and tucking your head under his chin. 

You smiled, nuzzling against his sweaty chest. “Where else would I be?”

Jake smiled back, pulling you impossibly closer. “What about tomorrow? Will you stay here tomorrow, too? We can have breakfast in bed,” he offered with a teasing grin on his lips. 

You hummed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Pancakes or waffles?” You ask instead of answering him, confirming that you will be staying at his place for the remainder of the weekend. 

“Pancakes,” he replied, pulling back to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “And bacon. A fuckton of it.”

Even though this wasn’t the first time you would be spending the night in his arms, Jake still felt beyond happy that, after months of pining over you, he was given the chance to experience life with you. He was also really fucking excited to spend tomorrow morning with you in his bed. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he mumbled, holding you a bit tighter. “Wanted you.”

You go silent for a few seconds before pulling back to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” you whispered, tracing the curve of his bottom lip with your finger. “Truthfully, I didn’t think it could be this good. I was so wrong.”

Jake shakes his head, taking your hand in his and pressing a few kisses to your knuckles. “Don’t be sorry,” he said quietly. “It was worth it, all of it, if it meant we’d end up like this. Together.”

He leaned down to kiss you deeply, and you returned it instantly. “I love you,” you mumbled against his lips as you gently gripped his face. 

“I love you, too,” he said back and meant it with his whole heart as he rolled you onto your back again and settled on top of you.

Because without a doubt, his heart had been entirely yours since the second he saw you, and he knew that, he was just finally able to make you see it too.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Distractions || nfl player!Rafe Cameron x dcc!reader

Summary: just Rafe distracting you while practicing 👀

Warnings: none

Word count: 986

A/n: slightly inspired by that one scene in one tree hill!! Also I’m rewatching the dcc documentary so expect some more dcc!reader content bc they’re so fun to write 😭

MASTERLIST (nfl!rafe x dcc!reader au masterlist)

“Is Y/n here?” Kelli’s voice echoes from the entrance of the locker room, her authoritative tone cutting through the low hum of conversation. Her no-nonsense tone makes heads turn, and the girls quickly quiet down. “Yes, ma’am,” you call back, straightening up from your stretches on the floor. Your muscles felt loose, but the nervous energy buzzing through you was hard to shake.

Kelli steps inside, clipboard in hand and an air of brisk efficiency about her. “Coach Johnson just let me know they’re doing maintenance in the stadium, so the Cowboys are gonna have to practice out on the field with us.” Your brow furrows slightly as you process her words.

“Oh,” you reply, forcing a neutral expression even though the thought of seeing him—Rafe—makes your heart skip. “Well, I guess that’ll be good practice for the rookies,” you add with a small smile, brushing off the flicker of anxiety. “That’s exactly what Judy and I were thinking,” Kelli says with a chuckle, glancing at her watch.

As she walks off, you take a deep breath and stand, mentally running through the routine. As you lead the girls out to the practice field, the sound of whistles and shouted commands grows louder. The Cowboys are already there, scattered across the field, stretching and warming up. The mingling energy of both teams fills the air, creating a palpable buzz.

You tell yourself not to look, to focus on your job. But your resolve falters, and your gaze flickers across the field. Almost as if on cue, your eyes find him—Rafe Cameron. He’s mid-stretch, one knee bent, his arm casually draped over it. His sharp blue eyes meet yours instantly, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It’s like he knew you’d look.

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you snap your attention back to the task at hand. “Alright, listen up!” you call out, clapping your hands to gather the girls around you. “The Cowboys are running their drills, so we’ll stick to our side and stay out of their way. We’ll run through Thunder once or twice for warm-ups, then jump into the routines. Rookies, pay attention—we’ll do formations after.”

You glance around to make sure they’re focused, then step into place. “Hairflip on one, tap on two. Rookies, you’ll wait for the third count. Vets, arms on three. Let’s go from the top.” As the music starts, you lead the group, counting them in with precision. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Rafe standing off to the side during a water break, his gaze lingering on you.

You grit your teeth and force yourself to stay in the moment, reminding yourself this wasn’t the time—or place—to get distracted. But no matter how much you try to ignore it, his presence is impossible to shake. You keep your focus on the routine, calling out cues as the music plays, but every so often, you feel it—his gaze, burning through the distance like a magnet pulling you in.

When you steal a glance in his direction, Rafe is watching again, leaning casually on his knees, helmet tucked under one arm. His smirk is slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. You roll your eyes and turn back to your group, ignoring the flutter in your chest.

“From the top,” you announce, clapping your hands to refocus the girls. “Girls in this file, try and stay in line with Claire." You’re halfway through the routine, demonstrating the next sequence, when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. Rafe jogs over, cutting across the field toward you. He stops just outside your group, resting his hands on his hips, his shirt damp with sweat.

“Coach said I should work on my footwork,” he quips, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. “Thought I’d watch the pros.” The girls suppress giggles, their wide-eyed glances bouncing between you and Rafe. You tilt your head, shooting him a pointed look. “You’re distracting the girls, Cameron,” you say, feigning annoyance.

“Wouldn’t want to get in the way,” he replies smoothly, backing up a step but never breaking eye contact. “Okay, just ignore him,” you announce, turning back to your group. “Focus, everyone. Eyes on me.” You shoo him away with a dismissive gesture, earning a few quiet laughs from the girls. They fall back into position, and you lead them through the routine again, counting the beats aloud.

You’re so caught up in counting the beats that you don’t notice Rafe chasing a stray ball until it’s too late. “Look out!” Claire yelps as Rafe stumbles into your path, nearly knocking you off balance. His hands catch your arm to steady you, but the routine screeches to a halt. “Nice hands,” you say dryly, brushing him off as you step back, crossing your arms.

Rafe smirks, his gaze flickering down your frame and back up again. “Nice legs,” he counters, his voice low and teasing, eyes lingering a second too long. Your cheeks flush as you narrow your eyes at him. “Shouldn’t you be practicing instead of flirting?” “Who says I can’t do both?” he shoots back, his grin widening. Cameron!” Coach Johnson shouts from across the field, and Rafe gives you a little salute before jogging off, throwing one last look over his shoulder.

You shake your head, suppressing the smile tugging at your lips as you turn back to the group. “Alright, let’s try that again. No more interruptions!” But even as you say it, you can’t help but glance toward him one more time.

[realisticjupiter]

haihaii!! your profile has been like.... THERAPY to me bc the aib fixation is back AND ITS STRONG ESPECIALLY TOWARDS CHISHIYA 💔💔💔 i love the way u write as well !!

so with this could i request a touch starved chishiya... like a chishiya that needs readers attention so bad but is too embarrassed to downright tell them "I WANT CUDDLES" or smth... still he does everything in his power to get readers attention atp the only thing left is to just BEG

also could i be 🎶 anon ? i picture myself being very active here from now on... have a nice day!!

Summary: Chishiya can't sleep without you.

Genre: Fluffy

Pairing: Chishiya x gn!reader

Warnings: None! :)

Word count: 784

a/n: Aghhhh i hope this is okay!!!!! That is actually so sweet of you, I'm so glad you've liked my account!!!<3 And ofc you can claim an emoji, hello 🎶!!

Chishiya tried everything to get you into bed with him. He tried seducing you, gaslighting you, and of course his manipulation tactics didn't work either.

All you were focused on was trying to fix the phone from last night's game. It was still on, so you thought it would be easier to get into before it powered off.

Every time he'd call your name, you'd brush him off. Mostly because he always used a certain tone of voice you've become far too familiar with when he tries to get what he wants.

All he wanted to do was kneel at your feet to tell you exactly what he wanted. To tell you he just wanted you to hold him, to tell you all he needed was your attention.

But he couldn't. He never has been able to ask for help, or ask for anything without feeling vulnerable for that matter. He was closed off, that's what people knew about him; that he didn't show those types of emotions in fear of being belittled.

Chishiya could feel his eyelids getting heavy and his eyes burning from keeping them open, but he knew no matter how hard he would toss and turn; he wouldn't be able to sleep without you.

It was pathetic, he'd admit that. It was a loop he found himself getting stuck into, and found there was no way out of it. He hid it pretty well, though. Through late nights where you'd fall asleep alone and wake up to him beside you. You truly had no idea he struggled so much.

He was so tired. He'd do anything if you'd just stop and sleep already.

And he found his last option, the one thing he dreaded the most.

"Y/n?" Chishiya whispered, his voice husky as he climbed out of bed and walked towards you with slow steps.

"What?" You hummed in response, never peeling your eyes away from the task at hand.

"Please," He spoke underneath his breath in an almost incoherent whisper as he stopped to stand beside the chair you sat in.

"I don't know what you want, Chishiya. No one is keeping you awake." You sighed, watching from the corner of your eye as he stood by your side, rubbing his eyes with his palms.

"You're keeping me awake." He murmured, watching your hands as they played around with the device's motherboard.

"How?" You said in defeat, finally turning your attention to him. You looked up at him with your hands thrown in your lap, clearly waiting for his response.

He let out a huff as he looked around the room; avoiding eye contact. When he finally looked at you, his eyes were soft and glassed over.

His next sentence was incoherent.

"What?"

[inaudible]

"Chishiya. Speak up, please." Your words were soft as you stood up from your seat, placing your hands on his upper arms.

"I can't sleep without you." He finally spoke, his words finally registering in your mind.

When he realized you had finally heard him, he felt like he could say anything. And with his new found confidence he continued to speak.

"Why is it so hard to ask you to touch me?" He breathed, letting his head fall onto your shoulder.

You smiled at his soft demeanour. You knew how hard it must've been for him to admit something so close to himself, especially since it was about you. You've found a new side of Chishiya you haven't seen before.

You brought a hand to comb through his hair as the other scratched up and down his bare back, "I'm sorry, Chishiya. I should've just read your mind." You whispered against his shoulder as you held him close to your body.

Your words were an obvious tease, trying to humor the situation at hand. Which did make Chishiya snicker.

"You should have. You've always been able to." He muttered, wrapping his arms lazily around you.

You smiled warmly as he spoke, pulling away to drag his hand towards the bed. You climbed in with him closely behind you. He waited for you to get comfortable, before he joined you under the covers to tangle his limbs with yours.

"I'm proud of you, Chishiya." Your sultry breath hit his forehead as you mumbled against his skin.

He stared down at the way your bodies fit together, processing your words with a smile he knew you couldn't see.

"Now go to sleep, 'm here." You spoke once more into his skin, kissing his forehead and massaging your fingers into his scalp.

His cold fingers danced around your bare skin, trying to bring himself impossibly closer to you before his body fell limp into a night's sleep.

reposts and comments are appreciated <3

[basketball-lesbians]

Freefall

summary: The thing about Paige and Azzi is they were never any good at staying away from each other. Even when they really should.

OR

The fwb pazzi fic that quite literally nobody asked for but I’m providing anyway.

pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

contents: angst, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff occasionally if you squint, fwb, cheating

disclaimer:

As the story progresses, some of this will be out of character for Paige, especially with Azzi (she's lowkey an asshole at times in this storyline). There is cheating in this fic (NOT between Paige and Azzi), I don't condone it, but I did write it. I literally just wrote this because I could not get the prompt out of my head and bc I think it’s hot, lol. None of this has been beta’d, please do not repost/distribute anywhere else. Hope you enjoy these silly gay bitches being obsessed w each other :)

—

It was something they’d fought about a thousand times: the impending end of their time together at UCONN, whether Azzi would declare, how they would manage being thrust into being a long distance relationship again- if the cards fell that way.

Each time they’d fought about it, they would inevitably come to a resolution that it wasn’t worth stressing about before they had to- that they should treasure the moments they had left and live in the moment while it lasted. No matter how much that conclusion equally made Azzi’s stomach turn, ever the over-thinker, Paige would soothe her with that sweet, gentle voice she reserved for only her, and brush her loose curls behind her ear as she pressed sweet kisses to her face, and Azzi would let it go.

This time though, they hadn’t had such luck. They’d been arguing ahead of the season starting for an hour- loud enough that it echoed off the walls of the shared apartment, leading Ice and the other girls to take it as a sign and leave to give them privacy.

“No Paige, you’re not listening to me!” Azzi shouts, tears welling in her eyes as she flings her hands in a gesture of frustration that shows her desperation.

“How the fuck am I not listening to you?” Paige bites back defensively, her tone hot with anger. At that, Azzi scoffs, turning around to wipe the tears from her eyes harshly. The site of her back turned as she sniffles and wipes her face clearly melts away at Paige’s resolve, and it’s quiet for a ten count before her voice softens. “Baby, we’ve been at this for an hour.” She says, clearly exasperated.

“No. For months.” Azzi corrects pointedly, turning on her heel to meet Paige’s gaze. Her voice is unsteady, but the words are sharp and sure. There’s sincerity behind it, and they both know the implications of what she’s saying as it settles into the room.

It hangs heavy in the air between them, but neither of them manages to address it, just staring at each other. “And we’re no closer to resolving it.” It slips from her lips before she really thinks about it, and even though she means it, she feels bad as soon as she says it. She knows it was a low blow, speaking something aloud that so evidently assigned blame to Paige’s career.

Paige’s frame suddenly seems small in the low lighting of the room. She stares at the ground midway between them, not quite bold enough to look Azzi right in the face. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Azzi.” She mutters, defeated.

Azzi nods, wetting her lips. She would never ask Paige to choose her over her career, in any capacity. As teenagers, they’d conspired dreams about how they’d play together in college, spend every day together in practice and win championships before declaring for the draft and entering the league together. Azzi had finished college in 3 years just so they could stay in the same class.

But life hadn’t quite worked out that way. Yes, they’d both gotten to UCONN. They’d even gotten as close to a championship as the final four, more than once. But in three years, they’d only played 17 games together, injuries always getting in the way.

Now, almost a year after her second ACL tear, Azzi was close to coming back- this time, hopefully more permanently. But Paige was expected to declare after the end of her fifth year of playing at UCONN, her eligibility to stay in college gone, and nobody- including herself- was sure if the time was right for Azzi to declare, having missed so much play time throughout her collegiate career.

She knew the importance that getting to the league held to Paige. To both of them. She would never want to put herself before that. She did wish, though, that just for once, Paige would at least admit that the tensions that declaring brought with it were causing issues between them.

Really what she wishes is that she would hold her and apologize for the stress it caused, and promise that she would still be her priority, no matter where the draft took her. But Paige, ever so stubborn and never one to take blame if she didn’t have to, had yet to do so.

“You know what? Nevermind. I don’t know why I even brought it up.” Azzi grumbles, reaching for her sweatshirt that was slung over the back of Paige’s desk chair.

“Hey,” Paige says in protest, stepping toward her to grab her hand. “Paige, please.” Azzi sighs, glancing at their hands together before meeting the blonde’s eyes, glossy with tears. They share a pained look, but neither of them says anything. Paige drops her hand as Azzi reaches for her bedroom door. “I’ll see you at practice.” She says, closing the door behind her.

—

To make matters worse, when her alarm goes off the next morning, Azzi discovers that in her overly tired and emotional state after coming back from Paige’s, she’d set her alarm for 45 minutes after what she normally would to get ready for practice. She groans as she wakes up, rolling over to pick up her phone, turning off the alarm.

When she sees the time, she throws the blankets off, scrambling to her feet. She pulls her bonnet off and tosses it to her bedside table, grabbing a hair-tie left behind by Paige and pulling her curls back as fast as she can. Nearly falling over as she pulls on a pair of sweats and a hoodie she's pretty sure is her girlfriends', she rushes into the bathroom to quickly brush her teeth, splashing cold water on her face in a desperate effort to wake herself up, not bothering to look at her reflection in the mirror.

Of course this would happen to her the day of the first official practice back.

She grabs her practice set and court shoes and tosses them into her duffel along with another change of clothes, quickly grabbing a few hair care products and hygiene items to get ready with after practice before zipping it closed and slinking out the door. She gets down one out of three flights before realizing her keys aren’t in her hand. She groans in frustration, hanging her head in exasperation for a moment before turning around and running back up the flight of stairs she’d just come down, swiping her card to get back into her apartment to grab her keys.

Once she finds them, she rushes back down the stairs a second time, jogging across the walkway into the lot to her jeep as she checks her watch for the time. Shit. There was no way she was making it on time. She tosses her bag into the backseat before climbing into the drivers seat, and when she does, she’s instantly met with the realization that Paige was the last person to drive her car- she’d taken it for an oil change over the weekend because Azzi had studying she’d needed to do.

It’s evident in the way that her seat is slightly further back to account for Paige’s long legs, the smell of her cologne still barely in the air, and finally, when the engine turns over, the way that the speakers are turned to full volume once her phone resyncs to the audio system.

She flinches, partially at how bad she feels for picking a fight with Paige last night and partially at how loud the music comes through the speakers. She cranks the dial down after nearly jumping out of her skin, reversing out of her parking spot and out of the lot, probably a little bit faster than she should.

—

She pulls into the practice facility and manages a parking job she’s sure she’ll hear about in the team group chat later before speed walking inside, her bag hitting her knee awkwardly every other step. She swipes herself into the facility and immediately rushes to the team room and then to the changing rooms, throwing on her practice set and pulling out her shoes to walk to the courts. She tries to slink into the gym without being noticed, but the girls are already running drills across the court, so there’s nothing to distract CD from clocking her as soon as she rounds the corner.

Azzi offers an apologetic smile, and for a second she actually thinks that the pathetic look on her face might have spared her from a lecture when CD’s expression softens as she looks at her, but then she hears it. Geno’s loud voice booms across the gym- calling her out in front of the entire team and staff.

“Azzi Fudd! How nice of you to make an appearance.” He chides, hands wide as he makes a big gesture at her in disbelief, walking towards her. She nods, dropping her court shoes to the floor, slipping her slides off to change into them. “I know- I’m so sorry,” She acknowledges, not bothering to provide an excuse, because she knows by now how their coaching staff feels about them.

“Mmm. Just decided since you aren’t fully cleared you don’t need to be here?” He asks sharply, and even though she knows he doesn’t actually think that about her, and that he’s just annoyed and trying to prove a point, it still stings. “No, I-“

She stops herself, knowing she’s getting emotional and about to launch into a defensive explanation for no reason. It was a shitty feeling right now, but he’ll forget about it before the week’s out. “No excuse, Coach. It won’t happen again.”

Even though he’s barely taller than her, she feels small as he looks at her intently. “Better not. Get your mind right, kid.” She nods, kneeling down to tie her shoe. He turns away from her, spurring the girls on the court into switching to another drill.

CD takes his place next to her, leaning over slightly so she can hear her without her having to raise her voice. “Brush it off. Lynn’s waiting for you in the team room,” She says, patting Azzi on the back as she stands up.

She nods, smoothing a hand over her hair as she offers a small smile in response. Subconsciously, her eyes scan the group of girls on the court for Paige as she walks back out of the gym, although she hears her before her eyes actually find her.

“Box out, box out! You can’t leave him open like that!” She yells to the underclassmen as she runs under the basket to rebound a shot thrown up by one of the practice players, dribbling it back outside the key and retaking the possession. Azzi smiles to herself slightly at that, walking under the banner that hangs over the doors on her way out.

Paige’s gaze finds Azzi’s figure walking out as she resets, closing in on the three point line. She pump fakes the practice player thats guarding her and pivots hard to the left, losing him fully, before coming up for a wide open jumpshot three.

Azzi’s already turned the corner and walked out of the gym by the time the ball leaves her shooting hand, but her eyes still come back to the doorway to look for her. When she doesn’t find her there, her gaze snaps back to the hoop. The shot bounces off the shooting square of the backboard, rolling around the lip of the rim tantalizingly before tipping out of the basket. Miss.

—

Paige wrings her hair out with her towel, the material of the dri-fit shirt she’d pulled on sticking to her back with her movements. The chatter from the other girls that would usually fill the locker room is non-existent this morning, Paige having stayed significantly late after practice to get extra shots up and talk to Geno.

The stress of this season was already weighing on her, but she was determined to rise to the occasion and use this season, her last, to get the Huskies to championship number 12. She’d always had a chip on her shoulder, but this year, with all the media speculation and attention, she was committed to showing up and showing out- to do what she came here to do.

No matter what the cost was. It was something she needed to prove to herself.

She sighs, hanging up the towel into her locker, and drops her hygiene bag into the open drawer of her locker, nudging it shut with her hip.

She barely hears when Azzi enters the locker room from the team room, shower kit in hand to head to where Paige had just emerged from.

“Hey,” Azzi says, a quiet start to a conversation they both know is going to feel like ripping off a bandaid. Paige nods at her, lifting a hand under her shirt to apply deodorant. Azzi’s eyes briefly skim the exposed section of taut midriff that flashes before her shirt falls back to cover it again. “Hey. Didn’t know you were still here.”

“Yeah, um. Stayed back for some cupping.” She shifts her clothes and shower kit between her hands awkwardly, lingering in place solely to talk to the other girl, who’s nodding along as she combs through her drawer, evidently looking for something specific.

“Talked with Lynn a little bit about the conversations I’ve been having with Carl,” She says, a touch of hopefulness in her voice evident at the mention of her recovery timeline.

Paige offers a slight smile at that, running lotion over her hands and face. “That’s good,” She says, pulling a hoodie on over her t-shirt. “You wanna get breakfast after you shower, talk about last night?” She asks, finally turning to look at Azzi fully.

Azzi doesn’t miss the way her tone is just a little short, her expression tense, like she’s holding back from her. She hates when she gets like this after they fight- understands it, but hates it, nonetheless.

“I have class after this,” She reminds her gently- a byproduct of the fact that Azzi had chosen in person classes while Paige had adamantly tried to keep the both of their schedules as fully online as possible.

Paige purses her lips slightly and nods, reaching for her bag. “Right. Okay,” She says, putting her shoes in the top of her locker and tidying up her space. “Well, I guess lemme know when you have time to talk, then.”

“Paige, hey.” Paige looks up, pulling her backpack over her shoulder. “What’s up?” She asks, her voice almost impatient, like she's waiting for Azzi to finish her thought so she can leave.

“I-“ Her voice falters, not sure of what to say. After not interacting at all since their fight last night, Azzi wasn’t sure what to say.

She thought they’d both soften by the time they talked about it, and maybe they had- but an immediate rejection the second that Paige offered to talk definitely hadn’t helped. Now she was doing mental gymnastics trying to figure out a way to walk that back before Paige walked out of the room.

“I finish with classes at 4. Do you wanna meet at my apartment?” Paige frowns. “We were gonna go to the women’s soccer game tonight, we talked about it in practice.” She says flatly.

Azzi nods, pretending it didn’t sting that the season had literally barely started and she’d already been left out of team conversations due to being benched. “Okay. After that?”

Paige sighs, pulling her phone out of her pocket when it starts ringing. “Shit. It’s Brittany, I gotta take this.”

Azzi draws her bottom lip between her teeth and raises her eyebrows, nodding. “Okay.” She says as Paige walks past her and towards the door.

She turns to acknowledge Azzi as she passes at least, which softens the blow.

“Sorry for not telling you about the soccer thing, it was an impromptu idea that got brought up this morning. You’re obviously invited,” She says, before drawing her thumb across the screen and pulling her phone to her ear.

“Yeah. I’ll text you,” Azzi calls after her, and Paige throws a pointer finger up in acknowledgment as she walks out.

So much for talking about it.

—

She gets ready quickly after her shower, not liking how quiet the facility was when the whole team wasn’t there, filling it with buzzing energy and a love for the game.

She pulls her hair back and makes faces at herself in the mirror for a minute before heading to her locker and putting away the gear she kept at the facility, packing up the rest in her duffel.

She pulls her phone and keys out of her bag, looking at her phone for the first time since she’d gotten to the facility. Really, for the first time since she’d been awake, what with the way she’d woken up.

She unlocks her phone and navigates to messages, where she sees 5 unread messages from Paige. Furrowing her brows, she opens their pinned conversation.

Paige Madison 💗:

12:07am: Hey, I’m sorry about tonight. Can I come up?

12:22am: I love you, Az

1:12am: U still tryna ride w me to practice?

4:45am: Should I wait for you or nah?

5:20am: Yo, you good? Getting worried now.

Azzi sighs, running her free hand over her face, frustrated. No wonder she was short with her this morning.

She probably thought she had ignored her all night, and as soon as she’d asked her to go with her to get breakfast and talk this morning, Azzi had turned her down. If Azzi knew anything about Paige from the last 7 years, it was that she hated feeling rejected.

Feeling guilty, she types out a response.

9:11am: I’m so sorry, I just saw this. I went straight to sleep and then overslept this morning

9:11am: I’m okay. I’m sorry if I worried you

Then, after a beat:

9:13am: I love you too

—

Collegiate soccer games are 90 minutes, divided into two 45 minute halves. Azzi knows this because she googled it. Twice.

The soccer game had started at 5:30, and Azzi had too much homework to go, which she’d texted to the team chat. Ice had tried to drag her with her on her way out the door, but Azzi held her ground, knowing she needed to stay on top of her coursework as the season ramped up, or she’d regret it later.

The girls complained in the groupchat at her absence, which made her feel a little less bad, but Paige had largely not acknowledged her since their tense conversation in the locker room- aside from a response to the messages Azzi had sent when she finally looked at her phone this morning.

Paige Madison 💗

9:43am: All g. Lmk if you still wanna talk after the game

So she’d texted back after her class-

11:12am: Ofc. I just have some hw I’ll be working on but I’ll be at home after my class ends at 4

And although Paige had heart reacted to it, Azzi was still feeling a bit uneasy about the whole thing.

Now it was 8:24, and Azzi’s done the math- even accounting for timeouts, substitutions, and a break at half, and even if they went into overtime, it’s getting late.

There’s nothing in the chat about the game going long or traffic being bad or something coming up- so even though she tries to assure herself it’s nothing, she’s slowly becoming convinced that it’s definitely something.

—

When the group finally comes barreling through the door, Azzi’s moved to her bed to be more comfortable, giving up on trying to stay up. She isn’t sure what time it is, but she knows it’s late enough for her to be justified in being bothered.

She goes to check her phone. 1:41am, and still no texts from Paige. Nice.

The girls erupt in laughter in the living room, and she hears Paige’s voice amongst them. “Yo, yo. Shut up, f’real. You’re acting dumb as fu-“ Her words are cut off by very obviously running her shin into something- Azzi would assume the ottoman she left sticking out.

For a second, she almost feels bad. Almost.

“Ohhhh, fuck me.” Paige groans out loudly, and then there's what sounds like her jumping on one foot to hold her leg.

The other girls cackle at her obnoxiously, and Azzi huffs, resolving to get out of bed so all the girls make it to theirs safely. She switches on the light in her room, pulling her robe on, and the way she can hear the girls scatter at the sound makes her feel like she’s somebody’s mother.

She pulls her door open, and Ice is laying on the floor clutching at her stomach in laughter while she watches Paige nurse her leg leaning against the wall. She hears Morgan giggling somewhere on the couch, and the smell of liquor coming off of the trio does not impress her at all.

She stands with her hands on her hips just outside the living room, staring at Ice. Ice giggles anxiously when she sees her, scooting across the floor and away from her.

“Isuneh,” Azzi warns, walking toward her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” She laughs out, clearly picking up on Azzi’s agitation, despite being inebriated to the extent that she is.

“We should have texted- the girls won, like totally kicked Boston’s ass, and they wanted to go to Ted’s with us, so…” She trails off, and Azzi sighs, turning to find the other two in the dimly lit room.

Morgan, to her credit, seems the least drunk out of the three of them, but she’s entirely too bubbly considering that it’s nearly midnight on a monday.

Azzi gestures towards Morgan, not acknowledging Paige yet. The tension it adds to the room is palpable. “Do you need help getting to bed?” Azzi asks, a gentle lilt in her voice despite being annoyed.

She wasn’t trying to ruin the freshman’s fun just because she was having a bad day. Morgan shakes her head, standing slightly unsteadily.

Azzi sighs, leaning down to grab Ice’s hands and pull her up and lean her against the couch. “Get some sleep,” She says to Morgan. “Pain meds are in the cabinet above the coffee maker, I’ll make sure there’s food in the morning.”

Morgan smiles nervously at her, her posture small. “Thanks, Az,” She whispers, and Azzi nods at her, offering a small smile back.

Ice slumps into Azzi’s shoulder, giggling again. Azzi hits her shoulder, only slightly playfully. “You should know better, Isuneh,”

She scolds, pushing her back against the couch again so she can swing an arm beneath hers and get her to her bedroom.

“It’s a frikin' Monday night.” She says incredulously, mostly to herself.

Ice laughs at that before groaning, reaching for her stomach. “No, no, no,” She rushes to get out. Azzi cranes her neck to look at her.

“What?” She asks, and Ice gags. Azzi winces, saying a silent prayer that nothing comes up, and that if it does, it somehow manages to avoid her.

Ice drops her weight back towards the couch and out of Azzi’s reach. “Don’t move me, just let me die here.” She says dramatically, and Azzi makes a face, staring at her for a moment, calculating.

She sighs, picking up her feet and putting her fully on the couch. She walks to the closet just outside the living room and pulls out a blanket, fanning it out over Ice so she can at least hopefully get comfortable and sleep this off.

She feels Paige’s gaze on her, but she makes no effort to acknowledge it. She walks to the kitchen and gets a glass of water, bringing it back to the drunken girl sprawled out on the couch. “Here,” She says, holding out the glass in one hand and two aspirin in the other.

“You’re gonna wanna get ahead of this before the morning,” She says when Ice stares at her blankly. “I don’t know if I can even swallow that,” Ice slurs, trying to sit up and missing when she tries to plant her arm, nearly dropping off the side of the couch and into Azzi’s leg.

She grimaces, leaning out of the contact, and resettles Ice onto the cushions. “Come on. Take this and I’ll let you sleep.” Ice sighs loudly, reaching for the pills and taking them from Azzi’s hand.

The glass, however, she simply presses her lips to, rather than taking it from Azzi’s hand.

“Oh my god,” Azzi mutters, tilting the glass slowly so the water flows into Ice’s mouth. She swallows loudly, opening her mouth wide after the fact to show off that the pills were gone.

Azzi chuckles to herself. “Very nice,” She credits, pulling the blanket over the taller girl once she settles back on the couch.

Ice sighs, bringing the blanket to her chin. “Thanks, crazy Azzi. Don’t have too much fun with Paigey-Waigey. I’ll be able to hear it from here.” She giggles, wagging her finger at Azzi suggestively. Azzi rolls her eyes, taking the glass back to the kitchen. As if.

She walks back through the living room and Paige is already looking at her, her hand still over her shin. Azzi sighs. “Are you okay?” She asks, gesturing loosely at her leg.

Paige nods, her eyes obviously tired, and moves to try and stand, using the wall for aid. Azzi comes slightly closer, so if she falls she’d be able to catch her, and watches her carefully. “‘M fine, Az. I’m not even that drunk.” She defends, and Azzi rolls her eyes yet again.

“Right.” She says. Paige clears her throat, awkward, using the opportunity of being braced against the wall to catch her breath. “Do you need the couch or can you make it downstairs?” Azzi asks, and Paige furrows her eyebrows.

“Oh. Uh,” She pauses, looking around. Azzi swallows. She’d obviously planned to stay with her tonight.

The assumption that she would stay with Azzi would be sweet if she hadn’t left her hanging for hours, not texted, and then shown up drunk at midnight on a weeknight- if she hadn’t said they could talk tonight, and then completely stood her up. But she did.

“Come on. You probably wouldn’t make it down those stairs in once piece anyway.” She grumbles, grabbing Paige’s arm and guiding her to her bedroom. Paige starts to protest, but quickly drops it.

The younger girl makes sure Paige gets to the bed, and then turns to close the bedroom door. She pulls her robe off and drapes it back over her desk chair, Paige’s eyes tracking her movements intently.

“You look good, mama,” Paige draws, and Azzi scoffs. “Absolutely not, Paige Madison.” She clears, walking towards the bed, deliberate in staying out of Paige’s reach.

Paige’s eyebrows draw up in surprise, and Azzi stares at her incredulously, her clueless reaction making frustration flash in her chest.

“What? Did you drink so much you forgot we were supposed to talk?” Azzi asks, unable to help herself, and as soon as she says it, she regrets it.

She knows better than that, she should have waited until tomorrow to do this. It’s only going to cost them both sleep, and Paige probably won’t even remember it in a few hours.

Paige breathes heavily, leaning forward so her forearms are braced against her quads as she leans over, feet square on the ground. “Fuck, Az. ‘M sorry,”

Azzi bites at the inside of her cheek, weighing whether or not to engage further. “Seriously, Paige? What, you just spaced it?” Paige winces when she raises her voice. “No, I-“ She stops, holding her head.

She looks up at Azzi, squinting, even just from the normal lighting in her room. “We went out for dinner and a couple of drinks. I meant to text you, honest. We got caught up and…” She trails off, and Azzi’s mouth goes dry.

“And what, Paige?” She asks. The blonde groans next to her. “I’on even know,” She complains, hanging her head, and in any other situation, Azzi would sympathize more and pull her under the blankets, play with her hair and let her fall asleep on her chest.

But right now, tears are brimming her eyes and she can’t even bring herself to touch her hand. “You couldn’t even muster the presence of mind to have somebody else text? Or, god forbid, you couldn’t have just made it a priority to get back to me so we could have this stupid conversation?”

Paige's eyebrows furrow, looking up at her. “Wh’d’you mean, stupid conversation? If it’s about us and it’s important, how is it stupid?”

Azzi purses her lips, beyond frustrated that she can pick a fight over minced words but won’t actually address the problem that’s been hanging over them for months. “You tell me, Paige. You’re the one who couldn’t make it a priority.”

“I’m sorry, Az. You gotta understand, dude, I got a lot going on, and I was already upset-" Azzi laughs at that, throwing her hands up.

“You were upset? Paige, you barely even talked to me today. And then you stood me up when we were finally supposed to actually talk.”

“Whoa, you started the “barely talking” thing. You didn’t even answer my texts til practice was over the next morning.” Paige says, scooting back in the bed to lean against the wall and get further from Azzi. “Yeah, because I fell asleep. I told you that.” Azzi argues.

“Okay, well I tried to talk with you earlier, and you were too busy.” Paige stabs back. “No, Paige, I wasn’t “too busy”. I had classes. Classes I am trying to stay on top of so that you and I can have time together outside of the season and actually enjoy the last year we have together before who fucking knows what happens!”

Paige laughs. “Dude, you think I don’t understand that? That’s why I tried to get as many online classes as possible. You’re making me out to be this villain who like, doesn’t wanna be around you or something, and that’s not fuckin’ true. I’m trying so hard to be on top of classes and be a good leader for the team and keep myself in a good position to get to the league-“ Azzi cuts her off cold.

“Exactly, Paige! It’s always about the league. Your priority is always the league. And I get that that’s your dream- it’s my dream too. But fuck, Paige. It’s gonna fucking happen either way. You’ve been projected as first pick for over a year. We could bomb all season long and it wouldn’t matter- you’re getting to the W. I wish you could admit that it’s such a fucking given and focus on literally anything else for one goddamn minute.”

Paige scoffs, standing up, her blue eyes wide in disbelief. "Yes, Azzi, the league is my priority." She stares at the other girl dubiously, like she's trying to figure out why the hell that's coming as a shock. "If you don't understand that, maybe we're not doing what I thought we were doing here," She rushes out, gesturing loosely between them.

Her words send Azzi's head spinning, so much that she barely hears the next words out of her mouth.

"Going pro is everything we ever talked about. Getting drafted is foundational to the fucking life we always planned on. You being injured and not knowing when you’re declaring is fucking complicated and it weighs on you, I know. I’m sorry if you feel like I don’t focus on that enough." Anger rises in Azzi's throat at that, but Paige is quick to resume her point, not giving her a chance to verbalize it.

"It's not that I don’t care- but that only adds to the importance of me getting my foot in the door to ensure we have a good fucking life set up.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Azzi mutters, looking at the blonde in disbelief. "What, you think because I’m too fucking fragile you need to get into the league so we can ensure a paycheck?"

Her eyes sting as tears begin to well, threatening to fall. "You think I’m that incapable? That weak?" She asks, looking up at Paige from where she sits on the bed, her voice breaking.

Paige sighs, working her jaw, resolve clearly fractured by Azzi’s reaction. “No, Azzi, that’s not what I-“

“You have that little faith in my future?” Azzi asks, drawing into herself as she leans against her headboard, her arms crossing over her chest. Tears run over and fall down her face now, bottom lip quivering in a way that makes Paige’s stomach churn.

Paige moves to get closer to her, her movements still a little bit sluggish, despite how much the argument had sobered her up. “No, baby, hey-“ She reaches for her hand, and Azzi quickly pulls away, shoving at her to put distance between them.

Paige is taken aback, sitting down on the foot of the bed. “Whoa, hey,” She says, trying to soothe the other girl, but Azzi is inconsolable. She hasn’t felt this betrayed, this misconstrued since she was a child. She had definitely not ever felt this way by Paige’s hand, and she didn’t think she ever would.

The self doubt and concern about coming back from this injury was something that weighed on her constantly- and she’d gotten good at hiding it, sure. Sometimes she was so good she even almost fooled herself.

But it was there. It lived deep in her chest, a voice that spoke to her every time she missed a shot in the gym she knew she should have made.

It kept her awake at night, even with Paige’s body pressed against hers, sound asleep. It was the reason she spent so much time wondering if she was even good enough to make it to the league at all- if she’d even deserved to come to UCONN, if she’d pulled her weight since being there.

Although the comment the other girl had made about their relationship maybe “not doing what she’d thought” had hurt, the mere thought of Paige questioning her abilities made her want to crawl into a hole and die.

“Azzi, that is not what I was trying to say,” Paige promises, leaning closer to try and get Azzi to focus on her rather than whatever thoughts she was quite evidently spinning in her head.

“Hey, look at me, Az,” Paige tries again, reaching to touch her face. Azzi flinches away from the contact, wiping at her face furiously. “Just go.” She says, sniffling as she leans away from the blonde.

Paige watches her with her mouth just barely open, unable to come up with a response. “Wh- don’t you think we need to talk about this?” She tries, but the other girls’ mind is made up, withdrawn from the conversation.

“I don’t wanna argue with you anymore, Paige. Just go, I’m serious.” She says, her voice small. Paige sighs, running her hands over her face.

She can’t just leave when Azzi looks so sad like this. "Come on, Az." She pleads. “That’s not what I meant, can we just-“

“Paige, I want to be left alone. Can we please just not?” Azzi croaks, pulling a pillow over her chest and furthering the barriers between the two girls. The blonde wets her lips, starting to reply and then stopping, not sure where to pivot from here.

“It’s not like it matters, anyway.” Azzi mutters, wiping at her nose. Paige’s expression drops, eyebrows knitting together as she looks at the other girl.

“Doesn’t matter? To who? What is that even supposed to mean?” She asks, hurt rising in her chest.

Azzi looks up at her, her eyes puffy from crying, her expression exhausted. “Come on, Paige. We’ve been arguing over this for months, we’re not going to magically stumble upon a solution tonight.” She says, her voice scratchy- and Paige can’t tell if its from being tired or from crying. “You’re not even sober.”

Paige stares at her, indignant at the suggestion that she wasn’t sober enough to defend her career and fight for their relationship. If Azzi was going to take dirty hits, she wasn’t going to let what she’d said go.

“Who does it not matter to, Azzi?” She repeats. Azzi narrows her eyes, scoffing at the blonde in disbelief. “I’m not doing this with you right now.” She states, getting off the bed and walking across the room to put distance between them.

Paige follows suit, getting to her feet and standing behind her, refusing to let her walk away. "I asked you a question.” She states, insistent, and Azzi turns around, adamant brown eyes meeting stubborn blue.

“No, Paige.” She says firmly. Her inflexible tone only ramps the blonde up further. “What do you mean, “no”? We’re having a conversation.”

“Not anymore, we’re not." She shuts her down simply. "Azzi." Paige prompts.

"You know I don’t like when you get like this.” Azzi says, staring daggers at her before pushing past to get around her. “Azzi.”

Paige turns her body with the movement and grabs for her wrist. Azzi pulls away hard, like her flesh is burning in the blonde’s grip. “No, Paige. I’m done. Go home.”

Frustrated tears fall silently down her pale cheeks, and she wipes at them with the back of her hand, only irritated further by their presence.

“You’re ‘done’?” She asks, incredulous, a scoff ripping its way up from the back of her throat. Loose strands of blonde hair that came undone from her bun throughout the drunken activities of the night frame the desperate look on her face.

Azzi crosses her arms, keeping distance between them. “I’m serious, Paige. Go.” She repeats, and Paige wants to scream. Her mind is moving too fast and too slow at the same time- she doesn’t know if she should storm out, raise her voice, or drop to her knees and beg Azzi to let her stay and try and make up.

As soon as that mental image crosses her mind, anger flashes in her chest at the fact she’d thought it in the first place. She hadn’t even done anything wrong aside from getting drunk when she shouldn't have. Why was she being crucified for trying to make a life for them?

Was she the only one who’d meant it all the times they’d talked about getting to the league, building a family, and living on the coast?

The anger in her chest bubbles over, and she can’t even see straight. “You know what, Azzi? Fine. Maybe its better off that way, anyway. We both could stand to lock in this year, without any distractions.” She spits.

Before Azzi can get her mouth to open, she's closing the door behind herself- and then she's gone.

Hey y’all! Here's a little something I've been working on. This is part 1 of multiple, idk how many yet. This chapter is really just to set up the rest of the story- the rest from here on out will be a lot more fun, I promise. This was not beta’d at all, so be warned! Any comments/shares/love is sooo appreciated. Thank you and I really hope you guys enjoy!

[blue-jisungs]

hi hi hi!!! is it possible to request for long distance relationship with piwon? and thank you for your contributions within the p1ece community with all of these masterpieces you've made 🫡

[ 💌 ] long distance relationship w piwon

# author’s note ... ahhh sorry it took so long:(( TYSM FOR RQING THO N FOR UR NICE WORDS HEHE!!! i got a bunch of piwon reqs and u dont even know how excited i am to write them mwhaahahah <333

┆彡 KEEHO [ 기호 ]

i feel like he’d be the strongest soldier amongst them all

because he’s just so chronically online LMFAO 

no but even if you don’t text everyday (which happens, given his busy schedules), there’s always a way that keeho will reach out 

sends you reels on insta, sends you tiktok’s he found or he filmed, you can see his bereal, you can see what he’s listening to on airbuds … like he makes sure you know he’s safe n sound (i hope that makes sense?!) 

and he clings to every notification from you as well!!! 

like oh, you just hit another milestone on duolingo?? he’s texting you asap !!!

also the type to spam you with photos of things that remind him of you:(((( 

he loooves to face time you but more often than not the call always ends up interrupted by one of the boys 😭😭😭

┆彡 INTAK [ 인탁 ]

he’s so loverboy im actually gonna cry 

he was not build for this please save him from this misery 😿😿😿 

cannot survive without calling you at LEAST twice a day. like for real. 

will spam you with i love yous and i miss yous so so much because he just wants to be sure that you know his feelings for you are unchanged:(

facetiming is a must as well, he’ll often do that at the end of his (or yours if you’re in diff time zone) day so you can talk before going to sleep:( 

won’t admit but loves when you fall asleep on ft:( like at least he can adore your sleepy face like he does when he’s with you:(

deffo buys everything that he thinks you’d like so when you reunite he has BAGS of gifts:(

(can you tell i love him so dearly.)

┆彡 THEO [ 테오 ]

he’s so:< 

checks up on you everyday!!!!! tracks your lil icon on find my and calls you sometimes like “oh i saw you’re in your fav cafe, what are you getting?” 

i believe he’s a romantic okay? so you two deffo have those apps for couples that like ,, you can draw something and it’ll pop up on his screen 

or locket! :( like he loves getting notifs n he deffo stares at the silly selfies you take:(((( 

he also sends flowers for you, sometimes no matter the occasion <\\3 may or may not send a bottle of his cologne because he just knows you’ll feel less lonely if you can smell his perfume🥹🥹🥹

he’s sooo nostalgic❤️‍🩹 will scroll through your pics and videos… watch them all the time… m smile so fondly at the screen (while others make fun of him >:T) 

has bought tickets to your place impulsively… at least three times 

(and obv used them ?! like hellour he won’t waste the money now that he bought them !!! )

┆彡 JIUNG [ 지웅 ]

please end his suffering pt2 

he is physically sick when you’re not around !!! (his tummy hurts… well, his heart too…) 

spams you all day everyday – he saw a cute cat? sent. cool clothes? sent and asking for advice. a dead frog on the street? sent with caption ‘me when you’re 372028193 km away’ 

selfies too!!! you’ll get soooo many selcas bc he just knows you miss his face (and worry not, you send yours in return!! he kicks his legs like a teenage girl whenever he sees them~~) 

facetimes you (or you him) even when doing the most mundane things ever… you could be studying in silence and he’ll be playing on his switch, none of you talking because you’re locked in… but he steals glances at the screen and your face,,, mentally counting down days when you’re gonna meet again 🥹

literally thinks about you sm that he can’t help but mention you whenever he can:( “omg yn would love that!” “oooo this is yn’s favorite snack!!” “i need to take a pic for yn!!!” 

atp his friends scheme how to get him to you ASAP!!!

┆彡 SHOTA [ 翔太 ]

i feel like he’d handle it the worst actually:( but only bc he’s just such a lover boy, he needs you close:( 

keeho or other members will often send you pictures of sulking shota once you hang up on face time <\3 

will spam you even with single kaomojis so you’re an expert with those, professional translator if you will

definitely spams you with lots of content too, like pics of plushies, his short blogs, food pics 

requires food pics in return (secretly makes sure you do eat this way) 

when he’s feeling like a little tease, he’ll send lots of pics with keeho when they’re hugging and caption them with something sassy 😭 

deffo tracks you on find my when he’s bored but deep down he just checks up on you and makes sure you’re safe 

┆彡 JONGSEOB [ 종섭 ]

you’re literally vlogging to each other 😭😭😭 voice memos or insta stories just for him !! 

and you bet your ass he’ll reply to every single one 

loves face timing you when he’s writing new songs… you’re his muse (but it’s not like he’ll say it out loud) 

definitely looks at your pictures with a whipped smile (and got caught sooo many times but they don’t tease him that much since he’s just so in love it hurts

another one to use every app possible to keep in touch w you HOWEVER he’s not very cheesy,,, so expect him to doodle theo with a big butt in return to your hearts and flowers 

sending memes and reels is his love language, will send lots with the caption “us when i get back” :(( 

masterlist <3

taglist. @primoppang ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @slytherinshua ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,,

@mon2sunjinsuver ,, @litepowee

[dilf-docs]

X Si Volvemos

ex older bf!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: there are many things you and logan disagree in but not when it comes to things in bed.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (phew), smut, ex!logan, exes to ????, p in v, creampie, reader's in her early to middle twenties so her frontal lobe hasn't developed yet; don't expect any reasonable thinking on her side, logan is on his middle to late 40s, angst (duh), this happens in an AU where mutants don't exist bc i don't wanna complicate myself with timelines lol hence time isn't really important but it's contemporary, the vibes i bring to the function are more sad than horny and i'm sorry, toxic too! may build a series around it?

word count: 1,925 words

side note: the incredible @bpmiranda's got me with a very bad case of ex!logan fever :( plus after listening to karol G's album mañana será bonito and seeing i may or may not be obssesed with romeo santos, i got the song in the title on loop: as you can see, it's all very fitting ++ don't forget to check out her stories, they're so good istg!!!!

You shouldn't call.

"Logan" you speak. His name burns in the tip of your tongue, like a secret you're not supposed to tell.

He shouldn't answer.

It's quiet at first on the other line, until a rough voice says I'm here, appearing to be distant, but who is he trying to fool? As soon as he saw the number pop on the screen, his fingers moved with a learned urgency.

You shouldn't keep calling.

"I need you" three words to cover those you actually mean; hanging in the spaces between the silence.

I miss you. I love you.

Your hear a heavy sigh on the other end.

He shouldn't keep answering.

"Princess..." Logan pleads, "don't do this"

You know better than that, he wants to say, but keeps his mouth shut. Just to hear your voice, just to-

"Please, Lo" you whine out. Logan grabs his jeans with force, the fabric strained under his white-knuckled grip. It takes him a lot not to run to you right there and now.

"Don't" but his voice cracks as much as his resistance.

"I've got the house" you whisper the prayer; a routine so sacred none of you seem to break it, "just for us"

"Y/n" even saying your name is painful; like the most addicting and damaging drug to ever exist, "stop"

Logan loved your stubborn heart, but there are times where he wishes you weren't like this.

"I'm sorry" and then he hangs up.

I'm sorry for not being who you needed. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry I keep on coming back after I said I would leave you alone. I'm sorry I can't keep my promises.

You feel it around your neck―bruises in the vocals your voice has failed to scream; it chokes you with rage.

"Are you stupid?" you ask yourself in the mirror.

What are you doing? Why are you doing this to yourself? Do you love him more than you love you?

You dial again, but this time, it's a girl who picks up.

"Yeah?"

"Hi. Wanna go out?"

Logan feels so out of place, but this used to be your favorite bar, and he's desperate for a drink.

Listening to your voice has always made him weak, but after you broke up, it drives him crazy.

He empties another glass, feeling pathetic. This is how bad it's gotten: you've got him scouring the places you used to go, chasing your ghost, trying to get a glimpse of your silhouette or a whiff of the phantom of your scent, the lavender haunting him; getting under his skin.

A song beggins playing, and it's the same vinyl set from two years ago. The night he met you: a pretty young thing so out of place in an old bar like that, playing hard to get, only to end the night moaning over him, fogging his car's windows, saying his name in a way no one else had before. He still remembers the way your legs trembled but he held you, beads of sweat confusing themselves with the glitter on your skin. Logan doesn't know what that is, but he's marveled, so in awe of you, everything of you: young, new, exciting.

But every new thing wears out, and the gap he swore wouldn't matter came crashing in years that built a distance between him and you.

So he did what he did best: ruin it. Deny the feelings bubbling inside; let them consume his reasoning, pushing you like he had done with everyone who cared about him before.

When he broke your heart, he took a part with him. So you keep coming back, looking for it; trying to piece yourself together. And he let's you: because God knows you have a part of himself too.

He's so drunk he probably imagines the hint of lavender in the whiskey tinted air. He's so desperate to see you again, he's seeing your face among the crowd. He's definitely gone insane: hearing that laugh he misses every day.

"Y/n..."

The music pauses: all you can hear is your name being said in that way like it belongs to him.

"...Logan"

He walks in autopilot over to the table you and a group of girls are sitting. They're all beautiful―beautiful people attract beautiful people, but he's only got eyes for you.

"What are you doing here?"

He raises a glass he didn't know he was carrying, "having a drink".

Your lips purse, and Logan doesn't know if it's because you're laughing at him or sad.

"I see" but you divert your gaze, looking at your outfit's neck. The outfit you chose: a black dress that pushes your tits on top. They are on display, and Logan feels played by you―his eyes trained on the strained fabric, tongue watering like it did when he would lick your sensitive nipples.

"I see too" he says in automatic, and one of your friends laughs. He looks away, thanking the low lights, or you'd see the red embarrassment on his face.

You stand up and walk over to him, and your friends sense it's time to leave the two of you alone.

"Why did you hang up?" you throw the question so casually; the nerve you have.

"What do you mean?" it's the only thing that comes to his mind. Very stupid, indeed.

You scoff, "delete my number, then"

"You keep on calling" he bites back.

"And you keep answering"

You never shut up. He hates that.

"I may have to stop"

You get closer, way too closer. So much, your hot breathe clouds his judgment.

"Try to" you dare.

And he tries, he really tries. But not today.

Not today when he takes you home, finally looking complete with you in it again. You had moved out after your last discussion, saying you'll never be back.

"You haven't changed a thing" you murmur in between kisses, and he can sense a bit of melodrama in his voice that makes him roll his eyes despite the dull ache on his chest.

He picks up your body swiftly, carrying you up to the bedroom.

"Why would I?" he asks, voice so low and small you almost miss it.

"Because you hate me" you avoid his eyes, even if your faces are too close, loosing all that corageous character of yours, "said you would get rid of it; of everything that reminded you of me"

But when he drops you softly on the matress, there's still that lamp you got him in the night table.

"I couldn't" he confesses.

I couldn't, he means, because I couldn't let you go.

But you both know it won't work out, something you knew right from the start: because toxic loves only fulfill basic needs. This isn't healthy, but he forgets it all as soon as you're moaning his name. Still, he promises himself he will say goodbye to you this time, even if it's inside of you.

"Shut up and kiss me, then" you're always pushing him around, making him do the things he desires to but doesn't want to do.

So he obliges, leaning in, the lavender so strong all over your sweet skin, poisoning his mouth on every kiss he leaves. He feels you squirm under him, goosebumps along your skin, prickling against his, so visible he can see and feel it even in the dim lit room.

"Take it" Logan doesn't look at you, but when he does, you feel him stare deep into your soul, "I know you want it"

He's sliding his dick inside you as soon as the sentence is over, the permission to take you and use you implicit. He robs a drawn-out groan out of you.

"So tight for me" he murmurs against your shoulder, sharp breaths and soft groans flooding your ears. His cock hits deep within you, hard thrust no one has ever been able to replicate, making you gasp for air, burying your face in the plush pillows now drenched in your sweat.

"You're so deep" you hiss, hot and overwhelmed, waves of pleasure hitting like water against cliffside rocks. "So big, Lo" you whine, dizzy at the way your pussy stretches for him.

"Just for you" he grunts out, and it's the truth. No matter how dark the room is or how many faces he avoids, he always looks into the eyes of the other women he fucks, his heart sinking when he can no longer pretend it's you, "fuck, squeeze a bit more".

Hearing his deep voice, rough when you fuck, always making you soak, coating his dick in your juices. You grip tight, as tight as the nails that hold onto his shoulders, making him moan at the pain.

"Like that, princess. Good girl" you moan at the praise, "I know you could take me, all of me"

He grunts and pants, holding you tighter as his cock pumps faster, in sync with your now closer to happening orgasm.

Before it, he slows down his thrusts, "where do you want me to cum, princess?"

He wants to, inside of you, but he can't do so, not when he promised he wouldn't ruin your life. But making you his, marking you as only his, makes his dick inside you twitch. Fuck, he's so balls deep inside you all he can think is filling you up silly.

"Inside me, Lo" like you read his thoughts, and it always amazes and scares him; how deep inside his mind you are. Never happened, not in his four decades of life. And that's part of the problem: he's closer to death than you are but it's only with you, young―blossoming with life, that he feels truly alive.

So how can he say no, when you plead and beg with those pretty doe eyes of yours? Who could imagine such a sweet thing to be so needy. He feels like you could ask for his heart, and he'd carve a hole in his body for you―bleeding out of love; dying with a smile.

"Such a greedy little thing, princess" he mocks, but his tone betrays him―dripping in adoration, "want me to fill you up all nice?"

A broken wail is what he takes as your answer, your mind in blank.

He finds himself letting go, way faster than he should; he just misses you and your needy dripping pussy that much. You can't hold back longer either, rush flowing through your veins, much more satisfying than the alcohol you had drank an hour ago.

Logan paints your insides with layers of his hot cum, mumbling a soft:

"Anything for my princess" he keeps going, panting as he's milked entirely dry, "anything you want, my girl"

Your vision is still spotty, mind fogged: you're sure that's the reason the hurt hasn't settled in your heart yet.

Then the silence comes, like it always does now.

"Y/n" you always love when he calls you by your name, but you hate the way he's saying it now. Like a goodbye.

"Don't-" you plead, begging he shuts up. But he pulls out, and says:

"It's for the best"

You don't want what's best. You want him.

"Can't believe you wore this dress" he traces the pattern of the tight clothes, damped in sweat, "you know it's my favorite. Why?"

You fail to supress a smile, even if it's tired and almost sad, "I knew you couldn't say no".

The truth is, you know many things: like how this is never going to stop until it's destroyed you both.

[dearsnow]

A WAITING GAME

- coming from a broken family, you often had to wait for next time you would be loved. meeting your new neighbor changed that. (robert “bob” floyd x fem!reader, angst and fluff, SLOW BURN, essentially just scenes of you growing up with our favorite WSO, slight prequel to the events of top gun: maverick, includes random original characters to drive the plot ⚠️ alcoholism is a major theme, some instances of harassment from a bully, and like one sexual innuendo but nothing graphic)

word count: 20,135

a/n - ohhhh my gosh, it’s finally here 😭 it’s genuinely the size of a novella, which is insane. i really hope you guys like this bc it took so much time and effort. it’s also the longest thing i’ve ever written, which is amazing in its own right. if you’re the type to listen to music while reading, i suggest a steady stream of hozier, noah kahan, phoebe bridgers, and leith ross <3

Your whole life was a waiting game. Waiting for school to end, for school to start again, for the house across the street to finally have new occupants, for your mother to put the bottle down, for the fairies you were so sure existed to appear in your popsicle stick fairy house, for your stones to finally skip across the creek, for something, anything to happen before you drove yourself insane. And, above all else, you waited for love. It was a pitiful way to grow up, really. Just sitting and letting the days pass by so you couldn’t feel the burning ache of loneliness that writhed and spat in your stomach. You never thought that you could cease this pattern of waiting for something that would never fulfill you, until, inevitably, things changed.

The “for sale” sign that you could see so clearly from your second-floor bedroom window had been replaced by a cheery “sold” sign. Something about it excited you; new neighbors, new people to talk to and play with and bother with your incessant imagination. There was also fear, too. The fear that they would turn a blind eye to the scent of cigarettes woven into your papered walls and the nail marks on the insides of your palms. You took your mind off the notion when you saw a boy right around your age step out of the moving van.

He had glasses, sandy brown hair, a cast on his foot, and a scared little frown. You slid off your bed with a small huff, your socked feet hitting the dusty carpeted floor. This was something new, for once. The stares of the stuffed animals strewn around your room comforted your mild anxiety as you walked through your door frame and down your rickety wooden stairs. You had to move one foot down and then pull the other to match. You were too afraid of keeping just one foot on a single step, even while you clutched the peeling handrail. You hit the bottom and opened the unlocked front door, peering out into the hazy, sunny day.

You were still in your socks, but you figured it didn’t matter. They were pink and yellow striped, just a bit too small. You traipsed across your dying front lawn and across the street, cautiously watching for cars. There were none. The boy turned, his blue eyes locking with yours, and you froze. It was the middle of a hot Montana day, the dry, summery kind that makes your mouth shrivel up, but all you could focus on was how he looked at you with curiosity. Gone was the frown. You peered down, staring into the black asphalt. Oh. You were still on the road. Your feet moved on their own, and you found yourself on the sidewalk, toeing the grass of his lawn. It wasn’t dying.

“Your socks are inside-out,” was the first thing he said. His voice was quiet and kind, like he was trying not to embarrass you. He pointed at the threads hanging off of the seams.

You nervously tucked your hands behind your back. “I know. I like them to be.” He accepted the statement, pulling his hand back and planting it nervously on his hip. His one sock was right-side-in and tucked into a little orange shoe.

That day, as mundane as it was, became one of your favorites to remember.

The next day, after your introduction, you and the boy (who you quickly came to know as Bobby) went down to the creek. His mother had supplied you with sandwiches and cookies in little brown paper bags, folded neatly and marked with your names. You had never eaten out of a brown paper bag before.

Bobby was careful in how he scaled down the small, rocky hill that bordered the creek. He smartly put your lunches on a safe outcropping, to be eaten later. While climbing, he put all his weight on his non-injured foot and was sure to not step on any stray branches. You, having been down this path many times, guided him.

“Don’t step there, Bobby. That’s where the snakes are.” You said, eyeing the little gathering of rocks. He hummed gratefully and adjusted his path.

As you both made it to the bottom, he made sure to stay far enough away from the water so as to not wet his boot. You, however, didn’t really care. Your feet plunged into the soggy ground; it’s not like your shoes weren’t meant to get dirty. He picked up a stick and poked at the rivulets of water in front of him, squinting into the glare. “So, how old are you anyway?” He asked. He was crouched down to help the slightly too short stick prod into the mud.

“Seven.” You responded. You had picked up a stick of your own. “How old are you?”

He watched your movements with careful eyes. He was always watching, you noticed. Always planning. It’s like he was trying to predict every movement of the creek, every motion of your arms. You felt a shiver run down your spine. You didn’t think you could ever be so observant. “I’m eight, been eight for five months now,” came his steady voice. He furrowed his eyebrows as you waved your stick into nothingness, jabbing at something he couldn’t see. He gazed at the air like whatever you were so focused on would materialize if he stared hard enough. “What’cha fighting?”

You smiled crookedly. You could see the scene so clearly in your mind. You and him on a pirate ship, fighting off the attackers who were trying to claim your ride. You were balancing on the plank, sword ready. “Pirates. It’s real fun, you should try.” You slashed the air and saw clothes tearing, blood pooling at the wood under your feet. 

“How do I try?” He asked curiously. He stood up fully and held his stick in both hands.

“Just imagine. They’re coming from a ship across the creek, and our ship is here. I’m… I’m fighting the one with a big axe, and the one comin’ after you has a shiny sword.”

Again, he raked his gaze over the creek in front of him like he was trying to see exactly into your mind. He gave his sword an experimental swing, and you laughed from beside him. “You hit him! Keep going, we’ve almost won.” His eyes lit up, and he began fighting like he saw it too. 

He smiled, and you cheered him on, making sure to fend off your own opponent. The creek bubbled, and he could hear the ocean roaring. He could see the flag flying high above his head, the ship across the ocean, could hear the ‘shing’ and ‘swish’ of his sword. And he saw you, warm and full of life, immersed in this world you had created. He didn’t think he had seen anything quite so pretty.

In the days after that, you saw Bobby often. He never went inside your house, though, that was off limits. Instead, you went to his.

His mom was kind. She was the type of woman to greet you with a hug, the smell of warm food simmering on a pot behind her. Her apron was stained with food and love and tiny paint handprints. When you ran up to his door and knocked (you were too short to reach the doorbell), she would open it kindly and invite you in.

Bobby’s room became a kind of utopia for the both of you. For the first few days, you would help him unpack his toys and crafts and other things of the sort. He had a lot of green army men, you noticed. But after that, you played and played until his mom had to kindly remind you of his bedtime. Your favorite games were imaginary.

He would be a merchant selling his toys, each with a special magical power. You’d assume the role of a traveling knight and barter with him, finally picking out what you believed would help with your quest. Then, in a twist of fate, Bobby would invent some sort of way the magical item went wrong, leaving the both of you to dream up new methods to best your foe. Or you’d be a mermaid and he was the sailor you were friends with. Sometimes, and this was his favorite game, he would be a pilot in the military, and you would be the person giving him instructions on the ground. He would shoot his arms out like airplane wings and soar, causing you to collapse into giggles on his soft rug. You formed a bond with him like no other. By the end of the summer, you knew him inside and out, and he knew you too.

You knew he liked blueberry syrup instead of maple on his pancakes, that his favorite subject was history, how he had a little sister three years younger and an older brother who was in middle school, and the exact expression he made when things went a awry; this sort of half-pout, where his bottom lip would jut out a bit. You knew that he got his cast from slipping on a stone in a big river during a camping trip, and even though he hates not being able to move, he thinks the scar on his ankle is pretty cool. And he knew that you were the most creative person he’d ever met, there was a monster that lived in your house, you had never broken a bone, and your eyes shone if the light hit them at the right angle. 

When you finally left, as the sun was dipping down the horizon, you felt lighter.

The days without his presence were much harder.

Your mom was a hard person to pin down. She would leave early in the morning, dressed in her work clothes, and return late at night, stinking of the bar. Sometimes you’d see her periodically throughout the day, between her two main events, but she was elusive. She would stroke your hair during moments like this, eyes filled with something you only later realized was regret. 

You loved her too much to notice that the way you were living was not at all how a child should grow up. You survived off of your dingy little microwave and frozen food when you weren’t with Bobby and his family. The nights, however, were worse than being alone all day.

You would pretend to be asleep more often than not, but you couldn’t really be asleep with how much noise she made. Shouting words you didn’t recognize into the phone, slamming doors, crying, pulling the magnets off the fridge and shattering the few framed pictures that were scattered around your house. It made the pit inside of you grow larger and larger.

Afterwards, when she was done with her rampage, she’d sweep up the pieces and put everything back together. She would spell out notes for you in the fridge magnets. She would open your door, just a crack, and whisper, “I love you, baby. I’m sorry.” with a blown kiss. You knew she was sorry. You knew she loved you, that she kept the cabinets stocked with the snacks you liked from two years ago, around the time she first started drinking. There was nothing you knew more than how bad she felt for treating you like she did. In your mind, you forgave her. She was doing her best. That didn’t stop you from wishing you lived in Bobby’s little house, with his kind and loving mother and stern but kindhearted father. You wished for pirates and pilots and blueberry syrup. 

Sometimes, you just imagined you were there, tucked under his navy blue comforter. That thought filled the pit just enough to let you drift off to sleep.

As the days grew shorter and the weather chillier, school started. School was fun until it wasn’t.

The first day was always the best, in your opinion. You never really had any friends to miss if they were placed into other classrooms, and some of the other kids didn’t even know who you were. It was scary, sure, but it was new. It was a fresh start. This year, though, you had Bobby.

Luckily for the two of you, you were both in Mrs. Moore’s class. Even luckier for you, Brady was not in Mrs. Moore’s class. 

The boy had a tendency to pick on you in school. Ever since first grade, when he caught you whispering to a dandelion, he made every day in school tougher.

He would knock your books out of your hands, scribble on your drawings, and tear your flower crowns apart. You didn’t know why. He just didn’t understand your far-eyed expression and your tendency to bury your nose in books. He was loud, with a grating voice and windswept blond hair, and people liked him. He played sports and shared his lunch. That made him very, very different from you, in a way that was hard for child brains to accept. 

You were scared that Bobby would find his own trouble here. He was quiet, and that made him a target. He was too kind, too caring, too good at blending into the background. 

You walked up to classroom B8, holding your little dirtied backpack on one arm. The door was painted a sort of industrial teal, with a chipped but cheery sun done in acrylics in the middle. The title, a magnet, read “Mrs. Moore fun!”. Bobby hesitated from next to you. He held out a silent hand, and you gripped it in yours. His hands were bigger, warm and slick with a thin sheen of nervous sweat. Knowing someone else was going through the day with you was a quiet comfort, so you met his wavering eyes and smiled. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

The door swung open, and a woman with a brown bob ushered you inside. She had big pencil earrings and a pretty patterned dress. She showed you to your seats, and you were happy to learn that you were just one person away from your friend. In between you was another girl with bouncy auburn curls and freckles, whose name card read “Margaret”. You didn’t know her, but she offered you a kind grin.

“Hello, class!” Mrs. Moore began. “I know you saw my name on the door, but I’d like to learn all of yours today. How about we go around and say our names and favorite colors so I can take attendance?”

Your time in the quaint little classroom sped by like a whirlwind, barely giving you enough time to adjust to everything before you were ushered out to be served lunch and play on the sun-faded playground. Bobby’s mom had packed you both lunch today. It was like she knew that your mom couldn’t, and that you never had the money to buy the school lunch. It gave you this warm sort of emotion, like a fuzzy sweater. You and he sat on a bench shaded by a rickety old tree.

He chewed his sandwich thoughtfully as you went for the little bag of Oreo cookies first. “How do you like it here?” You asked, biting into the crumbly treat.

“It’s okay. Back in my old school, our playground had wood chips instead of sand,” he commented simply. “I like being here with you, though.”

You beamed. Bobby had lived in the town adjacent to yours before he moved, still in Montana, but with a different atmosphere. He often noted the differences, like how the cars here sputtered more and there was never quite enough shade. This, however, was all you had ever known. It was all you ever thought you could know. Your world ended after the big road that cut you off from the rest of society. Bobby made you want to wait for the day you could cross that road, in your own car that hopefully didn’t sputter, and see the world that he had known. “Me too. Most everyone is pretty great here, you’ll see. Just watch out for Brady, the one on the monkey bars. He might try to tease you.”

“Why would he?” Bobby questioned. He studied where you gestured, light eyes straining against the bright sun and wavy heat coming up from the asphalt. 

You started on your sandwich, which was beginning to warm. You didn’t mind. “I dunno. He’s just like that, I guess.”

“He must be mean,” The boy beside you said, finishing off the last bite of his sandwich. He never chewed with his mouth open, you noticed. He kept it neat and tidy. “Anyone who picks on you has got to be.”

You felt your cheeks warm at his words, so you buried yourself into eating your sandwich. “Thanks. I hope he doesn’t pick on you, ‘cuz you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Bobby’s face turned a shade of red you had never seen on him, and suddenly the hand that was underneath yours was fidgeting against the wood of the bench. “You really think so?”

“I know so. You’re nice, and you let me play with your glasses. And you’re really good at climbing, even with your boot. And you make me feel good.”

The corners of his mouth tugged up impossibly high as he handed you his bag of Oreos. He liked sweets, sure, but he liked giving them to you more. He could sit there and watch you eat forever if it meant you smiled like you were doing now. “You make me feel good too, like I can’t stop being happy.”

“Ex-act-ly!” You punctuated each syllable with a little tap of your finger on the back of his hand. When he was around, you felt like you could fly. Every dandelion, 11:11, shooting star, fallen eyelash, they all went to trying to keep him in your life. Without you knowing, he did the same thing. “Oh, do you want to see what I drew during art time?”

The conversation carried on, although there are snippets you don’t remember. Something about the stray cat that you saw down at the creek and the field trip the older kids bragged about going on. Looking back on it, that era seems so far away that it could have been another life. You were so small then, so hurt, and so innocent. You just had your neighbor and dreams, both waking and asleep.

School continued, and you and Bobby began to fall into a sort of rhythm. You would pass notes to each other through Margaret, play hopscotch and four-square and wall ball until you were tired of running around, learn until you thought your brains would explode, and walk home, laughing and bright-eyed. Even Brady couldn’t dull the shine. Bobby was, surprisingly, a hard person to make fun of. Despite being quiet, he would puff up his chest and stand strong in the face of any adversity. Mostly, though, he stood up for you. He would pick up your books, help you turn scribbles into twisting dragons, and make you new flower crowns when Brady tried anything during recess. Bobby cared. In a sense, though neither of you knew what the word really meant, he loved you. So he took care of you, and you filled his life with so much wonder and joy that he wished he could be with you forever. It was like that for a long, long time. 

The years came and went in elementary school. For once, you accepted every day that came to you as a new era, a new chance to prove to yourself that life is more than crumbling foundations. You experienced growth; you no longer waited for things to be over. Instead, incredibly, you anticipated each coming event, no matter what it was.

It took you a while to realize that Bobby was the catalyst of your change.

Your 5th grade promotion was a blur of smiles and hugs and tears from Bobby’s mom, coral colored fabric, and paper confetti. You posed for pictures, sang a song, and received a little certificate to display in some homegoods frame that most mothers buy. Other than that, it was just another day. You went home and played with Bobby some more, like you always did. 

That certificate, crumpled and browned around the edges, is now sitting in a box, deep in your closet, paper-clipped to a photograph of you and Bobby. It rests against a snapped wishbone, one whose exact wish you have entirely forgotten, but it more than likely had to do with him. There is also a crushed penny, a number of birthday cards, and a wooden rose, among other things. It’s silly, you think, to keep them after so many years, but something in you begs to keep them safe. You suppose that you can’t be rid of every memory, not when the Floyds made so many good ones for you. 

Middle school was another stage in your life, one that swirled your emotions while all you needed was stability. It wasn’t bad, per se, but it was the beginning of years of confusing feelings.

Bobby stopped being Bobby during the 1,095 days between elementary and high school. He wanted to be called Robert, and he combed his hair back, and his voice started cracking. He listened to rock and metal instead of whatever his mom found on the radio. He didn’t turn into a bad person like some of his peers, no, but he changed. You remember the first time he put in contacts instead of his big, thick-rimmed glasses.

You were sitting on the edge of his sink as he pulled his eye wide open, his fingers trembling slightly. “I can’t do it. I don’t want to poke my eye out,” he whined, setting the finger that held the contact down. “But I don’t want to wear glasses, either. I’m too old for that.”

He stared at you while you let out a short, stifled laugh. “Don’t laugh, I’m trying my best,” he groaned, but his mouth was curving into a smile, too—it just always happened when you laughed, like how he couldn’t help but smile at wedding bells. 

“Can you even see what you’re doing?” You asked. You tapped the glass reflection to the side of you, sending out a soft clink. His vision had never been the best, but his optometrist just upped his prescription. He didn’t want to be seen with the thickness of the glass he was given, no, he wanted to “look cooler”. So there he was, with blurry vision and a nearly invisible contact balancing on the tip of his finger. 

“Yeah.” He paused, considering his options, before looking down with a sigh. “No. I can see the blue, but I have no clue if my eyes are two inches or two millimeters away.” He sounded so disappointed that it sent a twinge of hurt through your heart. He liked dealing with problems on his own, namely so that no one else would have to go out of their way to help him, so that must have been a humbling experience for him.

“Let me guide you, then,” you chirped. “I’ll use your hand to put the contacts in so you can get a feel for where to stop next time.” You let the tips of your fingers brush over his hand, ghosting over the raised hairs just enough to let him sense it. Robert squinted at you.

You seemed like an angel perched on the tile counter. He couldn’t see the exactness of your details, like the curves of your lips, but you had a form that he could recognize anywhere. The shade of your hair, the sparkle in your eye. He would carry those memories for as long as he lived. What worried him was that he didn’t know exactly how far away from him you were sitting. So, because he didn’t trust himself to not miss his eyes, and because he trusted you like he trusted his heart to beat, he agreed. “Okay.”

You took his hand in yours, careful not to knock the precariously balanced contact off, and he widened his eyes. You weren’t sure if it was because of your touch or because he wanted to assist with the contact placement. You slowly brought his hand up, towards his eye, feeling his pulse under your fingers. His lips were pursed, a testament to his nervousness. He never did like things touching his eyes, but he would brave it until he unavoidably went back to glasses. With a gentle, caring motion, you helped him rest the contact on his eyeball. He flinched at the initial touch, but accepted it, blinking rapidly to shake off the contact solution. His eyes were pretty, you noticed. As messed up as they were, they had the most intoxicating shade, like a stormy ocean. 

“Want the next one?” You were already unscrewing the contact holder as he nodded slowly. He closed the eye without a contact and gaped at you.

“I can see!”

“I think that’s what contacts are for,” you quipped. He pretended to roll his one eye, but you could see the humor bubbling up from within him. The lighting was nice, he thought. The way it shone around the edges of your hair was heavenly.

“Well, yeah. Could you help me with the other now?” He probably didn’t need much help this time, given that one half of him had 20/20 vision, but he liked feeling your hand on his. He liked being helped by you. It was a revelation for him, who had always been a bit of an independent spirit. Don’t get him wrong, he liked being around people, and as a kid he would clutch at his mother’s dresses, but he preferred to do certain things on his own. You changed that.

“Definitely.”

Things took a slight turn after that. School became harder, more work and less play. Your middle school was bigger than your previous school, so it came to no surprise to you that Robert made his own friends. Namely, he hung out with a tall, dark, curly-haired boy named Aaron and a shorter, sturdier, pale as snow boy named Samuel. They were alright, in your opinion. You liked Aaron much more. Sam became bossy and annoying when you let him ramble for too long, and though both Robert and Aaron were too polite to say, it annoyed them. It’s Aaron that you still talk to now, while Sam moved to upstate New York during your freshman year of high school.

The boys were not the most popular group in school, though you knew you weren’t either. But, to your surprise, your good friend Margaret was.

You didn’t really expect to become friends with her. She was loud, happy, excitable. She was always polite in elementary, but she truly took you under her wing as Robert started spending more time with his group. She introduced you to Sarah, Charlotte, Elizabeth, anyone that you could even remember the names of. And, along with her constant joviality, she wasn’t a bad friend.

The only problem was that she was deeply in love with Robert Floyd. 

“You don’t even get it ‘cuz he’s like your brother at this point, but he’s gorgeous. He’s basically perfectly my type,” she sighed, falling back onto her plush pink bed. Her legs kicked up just a little, and her curls fanned out around her head like a halo. “I want to ask him out soooo bad. Do you think he’d like me? Wait, do you know if he’s a good kisser? That’s important, I think.” You threw the pillow you were holding on top of her face, and her laugh rang out like the chime of a bell. She was perfect. She deserved someone like Robert, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You didn’t know why it hurt at the time. Just the idea of him dating someone else, holding hands with someone else, loving someone else, made you sick. You chalked it up to being jealous that eventually another person would take up your best friend’s heart. It was only much, much later that you realized you were in love with him, too.

Margaret tossed the pillow to the other side of her bed. “Really, you need to tell me.”

You gave a tight-lipped smile. “He'd like you, Margie. I mean, who wouldn’t?” Her smile was genuine. It hurt you to say, but you weren’t lying. You didn’t think you could ever lie about something like that.

“But is he a good kisser? Please, I need to know, I’m dying!” She prodded. You rolled your eyes, glancing up at the perfectly painted ceiling. Like everything about her, it was pristine.

“No idea. He’s never kissed anyone.” He could be good, maybe. Everything he did was soft and methodical, so just the idea of him capturing a person’s lips with his own, his calloused hand resting on the back of their head… no, you couldn’t think about it. Your eyes snapped to attention.

“I’ll have to change that.” Her tone was sing-songy, and to you, it sounded almost mocking. It couldn’t be, because neither of you knew your actual feelings, but it struck you the wrong way.

“I’m sure you will.”

Margaret tried everything to get closer to Robert. She flirted, she downloaded songs from his favorite bands, she begged and pleaded for you to invite him to every outing the two of you planned, and she talked to him constantly to try and worm her way into his heart. She never knew him like you did, though, and she hated it. 

When it was just you and him, things were different. You were the only one he let call him “Bobby” and play with his fingers when you were nervous. He even let you ruffle his hair, despite him spending half an hour in his bathroom trying to get each strand to lay perfectly. He would open his closet and pull out his comic collection without a hint of embarrassment, and you and he read them together underneath a blanket tent in the middle of the night—after his parents started letting you sleep over, of course. They gave you both “the talk” before you spent your first night there, and Robert was rolling his eyes and blushing the whole time. He would never do that with you, he assured them. You were just friends.

Friends who ultimately ended up falling asleep on the same bed, paying no attention to the blow-up mattress on the floor of his room.

In any case, you tried to get Robert and Margaret together. The time you tried the hardest was the start of your seventh grade year, when Margie insisted that she needed a boyfriend before Christmas. You, being a good friend, invited them both to go to the mall a short drive away from your houses. 

Margie’s mom drove, because she was always up for helping her daughter with her romantic interests. She knew about Robert, sending you and her daughter knowing smiles whenever he would politely answer Margie’s rapid-fire questions. You felt a little bad for the boy, who wasn’t used to so much attention.

The little car (too little, in your opinion; Margaret took the middle seat and was pressed against Bobby for the whole ride) finally arrived at the mall after a few minutes of slight awkwardness. You all stepped out, and Margie’s mom kissed her on the forehead and said she would be back in two hours on the minute. Two hours was a lot at that time. 

Your friend immediately pointed out a clothing store, pulling you along to look at flouncy dresses and colorful tops. You could tell that it made Robert a bit uncomfortable, but he went in anyway. During your usual mall trips with him, the both of you made a beeline for the comic store, or simply shared some pretzels while walking and talking. It was only rarely that you wandered into the clothing stores, and most of the time, you just looked and walked back out. You never had the money on you to buy anything more than a volume or two of a comic. “These shorts are just perfect, don’t you think?” She asked you, but her eyes were staring pointedly at Robert.

“They’re nice,” you said. He nodded in silent agreement, slipping his hand into the pocket of his jacket. He didn’t ever really have an opinion on clothes. Someone could wear the most awful outfit and he’d shrug, offering the notion that people should wear what they want, while Sam laughed at the silly combination. Margie tore through the rest of the store, giving you hanger upon hanger of clothing to hold while she rifled through the racks. Robert trailed behind. 

Just as the weight of the tops you were holding on your left arm accumulated into a painful soreness, you spotted something out of the corner of your eye. It was a dress.

Robert silently grabbed the clothes from you, following your line of sight. The dress was as close to perfect as a dress had ever been to you. The color, some variation of your favorite, complemented the tone of your skin perfectly when you held your arm up to it. The cut, the stitching, the little details sewn on—it was gorgeous. As you reached out to touch it, Margie squealed.

“That dress! I need it, grab it for me, would you?”

 You hesitated. It was the only one like it on the rack. Instinctively, you glanced back at Robert, and he had this confusing expression on his face that you had only seen once or twice; furrowed brows, tight lips, and a burning in his eyes. You looked away and took the dress down.

You probably wouldn’t be able to afford it. Checking the tag, you were right: thirty-eight dollars. Even after doing yard work and tutoring the little boy down the street, you hadn’t been able to keep that sort of sum. “Thanks,” she purred, “I’m gonna try everything on now. Wanna watch the fashion show?”

A part of you didn’t. You were envious, glowing green at the amount of things she could pick up without even checking the tag, but as a good, people-pleasing friend, you pushed it aside. So, you followed her past the door of the spacious dressing room while Robert waited outside with the clothes that didn’t fit into the ten item dressing room limit. 

She looked stunning in every outfit, but she threw most of the pieces off with a frustrated sigh. The waist wasn’t cinched enough, or the color clashed with her hair, or the pant legs were too short to cascade over the top of her shoes like she wanted. If you had the money, you didn’t think you would care. 

Then came time for the dress. It was one of the last things that she tried on, and she slipped it back over her head almost immediately after putting it on. “It just doesn’t work for my figure,” she muttered. 

You picked it off the floor gingerly, holding it up to yourself in the mirror. “Can I try it on?” You asked. She lit up with surprise, a happy glint dancing in her grin. 

“Of course! Go ahead.”

You undressed in the corner and stepped into the dress. Margie helped you smooth it out and fasten it just right, her fingers ghosting over your shoulder blades. When you looked in the mirror, your jaw almost fell open. 

It hugged you perfectly, the length stopping just where you assumed it was meant to stop. It was casual enough to be worn normally, but it had that fancy touch that made it suited for a romantic dinner date or uppity party. You almost looked like royalty. You could just imagine it, waving to crowds with a slow hand from a horse-drawn carriage. Bobby would be beside you, as always, and Margie and Aaron in the carriage behind you. Sam would be dealing with the horses. 

You were shaken out of your thoughts by a faint knock on the door. “Hey, are you guys ready? There’s a bit of a line out here,” came Robert’s voice. Margie was dressed by that point, so you opened the door, still clad in the dress.

“I just gotta change out of this and then we’ll be ready.” You gave a small twirl, and Robert choked on air. “It’s too expensive, but it’s nice to dream,” you said with a small grin. You didn’t know if it reached your eyes or not, but you knew the boy wouldn’t call you out for it. Not in public, at least.

You looked beautiful. That’s all that he could see, all that he could fathom. You slipped back into the dressing room, and he was left stunned. 

Before anything else, though, you looked happy in the dress. Sad that you had to leave it, but it made you happy. Robert was nothing if not a sucker for seeing you happy.

Your group finally checked out after a few minutes of the cashier ringing up Margie’s clothes. It was nearing the end of your mall trip, but you managed to visit the comic store and pick up a bite to eat along the way. At some point, while you were flipping through a comic book, Robert slipped away and returned with a grocery bag. It was something his mom wanted him to pick up, he said, and you didn’t feel the need to question him. You just mumbled a conversation starter into Margie’s ear and slipped away as she excitedly whipped around to relay it to him.

She never did win him over. She tried and tried, and you helped and helped, but it seemed he didn’t have an eye for her. 

Everything came to a sort of explosion near Christmas. The ground was powdered with a thick blanket of snow, the trees were bare, save for dripping ice, and houses put out beautiful, twinkling lights. There were even singing decorations from your neighbor to the left. When you breathed, the air would puff out in gentle clouds. It was, in essence, a perfect, picturesque winter. It was also one of your favorite times of the year.

Your mom always made an effort during the winter months. She came home earlier to hide in the bathroom, trying to muffle the sounds of wrapping paper and scissors. In the morning, you would see the fruits of her labor tucked under your little plastic tree. It wasn’t perfect, but she wanted you to experience some sort of joyful Montana holiday. You also spent more time indoors, snickering with Robert in the library or blowing on sweet hot cocoa by his crackling fire. It was times like these that you really felt at home.

His family knew about your situation. They didn’t make your mom feel like a villain, no, but they knew she was struggling, and they did their very best to help you out. That’s why you were bundled up on their couch on one frigid day, when Robert came home with a pinched frown.

He wasn’t mad, exactly. You had never known him to be mad. But he was uncomfortable in a way that made you want to throw your blanket over him and make him whisper his troubles to you. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked. He wasn’t surprised to see you in his home—he never was. He sat down next to you with a heavy sigh.

“Margaret asked if I wanted to date her,” he murmured, throwing his head back against the couch cushions. This piqued your interest. You knew something like this would happen eventually, but you didn’t expect him to be so uneasy about it. Margie had been talking about asking him out for ages, and you just smiled and nodded. Her bright, bubbly personality was a large contrast to his, but you figured that opposites attracted. He had never shown a hint of distaste at being around her. No distaste that you had seen, at least.

You looked at him, confusion creasing your face. “What did you say?” Maybe it was just the wrong time. If he were to crush on anyone, it would be her, not that he had ever talked about his crushes to you. That seemed like something he would only tell Aaron, despite you being his closest friend.

“I said no. I just… I don’t like her like that.” His voice came out as an almost groan as he rubbed at his eyes. He turned his head to rest it on your shoulder. The weight sent a heavy warmth through you, but you were still so bewildered that it hardly even registered.

“I thought you would. Did she do something wrong?”

He shook his head, looking up at you, and then back down at the fire blazing away in his fireplace. Slowly, he wrapped your blanket around himself, as well, sharing your heat to ward off the cold. “No, she’s nice, but I don’t feel that way about her.” You still didn’t get it. If you were him, you would jump at the chance to date her. She was pretty, funny, and her family was well off. However, something in you uttered that it takes more than that to make someone love you. And that something was a bit happy, because Robert rejecting Margie meant that you could have him all to yourself again. 

“Oh,” you breathed. “Do you feel that way about anyone else?”

That question breached the sanctity of your relationship in a way. You had never asked him about his love life, and he had never asked about yours. It was unspoken. You knew, deep in your heart, that if he asked you, you wouldn’t be able to say anyone’s name but his. 

His face was tinged with red. It was hard to see, but you knew it was there. “I dunno.”

You lapsed into a subdued silence, not knowing whether to press forward or not. You decided on the latter, just listening to the near-silent spitting of the fireplace. You knew that Margie wouldn’t be happy, and you would get an earful over the phone that night, but you knew that, like all things, this would pass.

Bobby would be your closest confidant for another Christmas.

You were right when you assumed that Margie wouldn’t take it well. You spent night after night listening to her laments, rubbing a soothing pattern on her back as she cried. You didn’t even know if she was upset that Robert didn’t like her or if she was upset that she got rejected, but you gave her a listening ear no matter what. The calls and in-person interactions only ceased when she went to spend the week of Christmas with her family in Utah.

You, naturally, spent most of your time with Robert. For the entirety of winter break, it was just you and him, which was something that hadn’t happened since elementary school. It gave you a chance to think about things—your feelings in particular.

You slowly realized that you didn’t want to just be his friend. You didn’t know it was love, not yet at least, but your heart beat faster when he was around, and you felt the need to keep him around for as long as possible. It was something further than platonic. A crush, maybe, that was only furthered by the events of Christmas day. 

You spent the rare morning with your mother, who had been given a single day off by her boss. It was odd to have her around to make breakfast, not smelling of the bar, and humming around a piece of toast. “It’s almost ready, honey. Why don’t you start on the presents while we wait?” Her voice was only slightly muffled by her food. You nodded silently and pulled out one of the three little gifts wrapped up under the tree. Two from her to you, and one from you to her. It didn’t disappoint you to not receive the dozens of wrapped boxes that your friends did; from a young age, you had realized that any gift at all was precious. You slipped your fingers beneath the wrapping paper and pulled the taped folds away gently, careful not to rip them. 

As you unfolded the creases, the box underneath revealed itself to you. It was a shoebox, and within were a pair of shoes that you had been eyeing for a while now. Your face lit up with surprise. She had really remembered? “Thank you, mom.” You grinned. She laughed, turning the heat off from under the scrambled eggs she was tending to. 

“I’m not a bad gift giver, hm?” she hummed, sitting down next to you. You pushed the gift that you wrapped for her into her grasp, and she looked down at it with a guilty expression. “I didn’t notice you got anything for me, sweet thing. I’m sorry. I don’t want to be the type of mom that doesn’t deserve a Christmas gift.”

You took her hands off of the present and wrapped them around your shoulders, her normally cold fingers giving off a soft heat. “You aren’t. You do your best, mama, and I love you all the same.” You couldn’t bring yourself to be mean to her when she had spent an important part of her paycheck on you. It was true, that she did all she could think to do, but some part of you wanted her to be better. You still hoped that she could pull herself together and make breakfast for you every day, so you wouldn’t have to microwave pizza pockets or slump over to Robert’s house for a bite to eat. But you were her child, not Georgia Floyd’s, and hoping and wishing couldn’t change that. You had come to terms with it when you saw her watery eyes undoing your sloppy wrapping.

It was a jewelry tree that she said she wanted nearly five months ago. It was expensive, sapping your meager funds, but you knew it would make her happy. 

Your mother was one for jewelry and pleasantries, when pleasantries were made to be found. You figured that she liked to feel fancy, with glass diamonds and greening gold. It was the best gift you could think to give her.

She looked up at you as tears began to stream down her face. She wiped them away hastily. “Thanks, baby. I appreciate you more than you know, more than I could ever tell you.”

Your next gift was a book you had wanted for a while but could never seem to find at the library. You thanked her profusely, and spent the next half hour eating with her and talking. Like normal families do. Normal families with normal moms. You could almost picture a man, your father, coming in from the cold outside with the mail in his hands. A roaring fire, a sibling, a pet. Maybe a beagle like Bobby had. But the illusion was shattered when she pulled herself up and wrapped her scarf around her neck, muttering apologetically about having to pick up a Christmas shift after all as she hugged you close. You needed the money, she said. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

Nearly as soon as she left, there was a quiet knock on your door. You opened it slowly, not excited about hearing from the Jehovah’s Witness that frequented your neighborhood. Instead of him was Robert. And he was carrying a gift bag.

“Hi,” he blurted, “this is for you. Merry Christmas.” He handed you the bag, careful not to put his foot through the threshold of your house. You opened the door wider, a pleasant grin spreading onto your face. 

“Come in, I have something for you too.”

He hesitated. He had never been inside your house before. You had never explicitly told him he wasn’t allowed, but you usually had some excuse as to why he couldn’t stay over. Over the years, he had learned to just stop looking past the barely cracked-open door and pull you away to his place instead. But, with your insistence, he breached the unknown.

Your house wasn’t as furnished or comfortable as his, but it didn’t really matter. There were two brooms laid against the kitchen wall and a dustpan between them, and your small couch had a tear on the seam. The cabinets didn’t exactly close right, and your faucet leaked. Other than that, it was a normal house. He marveled at a picture of you and your mom stuck to the fridge with a magnet, with the edges folded over like it used to be in a frame. You let him wander for a minute or two before pulling him into your bedroom.

It was completely and utterly you. Books, comics, and little craft projects filled much of the shelf next to your bed, and the sheets were messily crumpled on your mattress. You had a little closet and a mirror that rested against it, slightly smudged with fingerprints. There was even a poster from some movie you liked hung above your headboard. You opened your closet and pulled a small wrapped parcel out from the depths. 

You handed it to him with a shy look. “I hope you like it.”

As he took the gift from you, he could feel a significant heft to the package. “I’d like anything if it was from you. It’s the thought that counts, right?” He sat on the edge of your bed as you nodded slowly. You were still a little worried that he wouldn’t be happy, but you knew him. He would thank you profusely if you had wrapped him a lump of coal. He might have even displayed it proudly on his shelf. The thought was enough to have you stifling a laugh. “You should open yours first.”

You obliged, pulling out the tissue paper delicately. Your fingers closed in around something soft, like fabric. Through the gaps of your hands, you could see your favorite color. Your heart leaped out of your chest. “Is this…?”

Bobby nodded, beaming. You took the article of clothing out fully and almost cried at the sight.

It was the dress you had wanted at the mall. The one that had fit you perfectly, and the one that Margie had almost taken from you. You hugged it to your chest. “Thank you, Bobby, thank you. I love it so much.” Your voice was quiet, brimming with emotion. He just opened his arms, and you dove into them, the both of you uncaring of the tear marks that would form on his thick jacket. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You exclaimed, louder this time, but still muffled by his chest. He just laughed and pulled you in closer.

“You’re welcome, you’re welcome, you’re welcome.”

That meant more to you than anything else could have. Not only did he notice what you liked, he bought it when you couldn’t. It was more than just a gift. 

Robert would’ve given up his entire stash of money, carefully tucked away in his dresser drawer, to make you react like that. It was no contest.

He opened his gift next and had to scrub the wetness away from his own eyes. It was a model plane; more specifically, a version of the Super Hornet. The plane he had heard about entering service years ago, and the plane that he dreamed of flying. He ran his hands along the wings in wonder. “It’s perfect.” He choked out. “Thank you. I’m gonna put it on my shelf as soon as I get home.” You knew he would say something like that, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling good.

He stayed for a bit, after that, talking to you about anything and everything, as you usually do. It was nice to see him lying on your bed, staring up at your ceiling. And it was nice to have this sort of alone time with him. When he reached up to pick a piece of fuzz off of your shirt, you almost melted in place. You never thought your heart could beat that fast.

After he left, you felt your joy walk out the door behind him. All you could think was that you couldn’t wait to see him again. 

You never had to wait long.

The rest of middle school went by fairly quickly, as did Margaret’s sadness. She got over her affections before moving on to the next poor sap, dragging you along with her. After eighth grade, she would always mention how nice Aaron looked in his church clothes and how pretty his eyes were. Not having to worry about someone taking Bobby away from you was just another weight off of your shoulders. You also grew a lot during that time, physically and mentally. You were taller, happier, bigger, stronger. It was in part due to Rob, as he liked to be called sometime during your freshman year, and in part due to your mother finally going to rehab.

You didn’t know it was rehab. You didn’t know much at that age, not of yourself or other people, so it was just one more thing to add to the list. She just told you that you would have to stay at Rob’s for a few months, and they accepted your presence with kindness. His mom seemed to look at you sadly during that time. You chose to ignore it, focusing on how grateful you were to have a home while your mother was away. 

High school was better. Much better, in your opinion. You felt like things were finally coming together.

You had a small, quaint, stable friend group, consisting of you, Margaret, Rob, and Aaron. They were fun. You didn’t think you could enjoy going to football games or pep rallies until they were there with you, cheering and joyful. Even studying was full of inside jokes and nudging each other with your elbows until the flashcards were forgotten and the air was thick with laughter. You started to enjoy your classes, too, because you had a clearer goal in your mind. You were going to apply to your city’s college and room with Margie, considering you both got in. So you threw yourself into school with full force, hoping that your future would be just as great.

Rob wasn’t planning on going to your college. He hadn’t told you, not yet, but he was applying to the Naval Academy. He was finally going to achieve his dreams, even if he felt endless guilt about leaving you to be on your own. He didn’t want to lose you, but the temptation of the sky drew him in until he couldn’t escape the magnetizing force.

The first year was, other than a few football games and watching Margie perform in the school play, relatively uneventful. 

Dungeons and Dragons began to reign supreme as your group’s favorite pastime, although Margaret didn’t quite understand the story that Aaron concocted. To her credit, she tried. She played an elvish ranger with long flowing hair and a past of tortured princesshood, while you decided on a sweet halfling druid, and Rob a powerful human wizard. Nothing was more fun than losing yourself entirely to the tale, drawn in by Aaron’s dark voice impressions and the little figures that danced across the map he drew. It was a more grown-up form of playing pretend, and you were entranced by every second of every session.

By the time your mother returned home, fidgety yet quiet, you had established a nice sort of life. You moved back to your house, bittersweetly thanking Rob’s family for taking you in, and you spent the rest of the school year and the summer that followed with her. 

She was different. She wasn’t like she was prior to the drinking or during the drinking, but  a new person entirely, like she shed every part of herself and started fresh. She slept in, but got ready for work as you were walking out the door. She cooked, but with a tremor in her hand that was never present before. There were no more midnight rampages, but you got the feeling that she didn’t fall into her bed until very late hours. It was odd, at best, but like always, she did what she could with what she had. You continued to support her every step of the way.

Starting your sophomore year was less exciting than transitioning to a whole new school, and the nerves that had preceded every other year had faded into the background. You were more sure of yourself. Still naive, but there was some confidence in your step. The classes were tough, but you were tougher. Of course, the people who picked on you in the past were still jerks, but it was nothing you weren’t already used to. 

You finished the year with a smile on your face and a finger linked with each of your friends. 

Summer was the same as it always was. Fun, lazy, anything you wanted to make of it. You and the rest of the group frequented the lake closest to Aaron’s house, as his older brother was no stranger to driving you around in the car he had fixed up the summer previous. It was during one of those trips that you discovered quite a few things about the people around you.

Margaret was splashing around in the lake, completely unfazed by the freezing water. Well, she was fazed at the beginning, but she quickly adapted. “Come in, it’s so nice!” she called, flicking a drop of water towards you. You blocked it with the edge of your towel, not keen on getting your book wet.

“Later, I’m still reading,” you grumbled. Rob was perched behind you, reading over your shoulder as the pages flipped. You had just returned from the water and were trying to wait out the little kids that were flailing around in the shallows. 

She made a face until she spotted that Aaron was also out of the water. Shrugging, she stepped closer to the shore, and tugged on his arm. That action sent him stumbling into the lapping waves, to her delight. 

He let out an indistinct shout before resigning himself to being wet once again. “Warn me next time, geez! I could’ve died,” he moaned, pushing a wave of water straight into Margie’s face. She just laughed in delight. 

You ignored the two as you worked on your book, delving further into the story of a girl on a mountain, traversing through the thick forest in an attempt to wake her comatose father. Rob read right along with you, keeping your pace perfectly. You never needed to ask him when he wanted you to turn the pages—it was like your eyes read at the same speed, your brains processing the same things. Among other things, that was convenient. 

The air began to grow colder as you began the second-to-last chapter, the sun casting longer and longer shadows. It wasn’t evening quite yet, but the blazing afternoon sun had softened. You looked up with a start. It had clearly been a couple hours, but where were the other two members of your group?

You turned around to face Rob. “Have you seen Aaron and Margie recently?”

He quickly scanned the area with a slight look of panic sewn into his features. The lake was empty, the shore was clear of visitors, and even the sky was barren. “No, but we really need to find them before Marcus comes back with the car.” They were simply gone. “Here, why don’t you stay with our stuff and I’ll go look?” he suggested, standing to wipe the gravel off his shorts. 

“I don’t want to split up.” You were wary of the quiet, unsure if something would come out of the land around you and take you, too. “We can hide the bags in that dry spot under the dock and come back for them later.”

He just nodded in agreement, taking the larger share of your things and helping you conceal them within the rocks and overgrown water weeds. The two of you then set off to find your friends, calling their names into the sound of sloshing water and twittering birds. 

It was almost twenty minutes later when you began to hear someone sniffling and a distinctly feminine voice trying to calm them down. Margie and Aaron. You and Rob looked at each other, then swiftly moved towards them.

Aaron was crouched down in the middle of a little clearing, his head in his hands. Margie was sitting and whispering to him, something you couldn’t quite make out. You had never heard her whisper before. It didn’t matter, though, because they quickly spotted you.

“Guys, I’m not sure it’s a good-”

“No, it’s okay.” Aaron cut Margaret off. “They can hear it.”

You dropped to your knees to get on their level, Rob quickly following suit. “What happened?” you asked, gently reaching out to brush Aaron’s hand. His face was slick with tears, his normally neat hair lopsided like he had tried to run his fingers through the thick coils. 

He hesitated, slightly, but Margie patted him encouragingly. “Margie told me how she felt.”

Okay, another confession within the friend group. That wouldn’t explain the running away or the crying, at least not him crying, so what else? Rob spoke up, voice restrained. “How did that make you feel?”

“Bad,” he muttered, looking up at the girl with guilt in his brown eyes. “Not because I don’t like her, but because I can’t.” His voice trailed off into muffled sobs once again as he sunk into Margie’s arms.

Oh. You exchanged glances with Rob.

That wasn’t exactly news to you, but you had never been able to voice your suspicions out loud. It just made sense. Margie liked Aaron, and Aaron didn’t like girls. He didn’t even have to explain fully, you and Rob just hugged his shaking form. 

There was a very hushed, heartfelt talk after that. The fact of the matter was, you and your friends loved Aaron, and that was just a new fact about him for you to love. It also surprised you a little.

You knew you would be okay with it, but Rob and Margie grew up with you. They knew your area and the opinions that floated around. You never expected them to be hateful, no, but putting aside the thoughts that were so instilled in your hometown would be difficult for anyone lesser than them. It showed you that your friends wouldn’t dream of hurting the people around them, the people they loved.

When anyone, you included, presented the group with a new side of them, they were accepted with open arms. 

Junior year was tougher than the previous. Your rocks remained by your side, but certain people pulled at the strings binding your sanity like a child with a ball of yarn. One of those people ended up being Brady, who after a couple years of a mild hiatus, began making fun of you more than ever.

He was in all the same rigorous classes as you and your friends, leading him to be able to torture you during lessons. In addition to that, his last name was similar enough to yours for him to be placed behind you in most of those classes.

The vast majority of the torture involved stealing your belongings, throwing things at the back of your head, making fun of your looks, hobbies, anything, and passing you notes that read like a stupid teenage boy’s jeers. Sexual innuendos, frankly abhorrent pick up lines, and gross questions crumpled under your fist almost every day. 

You tried to tell the teachers, the principal, anyone that would listen, but they all said the same thing: boys will be boys. Brady was too good of a student and too important of an athlete to punish. Hell, the most he got for cutting off a section of your hair was a verbal warning. Every day, you and your friends got closer and closer to punching him in the face. None of them liked him, for good reason, but even their protection couldn’t fully stop him. Everything exploded in the spring, right before your junior prom.

You sat at your desk during your English lecture, desperately trying to pay attention to your teacher who was droning on and on about The Great Gatsby. You shifted your leg a bit, just enough to feel a piece of paper pressing into the underside of your thigh. You pulled it out, confused. 

It was a thick, decorated section of stationery with a few words scrawled on it in cursive. It read, “Meet me by the gym after school,” signed by someone who called themselves your secret admirer. You looked down at the prose. It didn’t look like Brady’s handwriting, something you were quite sure of. But who else would’ve written it? You tucked it in your pocket, not wanting to decide whether or not to go right then and there.

You did end up going, which was your biggest mistake. You sat on the edge of a planter near the entrance of the gym, picking at the seam of your shirt. It wasn’t long before everyone who had gym class last period filed out of the school, leaving you utterly alone. It also wasn’t long before Brady appeared, walking towards you like he was on a mission. 

You stood up, poised to leave if he did anything other than walk right on by. Unfortunately for you, he held up a hand as if to tell you to wait. “Hey,” he grinned, “you got my note?”

You paused. “Your note?” You didn’t think he even knew how to write in cursive, much less make it as neat as it was on the stationary. You wouldn’t be surprised if he paid one of the artsy girls to write it for him.

“Yeah.” He stared down at you. There was a gleam in his eye that you didn’t like. “I wanted to ask you to prom.”

Prom? He wanted to ask you to prom? You were baffled. There were a million better fitting people at his disposal, ones that didn’t hate him with a passion. He had made your life hell that year, and multiple years previous to that. You almost scoffed at his words.

“Well, I would rather you didn’t.” You said. You turned to leave, but his hand caught your wrist in a vice-like grip. His eerily green eyes burned holes into yours. 

“What, you’re just going to leave? After leading me on for so many years, playing hard to get?”

You were stunned. You weren’t aware you were playing anything. Everything he did just seemed mean, and you responded to it like any victim of bullying would. You just balked, uttering a quiet “huh?” when he wouldn’t let go. Try as you might, you couldn’t break his grip as he ranted about you being so obviously into him. He even tried to pull you closer, until two familiar hands grabbed his arm and shoved him back.

It was Rob, and he was furious. “What the fuck? Leave her alone,” he snapped, forcing himself into the gap between you and Brady. You rarely heard him curse, and you had never seen him as mad as that. Brady just rolled his eyes with a psychotic little laugh.

“Oh my god, did you think I was actually into your little girlfriend? Shove off, dude. I was joking. Who in their right mind would want that thing hanging off them in public?” he scoffed. You couldn’t tell if he was serious about anything right then. He was contradicting himself constantly. If the prom thing was a joke, was he just making fun of you again? Or if the prom thing was serious, was he deflecting? Your mind was reeling, and you just wanted to sit down and get your head straight. The place where Brady had grabbed you was pulsing, sure to form a bruise during the night.

Rob said something you didn’t remember before he put a protective hand on your shoulder and ushered you away. All you could hear was laughter, Brady’s and a couple other boys’. You didn’t even see the other boys arrive, and if they were there the whole time, you weren’t aware. The whole walk of shame just felt like a fever dream, with you fading in and out of reality until Rob sat you down on the edge of his mattress. You couldn’t even tell how you got there. Rob tilted your face towards him, concerned, and you realized you were crying.

“Don’t let him get to you.” His voice was soothing, like he was speaking to a scared puppy. “He was just being an asshole.” 

“Did you hear everything?” You sounded pathetic, but you didn’t care.

Rob shook his head. “When I came over, he was in the middle of some spiel. I was just on my way to lacrosse practice before I saw you.” Ah, yes, he was in lacrosse. And he was usually early. The things you remembered after dissociating continued to surprise you. He wiped the tears off your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

He hated seeing you like that. Brady didn’t deserve to make you cry. No one did, not even yourself. He wanted to pull you under his covers and let you sigh into his shirt, like always. He wanted you to forget about everything and just hold on to him.

You wrung your hands in your lap, trying desperately to process everything. The situation was just so… bizarre. You didn’t know what to believe, but at the end of the day, you figured it didn’t matter. Brady will be Brady. Out of nowhere, you started to laugh. Rob’s eyes widened, but he cracked a smile too.

You devolved into cackles on his bed, with him doubled over next to you. Hysterics, some might say. But it was all you could think to do at the time, all your tired mind could handle at the moment. Of course, you talked about it after, but the laughter was the key to getting you through the situation. 

You had waited all your life for a big confession of love, and your “first one” went to shit immediately. Luckily, like always, Rob was there to pick up the pieces. 

Prom came and went without another word from Brady. Instead of going to the dance, however, you and your friends spent the night at a diner. The place had a playplace definitely designed and designated for little kids, but that didn’t stop you from climbing up the sides and playing a good old game of tag. You were winded by the end, a cramp crawling its way down your side, but it was more fun than sitting around a bowl of punch would be. The dances were never your thing, anyway. 

Both Margie and Aaron had a curfew as the night marched towards 10:00, but you decided to go back to Rob’s house for a movie or two. He could drive, and it was the most amazing excuse for him to ferry everyone everywhere. He never minded. So you got in his car, and he let you choose the music, and you talked the whole way home. 

As you finally arrived, your voices fell to hushed whispers. His family was more than likely asleep—save for his brother, who was spending his first year in college on campus. Rob locked the door and fumbled for the TV remote in the near-darkness as you thumbed through his DVD collection.

There wasn’t much selection. His family encouraged spending time with each other instead of spending time staring at a screen, so their DVDs consisted of old children’s films, a few action movies, and The Princess Bride. You had seen every one of them countless times, but the action movies more so. Frankly, you were tired of Men in Black and The Terminator, so you pulled out The Princess Bride. It was his sister’s favorite, but you liked it enough.

Rob raised his eyebrows at the selection but accepted it, popping the disc into the player and tugging a blanket over your body, already nice and comfortable on the couch. 

The first few times you watched movies together, Bobby would be silent. He stared at the screen with rapt attention, losing himself in the plot and acting. Over time, as you both learned to remember each twist and even a few distinct lines, you started talking while the movie played. It went from movie discussion to just anything, with the film serving as background noise to your conversation. A bit of you wondered why you didn’t just pause the video or talk somewhere else, but it was familiar, and somehow far better than conversing in silence. This time, you were discussing how far you could go in your friendship before Rob would stop metaphorically saying “as you wish”.

“I feel like you would say no if I, like, asked if I could pick your nose. Which I wouldn’t do, but you wouldn’t let me, right?”

He considered it for a moment, shrugging noncommittally. “If I had a reason to believe there was something in it, I might.” You scrunched your nose in response, shaking your head to the thought of it.

“Well, I’m not sticking my finger up there any time soon.” You pushed his face away from yours with your finger, pressing lightly into his forehead. He fell back, settling into the couch cushions.

“Thank god. I really think I’d let you do anything, though.”

You sat up, following him onto his side of the couch. There was a playful smile on your lips. “Anything?”

He nodded, face flushed in the dim lighting. He blushed so easily at the slightest provocation—it would be funny if you hadn’t already teased him for it hundreds of times. “That’s fair. I’d probably let you do anything too, but within reason.”

He tensed, eyes flicking across your face. He seemed like he was considering something. He had a concentrated look on his face, weighing the pros and cons. You had seen that face numerous times in the past, but right now, it confused you. Before he could think any better of it, and before he could get in his head about his newfound impulsivity, he opened his mouth. “Is kissing you within reason?”

You paused. Don’t get ahead of yourself, you thought. It’s for the sake of the conversation. Right? It wasn’t like he thought about kissing you as much as you thought about kissing him. He was just so handsome, every day, all the time. It only got better with the years developing his features. It wasn’t like he had a major crush on you, too. “Sure.”

“Then…” His gaze dropped to your lips. He was hesitating, like you were going to shove him away and call him disgusting. But it was finally happening, and your heart beat faster and faster in your chest. 

“As you wish.” 

Your lips connected, and his hand cradled the back of your head. It was like nothing you had ever experienced before. 

Warm, soft, a bit of teeth, but that didn’t matter. You felt like you were flying. Your dream finally came true—the one where you had his loving touch, where you melted into his arms like he would be able to hold you together. You prayed to anyone that would listen to never let you wake up.

When you pulled away, Rob’s face was red and dazed. He could hardly believe that he did that, and that you let him. He had been harboring so many feelings, ones that he himself had only realized in middle school. He tried everything to deny them, to push them to the side, because he didn’t think he could make you as happy as you deserved. But he couldn’t deny himself enough to not kiss you, not when you looked so perfect, lit up by the television screen. He was a strong person, but not that strong. 

You were utterly flustered. A short silence filled the air for a moment before you opened your mouth, closed it, and then opened it again to speak. “So…”

“Can I be your boyfriend?” He blurted. That was quick. “I know it’s… weird, but I really love you, and I have for a while.” He looked away shyly, blue eyes pointed towards anything but you.

“Yeah. I’d like that,” you smiled. 

Your school year finished with an absolute flourish. You had a boyfriend for once. Margie was delighted when she found out. 

She squealed so loudly that you thought she would collapse the walls of her room, her hands immediately finding a place on your shoulders to shake you. “You and Rob, oh, I knew it! You’re perfect together.” She had matured so much after middle school, and the thought made your lips curl up into a smile.

Telling Aaron was easier. He looked at you with a knowing smile and then nodded, satisfied that you had both pulled your heads out of your asses long enough to realize you were in love with each other. As Margie was your victim while you were contesting your feelings, he was Rob’s. He knew that everything would work out better than any of you. 

Bobby didn’t quite know how to go about informing his family, so he decided on inviting you over for dinner and giving a whole, uninterrupted speech about how he wanted to let them know that you were more than just a friend now. His little sister, Jodie, just rolled her eyes and said, “We know.” He reddened under their laughter, but his hand was firm in holding yours under the table. 

Your mom was the person you were most worried about. She liked Rob, but you had never really been able to talk to her about those things. In the end, you casually dropped it during a conversation, she made some little comment about it, and you moved on. It wasn’t much of a big deal.

After the initial reactions, your relationship with him didn’t change much. You still did everything together, and you still spent hours talking with him, but there were a few sneaky kisses in between words and a few instances of hand-holding. It was heaven. 

Despite you having a similar dynamic, it felt more real, like you weren’t skirting around a touchy subject anymore. You were fully immersed in said subject, and Rob was the perfect accomplice. 

You knew him to be kind, gentle, and smart, but everything was amplified tenfold over the summer before your senior year. He held you with a special determination, never hiding how much he loved you through touch alone. He pulled you away from Brady whenever he approached, letting you hold his hand instead of looking at him. You saw a side of him that he kept carefully locked away.

 He never left behind his love of comics and flying, but he let you in on those secrets. He finally told you that he was applying to the Naval Academy (which you realized was the reason he was spending so much time at the gym, and why he was an Eagle Scout, and captain of the lacrosse team, etc. etc.), and even though he was worried that you would react badly, you tried to support him. It lifted a kind of weight off of his shoulders and let him be fully honest with you about everything. 

You had never been in a better place. He kissed you, brought you flowers, held your hand, and walked on the outside of the sidewalk. A gentleman, as he always had been. 

One of your favorite memories during that time was when he took you out to eat with his first ever paycheck. It wasn’t any place particularly fancy, as he worked a minimum wage job flipping burgers, but it was special all the same.

Rob was dressed in a polo, hair smoothed and combed (which was a whole lot better than his style in middle school, in your opinion), and glasses perched on his nose. He had taken to wearing them again as he hated getting dry eyes while working out. And, man, did he work out. He was getting a bit big for his clothing, his arms pushing against the fabric of his shirt, and chest noticeably straining against the cloth. You pulled your eyes away from his body, face a little warm when you noticed he noticed.

For once, you didn’t know what to talk about. It was your first real, proper date, and the pressure left your mouth dry. You drummed your fingers on the table before deciding to end the tension. “Do you remember when we first met?”

He blinked, but smiled fondly at the memory. “Yeah. I still had that big cast, and you didn’t have any shoes on. I was jealous, you know,” he laughed lightly, “you got to feel the ground with both your feet.”

He reached out to take your hand, but stopped just short of your digits. You closed the gap and linked your fingers. “I was jealous that you had a cast with signatures on it. Apparently breaking a bone was cool to me, until I realized it meant you couldn’t go splash in the creek or roll down a hill.”

“That was awful. I think I cried once because I couldn’t chase a newt into the water.”

“And I had to sit by the edge of the stream and hold your glasses so you could wipe your eyes!” It was like yesterday for you, hand resting on his shoulder and mouth whispering soothing words until he could pick his glasses from your outstretched hand. He didn’t cry often, but you supposed that particular day took a toll on him in a way that you could not recall.

“You’ve always been great at comforting me.”

“I haven’t done it in a while, though. Hey, maybe you should get that boot back so I can see if I still have the magic touch,” you teased. He shook his head vigorously.

“Are you kidding me? I never want to see another medical boot again.” He paused. “Well, actually, it wouldn’t be so bad if you were there. Y’know, for moral support.”

You rolled your eyes, but your mouth betrayed you as it formed a smile. “For sure. I would dote on you—cucumbers on your eyes, a warm towel wrapping your hair, anything you want. Maybe I could even carry you down to the creek and find a few newts for you.”

“Carry me? You would probably break your back.” he scoffed, somewhat shyly. You didn’t even know a person could scoff shyly, but he was the king of consistency; he did everything with that little bashful tilt of his head.

“You never know. I’ve gotten pretty strong lately.”

“Show me sometime, then we can discuss the ‘carrying me down to the creek’ thing.”

“...give me a few more years and we’ll see.”

You talked about memories for hours upon end, until the restaurant workers had to gently push you out the door. The time you accidentally ate a fly while swinging, and he consoled you as you washed your mouth out a million times. When Margie accidentally left you two locked in her closet because she didn’t want her parents to make you leave. Even when Rob’s parents sat you down and said it would be okay with them if you two dated—which was met with outward disgust and internal hope. Throughout the reminiscence, his hand was held tightly in yours, and his eyes sometimes watered. It took everything in you to not sob at the idea of not being able to form these kinds of memories with him. It was kind of your last-ditch effort to truly be with him, in a way that no one else could be, before school started up again. You knew that soon, you would be stuck in class, and after that… after that, there were but a few brief weeks until he had to leave. You hadn’t been apart from him since you met, and each new day ticked down like a massive, ominous clock. You would just have to wait for him to return, as you waited for him to arrive in the first place. 

Just like you assumed it would, time passed quickly. Senior year was packed with homework, tests, college applications, more homework, more tests, watching lacrosse matches, cheering and whooping at football games, club meetings, swinging on the local park’s swings until you got sick with laughter, driving, and breaking curfew. It was fun. Everything could be fun if it was with the right people.

After things had died down, you discovered that your college and Naval Academy decisions happened to align somewhat perfectly with each other. Margie, Aaron, and you all got your letters a few days before Rob did, and you waited to open them together. Even holding the envelopes was stressful, like your entire future rode on a few printed words. They did, actually. That made it even scarier.

“Okay, we’ve all actually got to open them this time,” Margie groaned. She had counted down from three at least four times at this point. You and the boys were too scared to rip open the seals. It was amazing that she had held back from tearing them apart herself. “Three, two… one!”

The sound of tearing paper filled Rob’s bedroom, and you all eagerly held up the letters to the soft, warm glow of his overhead light. 

Congratulations!

Congratulations!

Congratulations!

…pleased to offer you…

You did it. You all did it. A beat of shocked silence filled the air as you took glance after glance at your own and everyone else’s papers, but it was quickly broken by Margie’s scream. She threw her arms around you, tackling you to the floor, as she yelled, “Everyone got in! Everyone got in! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!” You laughed in her grasp, everyone releasing a breath of relief that they didn’t know they were holding. Margie pulled Rob and Aaron into her bear hug as well, until everyone was in a big, happy pile. A twinge in your heart knew that these letters meant nothing would ever be the same again, but you pushed it aside for the joy of now.

Rob grinned, his glasses crooked on his face. “Good job, guys. Congrats. You all really deserve it.”

“You deserve it too, Bobby. Getting into the academy is hard, but I know you worked harder.” You gave him a peck on the cheek as Margie swooned and Aaron gagged. 

It took about two more seconds for the moment to devolve. Aaron folded his acceptance letter into a boat, which he then got stuck in Margie’s hair. Six pairs of hands worked to detangle it, but she didn’t make it any easier with the amount of giggles she was releasing. It was going to be okay, you thought. High school would end, and college would begin, but you could deal with everything coming your way. Your best friends would be with you, and your best-est friend would be an email away. An email and a million miles, but an email nonetheless. He had already created a folder just for you. 

Things changed, as they always have and always will. You would cry, and yes, you were stuck biding the time before your soon-to-be long distance boyfriend returned, but that change was beautiful.

After packing your meager belongings into a duffel bag and a half-wheeled suitcase, your mom drove you to your college dorm for move-in day. She was sad to see you go, but she joked that she could host the A.A. meetings in your room during your absence. She was okay to live on her own, she assured you. For the first time in a long time, you fully believed her.

She helped you set up, greeting Margie as well, then gave you a squeezing hug and walked back to her car. You likely wouldn’t be able to see her for a while, considering that you didn’t have your own car, but you had survived without her in the past, and you would again. 

Everything felt new and exciting, the world alight with opportunities. Every class prompted a discussion within yourself, and every party forced that discussion to present itself. You found that enjoying reality had a sort of grounding effect, even when you were clinging to a wall during a wildly chaotic frat house rager. Margie had joined the adjoining sorority, so those things were often places you could hang out. Man, did you hang out.

With (almost) complete and utter freedom, you could do just about anything. You worked at a Jersey Mike’s on campus, so you had access to free sandwiches and money; that meant the world was your oyster. You and your friends dabbled in school organizations, danced to loud music, stuck your heads out of sunroofs, and edged your way into the campus culture. The librarian ended up kicking you and your English 101 classmates out of the library after you violated the “quiet study” rule a few too many times. 

The school part was, admittedly, less fun, but it was a good experience nonetheless. You ended up switching majors twice during your first two years of college, as you were not exactly sure what would be useful or even what you wanted out of life, but you settled on something eventually. Aaron stuck straight on his path to pre-med with biology, while Margaret switched from political science to education. As the general education requirements were fulfilled and the more targeted classes began, your hangouts dulled down a little bit. Aaron was constantly stressed and no longer had time to roll down the sunroof, and even Margie had things to do. She was interning at a school district a few miles from campus. The new friends you made had less and less time to talk. It left you feeling a little disgruntled, but between harder work and dictating your newly boring life to Bob, there was no time to spare.

He started signing off his emails as Bob; whether it was to sound professional or because it was what everyone in the academy called him, it didn’t matter. You accepted it, like you did so many things about him.

One email chain in particular is now printed out on thick, bordered paper, stuck in one of your million half-filled-in photo albums. You thumb through them from time to time, just to look at the memories. 

From: robertfl0yd444@gmail.com

Hello, my love!

I haven’t had a chance to read your past emails, sorry! They keep me busy here (not as busy as plebe summer though haha) and downtime is a thing of the past. I will read them in a few days, if all things go well. I’ll tell you about my past few weeks in the meantime. Well, my past few weeks haven’t been all too interesting, but I figured I’d write it down anyway.

Mickey and I have been going through the motions. The classes can be tough, but nothing compares to Ms. Norton’s gov assignments. There’s workouts, class, and a little downtime before it all starts up again. Luckily, I’ve been getting more freedom lately. That’s the perk of being a responsible student ;)

Yesterday, I saw this guy flick peas at his friend (were they friends? Possibly, maybe, I’m not sure) and get absolutely torn apart by an instructor that was watching. I had to cover Mickey’s mouth before he laughed so he wouldn’t get reprimanded. That’s the kind of “exciting” thing that happens here, by the way; I’m sure the others get up to mischief, but with the hawks watching and the stakes so high? I’d rather imagine all the trouble you get into at college instead. It softens the blow.

That being said, enough about me. I want you to send me a million (ok, maybe not a million, I’d be fine with a couple thousand) emails about everything you do. I hope that wasn’t super creepy. I just miss you a lot.

I miss your humor, your laugh, and your smile. I miss feeling your thumb rubbing the back of my hand when you get bored. I miss smelling your shampoo, and I miss kissing you. I wish I had snuck some of your perfume in with me along with the photos, but that might be too sappy of me. I’d get made fun of relentlessly if this email were to fall into the wrong hands, but I don’t care anymore. Oh, I miss home, too, so visit my family when you have the chance. Tell me everything.

Anyways, I hope this email finds you well. I’ve got to go to bed now, but I’m sure I’ll be dreaming about you. Catch you at midnight!

Love,

Bob. 

P.S.: Mickey wanted to say hi, so I let him have the keyboard for a few seconds. Bob is such a sap about u, Hometown Girl, I send my deepest sympathies. Also HELLO! -That was Mickey. Expect a message from him every email from now on, because he won’t stop threatening to tape my socks to the ceiling??

To: robertfl0yd444@gmail.com

Hi Bob!! And hello Mickey. I hope he hasn’t been bringing me up too much.

Don’t worry about reading all my emails all the time—nothing too eventful ever happens anyway. And if it did, I’m sure Margie and Aaron would let you know as well. 

All the work you guys have to do sounds insane, like crazy insane. I don’t think I could ever work out and then go through a million tough classes. I die after 30 minutes at the gym. You’re lucky all the instructors like you, because I’m sure the others get a ton of flack. 

The most trouble I’ve gotten into this week was forgetting my homework and having to lie to my teacher. I told her I got frat flu and couldn’t get out of my dorm to go to the library… which was highly unethical, but you do what you have to do. As for the others, I haven’t seen Aaron in weeks because he’s prepping for his finals. We just finished midterms. He’s so studious it actually shocks me. Our favorite roommate is asleep at 7:49 PM, and I have to shield my laptop screen from shining too close to her. I’m sure she gets into trouble that I don’t even want to think about… she brought two separate guys to the room within four hours. TMI, but you’ve heard it all anyway.

Instead of a million emails, I hope a few long ones will suffice. I miss you too, so much. I hate having to wrap my arms around a pillow instead of you—it should be classified as a deficiency, honestly. A Bobby deficiency. I’m the sickest patient imaginable. 

I visited the fams on Sunday. Jodie is doing really well in high school! She’s in all the advanced art classes and is enjoying her schedule immensely. Chris was there too, with his fiance. Which reminds me: even though the wedding hasn’t even been planned yet and probably won’t be for a couple years, he wants you to be his best man!!! He asked me to warn you before the fancy wedding court invitations go out. Brotherly love and all that. You don’t have to say yes, he said, but he wants that unfortunate little buzz cut by his side on his big day.

Your parents are doing well, and so is my mom. We’re all getting together this weekend to prep a giant care package, which I hope will be well enjoyed by you and your friends. I need to finish up my stats homework (ugh), so I’ll cut this message short, but expect more after I close my textbook. I hope to see you in dream world too <3

Love,

Hometown Girl.

From: robertfl0yd444@gmail.com

Good morning, Randle,

I was wondering about placing a hold on the item we spoke about over the phone. I can call again on Saturday, sometime during the afternoon. Please reach out if it’s still an option.

Thanks,

Robert Floyd.

From: robertfl0yd444@gmail.com

Sorry about that last email, honey! That wasn’t meant for you. I’m just looking at a lock for my bag. Mickey likes to rifle through my things. I’ll email you more later.

Love,

Bob.

To: robertfl0yd444@gmail.com

It’s alright, enjoy your lock lol.

Love,

Not Randle.

You didn’t have any reason to question his words at the time. Well, you never had a reason to question any of his words, because he could beat George Washington in a telling-the-truth competition. Now, you know that Bob’s a damn good liar—not that he would ever lie to hurt you. It’s just the nice secrets he keeps, like the one he kept the entire time he was training to be a naval aviator.

As his education progressed, though, his eyesight kept him from doing the one thing he truly wanted to do: be a pilot. He just missed the requirement, as he explained in a short, sad email after his eye test. It was crushing, to say the least, but Bob bounced back quickly. He always did. He was never one to sit and mope about a problem, no, he took the next best thing. He began training to be a weapon systems officer, and he was damn good at it.

His graduation, adorned with the markings of a star student, came with no surprise, and neither did his transition to the actual Navy. He did flight training, conditioning, and every other rigorous step to climb his way to the top; by the end, he was a new man. He graduated from Top Gun for god’s sake. Documenting his development were emails, short visits, letters, the whole shebang. 

The one thing that didn’t change was his love.

He was still goofy, nerdy, and kind. His skin may have been tougher, after years of being hardened by the world around him, but he took the time to care for the people in his life. He people-watched, just as he always did, and called you every sweet nickname that would get anyone lesser embarrassed. He still blushed like a madman, whether it was from pulling Gs or your tight hugs. And, which may just be the best thing he kept, he maintained his loyalty to the people in his past. He was a Montana kid, through and through.

You changed, he changed, the world changed. Everything was constantly moving. You maintained consistency in your waiting, though. That was the only thing that didn’t budge. You marked the dates that Bob would come back home in your calendar, counting down every second like you would miss him if you didn’t. One of those dates ended up being Margie’s wedding.

The year of weddings was upon you; Bob’s brother had just gotten married half a year before, and three of your other friends got married between then and Margaret’s wedding. Even Aaron was eyeing rings, constantly emailing you pictures from catalogs in an attempt to find the “perfect” band for his boyfriend. It came with being full-fledged adults, you assumed. Everyone was settled in their grown-up jobs or grad school, and therefore had more time to spend with their respective partners. Except for Bob, of course. He was sent everywhere under the sun. From Virginia to Hawaii, Hawaii to Texas, Texas to Nevada, and, most recently, Nevada to California. The last in-person interaction you had with him was four months ago when you flew to Lemoore to visit. There was no time for proposals, even if you had been with him long enough to be considered married in everyone else’s eyes. 

You were Margie’s maid of honor. You helped with planning, invitations, booking, buying, organizing, setting up, and pretty much all the details since she showed you the large, sparkling diamond on her ring finger. You even helped pick out her dress. It was a classic ball gown-style beauty, with delicate lace and heavy frills. It was exactly her. 

Bob was a groomsman, even though he and the groom weren’t particularly close. It was your closeness to both Margie and her fiance that brought him to the bachelor party in the first place. In the days before the wedding, you and Bob shared a room close to the wedding venue.

Being with him again made you the happiest you had been in a long time. You felt complete, like when he was gone, your heart just ached and ached until he could come plug up the holes again. Living in that small motel room was a breath of fresh air, and sharing a bed with him in complete privacy was amazing in more ways than one.

It was strange, in a way, like you didn’t really know him anymore. He had friends you had never met and a job you knew nothing about in a place you had only visited once, but he was intricately tied to your hometown through a series of souls and bonds. He was balancing between two worlds, and a part of you wondered where he would fall if the beam were to become unsteady. And another part of you hoped he would take you with him when the time came.

During the ceremony the next day, you thought that you wanted to be the one walking down the aisle next. 

The wedding went well, as most weddings did. There were tears from you, tears from the audience, tears from everyone except for the children Margie taught, as they were too young to really understand the beauty of two people devoting their lives to each other. The cake was cut, frosting smeared on the newlyweds’ cheeks, the dances flowed flawlessly, the pictures turned out perfect, and even Margie’s mother-in-law was happy. It was honestly the most beautiful wedding you had witnessed in your life.

When the time came for the bouquet toss, you were so far back in the crowd that it didn’t even have a chance of landing in your outstretched hands. You stood there for moral support, really, as the girls around you pushed their way to the front. There was a countdown, a little shove from the person next to you, and a bouquet of poppies tossed high into the air. It sailed in an arc, red and orange streaking through the air. Despite everything, despite the odds being stacked against you, it was heading right in your direction.

You reached one arm out, squished between bodies, and caught it.

The uproar of the people around you filled your ears as you pulled the flowers to your chest. The crowd parted, and Margie came barrelling towards you, wrapping you in her lacy arms. “Yes! I just knew you would catch it, I always do. You’ve got to help me plan the wedding when it happens, because I know it will, and you’re going to need the perfect dress and the perfect venue and the prettiest invitations and…”

She carried on for a while, and you smiled into the soft, decorative leaves. 

You saved the flower petals, pressed in a big dictionary under your desk. You saved every flower you had ever been given. Parts of them, at least. Your corsage from senior prom, the bouquets Bob had shipped to your door, and the marigolds your mother grew in her new garden are spread out across your bedroom. Most of your memories are tucked away in secret places, only noticeable if you know where to look.

After the wedding, you returned to your little apartment, smack in the middle of the busiest part of your town. The cars speeding by were significantly worse than Bob’s light snoring. It was the first time you had lived on your own, though, which was supposed to be important. You were free.

You could eat ice cream for breakfast, or in the late hours of the night, and you could sing loudly in the shower. You could even buy most of the clothes you saw in stores on your brand new salary and organized savings. However, you found that you didn’t necessarily want to do all that. You just wanted every day to be over already. Work was too much, waking up to an upset stomach was too much, checking your email every thirty minutes and seeing nothing was too much, and those goddamn people in the room above yours were too much, constantly blasting music and stomping around. Like always, you found yourself waiting for things to change again. You imagined you were anywhere else with anyone else, finding a sick sense of comfort in the fantasies. You thought you put those little phases behind you, but being an adult alone was so frustrating that you found yourself going back to old patterns.

Margie was caught up in the married life, Aaron was constantly working, and your frequently long-distance boyfriend was states away. The only comfort you got was periodic visits to your old neighborhood, checking up on your mom and Bob’s family. 

You stood in the middle of Georgia Floyd’s flower bed, tugging at a weed, hands adorned with thick, weathered gloves. The thing just wasn’t coming out. The little thorns were sticking to your sleeves, and you were drenched with sweat. It was the beginning of fall, and the leaves were turning all shades of fiery reds and somber oranges, but the sun was still high in the sky. The thriving asters and dahlias next to you taunted you with their beauty, bending in the slight breeze. Georgia stood in the shade of her doorway, one hand on her hip and the other holding a glass of lemonade. “Sweetheart, you’ve been workin’ so hard here. Take a drink, go home, be merry. I’ll get B… I’ll get someone else to pick up where you left off, ‘kay?”

You sighed, wiping the perspiration away from your brow with your forearm. “Yes ma’am. Thank you.” She handed you the glass and shooed you away from her flowers, making sure to take the gardening gloves you had peeled off and tucked under your arm. 

You hadn’t expected to be weeding today, but with Jodie at a friend’s house, Chris a state away on a work trip, and Bob’s father, Harold, off somewhere, she needed a helping hand. She had gotten a bit weaker over the years, no longer able to bend as well as she needed to in order to clear away the low-growing weeds, and you loved her more than enough to help out. You were her second daughter, she always said. A part of the family, no matter what. You walked across the street to your mom’s place and opened the door with your key. 

She had to go grocery shopping a while earlier, leaving you alone in the house. Given that the grocery shop was less than five minutes away by car, she should’ve been back by then. You didn’t pay it much mind, though. You just stepped into your bathroom, hung up your clothes, and took a well-deserved shower. 

After a good forty-five minutes of steam, hair dryers, and other pampering, you were ready to do absolutely nothing. The chair on your small front porch was all set up, and you held a book in your hands, ready to sit and see the yellow and orange sky cascade over the pages. When you stepped through your doorway, however, someone was waiting for you.

Bob. His hair had changed since you last saw him. It was longer but still military-issued, combed neatly, not a lock out of place. He was dressed well, too, with slacks and a slightly open button-up. You were suddenly glad that you had put on the prettiest dress in your arsenal—one he knew very well. He opened his mouth and then shut it with a look of determination.

“Bobby? What are you doing here?” you asked. He wasn’t expected back for months yet, and you certainly didn’t think he had time to visit. You were happy to see him, of course. Hell, you were overjoyed to be in his presence. But what was he doing?

He stepped forward, shined shoes crunching on a bit of gravel, and you met him in the middle. As he pulled you into his arms, hugging you tight to his chest, you breathed him in. He was really here, back home, after all that time. You finally pulled away after what seemed like eons and a millisecond all at once, and he clasped your hands in his, your book forgotten on the ground. His eyes were stormy, brimming with what looked like an onslaught of tears. You rubbed your thumbs up and down his hands worriedly. 

“Is everything okay?” Your voice came out as a tremble, slightly terrified at the prospect of something having gone wrong. Did someone die? Did he almost die? It didn’t help that he cleared his throat like he was steeling his nerves.

He put one of your hands on his chest, over his fluttering heart, and pressed a gentle kiss to the other. “There’s something I need to ask you.” You nodded, too concerned to speak. “I’ll… I’ll start with this. I love you so much it hurts me. When I first met you, years ago, I knew that I wanted to be around you forever. Your kindness, curiosity, your heart, everything just pulled me in and never let me go—not that I ever wanted to go, no, I knew you were too special to leave behind. I had to put so much in the past, but not you. Never you. I grew with you, and laughed with you, and loved you in a million ways. Throughout all that time, you waited and gave me your utmost support when my dreams took me a thousand miles away. Now, I’m still living a thousand miles away, but I don’t want you to wait here anymore. I want you to come with me and stay.” He took a breath, and his heart hammered under your fingertips. “What I’m really trying to get at is that I want to have a future with you. I want to be your husband.”

The world stopped in that moment. Did you hear him correctly? His eyes searched for a response on your face as he slid a black, velvety case out of his back pocket. He slowly lowered to one knee, keeping eye contact, and opening the box to show you the shiny contents.

“Sweetheart, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

You brought your hands up to your mouth. After all this time, the moment you dreamed of as a kid was finally happening. You nodded once, dropping down on your knees and nodding a million more times. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you,” you breathed, voice loud and quiet at the same time. Your arms found their place around him, like they had many times before, but something was different. New, in a good way. Like you were safe, completely safe.

Like while his ring was on your finger, you would never have to wait to be loved again.

You smile at the printed digital photos spread out on your bed. Bobby hugging you in 5th grade, the both of you in matching witch and black cat costumes, pumpkin buckets dangling from your fists. A snapshot of “the shaving incident”, in which you had come out with cut up legs and Robert with a cut up face. There was even a silly photo of him carrying you bridal style on your prom night, with your arm thrown over your face like a swooning princess. Your favorites, though, are the proposal photos.

Your mom hid around the corner to take pictures of your silhouettes in the sunset, while Bob’s mom pulled out her camera from across the street. They had coordinated everything perfectly, down to the fake shopping trip and weeding break. It was no coincidence that your mother washed the load of laundry that contained your favorite dress first. The meticulous planning from the people who know your routines best still makes your head spin when you think about it. They all knew about the proposal for at least a week before it happened, and they made sure it was absolutely perfect, down to the manicured background and time of day. Bob even managed to get away from work for a couple days to propose.

The ring is beautiful too. It’s the perfect mix between flashy and subtle, the main stone is cut exactly how you like it, and the band is the right amount of tight. When you asked your fiance about how he got it so exact to everything you had dreamed of, he said, “research”. You later found out from his mom that he had bought the ring while he was still at the Naval Academy from the best jeweler he could find: Randle Montgomery. Knowing that he was planning on proposing all those years ago makes it a different kind of special.

Your closet is open, the boxes and boxes of memories all pulled out and scattered around your room. The dictionary under your desk has been opened, and the flower petals and other flower material placed carefully into a container. A few minutes earlier, you even stumbled upon a written agreement you and Bob signed in middle school, agreeing to marry each other if you weren’t taken by 30. The wooden rose he gave you, also in middle school, was halfway sticking out of a cardboard holder, leaning on a series of first day of school photos Georgia took. You’ve taken to calling her Mom now, at her request.

All of your photo albums are open, with most of the pictures taken out. You’re trying to compile everything, every memory, into a new, large album. The new album is brown leather, stamped and embroidered with little inside jokes and important moments. Inside, you’ve documented every single stage in your life with Bob.

Some of the pictures even feature Margie, her husband, Aaron, Jodie, Chris, Georgia, Harold, your mom, Mickey, and everyone you’ve met along the way. Seeing the compilation of every person, every moment, that made you who you are brings tears to your eyes. 

You spend the next two hours tucking pictures, flower petals, and anything flat enough to fit into the album. By the time you’re done, your hands are coated in a fine layer of dust, and your front door is opening. 

“Honey, I’m home!” the intruder calls, and you hear the telltale jingling of him placing his keys on the bookshelf in your living room. You stand up, wipe your hands on your pants, and walk out of your shared bedroom.

Bob unzips his flight suit to the middle, letting it hang around his waist for the time being. His boots are neatly placed with the rest of his shoes; he’s tidy even when he’s tired, which is a phenomenon you don’t understand whatsoever. His hair is messy, his glasses are crooked, and he’s giving you a tired little smile. It was surely a long day for him. You open your arms, and he slouches into you like he was meant to be there.

“I was just about to get dinner started. Go take a nap, and it’ll be done by the time you wake up,” you murmur, kissing through his undershirt. He shakes his head softly. His hands hold steady on your waist, his pulse humming through the contact. 

“I’ll help. What were you thinking for tonight?”

You lead him into the kitchen, pulling out various ingredients from the pantry on the way. Pasta sauce clinks on the tile counter as you say, “Pasta. It’s quick enough. I’ll put mushrooms in the sauce, too, as a treat. You deserve it after the day I’m sure you’ve had.”

“You read my mind, baby,” he sighs, resting his head on you. “We had some rough ejections, but nothing too scary. And there’s talk of calling a few people to San Diego for a Top Gun mission, so every little mistake pulls people further away from that opportunity.”

He steps away from you for a moment. The absence of warmth sends a chill down your spine, but after he opens the box of spaghetti and turns up the heat on the pot of water you’ve placed on top of the stove, he stands behind you again. You look up from your place chopping vegetables. “Do you want to go back to San Diego? I feel like we just got settled in Lemoore.”

“Well, I’d like to marry you before moving, but I’d be honored to be a part of Top Gun again. Those missions are… dangerous, though, to say the least, so I want to have a wedding ring with my dog tags.”

You tap on his chest lightly, eyebrows furrowed. “If you do get chosen, you’d better be careful. I’m not prepared to be a widow.”

He smiles, a little sadly and a little reassuringly. “I’ll do my best.” 

When you hear the pot of water boiling, Bob drops the pasta in, and you turn your attention to the sauce simmering in your saucepan. You add mushrooms, onion, some ground beef, parmesan, and a lot of love. Before long, both parts are done, and you put a heaping portion on your fiance’s plate.

Your dining room furniture is basic, just a wooden table and two chairs. Neither of you have been able to decorate the house to your standards, considering you’re both working and you just moved in a month ago. It’s nice, though. Not permanent by any means, but nice. 

Not having any big decorations make it easier to move, you figure. By now, you know very well that living with a Naval aviator means moving from place to place until he gets a permanent station. Even then, there’s a chance they could change their minds and slap him onto the opposite side of the country. You’re just hoping that you can get married by a beach before that happens.

Speaking of the wedding, you need to do some serious planning. You swallow your bite of pasta. “I finished the photo album today.”

“Really? That’s great!” Bob beams. “I’m going to call the venue after work tomorrow to see if the date we picked out is possible. If it is, I think we can put the album by the entrance so people can look through it.”

“That sounds really good. Margie’s coming down next week to help me pick out decorations and stuff, so we need to decide on a color palette.”

“Hm… what do you think about our favorite colors? So we can represent both of us together.”

All the wedding talk makes you both excited and tired. You want to marry the love of your life and have a great time doing it, so every detail needs to be looked over again and again to ensure it goes according to plan. Bob’s a great help, despite him having so little time during the day. Living with him, finally, is like a dream come true. 

Everything is like a dream come true now. When you were little, before the Floyds appeared in your life like a fairy god-family, you prayed for something like this to happen. You begged and pleaded for your mom to get better, for you to have friends, for you to fall in love. Every part of that, miraculously, happened. Your life changed from miserable to joyous in a matter of days.

You’re going to marry the boy next door, and you’re going to be happy doing it. As you settle into bed, with his arm around you and a ring carefully placed on your bedside table, you think that all you’ve ever waited for has finally come to lull you to sleep.

Taglist: @withahappyrefrain @seitmai @winelover27 @shinzowosasageyoooo

[sebsbarnes]

hole in the wall || pietro maximoff

pietro maximoff x f!reader

summary: despite barely knowing the brainwashed girl beyond the wall, pietro refused to hurt her, no matter how much she hurt him.

word count: 5k+

warnings: fighting, none rlly??

a/n: the russian is translated so i apologize if the translation is wrong. i wrote for pietro years ago but this is my first time in awhile :P reader is subjected to the same torture as bucky bc the character is kinda him, inaccuracies in the mcu but nothing crazy

masterlist

pietro often wondered about the girl who was held next door. he'd hear the screeching metal against the floor followed by a slight commotion and then a thud on the floor. small shuffling could be heard and then it was silence. no movement, no talking, no heavy breathing or cries, silence until the next time the metal door unleashed its harrowing song, and large boots could be heard entering the cell and dragging the girl away.

pietro couldn't tell how long he'd really been here nor how long it had been since the mysterious girl next to him was there but he did know it had been months on end and yet he had never seen a glimpse of the girl that shared the wall with him.

there was a small hole in the cement that allowed him to peer into the girl's cell but each time he looked he was met with the grey wall from beyond. he had heard murmurs that she was young like him and wanda. strong, fearless, one of the doctor's favorites. she was often sent out on missions and came back unscathed. each mission she was sent on was a success as if the concept of failure was unfathomable. she apparently spoke little, only when instructed, never talked back, never laughed, never screamed. almost robotic.

which is why it came to pietro's surprise after hearing the thud of her knees hit the floor and the guards march away he heard a soft sniffle. and then slightly louder ones followed by rapid and heavy breathing. pietro scuffled over to the hole in the wall and peered through. he could see her sitting against the far wall with her legs tucked closely to her, her forehead resting on her knees. he could only see half her body from where she was sitting but he could see her shoulder shaking.

"you... you need to breathe in and out. you are going to make yourself pass out," pietro was unsure, his voice quiet but loud enough for her to hear. her head shot up and looked directly at the hole. her hair was sticking to her face, her mouth was slightly parted, and eyes wide and red.

"it's okay. my name is pietro. you don't need to talk but i... i wanted to see if you are okay. you've never even made a noise before now," he felt funny slightly confessing the fact he's been taking note of your actions.

he watched as you wiped the tears off your cheek and raked the hair off your face.

"i don't know how i am," your voice sounded like you hadn't spoken in days.

"it's okay to not know."

from where you sat you could only see the boy's eye. it was a striking blue, "like the sky," you murmured.

"what?" you heard the voice call back.

you slowly stood up dragging your chained feet over to the wall. you held the wall, steadying yourself before sitting with a huff, "your eyes remind me of the sky."

pietro wasn't sure what to say back. he went months not hearing your voice or seeing you, only knowing the tales that the guards spoke of yet here you were inches from him, broken down and giving a compliment. a much different reality to the one he thought he knew before.

pietro didn't hear another word from you, he assumed you fell asleep against the wall. he tried looking through the hole at any angle he could to see you, but all he noticed was a piece of metal gleaming from the dull light in your cell.

a few days had passed since the interaction and pietro had little time to dwell on it. his testing was getting more intense, he was constantly being injected with needles he knew nothing about, there were many monitors reading whatever vitals they needed to document, and his training was becoming more rigorous. he was exhausted, he hadn't been in his cell in two days, and although the cell offered no comfort he much rather be locked behind the bars than strapped to a table.

the guards pushed him down the hallway, taunting him. each time he stood up they would push him back down. the shackles on his wrists rubbed his skin raw and those around his ankles prevented him from running. the guard gripped his shoulder tightly walking past wanda's cell as she called out to her brother.

"wanda!" he screamed out as he watched the other guard reach through the bars and grip at her neck. the guard holding onto him roughly pushed him into the cell causing him to stumble and land on his shoulder, his face grazed the cement floor.

you had heard the commotion from your cell, you stood at the door looking over at the guards who simply laughed at the twins who were now in pain. all you could do was grimace. you hated this, you hated this place, each day you yearned to leave this hell hole you've called home. you heard pietro scream in frustration and then heard his rapid movements as he ran around his cell, thrashing against the walls.

you had seen pietro from a distance a few times. you were never allowed to be near the enhanced people and only managed glimpses of them. you had seen his super speed and the way the scientists trained him. it was brutal and he endured a lot just from the few moments you had witnessed. you started to notice that after particularly rough days he would do this, run back and forth for what seemed like hours on end. slamming into the cement walls that would somehow rattle from the force. he would yell in anger, cursing the guards and scientists for what they were doing.

the noise settled and you hesitantly sat in front of the small hole. you could see his large frame hunched over catching his breath. he ran a hand through his messy silver hair, his white tank top was dirty and slightly damp from his running. you peered behind your shoulder at the hallway making sure it was empty. you swallowed thickly with nerves in fear of getting caught before forcing three fingers into the hole and ripping the cement block from the wall. you could now fit your head through the hole comfortably if you wanted to.

"pietro," you said placing the block beside you. he faltered and gestured with an open hand in confusion at the now gaping hole in the wall. you couldn't help but pull your lips into a tight light suppressing the laugh you wanted to let out at the look on his face. using his speed he rushed to face you, eyes wide examining the open edges of the cement.

"you-"

"are strong," you cut him off jokingly.

the two of you sat staring at each other. it was weird to be face to face after countless months of unknowing the other despite being separated by only a wall. you took in his appearance. he was handsome. up close you could now see the slight curls to his hair and the short facial hair. his shoulders broad and built. under his sky-blue eyes were dark circles from the lack of sleep but it suited him. he was stunning and pietro was thinking the same about you. your hair fell haphazardly across your forehead. your eyes were kind and gentle, much different than the stone-cold eyes he had imagined in his head. your lips were pulled to one side in the tiniest of smiles as you took in his appearance. pietro found it hard to believe the stories he has heard about your reputation as he stared at you. expression soft, eyes and smile kind, you looked battered and worn down but still so youthful as if you didn't fit in with the surrounding grey walls.

"are you okay?" you finally asked.

pietro's nostrils flared and his eyes fluttered shut, "i don't know."

you hesitated a moment before repeating his words from a few days prior, "it's okay to not know."

if you weren't staring intently at the man before you you would've missed the smile that flashed across his face at your remark. it was soon washed away when you both heard loud footsteps from down the hall. you both quickly turned towards the noise that was approaching pietro's cell, he gulped harshly as a guard came into view. he looked back at the wall expecting to still see your face but instead, he saw a metal hand escaping through the hole as if the cement was never removed.

metal...?

it must have been late in the night. the guards had already dropped off the atrocious meal they call dinner and returned to pick the trays up. they rarely patrolled the hallways at night, opting to smoke outside. it was eerie each night. the sound of dripping water from pipes echoed, the occasional gunfire could be heard from the woods outside, slight whispers could be heard from the twins once in a blue moon but it was rare. in a place like this, they didn't let you be a person so it was hard to act like one.

pietro was lying on the bed facing the ceiling making a laughable attempt at trying to get some sort of sleep. he was imagining his life before this when his family was all together, when times were happy, when he was just a little kid and not a young adult performing for crazed scientists. his eyes scanned the room at the sound of bricks moving before seeing your head pop into vision from the hole. pietro let out a small laugh through his nose seeing your sheepish smile.

you sat facing the other not saying anything at first. it was oddly comfortable being face-to-face with the one they call quicksilver. you couldn't put your finger on why though. you've spoken so few words to him but then again it was the first time you let yourself speak to someone in this building that wasn't a doctor or a guard. maybe it was you being naive but it felt okay and safe.

"what made you cry the other day?" he finally spoke his question causing you to blink a few times.

"i think... i think they do something to my head. i mean, i know they do," you thought bringing your fingers to your temple as if the gesture helped you remember, "but i think i'm starting to notice when i'm on missions. it's hard to really know though it's all a blur."

pietro nodded softly taking in what you had to say, "like... brainwashing?"

"it has to be. they recite something each time and then it's like i'm not me," you confessed, "but these past few missions i'll overhear things from strangers passing by or i'll see something and i can feel myself start to wake from the trance. i'm starting to remember life before here and i'm becoming aware of what they have me doing."

"whatever it is they have you doing just know you are still a good person," pietro spoke quietly.

"i kill people," you said bluntly looking him straight in the eyes. he averted his gaze slightly, his hand coming to caress his jaw.

"the person they turn you into out there isn't you. the real you is sitting in front of me now."

"how can you be so sure, you don't even know me," you questioned.

"i don't think an out right evil person would check to see if a stranger is okay... or compliment them the first time they see them," pietro joked slightly. you hung your head as your lips pulled back into a smile. pietro couldn't help the way his body leaned closer to the hole with a big smile on his face observing the way you became shy.

"no one in this building is perfect. we've all done things that are considered evil but if we manage to hold on to some sort of sense of ourselves i think we will be okay. i hope wanda and i get out of here soon. it was a mistake yanno, being volunteers, i regret it. it makes me feel worse knowing you had no say in the matter. you're here every day as a puppet against your will and yet i walked through these doors. every day i'm in pain and every day i regret it," pietro's accent got thicker as he got emotional.

you frowned at the silver-haired man, "life in here is already hard enough, there is no point in being hard on yourself."

his eyes were glossed over, internally fighting himself for the choices he had made in the past. you reached your hand into the hole searching for his. this was out of character for you but it some selfish way you wanted the warmth of his hand to comfort you as well. it was peaceful sitting in silence holding each other's hand. the only form of physical touch the two of you ever received was in the form of torture. gruff hands slapping, punching, shoving, and poking you seemed like a far and distant sensation compared to the safety you felt as pietro's thumb traced the back of your hand.

"you should rest," pietro finally broke what felt like an hour's long silence, "they usually take you first."

you sighed deeply but you knew he was right. god knows what hour it was and you needed to try and get some sleep. pietro gently let go of your hand and allowed you to snake it back through the hole.

"thank you pietro. i hope we can talk more soon," you told him earnestly.

"i hope so too," he gave you a lopsided grin before you grabbed the brick.

it was mere days later when you two found yourself in the same position. the guards were out, pietro had finished his talks with wanda, the disgusting dinners were consumed and taken away, and here you were staring into the sky amongst grey walls. pietro noticed your face had small cuts scattered on it from a mission you were sent on a day prior but you had made no mention of it thus far. you were currently enthralled by pietro telling a story from his younger days. pietro was funny and he didn't even need to try, it had been years since you felt the burning sensation in your sides from laughing too much but he made it easy. and pietro loved the sound of your laugh, it was beautiful, irresistible almost. the two of you went back and forth sharing any memories you could remember from life before these walls and it was effortless but you knew just like the other nights it was soon time to hide the hole.

"you're really pretty," you confessed.

pietro's mouth formed an 'o' shape before turning into a giddy smile, "you are beautiful, dragă"

this time it was pietro plugging the brick back into the wall just as he was about to finish a loud booming voice came from your side of the wall. his hands shook slightly at the volume of the guard yelling 'soldier' in russian to you. pietro could no longer see what was happening but he heard you stand up and reply back and leave the cell.

although you and the guard walked in silence you knew he saw you talking to pietro. you continued to clench and unclench your fists trying to calm yourself for what was to come.

"Тебе нравится мальчик?" (do you like the boy?) the guard asked placing a firm grip on your shoulder, pushing you towards the all too familiar room. you stayed quiet and you heard the man snicker to himself, satisfied with your silence.

in the room, several other guards were standing in position, many holding guns. you saw the needles and wires spread across the small rolling table with a doctor in a white coat hunched over it. the monitors sitting idly waiting to read your vitals. the guard that escorted you pushed you into the contraption that stood before you forcing your body flush against the back. immediately automatic shackles secured your arms to the chair and the whirling sound of small electric plates situated themselves against the sides of your head.

"смешно... ты, кажется, молчишь только рядом с нами," (funny... you only seem to be quiet around us.) the doctor smirked, admitting they all were aware of you and pietro speaking. the doctor sucked his teeth as you glared at him, unwilling to confess to anything.

he picked up the mouth guard from the table wiggling it in front of your mouth waiting for you to open. you bit down in anger, all the muscles in your face twitching, your eyelids blinking rapidly pushing back any emotion daring to creep up at what you knew was about to happen. it wasn't often they wiped your memory, only when they deemed your actions defied them, like not getting enough information on missions which was rare. it had been months since the last time they did this. you screamed in agony as the electric volts zapped against your head. sweat started to bead across your thrashing body. it was indescribable and it wasn't a short process but once the currents stopped your world was black and each time you'd wake up in your cell with no recollection.

it was a week later you found yourself in the training room after being isolated since the memory wipe. your shoulders were hunched forward, chest facing the ground, your arms swayed ever so slightly by your side, your breathing was ragged after being beaten in the form of "training" for the last two hours. the doctors insisted it would be over soon, one final test for the day before you could go to your cell. the door creaked open and the familiar sound of boots entered, you didn't even bother looking up.

"солдат!" (soldier!) a guard yelled causing you to slowly pick your head up. at the door was a young man you'd never seen before, he wore tattered pants and a tank top, his hair was silver, and his blue eyes were opened wide in what you could only assume was shock. and though you didn't recognize him, pietro recognized you.

up until now, he had never seen your full figure before, only parts of your body that were visible through the hole. despite you clearly being injured and tired you stood tall and pietro could tell you were strong. the most alarming part about you was your arm... your metal arm. pietro's eyebrows scrunched together, head slightly cocked to the side examining the way the metal met your skin, some scar tissue bright red while others were faded.

before pietro could mutter any words aloud a doctor appeared from a side door and sauntered towards you holding a notebook.

"работа...установить..." (work...establish...) the doctor read.

"please, no," you whispered, your neck screwing to the side as if it will block the doctor's voice.

"станция..." (station...)

pietro watched as your chest heaved air in and out as the doctor continued reciting from the book, circling your body like a predator ready to attack. he watched as your teeth chatter together and your metal hand flexed. the doctor stopped behind your right shoulder leaning down slightly so his mouth was level with your ear. pietro couldn't hear the whispers but he felt nervous at the doctor's intense eye contact and the loud clap of the notebook being shut. the doctor lazily dragged his hand off your shoulder whispering one final command before exiting the way he came.

pietro jumped at the sound of the door behind him slamming shut as the guards snuck out, leaving only the two of you in the room.

"wha- WOAH!" pietro shrieked as you came barreling towards him at full speed, your metal arm raised high in the air to come down on his body.

"please i don't want to hurt you," but his pleas were left unheard as you socked him in the jaw, tossing him to the ground and repeatedly punching his stomach. although being fast, pietro found himself trapped beneath you and it took moments before he was able to get out and start running in different directions. slowly, you walked towards a vacant chair in the corner, eyes trained on the blue light racing around the room. you gripped the chair waiting for the right moment before launching it across the room and nailing pietro square in the back. you stalked towards his groaning figure grasping his shoulder and flipping him onto his back where you straddled him and punched at his face.

to pietro's relief, the doctor came back into the room beckoning an order to you. pietro watched from underneath your frame as your pupils twitched at him and your head robotically moved to face the doctor. you refrained from punching pietro anymore and stood up and walked to the doctor and the two guards who waited behind. one of the guards stabbed a needle into your neck and once more the world was black.

you couldn't even begin to guess what time or day it was when you finally woke up on the floor of your cell. your body was violently shaking from the cold and you started to panic. as much as you tried to think of any memories you couldn't, it was like your mind was a blank slate and it was causing you to panic even more which then turned into anger. you grabbed the small bed and threw it at the wall and screamed loudly. you repeatedly slammed your metal first into the wall causing dust to liter the air. guards walked past your cell but simply laughed and continued to make their way down the hall and off into the outside world.

"hey," a voice spoke unsteadily. you whipped your head around to the other wall and saw a face peeking through.

"it's okay," the man tried to ease seeing your angered state approaching him. you kneeled in front of the hole looking intensely at his face.

"who are you?"

this question confirmed pietro's fear that they wiped your memory. he had foolishly hoped that in the training room you were just too worn down to recognize him when he walked through the door before they sent you into your trance.

"my name is pietro. you may not remember but i am a friend," he spoke hoping to see any form of recollection cross your face. instead you examined him quietly before turning your head and examining the room. it was lit dully, your bed now turned on its side, and there was a tray of food sitting near the cell door that looked to be days old.

"this is a hydra base," pietro continued without you having to ask, "the people here are not good. they hurt us, they experiment on us, many people have died here. i have a sister here, a twin," he said pointing a finger behind him, "her name is wanda. they call us the enhanced. we both possess abilities no normal human would have due to their experimentations. we came as volunteers and i regret it."

"am i a volunteer?" you questioned.

"no, dragă. a few weeks ago you told me they found you during the winter, alone. you had been lost in the forest and they made promises to help you find home but you never returned. you said you aren't sure but you think it's been ten years since," pietro confessed, his accent thick with sorrow.

you hummed, unsure of what to say. you remembered none of this so what could you really say back? was pietro even telling the truth? how could you decipher fact from fiction in a state like this? despite the confusion and the absence of memory, something deep within you said it was all true, everything he was saying was right.

"why is my arm gone?" you whispered, slightly touching the contorting metal panels near the elbow.

pietro couldn't help but feel a pain in his chest as he observed you try and remember any semblance of yourself, "i- i don't know. what i do know is the doctors, they like you. you are very important to them and they make you do dirty work. the reason you can't remember anything is because they wipe your memory."

"i suppose that makes sense," you nodded slightly giving pietro a bitter smile.

"i am sorry for what they do to you," pietro stated earnestly. if he could help you in any way he would, over and over again, he would.

you paused, taking in pietro's face which held some serious injuries. the skin on his brow bone was split, his eye was bright red with blood and a nasty purple-green bruise on his jaw.

"did i do this to you?" you asked, slowly reaching your hand through to gently touch his jaw.

"of course you didn't my love," he murmured, tenderly grabbing your wrist and threading his fingers with yours.

"if there comes a time when i hurt you, please don't go easy on me," you pleaded.

"i cannot promise you that," he smiled at you softly, bringing his other hand to enclose your freezing one.

and pietro was being truthful. he couldn't nor he wouldn't harm you in the event the doctors forced you to fight. he would run and dodge the punches, and the chairs being thrown at him, but he couldn't fight you, he just couldn't. it pained him to see the different version of yourself, the real you locked inside begging to come out of the brainwashing.

pietro didn't think it would be so soon when he would be in the same position as before, standing across from you in the training room as the same doctor circled your body, reciting words in russian that would transform you into their super soldier. it was only hours after the two of you decided to sleep that pietro was ripped from his bed and dragged into the training room.

the doctor once again closed the notebook but before leaving he looked over at pietro, "it is a shame," he started with a thick russian accent, "her memory wiped twice in a week. i thought maybe you two would work well as a team. we could start sending you out on missions with her. but it seems she has developed a hm. what do you call it?" he fake pondered, "ah! a crush! and that is not something we take kindly here. she provides more to us here than you do so..." with that the doctor whispered one final thing in your ear before leaving.

pietro watched carefully as you headed towards him and at the last moment he sprinted away causing you to concave the metal door. you whipped your head around, eyes wide in anger, tracking the movements of the man. he was fast and this irritated you. sticking your leg out you managed to trip him at the last moment and his large frame hurled to the floor. you gripped his shirt in one hand and used your metal hand to punch him in the side of the face.

"it's me!" the man below you yelled. this had no effect on you and you raised your hand to hit him again but he grabbed your fist. the two of you violently struggled against each other before you used your hand clutched to his shirt to slide him away with great force.

"please i said i would never hurt you. it's me, pietro!" the man pleaded getting up to run past your approaching figure. for some reason hearing the name pietro caused a loud screeching pain in your head.

"what are you doing to my head?" you screamed, clutching your head in your hands, eyes screwed shut.

pietro stopped running and looked at your trembling figure, "i'm- i'm not doing anything."

you tried ignoring the high-pitched shrilling noise and stumbled to pietro. you grabbed onto his shoulders and pushed him backward against the wall. although you moved him with force pietro could feel the weakness in your grip this time. he stayed silent looking into your eyes that were frantically examining him.

"the noise..." you muttered bringing your metal hand to hold your head.

"there... there is no noise," pietro spoke confused. there was no noise in the room besides heavy breathing.

"who are you?" you probed shoving him roughly against the wall.

"it's me. pietro. i live next to you in the cell. i came here as a volunteer with my twin sister wanda. you are here against your will. they found you when you were little and never let you leave. they hurt you every day, they aren't good people. trust me, please. it's me your friend," pietro rushed hoping to break through to you.

he felt your grip slightly falter as you looked him up and down. he couldn't make out the emotion in your face as you screwed and unscrewed your features together, internally fighting yourself. he wasn't scared, but nervous rather for your next move or action.

as pietro spoke the high-pitched noise continued to grow louder causing severe pain in your head. it made you nauseous and your vision would cloud with blinding bright light. you hung your head gasping for air as a vague image of a cell came to memory. you tried blinking it away but it would reappear, this time you'd see a man. the man you were pushing against the wall. his head was peeking through the cell wall. instinctually you pressed him further into the wall, pietro's shoulder blades started to ache. a new memory came and it was pietro holding your hand, his thumb caressing yours.

you shot your head up looking at the man. your eyes were glossy with tears from the pain you were experiencing. not just the physical pain of the intense noise but the mental pain as you tried to piece together who he was. his appearance was becoming familiar. his clothes, his broad shoulders, the facial hair on his jaw and upper lip, the cut on his eyebrow, the dark roots of his hair and the silver ends, and his eyes.

you dropped your grip and pietro's eyes contorted in confusion.

"like the sky..." you murmured.

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Choose Your Next Words Carefully

aemond x sister!reader

Summary: You’ve waited for weeks now for everyone to return to court and provide you some much needed entertainment. Aemond is on edge and you push him until you get exactly what you want. 

Warnings: 18+ established relationship, swearing, wine, death(vaemond court), show aemond 🧎🏼‍♀️, after court gossip session, oral(f+m), p in v, slight choking, spanking 

Authors Note: nice little s1e8 insert bc i stayed there after all these years fr 🧎🏼‍♀️i went back and forth on whether to ‍have daemon join them or not 

Word Count: 3.7k

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

I’ve been waiting a moon for this day to come. I normally despise being dragged to court but there’s such an enticing amount of tension in the air that I’ve become excited. Gods, this ‘succession’ matter being played out by my mother and grandfather is petty, but I’m eager for the entertainment. 

My brothers have been on edge leading up to today. Aegon hasn’t set his cups down, which isn’t new but it’s gotten more excessive. Aemond is quick to pull a dagger and toss threats at anyone who slightly upsets him and it has the whole Keep walking down different halls to avoid him. I’m just excited to watch how everything unfolds. It’s been years since Rhaenyra and Daemon fled to Dragonstone and with those years came more disdain from each side. 

I wait in my chambers for my mothers arrival with a smile on my face and a glass of wine in my hand. There’s one sharp knock and my doors are opening and closing quickly beholding Aemond. I sigh looking at him as he stalks over to me. He grabs the glass from my hand and places it on the table and my smile turns into a frown. 

“Is it your goal to be as drunk and bumbling as Aegon?” he tilts my chin up. 

“Aemond, enough,” I bat his hand away. “Some wine could do you good. You’re so pent up and angry.” I glare at him as he towers above me. 

“Do you think I would rejoice that they’ve come to court?” he scowls at me. 

“No but you needn’t bark at me about it.” I rise from my couch and push past him. His hand wraps around my arm and pulls me back to him. “Go down to the training yard.” I nod my head toward the door. 

“You dare to order me around?” his eye narrows. 

“It’s clear you’re wanting a fight and I’m no good with a blade. Even if I was, I could never be better than you.” I hope my subtle praise will soothe his temper for the moment.

“I know what you’re doing.” his nostrils flare. 

“I’m not doing anything, brother.” I bat my eyelashes at him. “Everyone knows you’re our best sword. So fearsome and brutal.” his eye bores into mine and I continue on. “Rider of the largest dragon, commanding the skies with the mighty Vhagar.” I search his face for any softening features and see none. 

I look up at him and take on the full force of his unyielding stare. I wait for him to do anything and I see the side of his mouth slowly start to turn up. He steps closer and I tilt my head a little further to keep our eye contact. A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest as he takes another step and we’re inches apart. I’m over his taunting and decide to break our silence. 

“Not even a thank you?” I hum expectantly. 

“For stating facts?” he tilts his head and I roll my eyes. 

“Go train, Aemond.” I push his chest back. “You’re our best sword, yet a better one is on his way to court, if not already within these walls.” I purse my lips and yanks me over to him. 

“Choose your next words carefully.” he looks down at me with a dark eye as his fingers dig into my arm. 

“It’s always been your goal to best Daemon, no?” a small smile forms on my lips. “I think I shall bed him and see if he’s better than you in that regard as well.” I hum titling my chin up with contempt and his fingers are quick to latch on tightly and tilt my head further up. 

“If you-“ my chamber doors groan open.

“Aemond,” our mother hisses, slamming my chamber doors shut. 

“I’m going to train.” he clicks his tongue and sweeps out of the room. My mother watches as the doors shut and looks at me with annoyance before calling my handmaidens in and having them ready me for court. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

I’m standing next to a rigid Aemond and a swaying Aegon as Vaemonds voice raises as he yells at Rhaenyra and her children. I watch on with quiet amusement and my eyes catch Daemon on the move. I watch him curiously and I look at him with wide eyes thinking there’s no possible way he’s going to- Vaemonds head hits the floor and I gasp. I step forward watching him casually clean his blade with a soft smile. 

Aemonds hands hold onto my arms and start to pull me out of the throne room and I keep turning my head back and looking at the scene. Guards rush past and my heart beats faster as my shock turns into adrenaline. I look up at Aemond as he starts to usher me up the stairs to his chambers. He seals the doors shut and I pour us each a glass of wine. He grabs the glass and takes a generous sip and I raise my brows, nodding at him as I sip mine. 

“He’s fucking mad.” Aemond looks at me almost in disbelief. “He’ll get away with that, no question.” he claims a chair. 

“Of course he will.” I sit opposite him. “He was defending Rhaenyra, fathers only child.” I roll my eyes. 

“Gods, seeing our corpse of a father walking in was an unwelcome sight.” I chuckle at his words. 

“I think I could smell the decay as he passed.” I smile and see one start to crack across his face. These rare moments are my favorite, when we are able to actually talk without any filter. 

“I could see you drooling over Daemon like a dog.” I scoff at him. 

“I was not.” I bring the wine to my lips again. “He just made court entertaining. I should thank him.” I hum with a smile. 

“You are insufferable today.” he glares at me over his glass while he sips his wine. 

“You’re so angry today.” he sighs loudly. 

“That bastard boy deserves nothing. He looks so smug and what? I’m to pretend I’m fine? I’m whole? No,” he shakes his head. “He owes me a debt. I am angry.” he looks at me with a hard face. 

“I thought we’ve moved past this?” I ask softly, searching over his face.

“Would you ever? Truly?” he searches my eyes. “Tell me, could you move past being permanently maimed?” he waits for my answer. 

“I couldn’t.” I shake my head. That night will haunt me forever. My mother and I being the only two at his side. 

“That is why I am so angry. All of the time. Father didn’t care about me.” his laugh is bitter. “He doesn’t still.” he shrugs. “He tells the Stranger to wait so he can lift Rhaenyra and her children up again and again. Mother and grandfather just embarrass themselves and us in the process.” his words hold so much emotion and so much truth. 

“It looks as if the Stranger is out of patience. I think he’s going to die soon.” I look up at him and know the relief and hope that resides in his eye is mirrored in mine. Our mother bursts into his chambers and looks at both of us relieved. 

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you both.” she looks us over and begins talking about everything that’s happening going forward and tells us to prepare for supper. She’s out of the chambers as swiftly as she entered and Aemond and I stare at each other. 

“How mad do you think mother would be if we missed supper?” he smiles down at me. 

“I’ll be mad.” I pout up at him. “This is bound to be as entertaining as court. Possibly even more so.” I nibble my lip smiling. 

“Mm, you just want to see Daemon.” he purses his lips. 

“Please,” I push my bottom lip out. “We can laugh about how pathetic everyone is after.” his face lights with amusement. 

“That’s very enticing.” he hums. 

“Then accept the offer.” I nod my head with a smile. 

“You’ll sit next to me?” I can tell he wants it to be a command but his voice wavers. 

“Of course.” he nods his head. 

“Then I guess I’ll take you to your chambers so you can ready for supper.” he sighs standing up and offering me his hand. 

“A gentleman, Aemond.” I coo as I accept his hand and rise. “Thank you.” I reach up and press my lips to his cheek. I take his arm and he walks me down the hall to my chambers. He presses his lips to my forehead before he shuts my doors once I'm inside them. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

Aemond comes to escort me to supper and I take his arm. I look up at him and take in his set jaw and scrunched brows. He looks so exquisitely angry and I know there’s no consoling him before we enter the dining hall. Upon entering Aegon is approaching and shoving a cup of wine into Aemonds free hand. 

“Have you drank at all today? You look uptight.” Aegon smirks and Aemond frown deepens. 

“Let’s take our seats.” I hum, noting Aemonds white knuckles as he grips the cup. As we walk to the table our father is carried in and we stiffen as the room rises. He’s placed at the table and we all take our seats. 

The table is tense and silent and everyone seems to be holding their breath. Our father groans and stands dramatically, leaning against the table. He spouts on and shows his rotting face and I try to hold back my wince. After his speech everyone seems to feel more relaxed as if only for this moment, all somehow feeling as if it’ll be the last. 

I look at Aemond and smile and see him still tense. I offer him my hand under the table and he looks at it and looks at me. I stretch my hand closer to him and he exhales linking his pinky with mine and I glare up at him at his dramatics. He purses his lips and looks across the table and I shake my head reaching for my wine with my free hand. 

I relish in the sweetness of the wine and lean back in my chair. My mother looks at me and looks at the wine and shakes her head. I roll my eyes and set my cup down. I turn and see Aegon filling his cup again and shake my head because of course he wouldn’t be scolded. I turn back to Aemond and then I hear a chair scrape against the stone. 

My head snaps and I see Jace standing and glaring at Aegon who looks surprised. Aemond pulls his hand away from mine and stands. I look up at him with a scrunched brow and I hear Aegon sit and let out a soft chuckle. Jace feigns a toast in Aegon and Aemond’s honor. Jace sits and I stare up at Aemond with pleading eyes. When Aemond finally sits he slowly slides his eye to me. The anger is pouring off of him and I’m starting to wish we didn’t show up. 

The music begins to play and things begin to settle once more. Our father is carried out seeming only having seconds left to live at this point and I look to Aemond knowing we’ll discuss that later. The food gets brought in and I’m thankful for the promise that this meal is almost over until there’s a pig and chuckle sounded from across the table. In seconds the atmosphere of calm is gone and Aemond’s fist is on the table and his wine glass in the air. I suck in a breath and await his words. 

“Final tribute.” he hums to Jace and Luke. The words flow out of him effortlessly with subtle insincerity. I stare up at him thinking that this isn’t so bad until he called them Strong. I give him a warning glare and he raises his glass higher repeating the word. Jace stands from his chair and Aemond with a smirk says it’s a third time. In a breath Jace's fist is on Aemond’s face and Aemond has him on the stone with a push. Then everyone is up trying to deescalate the situation and I’m grabbing Aemonds arm as Daemon looks at him with a raised brow. They look at each other and Aemond’s hand grabs mine and pulls us out of the dining hall. 

He’s quickly taking us through the halls and bounding us up the stairs. He pushes open the doors to his chambers with a thud and tugs me inside. He slams the doors shut behind us and I turn to him. He stalks over to me and clenches his jaw. “Was that as entertaining as you hoped?” he waits for my answer.

“None of that was my desire.” I look up at him with a frown. 

“I asked not to go.” his words clipped. “But you just had to see Daemon. Had to see what he would do.” I see his hands clenched as he tries and fails to rein in his anger.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper. “Do you want to talk about how father showed us how he's half dead?” I offer a soft smile trying to lighten the mood. “Talk about how pathetic everyone was?” I tilt my head. 

“Not at this moment.” he shakes his head once. 

“What would you like to do?” I step closer to him. His lips press to mine brusingly and he holds me against him with a tight grip. We make our way to the bed and he pushes me back onto it and I smile up at him. 

“I’ve been so mad at you all day.” he looks down at me with a dark eye. “Daemon this and Daemon that.” he flips me over and lifts my hips, resting me on my knees. “Nothing to say about Daemon at dinner?” he lifts my skirts and pushes them up my back. “The main reason you wanted to go?” his voice low as he pulls my small clothes down my thighs. 

“I didn’t look at Daemon at dinner.” he chuckles at my breathless words. “I looked at you.” I gasp as he spreads my legs wider.

“Did you like my toast?” his fingers trail down my slit. 

“Yes,” I whine, digging into the blankets. 

“I’m glad it was to your liking.” he says through his teeth before landing a hand onto my cheek then squeezing the tender flesh. His fingers graze my slit once more before landing on my other cheek and I dig into the sheets. His palm lands against my ass a couple more times before he shoves two fingers into me. 

“Aemond,” I whine. His fingers pump into me quickly and I feel the bed shift and suddenly his tongue is on my bud. I arch my back and moan loudly. “Yes, Aemond,” I roll my hips against his face. His tongue flicks against me faster and small pleas fall from my lips. “Please, Aem- I’m,” I cry out and pulse around his fingers and he continues to lap at me. He pulls his fingers out and sits back. 

“Look at you trembling from just that.” I whine at his tone. “Shall I call Daemon in here and have him lick your dripping cunny? Since you think he’s so much better than me.” his voice low. I jolt forward as his hands begin to land on my cheeks again. 

“You’re the one who keeps bringing him up. Sounds like you want Daemon all to yourself.” I look back at him and his palm lands with a loud smack on my ass.

“Be quiet.” his hand lands on my other cheek pulling a whimper from me. “You infuriate me when you speak. Just be fucking quiet.” I pull a pillow to me and bury my head in it. 

Gods he’s in such a mood and it’s exciting me to no end. His grip is bruising as he holds my hip and slams his fingers into me again. All I hear is my pleasure coating his long fingers and his heavy breathing. He lands two quick slaps to my cheeks and I press back into his fingers. He lets out a low chuckle as I moan loudly into the pillow. I turn my head from the pillow having an idea knowing it’ll make him even angrier. 

“Daemon,” I moan loudly as I clench around his fingers and I hear him growl before pulling his fingers out. He flips me over and wraps his fingers around the column of my throat. He looks down at me with a dark eye and I hold on to his arm. 

“Do not,” his fingers tighten. “Speak his name again.” his words final. “Do you understand?” my pleasure pools as I look up at him. 

“Yes.” the word falls from my mouth. His lips slam onto mine leaving me even more breathless. His hand on my neck slides up to bury into my hair. He pulls back and I look up to him with a heaving chest. He yanks me up from the bed and begins to unlace my dress. He shoves it down my body and pulls my slip off, baring me to him. 

“On your knees.” his voice void of all emotion. I let out a soft whine as I start to sink to the floor. “Move your dress.” the cold stone presses into my knees as I settle on the ground in front of him. His fingers trace my jaw before tilting my head up. “I like you like this.” he hums, brushing his thumb against my lower lip. 

“Li-“ he pushes his thumb into my mouth. 

“Shh, shh.” he shakes his head and I roll my tongue around his thumb. “Unlace my trousers.” a simple command yet it leaves my fingers softly trembling. I pull on them and the leather loosens and I look up to him as I start to pull his trousers down. His hardened length springs free and I go to reach for it and he clicks his tongue and wraps his fringes around himself. 

“Open your mouth.” he pumps himself above me and I squeeze my thighs at the sight. I open my mouth and he pushes his length in. I wrap my lips around him as my tongue brushes against him. His fingers tangle in my hair as he starts to bob my head. I hum around him letting him control my movements. He sets a quick pace that has spit spilling out the sides of my mouth as I look up at him.

Gods the sight of him like this is enough to have me clenching around nothing. His hips snap into me and I choke around him hearing him chuckle above me. His fingers tighten in my hair as he continues his harsh pace causing my knees to dig into the stone. He pulls me off of him leaving a string of spit and I look up at him as we both pant. 

“Stand up.” his fingers stay tangled in my hair as I rise on shaky knees. He pulls my face to his in a rough kiss. “Go to the bed.” a small whimper comes from my lips at his words and he flares his nostrils. I turn and walk to the bed and wait for him as he undresses. His hands trail up my sides before he bends me over the edge pushing my head into the blankets. He lifts my hips until my knees are on the bed. 

“A quiet hole for me to fill.” he hums, digging his fingers into my hips as he swirls his tip around my core. I bite my lip as he starts to push into me. A strained whine slips past my lips as he grinds against me. I moan into the bed as he starts pounding into me. “Stay quiet.” he grunts as he tangles his fingers in my hair and pulls me up against him. 

I bite onto my lip so harshly I taste metal. He grabs one of my breasts and pinches my nipple as he continues to hammer up into me. I let out a small gasp and he shushes me. He releases my nipple and I press back into him when his fingers circle against my bud. “Aemond,” his name tears from my mouth as I fall apart. 

He pushes me down onto the bed again and leans over me pressing my body deeper into the mattress while he continues with his relentless pace. I can’t stop the moans pouring from my mouth as my pleasure feels never ending. “Gods,” he groans, pulling out of me. He stands and flips me over. He smiles as I wrap my legs around his waist and he presses himself back into me. He watches me as he slowly starts to rock into me again. 

“Please,” I arch up into him, holding onto his shoulders. 

“You were doing so good for me.” he tsks shaking his head. I look up at him with pleasure filled eyes as he presses a hand over my mouth and starts to slam into me. His hair curtains around us as he watches my eyes roll back. His strokes are hard and have me whimpering into his hand. His hand moves as he fills me and I let out small gasps while he slowly rocks into me. 

“I’d like for you to act like this tomorrow. Docile and sweet. Silent.” he presses his lips to my forehead, slowly pulling out. His lips press against mine and I hold him closer. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌 

bruises from him would be my fav accessory 🎀

taglist ✍️ 

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @1-fuzzy-squirrels @arya-brooke @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @moonymoo1 @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @neocockthotology @thereaderwitch @hardkiddonut @faenyra @hiimava11 @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @fiction-fanfic-reader @povofjustme @multilover19 @alexxavicry @cedstars @fuckalrighty @mrsmunson-harrington @misspendragonsworld @nz2004 @ninihrtss

[777heavengirl]

Bless the Telephone ; ##04

James Potter x f!muggle!reader

word count: 1,163

warnings: none?

a/n: HELLO IM ALIVE- ummm did break up with my boyfriend, after spiraling for a week i am feeling much better! I did what was right for me and i am happier for it!! JAMES OR SIRIUS WOULD HAVE NEVER TREAT ME LIKE THAT! so yea I'm back :D thank you for putting up with my disappearances i should be uploading SEMI regularly just bc classes r in full throttle now

series masterlist

main masterlist

It hadn't been as difficult as you thought. Getting rid of Josh was a pending item on your to-do list for months. But for some reason or another, you never could, not completely. More often than not, he’d find some weak spot in your resolve, and crawl back in like a cockroach. 

But not this time, at least not yet. After that day, when James’s call saved you from a bit of an uncomfortable situation, you managed to easily avoid his calls, if he knocked at the door Charlotte and you stayed unbearably still until he went away. He left voicemail after voicemail, called Charlotte’s phone with a bit more anger, and called your phone with crocodile tears. 

But you weren't sweating it. You had fallen into an easy pattern with James, he’d fill the time that you would've been itching to fill and end up calling Josh out of boredom. 

James was a good friend! At least that's what you’d tell Charlotte. She’d look at you with a glint in her eye and a smirk on her lips that you ignored. If only she was so keen and observant with women that she liked, she tended to lack awareness often. 

You didn’t dare tell her about the playful jabs, the comments you didn't dare label fully as flirty, or god forbid the butterflies that fluttered at the pit of your stomach every time he called, laughed, or gave you some stupid cloying nickname. 

“Come on pretty- just tell me” You could hear the pout in his voice

You groaned in defeat, “Okay okay- if I had to be any creature…” You thought about it for a second more “Potter this is stupid”

“Indulge me”

You sighed “Fine, I think I would be… a witch”

“That's not a creature love”

“Well they are to me”

“I know a few that would be greatly offended by that comment” he retorted

“Oh yeah? You’re friends with witches?” you mirrored the smirk you heard in his voice

“Quite a few actually, nasty women the lot of them…” James smiled, thinking of his friends. How Marlene would probably flick the side of his head, and Lily would wholeheartedly just roll her eyes. Dorcas would definitely send a book flying straight to his head if she heard, not that she hadn't done that often enough during their time at school. It was always deserved. “love them nevertheless though- Pick something else, witches are human”

You hmph in disagreement and thought about it momentarily

“I don't think it would be very pleasant to be a werewolf you know? A bit inconvenient-” you thought out loud

“You don’t know the half of it,” he said under his breath

“Vampires sound kind of cool… wouldn't be able to go out into the sun though so that's quite a shame” James hummed in agreement “Maybe a mermaid, they���re pretty right?”

“Allegedly, they’re more scary than anything else- foul foul creatures” The ones in the Black Lake had messed with him more than once. 

“Oh, what do you know Potter?”

“Quite a lot thank you- more than you anyway”

“And why do you think that? Mermaids aren't scary dummy”

“You say that because you haven't seen one pretty” James’s mouth was faster than his thoughts, he prayed you’d just laugh it off.

“Oh, and I suppose you have?” He slapped himself on the forehead as he thought of some excuse. The witches' comment he was able to get away with, maybe his tone had been too matter-o-fact.

“Well, yes I have!” he said, confidently, ironically. You started laughing, his worry melted away. Would you even believe him if he told you?

“Is that so? Well okay, what creature would you be Potter?”

“A hippogriff I think”

“What the hell is that?” James burst out in laughter

-

You could feel Charlotte’s eyes on you as you scooped ice cream into your lips. You focused on the cold chocolatey flavor and whatever movie she had found. You didn’t know what you were watching, you thought of James.

James and his stupid laugh, and the way he always called you pretty or doll or some other completely repulsive nickname you wanted to hate. But you couldn't. He was sweet, and he always asked how you were, after he found out about your roommate’s existence, he asked about her too. 

“y/n”

“yes charlotte?”

“What does he look like? is he cute? Is he tall? I reckon that’s an important one with men is it not” you groaned as she launched question after question

“Char, I already told you I don't know anything about him”

“But you talk all day, every day” She scoffed

“It’s not every day- nor is it all day I have things to do you know”

“It is though, every bloody day, you come in and launch yourself at the telephone like clockwork” You stared at your pint of ice cream, suppressing the small laugh that threatened to leave your lips. 

You felt a tad silly.

“It’s just-” You started to say, Charlotte leaned in with an excited smile on her lips as if egging you on. “It feels stupid, I could be getting totally scammed right now- sure he sounds young, and sure he said he’s twenty- but he could be anyone, anywhere” 

“Let’s think about it though- you guys talk a lot he has to be in England no? Calls out are so expensive” She grabbed the pint of ice cream from your hands, shoving a spoonful into her mouth. 

“That doesn’t change anything Char, I don't know him” She waved the spoon around dismissively. For someone who was so cynical about her own love life, Charlotte was always ready to be invested in yours. You never minded though, you were happy to bond over the raging disaster that it seemed to be.

“You guys have never thought about meeting up? You haven’t even talked about it?” You shifted uncomfortably as she wiggled her eyebrows “Have you even asked him what he looks like?” You took the ice cream tub back, shoving ice cream into your mouth

“We’re missing the movie y’know?” She scoffed at your weak attempt to change the subject

“As if I care about that- come on, you’re rolling in laughter every time you’re on that damn phone so there is clearly some chemistry there”

“So what I also have chemistry with circus clowns?” You said, turning to give her a deadpan stare. 

“You know what I mean” She took the ice cream back

“What if I meet up with him and he kidnaps me…” she offered you the last few scrapes left in the tub. When you shook your head she ate it gingerly, a small smile on her face. “Suddenly I’m in the arctic tundra being trafficked”

“As long as it's not with Josh,” she shrugged her shoulders “I reckon anything is better,” she said, snorting 

“You’re terrible” You both fell into laughter

tags ; @ilovejamespottersomuch @ravisinghs-wife @hidontmindtheintrovert @stella-thestars @caspiankingofnarnia @lovelyteenagebeard @starkluvrr @hisparentsgallerryy @leilani13gc @katsusayhi @auroresce @lovemiss-vale @alessiaparigim @unconventional-lawnchair @moonydoodlez @eissaaaa @ailoda @nahhhwhatthefrick @notapoetjustscar @hiireadstuff @the-rat-king1902 @n1ght-vngel @littlewhitel1es @rreporterbby

permanent tag ; @laufeysvalentine @heyyyloverr

PLEASE PLEASE LMK IF I MISSED YOU I HAVE BEEN GONE FOR WEEKS AND I DID MY BEST TO COLLECT EVERYONE AHHHH thank you for reading <3

[lionhanie]

leehan as your boyfriend! ♡

established relationship, PURE fluff, leehan x reader, leehan is IN LOVE with you, also not proofread LOL!!!!!!!

word count: ~800 i think lol

warnings: none

a/n: i can't lie this whole thing was sooo self indulgent i just love him so bad #GUILTY!

literally does everything in his power to make you smile and feel good... #1 boyfriend in the world i fear!

he must have the ability to read the minds of the people he loves bc he just knows what you need all the time

...or rather than this, all of his opinions and preferences become whatever you like! (without complaint ofc, because he’s okay with anything as long as you’re satisfied)

this makes me think he’s rlly big on quality time because he seems like the type of bf to be content with just. whatever! as long as you’re there ^_^

quite literally only has eyes for you

he doesn’t really *intend* to do this, but it is so difficult for him to focus on anyone else if he has *you* there with him

everyone will always complain when they hangout with just you two bc they will always end up feeling like a third wheel :skull: 

even if you try to tease him for literally adoring you 24/7 he wouldn’t even be flustered or embarrassed. he would just nod and smile in agreeance U_U

he’ll always go out of his way to compliment you too, telling you how cute you look or how good you are at doing something. he gets a little shy every time you compliment him, but he always recovers by turning the praise back to you

even though he isn’t the best texter, i imagine he would put in extra effort to keep you updated throughout the day-- especially if it's hard to spend a lot of time together in person

you're just going about your day at school/work and you hear a notification on your phone... it's leehan sending you like 10 different angles of the new friends he got for his fish tank

or it's one of his selfies that are either 1) blurry, 2) crop out like 80% of his face, 3) at an unnatural selfie angle, or 4) all of the above. regardless, he's still your handsome boyfriend & looks amazing in every pic he sends

unironically i think he would be a DRY texter LMFAO but the way he communicates is kind of endearing. rather than sending messages, he def has a concerningly large album of reaction pics he uses for every possible situation (including ones he made himself using pics of you & the members)

dates with him are SO fun.

again, he doesn't really care too much about what you two do as long as he gets to spend time together... he's just down to try Anything and Everything so you guys never really run out of things to do together

being so eager to try new activities, i can 100% see him suggesting the most obscure data ideas & being so genuinely excited to do it no matter how odd it may seem given the context

cause Boy wdym you think fishing in a river at 12am is a fun idea for a date... it’s not necessarily like you were going to say no .... but also… this isn’t a common date activity, right?

i think he loves staying in with you the most….. sleepover!!! :3

especially after you both had tiring days; spending a night in with each other never fails to recharge you both!

ordering any food you want (he isn’t planning on eating much, so he’d rather get something you’re craving) ((after a couple bites he sits back and watches you eat w/ the biggest grin on his face))

but i think the absolute BEST part of the night is when the two of you are side by side at the bathroom counter doing a Twelve Step Skincare Routine that leehan made himself

and you’re giggling the whole time bc he takes his skincare SERIOUSLY. (that one mf who don’t play about his skincare bye)

i think he’d be super attentive, but silently though

you’d never know he’s constantly keeping track of your reactions to certain things, your different routines, your food preferences, the types of clothes you like

Ok in theory it /sounds/ creepy but he just puts in the effort to observe the way you like to do things so he can help you whenever you need it

IMAGINE you’re running late & you can’t find your phone /again/ and you’re lowkey freaking out because you Need To Leave Now but leehan just steadies you and hands you your phone

and ur kind of in awe ??? i've been looking for this for ten minutes now... How Do you have this …?

he just shrugs and explains “you always leave it underneath the blanket when you make the bed so i figured it might be there again" and motions for you to hurry before you’re late

or maybe you’re feeling under the weather & you ask him to make you a hot drink to help soothe your throat and he comes back with a mug of tea made EXACTLY how you make it for yourself

you're pleasantly surprised upon taking your first sip because …you don’t recall ever telling him how you like your tea? 

then he's sitting there with stars in his eyes and saying “i made it properly, right? :3” (clearly very proud of himself bc he remembered how you like it)

doesn't seem like the type to be too extra when it comes to PDA. if anything, he prefers small and/or secret interactions in public (it feels more intimate if only you guys know what's happening)

head pats. that’s it. he thinks the way you literally melt whenever he pats your head is the most endearing thing ever, so he'll save it /specifically/ when you're out w/ a group of people because he loves seeing you so flustered afterwards

keeping a hand on the small of your back or resting his arm on the back of your chair when you're sitting next to each other

holding your hand in his under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze as the two of you continue to talk with the others at the table

at the end of the day... he just loves you so dearly & couldn't be happier knowing that he can call you his, and you can call him yours :,)

© lionhanie 2024 ; all rights reserved!

[princessbrunette]

imagine rafe not being able to spend the night and your house bc he has like early business to do and you’re just so whiny begging him not to leave like clinging to his leg and he’s like “jesus christ i’ll be back tmr 😒” but at the same time he’s like 😊 bc it’s nice to feel needed

─── ⋆⋅🛼⋅⋆ ──

you were clingy and you knew it. instead of pretending like you weren’t, you learnt to fully embrace it. no matter how much rafe tried to act like he didn’t, you knew he loved it deep down. it made him feel wanted, something not many other people in his life offered him.

he pats his keys in his back pocket as he slowly makes his way to your front door, lips parted as he thinks over everything he had on his person when he arrived, making sure to leave none of it behind. it was bad today, you really needed him. after the day you had, you wanted nothing more than to fall asleep on his chest, feeling safe and just… better. you cry, pathetic and hiccupy as you keep a clasp on his hand and he lets you hold it all the way to the door before pulling himself out of your grasp.

“okay, hey— can’t keep cryin’ like this baby you knew i wasn’t stayin’ over tonight because i told you. gave you time to… emotionally prepare n’shit. i got business to do early tomorrow, remember?” he raises his eyebrows, trying to reason with you. his voice is stern but he’s mopping up your tears with his thumb anyway.

“i know but i had a bad day, i just want you to sleep here!” you sob, clutching over his wrists as his hands clean you up and he shakes his head, gently removing them.

“look i’m — i’m sorry, alright? you know i wanna stay here, more than anything. but i’m a man now, yeah? i’m in charge of handlin’ business n’i got people relying on me. sometimes you— you have to make the hard choice, and this is one of those times.” he lectures you, so you do what any reasonable human being would do, and lower yourself to the ground, wrapping yourself around his leg.

“you’re not going.” you swipe your tear on his pants and he sighs in exasperation, trying to wiggle you off to no avail.

“jesus fuckin’ christ, are you kidding? get up, hey—” he tries to walk, but you cling him tighter, coming with him and he stops again. “let go and listen to me. m’gonna count to three, don’t let me get there.” he lifts up a finger and you unlatch yourself, staying on the ground in a ball. rate lowers himself into a squat, expression stern and yet yielding. “alright. you’re gonna calm down, yeah? i will sit with you until you fall asleep, and it better be within the hour or i’m just gonna leave. get up, c’mon. go brush your teeth.” he stands, giving you a little nudge with his foot and you hop up, happy enough with the outcome of him staying a little longer and run upstairs, not waiting for him to follow.

he huffs out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. “little shit.” he whispers, following you. once you’re all in bed, ready — he comes and sits beside you, mopping up the last remaining tears that stain your face with the backs of his knuckles. “okay. i’m here. now go to sleep.”

“kiss, rafe.” you pucker your lips and he indulges you, bringing you a nice long one to satisfy you before pulling back.

“close your eyes.” he sighs tiredly and you do so, but not before switching off your lamp. he places a hand on your back over your pyjama shirt, rubbing slow circles as if tries to silently coax you to sleep faster so he can get going, smiling secretly to himself at your shenanigans.

he won’t admit it, but he did feel really sad to go, and even considered staying— but he knew he had to make the responsible choice, so with one final look, he left you in your bedroom fast asleep.

─── ⋆⋅🛼⋅⋆ ──

[g0dlyunsub]

hey!!! Ugh I just love your account! I have a request for Spencer Reid x fem reader!! Can you do one where he is always working and it makes the reader upset bc he is cancelling dates and coming home late and kinda neglects her feelings and doesn't really notice how much it affects her and how sad she gets and then he misses their anniversary dinner and she breaks and tells him that it makes her upset when he's gone all the time and he just feels so awful bc he's so in love with her and never wants her to feel that way because of him and apologizes and reassures her and makes sure she feels loved!!

ty for the request and i loved the idea for this one!

wishful thinking.

pairing :: spencer x fem!reader

warnings :: angst with a fluffy ending; very mild makeout session at the end :3

word count :: 2.4k

author’s note :: i kind of giggled at the ending as i was writing it, but i’m pretty proud of how this one turned out!

accompanying song :: neverthere by xander

spencer’s phone is quite literally the bane of your existence.

you know what to expect whenever it rings, so you hate when it actually does – its earthquaking vibrations and trilled beeps tear the happiness straight out of you.

it’s the second date in a row that he’s had to pass, and you wonder if you should just stop trying so hard. was it selfish to want to have him all to yourself, to have him seated right across from you, sharing your laughter as you pass him his plated pasta? were you expecting too much, imagining a serene life with him ten years down the road, perhaps with kids or pets of your own? was it unfair to think that you could craft a lie, telling him your stomach hurt really bad, so bad that you would have to curl up on the floor and pray he’d stay by your side just this once to comfort you?

all you ever wanted was spencer. more specifically, you wanted spencer during your first three dates, when he’d silence all of his phone calls, and wave them off like nothing even though you insisted he take them. maybe if you didn’t bring up the importance of taking work calls, none of this would have ever happened. maybe it was all coming back to bite you for your non-confrontational nature, since you could never plead him to actually stay.

but he’s your boyfriend… and that’s all that matters, right? after all, he has lives to save – people whose names are called out during prayers day and night by their loved ones as they cling on to the sliver of hope that your boyfriend and his team promise during the darkest hours. granted, spencer would drop everything if you were in a similar situation, but none of your problems have actually been life-threatening. but a girl can dream, can’t she? your first anniversary date was when spencer promised to make amends, a formal compensation for all of the past dates that he missed and left you feeling empty on your shared bed, stains of mascara chalked up on your dry cheeks.

“i’m so sorry, honey, i’ve just been… called in for work,” spencer stands, dusting the napkin that was folded nicely on his lap. you watch as he takes a sip of his glass of water, then walks over to you to plant a kiss on your forehead.

he runs his fingers along the velvety texture of the sleeves of your dress, and you offer him a weak smile.

“it’s okay, duty calls, right?” you feel the tears surfacing and you have to fight yourself to not blink. it’s too early to cry.

“i-it’s a really bad one this time, and i hate to do this on such an important day-” spencer begins to apologize frantically, and his face marks an expression of genuine concern with his brows furrowing and lips twitching.

“it’s okay. you need to go, i understand.” you state plainly, and you immediately feel shameful – your words are too assertive and snarly for how you normally respond.

spencer pauses briefly, fidgeting with his fingers, before he gives a slight nod in your direction. he then walks over to the couch, grabs a book, and tightens the clasps on his bag. 

“i’ll be back as fast as i can,” spencer utters quietly and walks out of the door. when the apartment door locks with a click, you break down immediately.

at first, the tears fall one by one. but then, a salty stream evident of pure emotional wreckage makes its way into the slight gap of your lips, and it’s an unstoppable domino effect. your shoulders shudder and heave as you struggle to catch breaths in between, and you splutter cries of your boyfriend’s name. 

maybe it would’ve been better to just stay as conversational partners, to exchange updates once in a while when he’d actually commit to a time. it was your fault for getting your hopes up high, and all of this – fanciful dinner and dressing your best for the occasion – was wishful thinking. you just didn’t want to admit it.

“y/n?” 

you look up to see spencer in front of the doorway, and his bag that was barely holding on to his shoulder drops to the floor with a thud.

you quickly look away, brushing the tears away with one arm and sniffle before choking out a response.

“i thought you left already, why are you here?” again, your words come out icier than you had hoped and hit you with a sharp pang of guilt.

spencer narrows his eyes ever so slightly as if he’s scrutinizing you, observing your body language. it doesn’t take a genius to know that you’re upset.

“i was going to. realized i forgot-,”

he clears his throat when you raise your eyebrows and proceeds, "i misplaced my wallet."

he slips out of his loafers, shoving aside his pair of converses that lie adjacent to your pretty pair of heels. he walks over to you, and you realize that you’re still seated at the dining table. you must look so stupid right now, waiting as if he’d just be returning from a bathroom break.

“i need to head out, but i promise… i promise we’ll talk about this really soon. we’ll have the anniversary dinner and-”

“did you even try?” you blurt out, and you look up at him with your puffy eyes glazed with tears.

a deathly silence clouds over the entire apartment, and you’re thinking of two options: leave the apartment and go run to a friend’s place, or confront him and see whether making amends – again, wishful thinking – would be possible.

“y/n. please believe me when i say that i’ve tried to, i’ve tried-”

you slam a hand to the table before standing up, your face twisting into an expression of outrage.

“no, because then you would’ve silenced it. you would’ve cut the call, just like you used to.” you fire your words at him as your hair sticks to the drying tears on your cheeks, and you begrudgingly wipe at your face. 

a slow sigh escapes from spencer’s lips, and he looks at you with those eyes – the eyes that seemingly warn you, saying you don’t want to go there. not right now.

but you double down on him, the rage fueling your words as you lash out. 

“it was just this one time. i only wanted you to stay for dinner just this one time.” you helplessly drop your hands to your sides, the tears landing on the floor with soft plops.

“i know. and i’m terribly sorry.” spencer bites his bottom lip and takes a step toward you. but you take a step back, and maybe that pulls a string between the two of you, because you can see how his shoulders tense up.

“look, can we talk about this when i get back? i’ll make it up to you, i swear.” he combs through his hair, the stress almost palpable as it leaks from his shaking fingers.

while you know he has to head out again, the way he so easily brushes off the conversation like it’s something he doesn’t even want to think about feeds into your disbelief. soon, however, your anger subsides into a tired frown. 

“i don’t know, you might come home late… when i’m asleep or something.” you look at the wall where a photo of the two of you is framed, and you weakly smile at how happy you seemed then. 

“i’ll give you a call, is that okay?” he searches your face for any signs of approval, but you’re zoned out thinking about the past, of how everything used to be.

“whatever, just go.” you wave him off and walk to the couch, where you lie down and turn against him to face the plush fabric.

spencer sighs, and his hand looms over your head momentarily before he grabs his wallet from the table. you hear a faint sorry trail from behind as he leaves the room, and your nails claw at the arms of the couch before the darkness cradles you once again.

it’s 10:30 pm, and you hear the doorknob click again. you had just cleaned up the dishes after eating dinner alone and left his portion in the fridge. you were now changed into your pajamas and getting ready for your night routine.

you peep out of your bedroom door to see spencer, his suit all wet. he looks at you as he takes off his shoes, and a sullen expression paints his face. did it start raining after he left? you realize that you were mostly cooped up in the bedroom since his departure, so you wouldn’t have known.

bravely looking up at him in the eye, you state: “you came back early.” you hate how unwelcoming you sound in his own home.

he pauses before he sets his wet bag on the floor and removes his blazer jacket to throw over a chair. 

he approaches you, hands in his pockets and hair twisted in matted curls. 

“hm.” he grabs a towel from the closet and makes his way to the shower, brushing past your shoulder. you feel an icy shudder spread through your spine after he closes the bathroom door.

was he giving you the silent treatment right now? 

you hear the water start from the bathroom and you sink into your bed while turning to twist the lamp lights on.

after all that torturous waiting you went through, he was giving you the silent treatment?

fifteen minutes later, a knock reverberates from the other side of the bedroom door, and even though you don’t respond, spencer steps in. he’s changed into a t-shirt and black pajama pants, and he drops next to you on the bed.

“i’m taking the week off.” 

the sentence startles you, and it’s something so unexpected you choke on your own saliva.

“what, what do you mean you’re taking the week off?” you ask him, finally turning to face him in the eyes. his brown irises blaze into your own.

“i’ve been pushing off everything you wanted to do with me — things that I wanted to do with you — and i’ve just been…” he turns away to play with the wrinkles on his pants as he speaks, picking out the dust that lies embedded between the folds.

he pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a deep sigh. he continues, “i don’t know if it’s all worth it.”

silence casts a blanket over the two of you.

“spence,” you say after a while, and hesitantly lay a hand on his thigh.

“nothing’s more important in the world to me than you. you and your happiness. i know you love this job and i know you love helping people. you’re such a kind hearted man, and it’s why i fell in love with you in the first place.”

when spencer gives you no response, you confess: “spence, i get jealous sometimes.”

this time his eyes widen, and he looks at you.

“you do?” he asks softly, peering into your eyes and you cave instantly. 

“of course i do. it’s… everybody wants you, spencer. we all need you, whether we realize it or not.”

he scoffs.

“but i only want you.”

his voice is raspy yet mellow at the same time, the smoothest stream of sweetness seeping through your eardrums. god. you can never stay mad at this gorgeous man, the same man that made you cry on numerous occasions just counting the past week.

“you need to do more than that, if you… you know.” you quietly murmur as you fidget with the hem of your nightgown.

“i know,” he speaks with a hushed tone. “i told hotch, and i told him it was going to happen whether he liked it or not. the demands of this job are… tough, but i don’t want to miss out on all the things we planned together. i won’t.”

you start bawling right when he delivers the last word, and all the tears that you were holding back spill over your flushed cheeks. your boyfriend immediately leans in to console you, pulling you into a tight embrace as his chin rests on top of your head. 

it’s okay, he murmurs reassuringly. you ease into his touch, and you realize how much you missed this. how much you missed spending time with him.

his left hand tugs lightly at your soft hair while his right rubs your back in smooth circles. 

“i missed you,” you speak with a hushed voice, looking up into his eyes as a glassy coat of tears blur your vision. 

he cups your face with his hands before whispering, “i missed you too.”

you continue to blabber words of love-stained anguish but he cuts you off short, pulling you in for a short kiss on your lips, which are now tainted with your tears.

“you taste… salty,” he whispers, giving you a slight smile as he brushes off the rest of your tears that weigh down on your eyelashes.

“it’s because of you, silly,” you drawl as you taste the salty residue of your tears.

yeah, spencer responds hesitantly. but he’s wearing a small smile, tilting his head to one side as his eyes emit a glint of tranquilizing peace.

he reaches into his pajama pocket and takes out a piece of candy. you curiously watch as his fingers quickly remove the wrapper, revealing a glazed cherry-flavored sphere. 

“may i?” he asks, and his faint voice is a gravitational force that you can’t resist.

you briefly respond with a lazy hm? before he plops the candy into your mouth and kisses you again. the sweetness explodes like fireworks with his warm breath, and the sticky layer of sugar melts like acid on your intertwined tongues. you let out a satisfied hum when you pull back, and it’s undeniably attractive the way spencer licks the corner of his lips.

a tear falls from your eye again, and this time, it’s not out of sorrow.