#little side plot while i wait for something to happen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

headkiss · 4 months ago

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fall right into me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!

a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)

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Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.

He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hi,” you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”

You’re not quite sure where to start.

Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.

The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple’s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.

You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.

You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”

You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.

It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?

Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.

Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.

You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”

If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.

“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.

Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.

He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.

“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”

“When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.”

“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”

There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.

You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.

“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”

“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”

“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”

“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”

You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.

“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”

“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”

There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.

It’s known, felt. Like a fact.

“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”

“Okay.”

“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”

“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”

Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.

But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.

“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”

“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”

“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.

True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.

You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.

His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”

The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”

Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”

We’ll, he says. A team.

You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.

“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.

Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”

He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.

He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”

You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”

“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.

You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.

Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.

Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.

Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.

Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.

You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.

The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.

Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.

Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.

“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.

When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.

He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.

“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.

Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.

Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.

It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.

Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.

“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.

“But the frame-”

“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”

“Steve-”

“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”

His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.

“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”

You laugh wetly into his shirt.

“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”

Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.

Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’

Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.

You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.

By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.

Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.

He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.

You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.

Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”

“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.

Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.

The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.

It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.

Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”

“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”

“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”

You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.

It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.

You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”

“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.

Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”

There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.

“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”

He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.

You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.

You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.

When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.

It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.

You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.

He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.

It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.

This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.

After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.

Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.

You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.

Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.

If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.

He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.

You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.

That’s it.

Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.

He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.

Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.

Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.

She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.

She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.

When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.

He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.

Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.

He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”

“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”

“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”

“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”

“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”

Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.

“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”

That night, your routine was pretty much the same.

Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.

Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.

Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.

After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.

You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.

Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.

He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.

You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.

After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.

Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.

Sometimes it feels like it is.

Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.

“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.

“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”

Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.

“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.

“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”

“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”

“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”

“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.

Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”

“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”

“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.

When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.

It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.

That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.

He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.

Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.

Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.

“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.

Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.

You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.

Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small “Careful.”

He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.

Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.

You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.

You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.

“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”

“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”

You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.

You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”

“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”

“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”

“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”

“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”

“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”

So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.

He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.

You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.

“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.

He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.

He knows you. He cares enough to know you.

“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.

At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’

After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”

“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.

They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.

“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”

“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”

“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”

“He’s not my-”

“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.

Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?

Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.

The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.

You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?

“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.

You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.

Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.

It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.

You actually like it.

“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.

In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.

Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.

Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.

He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.

As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.

“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”

You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”

You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”

“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”

“We’re not stealing.”

“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”

You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.

Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.

He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.

“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.

“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”

“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”

Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.

You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.

He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.

“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”

His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”

You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.

You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)

But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.

Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.

Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.

So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.

You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.

Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.

By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.

“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.

Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”

You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.

Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.

You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.

The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.

You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”

He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”

“So you don’t want the waffles then?”

“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”

“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.

Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”

Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.

And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.

Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.

You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.

Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.

You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.

What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.

Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.

You’ll miss it, you think.

Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.

He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.

Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”

You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”

He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.

A similar one stretches across your own lips.

Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.

And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.

The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.

He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it’s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.

Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.

He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.

Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.

When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.

Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)

He hopes it’ll be worth it.

Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they’d been racing.

Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.

He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.

Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.

His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.

He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”

“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”

“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.

Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.

Steve’s never nervous around you.

“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”

“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”

You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.

What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.

It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.

When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.

Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.

Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.

“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”

“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.

You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.

This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.

When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.

“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”

“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”

Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.

Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.

Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”

“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”

“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”

“I guess I will.”

You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.

His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.

You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.

You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.

You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.

Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.

Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”

You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.

“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”

“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”

You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”

“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”

He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”

“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”

He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.

Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.

“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”

“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”

“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”

Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.

He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.

So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”

You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”

“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”

You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”

Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”

Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.

You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.

He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.

His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.

“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.

Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”

And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.

You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.

Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.

Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.

Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.

Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.

As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.

His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.

In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.

It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.

“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.

“Mhm,” he hums.

Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.

“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”

You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.

“It’s okay, really,” you say. “It’s, like, anatomy. You’re human, Steve.”

“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”

“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.

“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”

Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.

He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.

It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.

You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.

Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.

“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.

You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”

Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.

It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.

You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.

Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.

Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.

You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.

It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.

You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.

Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.

You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.

What the fuck just happened?

It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.

Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.

You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?

You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.

You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.

Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.

He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.

It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.

Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.

Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?

Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.

You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.

He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.

So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”

“No, shut up. I need your help.”

“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”

“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.

“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”

Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.

“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.

Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”

Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”

Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”

Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”

“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.

He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.

“What do you mean?”

“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”

Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.

You are worth the risk to him.

“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”

“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”

Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”

With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.

You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.

You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.

The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.

How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.

The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.

Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.

You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.

For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.

So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.

Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.

You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.

You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”

You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.

“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”

You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”

“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”

You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.

Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”

“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”

“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”

“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.

Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.”

“What about when my apartment is ready?”

He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”

You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.

You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.

It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”

“You won’t. Not ever.”

You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.

The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.

“So what happens now?” You ask.

“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”

He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”

“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”

He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.

𝜗𝜚

thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you think!! it helps more than you know <3

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peachysunrize · 4 months ago

Text

Corrupted by God ⥃ Prince Aemond Targaryen

Summary: after the battle of Rook’s Rest, Aemond comes back to King’s Landing as the heir to the throne with a newfound determination to make the Queen of the Seven kingdoms his queen as well.

Pairing: Prince Aemond Targaryen x Aegon’s wife/queen reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, dark content!!!!!!!!! angst, post Rook’s Rest, post s2e4, p in v, porn with a very little plot, breeding, emotional manipulation/heavy manipulation, dark!Aemond, a bit dubcon, Aemond has a hugeeee god complex, mentions of Aegon’s injury, rough sex, reader is not a Targaryen (the pic was pretty so I used it lol), tell me if i’ve missed something. English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 2.5k+

A/n: pleaseeeeee read the warnings! This was requested by my beloved @sylasthegrim ! I hope I did your idea justice and hope you like it<33 Reblogs & comments are most appreciated🩷

A god among men, that’s how Aemond feels when he closes his eye and lets Vhagar float in the air, flapping her wings once in a while to get to King’s Landing faster. He remembers the nights he prayed to the gods to give him strength, to change his destiny, and to give him a happy life, but today, with his she-dragon soaring through the clouds, he took his faith in his own hands and became a God himself.

A delicious ache in his muscles seeps through his bones, but it is nothing compared to the rush of euphoria he feels as he imagines himself on the throne with his uncle’s head beneath his foot and his queen by his side.

His queen, you, oh how he has done all of this for you. He has turned into a monster, soaked his hand in the blood of his kin while he thought of you, and how he deserves to have a queen befitting him and his reign.

He knows what he must tell the council and his mother, something that surely aligns with Cole’s words, but what he has to say to you has been worded out for so long that he cannot believe his plan has finally reached so far to this point to utter them to you.

He sighs as he feels his pants tighten — at the thought of you and the weight of the Conqueror's crown — and to his luck, the city comes into his view, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth while he guides Vhagar atop Visenya’s hill. He catches the sight of two Dragonkeepers and a horse ready for him, watching how they scurry away from the old she-dragon and wait for her to land.

Vhagar’s body shakes the ground as her feet keep her body secured, and Aemond rubs her scales softly before he climbs down the ropes of his saddle, jumping on the grass before he shushes the dragon again, mumbling a soft ‘Lykiri’ against her snouts.

He doesn’t spare a glance at the Dragonkeepers, he moves past them to the guard who hands him the reins of the horse, and Aemond swings his leg over the saddle before guiding the horse down the hill, bolting through the streets of the city.

The wind blows through his hair as he rides the horse to the Red Keep’s gates, lords and ladies move out of his way quickly, making room for their prince so he can lead his horse to the yard. The guards are fast on their feet to reach for the reins, stopping the animal so Aemond can step down.

He jumps down, patting the neck of the mare before he strides forward inside the castle, the court is already fussy with anticipation of what has befallen their king, but Aemond has one person in his mind that he wishes to seek out.

“Aemond!” The sound of his mother stops him on the stairs, and he looks up to see her running towards him with shock and disbelief on her face, “what’s happened?”

“We took the castle,” he says calmly, almost dismissively, “our king graced us with his presence on the battlefield. We won.”

He tries to move past Alicent with a shrug, but she grabs his arm tightly, forcing him to look her in the eyes before she asks what has been bothering her ever since Sunfyre took the sky earlier that day. But with the look Aemond gives her, she closes her mouth silently, nodding before she departs towards the main entrance of the castle, waiting for the hand to come back to the city.

Aemond scoffs and takes long steps toward the royal chambers on the upper floors, passing the servants who shield themselves from his gaze as he goes past them.

He knows the path leading to the queen’s chambers like the back of his hand; through the stairs and Maegor’s tunnels — He has walked each way for many nights just to stay behind your doors and listen to your sweet voice talking to your daughter or handmaidens.

Aemond remembers the day you were wed to his brother, covered in a beautiful white and golden gown that brought out your curves to his eye. He was infatuated from the moment he laid his eye on you, and after such a long time, that infatuation has turned into something more primal and possessive, something that he thinks his brother does not deserve, that is befitting of Aemond and not the drunken fool who’s your husband.

Each step he takes adds more to the post-battle euphoria he’s experiencing — now that he’s the heir and the most powerful man, he deems himself fit to not just rule over the kingdom of ash and bone that is about to endure more battles, but to have his queen by his side. What better woman than the already beautiful creature that lies in an attached chamber to the king’s?

A ghost of a smirk forms on his face with each second that he walks within the hallways that lead to your chambers, his chin held high and his fingers itching with excitement in his leather gloves as he locks them behind his back.

Aemond licks his bottom lip, his blood rushing down to his core at the thought of the sight of you heavy with his child and the Conqueror’s crown atop your head. His queen, even the sound of it in his head seems right.

When he reaches your door, he pushes it without knocking, finding you already pacing with a wet handkerchief clutched in your hand.

Sweet sweet lady, the queen of his dreams, he basks in the way you carry yourself with worry for your husband. What a good wife he wishes to say, but no, a good wife to his idiot brother is not much better than a slur.

But to him? Oh, how much of a phenomenal bride-to-be you’d make for him, someone who is kind and deserving of his reign.

“My queen,” he says, standing straight when your head snaps in his direction, concern weaved into your features already. He takes in a deep breath as his eye runs over your form — a red long-sleeved gown with black dragons embroidered on it, your hair wild and free from your usual braids.

“Aemond!” You rest your hand against your heart as you take a few steps towards him, “What has befallen us? Aegon, he—“

“Shh,” he gently shushes you, his gloved hands coming to rest on your elbows, holding your body close to his, “we have won the battle. The castle has fallen and the false queen can no longer have a ground army.”

“That is great!” You utter, “But— what of our king? My husband? Aemond, is he alright?”

He smiles gently, a smile that does in fact reach his eye. There is a malicious look he has that it seems you fail to notice, because even his mother hesitated to let him go easily, but you? No, your soft and loving nature could never go past his mask.

“He is…”

“What? Please, Aemond is he—“

“No, no,” he replies quickly, one of his hands coming up to rest on your cheek, “he fought well, and he is alive,” he caresses your cheek as his eye meets yours, thinking how beautiful you look all worried about your husband, soon you’d be looking worried about him and not his brother.

“But…”

“But what? Is he hurt?” You grip his forearm tightly, looking up at him with tears stinging your eyes, “Tell me, please, Aemond, what’s happened to my husband?”

“He’s alive but on the brink of death. The traitor Rhaenys… your grace, such stories are not meant to be heard by a gentle soul like you—“

“I wish to know! What have they done to my husband?!” You demand him to tell you, and Aemond sighs deeply, but the buzz of excitement makes him even more determined.

Sweet lamb falling right into his trap.

“He took the skies quite suddenly, I had little time to meet him in the air. Meleys and her bitch of a rider had their claws in our king, and however fearsome he is, he could do naught.”

With each word that falls from his lips, more tears drop from your lashes, and he feels how numb you’re slowly getting in his arms.

“Sunfyre and Aegon… they survived Dragonfire, but—“

“Gods be good!” You gasp, a sob wrecking your body as he tries to shush you, a gloved finger reaching to wipe away your tears gently.

“I found him; burnt, broken but breathing,” he kisses your forehead, smirking against your skin, “he told me — had me promising him — to make haste and seek you out, to take care of your every wish.”

“Thank the gods!” You ask him, craning your neck to look into his eye, “What else did he say?”

He can’t answer you, not when you look at him with such a yearning, eyes full of tears and longing for condolences. He smooths his finger over your eyebrows, creasing your frown before he leans down and presses another kiss to your cheek.

“I could not say, he was weary, but…” his other hand comes to cup your face, “he told me to answer to your every whim, and that you should stay by my side until he has healed and help me rule.”

“But shouldn’t I take care of him?” You ask, eyes narrowing as he gently backs you up towards your bed, “Aemond, what are—“

“My queen, do you trust me?” He asks as he trails a path from your cheek to the column of your throat with his nose, “I will take care of you, all of your needs. That is what our king wanted, how cruel would we be if we do not obey his commands?”

“We would break his heart,” you whisper, inhaling sharply when he hovers his lips against yours, “we should do as he asks.”

“Hmm, yes, we should,” he closes the gap between the two of you, his lips moving along yours slowly for he feels how you quiver and meet his lips hesitantly.

He kisses you gently at first, hands moving down towards your waist to pull on the strings of your gown, long gloved fingers working on it until the red fabric loses its grip around your waist. Aemond pushes the gown off your shoulders, caressing your skin with the back of his hand before he lets your dress pool around your ankles.

His lips move against yours passionately, his tongue exploring your mouth for the first time, and he lets himself get lost in your taste — sweet with a tinge of lime, hinting that you’ve had lemon cake earlier.

He pushes you onto the bed after he helps you out of your shift, leaving you bare to his hungry gaze. He pulls his gloves off by his teeth, dropping each on the floor next to your discarded clothes, soon to be followed by his belt and dagger.

He can hear the rumbles of his men walking back to the city, but now all his attention is on you, and how he has to take what he has promised himself.

Aemond doesn’t take his clothes off, he would if he were a lesser man, but now, he’s determined, ready to take the promised prize and faith the Gods have granted him — but no god is intelligent enough to set you as his prize. It’s always been him and his schemes.

He pushes his leather pants down enough to free his aching cock, swiping his finger across your wet slit, eliciting a moan out of both of you as he keeps rubbing your pearl firmly, basking in your whines of pleasure.

His free hand strokes himself to full hardness, thinking of your upcoming wedding night and how he’d take you in front of the council on the bedding from behind, chaining you to him like the religion that has chained his mother to the Seven.

You fist the bedsheets, back arching as soon as he covers your body with his and guides his cock to your soaked entrance. He watches how your lips part in a silent plea when he breaches your cunt, groaning as soon as your walls envelop his length.

“Oh, Aemond—“You reach for him desperately when he sheathes himself inside you completely, not letting you adjust to his size for more than a mere second before setting up his pace, bullying his cock deep inside you with each smooth stroke.

It’s empowering to see you all nude and luscious on your bed taking his cock like you were shaped just for him to do so — maybe you were made for him, molded into this perfect lady to be desired and cherished by him.

“Aren’t you the most beautiful queen the realm has ever seen?” He asks, his eye is hazy with lust as he fucks you harder, finding deep pleasure in how he’s fully clothed and you are bare as the day you were born. He takes pride in having you putty in his hands.

He cages you under him, his lips slotting against yours once more as he licks his way into your mouth while he slams his shaft inside your tight cunt with abandon.

“Gods, oh– I’m— ah!”

“You only have one god, my darling, and that is me,” he groans against your lips, his leather coat brushing against your heated skin while the tip of his cock nudges against your sweet spot that has you seeing stars, “Worship me at your altar, just as your husband wanted.”

You come with a cry of his name, sending him over the edge with your sweet moans of euphoria. He bruises himself to a halt, emptying his sack with ropes of his cum inside you, making sure to make the next king of the Seven Kingdoms with his queen.

The way your face scrunches in pleasure has him almost coming again, knowing it was him who gave you such a blinding peak that has you shaking in his arms.

The sounds of footsteps rushing past your door to the King’s chambers have the two of you scurrying and parting from each other. You are clumsy with how you put on your dress with Aemond’s warm seed dribbling down your thighs, but your husband’s home, your king.

Aemond tucks himself back into his pants, following you out of your chambers into his brother’s only to find the maesters and his mother already there, tending to his burns and wounds.

“Aegon, my love—“ he doesn’t listen to what you say as you try to make room for yourself among the men, wanting to reach for your husband.

“Someone has to rule in his stead,” Aemond exclaims as he leans on the headboard of the bed, looking down at his handiwork before he catches your eyes as you smile with teary eyes at him, nodding to Alicent in encouragement.

“The gods have blessed him with intelligence for he would make a fine ruler, and he shall take care of me, just as our king desired.”

#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #hotd x reader #aemond smut #aemon x you #prince aemond targaryen #rue:smut #rue:darkcontent #dark aemond targaryen

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i2sunric · 6 months ago

Text

MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT (p.js)

pairing: ceo!jay x reader (f)

summary: when the stress caused by his high working position and the little nights of sleep start affecting jay, he can’t think of anything better than taking you in every surface of the house.

warnings: 5% plot 95% smut. missionary, rough sex, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), fingering, blowjob, cream pie, slight cnc (but not really), pet names (doll, pretty, baby), reader calls jay ‘daddy’, overstimulation, orgasm denial, mean!dom jay, deepthroat, aftercare. lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

wc: 4.0k

published: 25th May 2024

taglist: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @heelvsted @jwnghyuns @seunghancore @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle (oneshot) @yanggarden106 @sunghoonsgff @nellwoo @jjklvr9 @silkycherryred @shuawons @delusionsforleehan @melody-fav @deobitifull @gonorrheaisme @maymarrylhs @wildflowermooon @ro-diaries @nyxtwixx @crimnalseung @wolfhardbby @seongiewon @yohanabanana @minseongsworld @minjaexvz @avaleyshin @capri-cuntz @honeybunnee @hooniebaekgu @americanojake @kirinaa08 @jakedoxxenvasion @microwavedstrawberr1es @ineedsomezzz @dojaejunging @stone-odb @sjakewrld @nctislifue @seonghwaexile @ratchet-sebooty @monstaxdirtywonk @soraokkotsu @mura-r1k1xyz @genevieve-blr @shutupsisi @shiningnono @riki-riks-chick @kim2005bomi @iraa567 BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED (i hope i didn’t forget anyone 💔)

a/n: ok, there was another whole sex scene but i didn’t want to overdo it so here ya go. LIKE & REBLOG TO SPREAD! & let me know your thoughts <3

Jay was beyond exhausted and he was sure that hadn’t he been that kind, he would’ve strangled someone.

Not only did he have four meetings in the span of twelve hours but he also had a painful hard-on since lunch time that he still hadn’t dealt with.

He could’ve taken care of it in the car, but the thought of coming home and sleeping beside you was more tempting than whacking off.

As soon as he entered the house, Jay dropped his working bag that hit the floor with a heavy thud. Unbuttoning his shirt, he walked to the kitchen and hung it on the side of the chair.

He headed to the cupboard and took out one of his dear glasses that his father-in-law had gifted him for your wedding anniversary. He took the bottle of Whiskey beside it and poured plenty.

Jay rested his back against the countertop and sighed heavily,

slowly sipping the drink until its content was gone. Feeling slightly better, but not as much as to forget the evident bulge making his pants feel a few sizes tighter, he left the kitchen and walked to the living room.

“Jay?” Your hoarse voice snapped him out of his thoughts, he looked at you standing in front of the sofa where you were just sleeping, waiting for him. Your hair a little messy while you rubbed your eye. You were wearing one of his old shirts, not even bothering to put a pair of pants on.

You looked so perfect, like an angel that went to earth just to save him— and so his to ruin.

Jay walked toward you without even caring about anything else and took your chin in his grasp, pulling you into a hungry kiss.

You hummed in surprise, your sleepy mind still slow in processing what was happening, but soon enough you kissed him back.

He pushed you down on the couch again, making you lay as he got on top of you “Are you doing to make daddy feel better?” He asked in a husky voice.

You knew exactly what he meant, his hips rocking against yours, rubbing the bulge on your clothed core. He was stressed, he needed something to relieve it, something to make it feel betterâ€” and you were down to help him, even if it meant giving him your body.

“Yes.” You breathed out “Want you to feel better, daddy.”

“Good girl.” He groped your breast through the fabric of the loose t-shirt, groaning when he felt your nipples harden, no bra to stop his palm to feel them “You know what’s next, don’t you?”

You nodded and opened your legs, wider, making room for him to kneel in the middle.

Jay raised your shirt, making it rest just below your chin, your tits on full display. Now, his cock twitched in his pants, already sensitive from being neglected for so much, just the sight of you under him was enough to make it leak with precum.

“Mine.” He murmured, one hand sneaking up to wrap around your neck. You raised your head slightly and his lips found yours in a hungry kiss.

Jay bit down on your bottom lip, not enough to draw blood but enough to make it pulse.

His hand went down to grasp your thigh, opening it wider. You bucked your hips, your clit rubbing against his own thigh.

Jay chuckled “So needy. Do you need me that much, baby? All worked up already?” He bent down and raised your hips, removing your panties and throwing them on the floor.

You were already so wet it was ridiculous, slick dripping down the sofa “Jay.” You breathed out.

“Yes, baby?” He asked, raising his glance to look at you “Use your words.”

You bucked your hip, needing something to release the bothering feeling between your legs.

Jay tsked “Say please.” You looked into his eyes, so desperate “Please— feels so uncomfortable.”

He smiled “I’ll fix that.” He leaned back down, pushing your thighs apart. He started pressing hot, open mouthed kisses all over your inner thighs, right above where you needed him the most.

“So pretty.” Jay whispered and then gave one kitten lick to your clit, tasting you. You gasped, your head thrown back already.

As he started licking, sucking on your wet folds you sneaked one hand behind his head, grasping his hair “Oh, lord.”

He pulled away, his eyes dark. "Not lord. Jay.” Then he dived again between your legs.

Jay’s tongue darted out, tasting you. Slow, long licks, taking his savouring you.

“Yes!” You exclaimed, bucking your hips, making his nose hit your clit. “Stay still," He ordered. "You're being a naughty girl, baby."

“Mh— I’m sorry.” You said, looking down at him “I think I’m gonna have to punish you.” He spanked your thigh, making you whimper.

Jay grinned feral and licked agai. “I’ll stop if you keep moving, understand?”

You nodded, trying your best not to move your hips “Yes.”

“Good girl.” He murmured and then licked a long strap from your bud.

However, as he licked a certain spot, your hips bucked up again. Jay pulled away immediately, frowning "Didn’t I say to stay still, doll? Didn’t I?"

“M’sorry.” You said “Feels so good.” Jay cooed "I know, baby." He spanked your thigh again. "But you keep moving. Don’t you wanna be good?"

Another whimper left your lips, the red mark of his finger forming on your skin “Wanna be good for daddy.”

"Yeah? Then behave, or I'm gonna leave you like this." Jay said, his breath hot against you. "Don’t move." He threatened.

He stuck his tongue back on your clit, licking slowly. You grasped the fabric of the sofa, keeping your hips glued to it.

Jay kept his licks slow, occasionally inserting his tongue just to pull it out right away “Look at you,” He spat on your pussy “Being so good for me.”

You moaned out “Jay,” You said “Jay, don’t stop.”

And he didn’t, working you harder, wanting to pull moans out of you “You like this?”

You moaned when he sucked on your sensitive bud “S’good.“ Your eyes squeezed “I’m gonna—“

As you pronounced those words, his tongue detached from you, he raised himself, licking his lips.

You squirmed, a disappointed sound leaving your mouth “What's wrong, baby?” He asked, rubbing his thumb on your inner thigh.

“Was close.” You pouted while Jay just grinned “I know, doll.”

"Then why'd you stop?” You whined.

Jay tsked "Y/N, you don't get to talk back to me like that. Don’t you remember what I said? I was going to punish you for moving."

You nodded and closed your lips before you could anger him any further. Jay smiled slyly and moved to stand in front of your face, unzipping his pants, removing both them and his boxers.

“You know what to do, baby.” He said, caressing your cheek with his thumb. You looked so pretty, all ready just to be used by him.

You completely laid on the sofa and turned your head to face his red tip, so hard. You gave it a small lick and kisses.

You knew he was just letting you do that, he was the one in control anyways.

You maintained eye contact with him as you took him in your mouth, trying to fit his whole length inside your throat.

"Oh, baby—“ His head leaned back, his hand gripping your hair firmly. “You're so pretty like this."

However, your movements were slow and steady, not the kind of blowjob you knew Jay liked.

He groaned and pulled you away by your hair. "Stop it.” He reprimanded, looking down at you. "You always have to push it, huh?"

Jay slapped your tit, making you whimper out “You wanna be a brat, mh? You like the feeling of my hand on you?"

You nodded, rubbing your thighs together, desperate to soothe the aching feeling between them.

Jay leaned in, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth. “Use your words, baby." You hummed “Yes daddy, like it.”

Jay gave you one of his killer smirks before pressing his tip back on your lips, making you open up as he pushed himself back inside your warm mouth.

He gripped your hair, using you to seek pleasure, his hips bucking back and forth.

“Yeah, just like that.” He gave one rather big thrust, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to you gagging, but that one was stronger than the others and he was worried, so he pulled himself out, not wanting to hurt you.

He pulled gently on your hair, forcing you to look up at him.

"You okay, doll?"

You took a deep breath and just smiled up at him, wrapping your lips back around his throbbing cock.

Jay let out a small growl, “Such a good girl for me.” He kept his hand behind your head, bucking his hips.

He could see spit coating your chin, falling down the floor onto his discarded clothes but he didn’t mind. Not when you looked so straight out of a porn, the squelching sounds of gagging and spit filling the room.

“Yes,” He panted, speeding his thrusts “Just like that.” You looked up at him and gripped his hips, trying to steady yourself as he used your mouth to jerk off.

Jay’s breaths were coming out as gasps, his hand gently rubbing on your shoulder to make you lay back better. He pulled out and walked to stand behind your head.

Your head was barely on the sofa “Open up.” He said, his body hovering on yours for a deepthroat.

You opened your mouth and soon felt his whole length down your throat, you tried your best not to gag, tears threatening to roll down your cheeks.

Jay groaned, twitching inside your mouth. His fingers went to pinch your nipples as he began to move again, slower that time.

Your eyes rolled back, gagging and breathing through your nose, his balls gently tapping against your nose every time he thrusted.

Jay put one hand on your throat, feeling his cock moving underneath the skin. He twitched inside you, already so close.

He slapped your tits one more time, watching as his fingers’ marks appeared on your chest.

The humming sound you let out sent vibrations through his whole body, making him cum right there.

His warm seed slowly dripped down your throat, the bittersweet taste making you moan around it.

Jay pulled out as you took a few deep breaths, looking up at him through glossy eyes and spit coated face.

He leaned down, his thumb wiping the corner of your lips. "So pretty like that." He mumbled, pressing a kiss to your lips

You gave him a sloppy kiss “I need to clean you up.” He stated, raising himself and walking into the kitchen.

You waited there, laid on the sofa, but the aching feeling between your legs still hadn’t goneâ€” if not, it was stronger than before.

You pushed yourself up and followed him shortly, hugging his back as you saw him taking a cloth from the drawer.

Jay smiled warmly and turned around to hug your waist, placing a small kiss on your head “You good?” He asked gently.

You just looked up at him and took one of his hands that rested on your waist to guide it down until it reached your heat.

He raised a brow, his fingers slowly circling your clit “What do you want, doll?” His tone was low again.

“Want to cum too.” You rested your head on his chest, your breath growing heavier.

Jay started rubbing a tiny bit harder, his free hand running through your hair. "You need it, baby?"

You nodded, your hand grasping his forearm to steady yourself and not jerk away as he rubbed your sensitive bud. His hand, instead, went to raise your chin, making you look up “Want me to help you?”

“Please Jay,” You pleaded, your eyes glossy “Be a good girl this time.”

You bit down your bottom lip, humming “Yeah? Gonna behave for daddy?” His hand sped up, his thumb applying pressure over that sensitive spot.

You bucked your hips in response, feeling the knot tightening inside your stomach “Shh, baby. Take what I give you.”

Jay’s eyes were focused on you, watching your every reaction. his other hand moved to cradle the back of your head, keeping you focused on him.

As his fingers kept working on your sensitive bud, your mouth fell agape "Keep your eyes on me, baby," He whispered. "Look at me, not away from me." He said, starting to speed up.

You fought to keep your eyes open not to anger him and make him deny you another orgasm as pretty moans fell from your lips like music to his ears.

Your hand went to grasp his muscled forearm, your whole body trembling as the knot in your stomach snapped, making you fall apart.

Jay’s fingers slowed down when you trembled, bringing you back to reality. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close as you were still trembling. "There you go, I’ve got you. He whispered against your hair “Did so well for me”.

As you slowly came down of your high, you looked up at him with glossy eyes, your euphoria still lingering, sending small shivers through your body.

Something primal awoke inside his gaze “Lord.” He groaned, pulling you into a heated kiss.

His hands ran down your spine, resting on the small of your back, keeping you as close to him as possible.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and tiptoed to reach his height.

Jay’s hands ran up your back, his mouth finding your neck. He started nibbling. "Mine," he mumbled. "So mine." His hands left your back to grab your thighs, lifting you up.

Jay turned you around and placed you on the countertop; He was devouring you, his teeth grazing your skin as he sucked and bit on your neck.

You could feel him harden against your inner thigh as his hands travelled down your chest to squeeze your tits, twirling and pinching your nipples.

You moaned when he claimed your mouth again, your own hand moving to pump his shaft “Fuck.” He groaned, bucking his hips forward.

“You look so good on my counter.” He said, his breath coming out into puffs. His hips kept rocking forwards, fucking your fist.

“Want to make you feel better, daddy.” You murmured against his lips, your voice so innocent and weak made his cock twitch.

Jay’s fingers curled around your chin, holding you still “Want to make daddy feel better? Want to be a good girl—Shit.” He groaned “For me?”

“Yes, daddy.” You breathed out, the mushroom tip teasing your entrance “Please, I’ll make you feel good.”

Jay hummed, removing your hand from his cock to kiss you deeply again “I know baby,” His lips brushed your bottom lip “You always do, mh?” He fisted your hair, “Daddy’s good girl.”

Jay patted your thigh and you complied with his wishes, wrapping your legs around his waist. He lifted you up as if you weighed nothing and hurried upstairs, not wanting to waste more time.

He kicked the door of your bedroom open while your lips were still attached and gently laid you on the bed. He pulled away to stare at your figure, so pretty just for him.

He crawled on top of you and trailed kisses all over your naked body, not leaving even one spot untouched by his lips “So gorgeous.”

His lips trailed down your collarbone to your chest, licking your sensitive nipples and then down your stomach until he was about to reach your clit— His phone ringtone started ringing all around the house from downstairs, the quiet of the night not leaving any doubt.

Jay groaned, resting his head on your hip. He was a very composed person and set a different ringtone for all of his contacts so that he knew who was calling. It couldn’t be ignored since that classical music belonged to one of his most important foreign partners.

"Do not move." He warned, getting out of bed and disappearing into the hallway.

You waited for him, laying on the bed. You took the time to relax a little from your previous orgasm, staring at the ceiling.

Jay came back around ten minutes later, his whole aura darker than the one he had when he first stepped in the house.

His brows were knitted and he closed the door, dangerously slow. He crawled on the bed and spread your legs open.

You watched him through puzzled eyes but Jay didn’t even spare you a glance as he aligned himself to your entrance and thrust himself inside without even a warning.

A pained whimper left your mouth, your eyes squeezing and body growing rigid. You weren’t exactly as wet as you were ten minutes before and his cock wasn’t exactly small, so the stretch was painful.

“Y/N.” He whispered against your skin, not moving as you clenched around him. His breath was hot on your skin, his fingers running up the side of your waist in a soothing way "Needed this.”

Jay started moving, slowly, he sighed and pulled away so he could look down at you “Relax baby, you need to relax.”

Your walls kept clenching and sucking him in, the pain spread all over your lower region, making you choke out a gasp.

He groaned when he heard you gasp, but he was too focused on his own relief to pull away. "So good, baby." He panted.

Jay’s hands moved up your sides, trailing feather light across your skin “Sorry, just—“ His eyes squeezed shut “Just take it.”

He kept pounding inside of you, rubbing slow circles on your clit to help you relax. When the pain subdued to the pleasure, you let out a moan.

“That’s it, doll.” He groaned “So good.”

“Jay,” You breathed out, your hands going to scratch his back, your hips moving with the same rhythm as his, making you two a single person.

He twitched inside of you “Christ, Y/N— Say that again.” You rolled your eyes back as he hit a certain spot “Jay!”

"That's my girl," He said huskily, “Yeah, baby." His hands gripped your hips and pressed him close to you “Need to be closer."

Your breath was coming out in pants “Feels so deep.” You murmured and Jay placed one hand behind your head, grasping your hair and lifting your head.

Jay made you watch himself go in and out, his shaft disappearing just to reappear, making you moan “See?” You reached out your tummy and pressed where you could see the shadow of his bulge, the moan that escaped his lips made you clench around him.

“My perfect girl.” Jay cooed and then let go of your hand, making it fall on the pillow. He gripped both of your hips and quickened his pace, rutting inside of you at an animalistic speed.

His chest pressing into yours. "Take my fucking cock." he groaned, his hips moving faster “Good?"

You just nodded, “Fuck— Mh, daddy.” He slapped your pussy, sending shivers all around your body “No cursing.” He nagged, making you whimper “Sorry.”

“S’okay.” He reassured, slapping another time your pussy just to see you quiver underneath him “Close?”

You nodded again “S’close— Don’t stop.” You pleaded, your own hand moving down to circle your clit.

It didn’t take much for you to cream his cock, your walls clenching so hard around him as your body shuddered.

"Yeah," He told you, his fingers digging in your hips, keeping you pinned down. "There you go," He mumbled.

However, Jay’s thrusts never faltered, if not he moved faster, chasing his own release. He looked down to see the white circle of cum around his cock, his head thrown back in pleasure.

Your whole body shook in overstimulation, “Jay,” You panted, trying to push his chest away “T-too much.”

His hands stayed pressed into your hips, holding them down into the mattress. "Shh, baby," he groaned. "You can take it, I know you can.”

You shook your head, your toes curling as a broken whimper left your mouth “Just a little more.”

Jay pressed a small kiss on your earlobe, whispering “So good, you feel so good.” Your mind was hazy, your eyes closed with the amount of pleasure you were receiving.

But Jay still didn’t fall apart, his release was close but he was doing his best to hold back.

Your legs were tired so you wrapped them around his waist, your nails digging in his back, making you moan out “Ngh— J-Jay.. I can’t.” Tears pooled your eyes, threatening to fall out. You felt another knot tighten in your lower belly, your mouth falling agape.

Jay noticed your body language and smirked, his thrusts so fast and rough the headboard slammed against the wall, along with the sound of skin slapping and the wet noises from your pussy.

Your back arched from the mattress, your body shuddering as you reached your third orgasm of the night.

At the same time, Jay’s mouth formed an ‘O’, his own seed filling you up. His thrusts slowed, pumping you full of his cum, not even letting a single drop fall out.

You were a moaning mess, shivers rocking through your body “Shh,” Jay cooed, running his thumb on your sweaty cheek “I’ve got you.”

He held you close to himself, waiting for you to come down of your high. He gently kissed your lips, breathing each other. Your bodies mended, melting together just like your souls.

You then pulled away, looking at him with glossy and teary eyes, your cheeks flushed and hair sticking to your neck from

the sweat.

Jay smiled softly, “My love.” He murmured, pressing a featherlight kiss on your brow “My girl.”

You smiled back at him, “Better now?” You asked, your voice hoarse.

He chuckled and raised himself from your body, reluctantly peeling his skin away from you “You always make me feel better.”

After a warm shower, filled with massages and small making out sessions, both you and Jay were laying on the bed, the light rays of light belonging to the early morning hours entered from the curtains.

You rested your head on his chest as his fingers slowly trailed up and down your back.

“I really don’t want to go to work.” He murmured, his nose filling with the smell of your shampoo “Don’t go.” You said back, “Stay with me.”

Jay shook his head “I can’t.” He placed a small kiss on your head.

“Why not?” You frowned “Just one day.” He pulled you closer, hugging your arm. “I have an important meeting today.”

You sighed “You always do.” Jay chuckled at your words “You want to know why I’m enduring so many working hours?”

You nodded, looking up at him “Why? Money, it doesn’t miss in your life.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He smiled “But I never know how the company will go in the future, it may fail or go bankrupt and I want to save enough money to let our children have a good life.”

You widened your eyes, raising your head from his chest “You said our children.”

Jay pecked your lips “I did.” You blinked faintly, “You want to have a family with me?”

He took your face in his hands, gently rubbing his fingers on your cheeks “First, I want to marry you.” He placed one kiss on your forehead “Then, I want to have a baby with you, or maybe two.” He kissed your nose, “And at last I want to grow old and grey with you.” He kissed your lips deeply.

“I want a life with you, Y/N. You’re the only one that can make me feel alive.” And it was then, the moment you swore to never leave Jay’s side, no matter the complications that occurred.

2K notes · View notes

shocymer · 9 months ago

Text

Want me to teach you?

"Starting off as journalism clubs buddies, you never know how your relationship will take turns after he offered to give you a lesson."

Pairing : Yunho x f!reader

Word counts : 2.3k

Contents & warnings : smut mdni! , college AU, gamer yunho, oral (receiving), size kink, big dick! yunho, slightly pussy edging, overstimulation, semi public sex, unprotected sex, creampie.

“There’s something between you and her. I mean like you’re in relationship or..?” Wooyoung asked him carefully.

Yunho’s eyes goes widen. He never thought of dating you in the first place. After breaking up with his longtime ex lover, he completely avoided the topic of romance. He’d been dating his ex since high school. But at the certain time they’re in college, she became a campus crush and immediately dumped him.

He let out a soft chuckle in response, “How could that be?”

“Isn’t it obvious? The atmosphere.. ehhm kinda heavy around you two.” Seonghwa suddenly chimed in while his finger moved in circle towards Yunho.

He raised his eyebrow, a thin smile form his lips after ridiculed by them.

“Nah we’re not. We’re just friends, that’s all.”

To be honest, he wasn't that surprise when they asked about it. It all started from two months before. You accidentally took a glance on Yunho’s phone. He’s immersed in Detroit: Become Human walkthrough video while waiting for other faculty journalism club’s member to come.

Then you happened to be walking behind him before taking a seat. “Oh you’re into that game too?”

“I want to give it a try.” He turn at you for a moment before his eyes glued back to the screen. “But I still figure it out whether this one worth it or not.”

You crossed your arms then slightly lean towards him in attempt to get a better view of the video. “Hmm.. It’s a shame if you know most of the plot through this. Like I want you to experience the true ending by your own choices.”

“Wait, you ever played this?” Surprised that you’re into gaming stuff.

“I did, but on PC. I don’t know if there’s any differences if you play it on your console.” You lean away from him.

Now, he’s more interested in you and leaving the video played alone in the background. Distracted by your little fingers fidgeting on the back of your phone unconsciously, as both of you deep in talk. He’s wondering why is it so small and weirdly cute. Then he glanced back to you.

“So you’re not used to play with the controller right?”

You nod at him, “yeah, last time I try it when I was in 7th grade or something. The grip was uncomfortable. Right after that, I decided PC is much more easier.” You paused for a second, “but sometimes I would love to try it again.”

He chuckled seems to know the reasons why. Proceed to clear his throat before he answered you back, “Want me to teach you?”

Deep sighed left from your mouth, “I’m pretty sure you’ll be mad at me the second we’re in.”

“No no, definitely not. I got patience as deep as the ocean. You sure know that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right, definitely a saint in your past life.”

He laughed at your remark and how annoyed you’re right now. You smacked his arm, telling him to stop. Not too long, both of you getting ready for the club’s meeting as everyone already gathered in.

You thought he’d be joking. He never brought that idea again after the last conversation with you. He occasionally texted you only about the club’s activity or college stuff. Until a week after, he slide a brand new box of controller towards you.

“Better started now or never.” He slightly tilted his head, pointing to where the box landed.

“Yunho, you don’t need to buy me this. I- like just tell me when you’re-”

“Shhh.. save that nagging for later.” His delicate hand started to unbox it with care. Then he handed it to you.

It’s mostly dominated with white and soft blue colors on the side. Plus the kitty paw shaped the thumb grip, make it seems like a customized controller. You reach it in fascination. That’s super cute. Both of you think the same way, but completely on different matters.

Yunho kept looking at your fingers which is nicely wrapped the controller. His eyes following the direction of your little thumbs that moving uncoordinatedly, mimicking the way you’re gonna use it in game. Then, his gaze turn to your lips, looking at how cute and plump it is.

He shook his head, after that he explained to you about it’s feature, how to turn it on and how to charge it. You listen to him just like in one of your lectures. Remembering everything that he told you while nodding at the same time.

“Thanks Yunho, that’s so cute.” You looked at him in guilty. “I bet this was expensive right?”

“Well, actually not that much. I just want you to use it more if it looks like that.” He flicked your forehead. “This is my own wish. Don’t ever feel bad about it, okay?”

After that day, you spent almost every weekend playing co-op game with him. He patiently guided you from the voice chat. Dealing with how forgetful you are and a lot of complaints about your sore fingers. With that antics of yours, he only let out small chuckle or teasing you even more.

On the weekday, sometimes you met him in the club’s room. Mostly during the meeting or when you do the project. The moment you asked him to check your works, he’ll lean over from your behind and randomly put his hand on top of yours while the other hand is scrolling the mouse. There’s also a moment he covered the shelf corner with his hand when your head nearly bump it or he’ll immediately fetched the things you needed where it’s difficult for you to reach.

You never realize that, but not with your other two friends. Seonghwa and Wooyoung, they keep exchange glances across the room whenever Yunho and you act like a new pair of lovers. They’re a hundred percent sure sensing something more than platonic relationship, when the actual truth is not. There’s nothing between you two, yet.

⁠✧

It's 3 days before the exam period. The faculty journalism club already in chaos for past few weeks. They’re divided into two teams. First team is responsible with the faculty website news update, and here you are in the second team handling the semester end magazine. Your leader pushed the deadline earlier hoping the only left to do is printed it out at the end of exam day.

Your tired ass have been proofreading for solid three hours non-stop. Flipping through the revision sheet and going back to the laptop. Luckily you don’t have any class today. All of you agreed to finished it today. But alas, there’s only four of you left, and making it worse the other two need to leave too.

“Shit, I forgot to consult my thesis. I’ll be back at evening!” Seonghwa barging out in hurry. No wonder he’s literally your senior a year above you.

Not too long, Wooyoung following around as he got notification with a sudden class at noon. He’s cursing along the way. Of course all of you haunted with the leader’s wrath, considering how strict he is. You still remembered the looks on his face when the last project failed.

There’s only Yunho and you left alone. Silence along the typing sounds are the only sound that filled the room. At this exact time, most of the clubs room are empty. Either everyone still in the class or diving in the library preparing for the exam.

The work flow with him lasted for more than an hour. He’s occasionally sipping his iced coffee while working on it. He took the editing part, after that passed it on to you. But this time, his hand slipped, nudging the cup of his coffee. He could save it, but not with your pile of revision papers. It scattered all over the floor.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry.” He immediately crouched down as you do the same to collect the papers.

While collecting it in a rush, your fingertips brushing the back of his hand. Your face only a few inches from his side, making him shiver from the feeling of your warm breath against his skin. Then he turn to face you, staring deep into your eyes. Your heartbeat increase rapidly as he turning his hand to hold yours. His gaze shifted from your eyes to your small plumped lips.

When the tip of your noses touched, you couldn’t stand it anymore. You crushed his lips, kissing him hungrily. He pulled you in, till his back hit against the wall only to bring you on top of his lap while the kiss still not broken. He peeled off his denim jacket as the temperature keep raising between you two.

Gasping for some air, you pull out from the kiss. His index finger caress your cheek trailing down to you lips. You open your mouth to let it in wrestling around with your tongue. He let out small groaned at the sight of it. “I always curious how it taste like.” He lean in to you, whispering into your ears, “and that’s incredibly sweet.”

He picked you without a warning, gives you a quick kiss before plopping you down to the couch, then closed the curtains in swift motion.

Now he’s back to you, nibbling the nape of your neck, sucking on it, sometimes sunk his teeth beneath your skin. You’re squirming under him, gripping onto his hair as the sensation wash over you. He looked up to you, searching for your permission to go lower.

You nodded at him. He’s devouring your lips again while his hand pushed up your tight knee-length skirt, revealing wet trace over your panties. His fingers caress your clothed clit, moved in circular motion. You moaned between the kisses, you can feel he’s smirking on top of your lips.

He moved the panties to the side, then dip his finger into your folds. He chuckled, “you’re already this wet hmm?” Then he’s slipping in another finger, makes you gasped at how full it is inside. At first, his fingers moved back and forth slowly, but over time it’s moving faster making squelched noises due to how wet your pussy is.

He's amused by looking at the face you make right now, moaning out his name when you almost at the edge. He’s stopped in the middle of it, pulled out his fingers. “It’s not enough if it just like that.” He's immediately going down to yank out your panties, then sticking his third fingers into you, moving abruptly while his tongue flicking your clit, sucking on it hungrily. You grip onto his hair tighter, only strangle moan left out from your mouth before his another hand tried to cover it. You buckled your hip as you reaching out the orgasm, biting the palm of his hand trying to stifle your moan. He flicked his tongue few times makes your body spasm due to overstimulation. When you chasing down from it, he licked clean your pussy, then going back to kiss you, giving the taste of yours.

He take a step back, unbuttoning his jeans then pulled down the zipper, letting his cock sprung out from his brief. You took a peek on it with your half lidded eyes, still recovering from the last orgasm. It looks swollen, the unbelievable girth with it’s veins pop visibly, and the tip is glistening with the pre cum. He's stroking it for few times before lining it on your entrance. The tip is slowly in, you can feel the pain as it bigger than your thought.

He's leaning down to you, holding your hands, then trailing kisses on your neck hoping you to relaxes. “I’m sorry is it hurting that much?” He’s stroking your hair while looking into your eyes. “Not.. that much.” You answered him in teary eyes. He kisses your forehead then to your eyes. “It’s a still little bit more baby, can you take it?” You nodding at him. When it’s all in, he let it still for a moment so you get used to it. Then he start moving slowly while his hand unbuttoned your shirt, cupping your breast and slightly fondle it.

He thrusting it faster after he hear you moan in pleasure. His hand grip your waist, while the other hand busy teasing your clit. Your pussy tightened at every deep thrust, making him groaned at the feels. His hips moved erratically after pressing his hand on your stomach, feeling the bulge whenever his cock in you completely. Your nails digging in his clothed back as you feel the knot in your stomach. You squirted over him, making a mess on his shirt. He didn’t stop while your walls clenching on his cock, “you felt so good baby.” After few thrusts he filled your cunt, milking his balls empty. He pulled it out, then plopping himself beside you. Both of you breathing heavily while staring at each other. After realizing it, both of you laughing at how messy you’re right now.

⁠✧

“I’m baaack!” Wooyoung slammed the door open, his eyes goes widen at the sight of you two.

“Aren’t you guys tired? You didn’t move an inches since I left.” He saw you typing furiously on your laptop, meanwhile Yunho sorting out the papers beside you.

Yunho turned to him, “actually I need some snacks.” He gets up from his chair, then put his arms around Wooyoung’s shoulder.

Before they go, Wooyoung looked at you. “You don’t need anything? Or maybe you need some fresh air, you can go with Yunho instead. I’ll continue the rest.”

“I’m fine.” You paused for a second, “uhm.. well, maybe I want a smoothie.”

“Okay got it!” he gives an okay sign to you, then dragged Yunho along out of the club room. Yunho stopped his step, “wait I think I left something.” He ran back to the clubs room.

When he got there, he whispered something to you, “After this, do you still want me to teach you? My lesson isn’t done yet.” You flinched at his sudden peck on your lips. He smiled cheekily while leaving you speechless alone, squirming on your seat as you feel his juice spilled down over your thigh.

#pirateeznet #wonderlandnet #cromernet #jeong yunho #jeong yunho x reader #ateez smut #yunho smut #ateez fics #ateez fic #yunho x reader #ateez x reader #ateez hard hours #yunho hard hours #ateez fanfic #kpop fanfic #shocymer

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think-like-a-poet · 4 months ago

Note

Can you do yapper Max where he comes back from night out and is drunk. Reader tries to help him get ready for bed and he just tells her the most random things

Drunk yapping

Max verstappen x reader

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You were seated on the couch, blanket firm in your hands as the tenth plot twist happened in your horror movie. A soft yell left your mouth by the look of a couple cut of limbs as the scene became black. The music added a high suspense to the whole movement as you wanted to look away. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to watch it alone and without Max home, you thought.

The camera moved to an abandoned staircase as the music became louder and louder. Just when a door moved open and a face came out, a knock on the moved your attention away. You paused it and got up from the couch to walk towards the door. Looking trough the eye whole you saw Daniel holding Max in his hands.

You smile as you open up the door. Max was losely hanging into Daniels side as he kept on rambling his mouth. Daniel looked a bit irritated, but his smile was as big as ever. "Hi, y/n. I am sorry if I woke you, but Max is being a pain in my ass." you laughed as you made room for Daniel to walk inside. The Australian throws Max on the couch and a loud giggle is heard from your boyfriend.

"Don't worry. I know how Max is when he has a bit too much to drink. I hope he wasn't too annoying." you walked towards the kitchen to grab two glasses of water, Daniel may be less drunk but it was clear he had something to drink too. He thanked you as you gave him a glass of water before moving to sit next to Max.

You held out the glass of water for Max to grab. Max grabs the glass of water and shoots it down his throat like a shot. He sets the glass on the table with trouble and he groans before laying his head in your lap.

Daniel laughs at his friend's antics before walking to the door, "I leave you alone. Carlos is waiting for me in the car. And no, he did not drink." you wave him goodbye and you are left alone with your drunken boyfriend.

"Did you have fun?" you move your fingers through his hair and he nods. Max looks so pretty like this. His hair is ruined and standing in every way, his cheeks are flushing red and the top buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned. He always get it hot when he drowns his third G&T of the night.

"Very, but I did miss you. No one wanted to talk to me." Max pouts and you let out a little laugh at the adoring side. "Every time I said something, they moved away."

You stood up from the couch, "You can tell them to me while we get you ready for bed." Max face lits up and he stands up next to you. He stumbles a bit over his feet and you are quick to grab him by his arms. Together you walk to the bedroom as Max begins to speak.

"There was a cat tonight. I don't know how he made it inside, but he walked up to me, so of course I had to cuddle with him. Did you know cats have 30 teeth. I accidentally moved too close to a place he didn't like and I felt his teeth and you saw like a lot. I didn't hurt, he couldn't help it. " Max rambled and you listened closely to what he said. Of course the first thing was about cats, when didn't he talk about cats?

You helped him sit down on a chair in the corner of the bedroom and walked to the dresser to grab some pajamas. " I did not know they had 30 teeth. It is a surprise you didn't take him home."

"I wanted to, but a security person grabbed it from my hands to bring it outside. I couldn't find him after." Max answered with a sad tone. You saw how he had tried to untie his shoes, but the ties were now pulled fast instead of lose. You shook your head and knelt down you untied them. Max had to keep himself from falling backwards as his eyes close from the busy night.

"People always think cats like milk, but they are actually lactose intolerant. They aren't able to digest the lactose and if they have too much they will be vomiting. Of course a little bit wouldn't hurt too much, but too much is bad for them." Max slurred over his words as you finally pulled off his shoes. "Thank you,"

"Also i read somewhere that animals can have a different time feeling then humans. Smaller animals need more time to progress the movements and time will be slower for them. Like a lizard has slower time then a cat, but a tiger would be further in time than a cat. So technical animals and humans live in different time zones."

"That's strange. That they all live in different moment of time. " you answer while pulling his shirt over his head. "Hands up," you say and Max arms shoot in the air, almost hitting your face by accident, but he is too tired to see. You laugh as you try to pull on his pajama shirt, wich you know if going to be thrown of in the middle of the night when he has it to warm.

After some time Max had finished his teeth and was now sitting on the edge of the bed while you put on your pajama. "Thank you for helping me."

"No worries." you kiss his head and he pulls you in for a hug. "Lets get some rest tonight."

#max loves his cats #maxplaining #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #mv1 x reader #mv1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #f1 #max verstappen imagine #f1 request

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dearsnow · 3 months ago

Text

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!

…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: [email protected]

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: [email protected]

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: [email protected]

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: [email protected]

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: [email protected]

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

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astrow0rldx · 3 months ago

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pac tarot : their sexual fantasies 🧸 18+

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

current partner/crush, future spouse or next partner (your choice for who your reading for); very straightforward; piles count left to right.

pile one

ooooh okay sexies. the intensity is very turned on by you. they think your very flattering, sexy, arousing. a good sex partner, good fuck and they want YOU bad. (not in a bad way for everyone just sexually). they want to just snatch you up, pull you to the edge of the bed and stick it in you. snatch off your clothes. they don’t want to wait till the destination, we can do it in the car. they want to explore your body and is eager to get into it. fingering, drilling you (going rough/fast), backshots. they want you to be kissing on them, sucking on them, riding them!! and really play the role as their girlfriend who is like their sexual partner with intimacy into it, chemistry and love into it.

i could see mild possesiveness and territorialness. don’t want anyone interfering, joining. they put you on a high pedestal sexually foreal, i can’t guarantee your their favorite it’s different for everyone but .. yk. their dark masculinity rises in them when it comes to their sexual fantasies about you. not really immature but heavily lustful. you turn them on, you make them excited, they fantasize about nasty sex with you. cumming to you, cumming on you. bending you over, drilling you and smacking your ass. and just real nasty nasty sex. i can see on the couch to. i can see them wanting to do 2 things at a time while y’all are fucking. so if it’s missionary, rubbing your clit at the same time, fucking you and grabbing another area at the same time, 69. they want you both to give each other mutual pleasure where it’s balanced in some way and as they explore and be nasty nasty you be a good lover.

if you guys work together, not together, or not to present in each other life’s they want to add you to their schedule. “i been working all day….come home blow your back out, whatever brent faiyaz said. intimate intimate sex. with the music on, to whoever playlist. chilling, for smokers smoking after sex and nice sensual aftercare. maybe lights if one of you guys have them. rubbing on your back, hugging you kissing on you and deep missionary. be what you need. if you guys haven’t had sex they might be definitely fantasizing and plotting on how to make this happen, where, how it will be.

pile two

his role 7of swords, yours 5 of swords. omg TW⚠️ idk what cnc stands for but i think it goes with the grape kink, lol not a sexual vocabularist. anyways yea that’s their sexual fantasy, is them sneaking, doing something not right, taking it from you and your like a victim in this situation. like they might think they own you, and your theirs. control issues. might want to literally kidnap you. for some of the people who your reading about is in another relationship that their cheating on them with, etc for you. or their just dark asf and sexually fantasize about cheating on you and getting away with it while your always there. like i said control issues. they want you to be enslaved to them. they like your boobs, hair. and during sex they want to do a little bit of everything.

they fantasize about if you guys have awkwardness, or fears between you to but it’s like y’all know y’all just have a crush on each other. or maybe if you guys were to be alone and you were nervous, then the emotional side comes out and they fantasize about them giving you love, care, nurture. showering you with love, praise making you feel comfortable and secure.

they see you as a item, valuable item. that they would be lucky to have and settle down with. they fantasize about knowing what to do with you and very smart on what actions, moves, positions, etc with you. i can see them wanting to work to get you in their bed, foreplay, connecting and bonding before, teasing. they fantasize about making up, moving past stuff by fucking you and being a smart, present in the moment, logical not stuck in their heart. (and clever) so if you guys had a rough patch, they fantasize about moving on from that with sex.

pile three

what did you do🥺 they’re so sad. or they just fantasize about sad, emotional, deep vulnerability sex. they want to play the role as someone heart who’s broke, and their intensity of their sexual fantasies is so emo and down. did you fall out of love, did someone cheat. or are you that seducer that’s making them feel guilty for cheating. whatever this sad core is they sexually fantasize about it. read my seduction type earlier post and go to the coquette who is a female manipulator. they may want you to feel unfulfilled in the effort you did and the investment you spent (for some people). also they want to work you out and make you do a lot. definitely fantasize about you working that jaw till nut. they are going to work you like a pro where you don’t even want to go with anyone else or outside.

if something happened outside of sex where you hurt them, they want justice in the bed. “let’s settle this cat fight in the ring… in bed” or however that tiktok audio goes. they might idolize you, your life and wellbeing. your essence. not to unhealthy, just in awe, but heartbroken. could have voyeuristic tendencies (wanting to watch you, naked, have sex etc) for some people, if this person got dark psychological issues. sexually they may want to keep you stuck and confused, tease you psychologically. maybe play hard to get. even could want to get reactions out of you. they definitely want the sex to be investing a lot in, doing a lot. a whole workout, sweat session.

pile four

💕💞💘💗💓 chemistry, fireworks, stars sparkling. they want the lights, the right time, the scenery, the kisses. movie scene genre romance. they want you both to make love and deeply intimately vulnerably connect while you guys have sex. your having sex to express feelings, to bond and connect, to love. they are probably nervous, have anxiety, or overthinking.

not going to lie, whether it’s in bed or just psychologically they might want to push your boundaries, get through you. tame, control, manipulate you. play and fuck with you. something sneaky is going on in their sexual fantasies whether you have to sneak or their sneaking, plotting. they might want to love bomb you. even though their sexual fantasies of the roles they want you to play is so romantic, loving & bonding their sexual fantasies could be a hit it and quit it scenario. they might feel honestly guilty about it which is why they show the extra love lol (for some people).

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shuadotcom · 3 months ago

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don't wannna wait on it (m)

> summary: if it’s a crime to want to have sex at every opportunity with your incredibly sexy boyfriend then you’ll gladly accept your sentence. > pairing : na jaemin x fem!reader > genres & aus: established relationship au, non!idol au, smut, porn with absolutely no plot, the occasional small fluff bits because i’m me rating: 18+ [MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED] > warnings/content: car sex, rough sex, clit & tit slapping, dirty talk, pet names (baby girl/pretty girl/slut), unprotected sex, creampie, one mention of a ‘sir’ kink, lowercase writing > words: 3.6k > note: hi i’m back?! 🫣 this was not something in my wips nor was it a request. i didn’t even plan on writing for the dreamies anytime soon but na jaemin is my all consuming sleep paralysis demon and i’m unbearably whipped for him so this happened over the weekend when i was high and staring at pictures of him so surprise~🧍🏽‍♀️ thank you to my love @horanghater for beta reading this and always being my biggest cheerleader 🩷❤️

he smiles that megawatt, heart-stopping smile at you. the corners of his mouth quirk up, lush pink lips stretching over two rows of perfect teeth. jaemin’s smile has always been your favorite physical feature on him.

“yes, of course, i love the rest of you!”

“but what about-”

“yea jaem - that includes your dick.” is usually some variation of how the conversation would go between the two of you when you complimented his smile. of course he knows you love him, and that you’re in love with him, but who would he be if he didn’t whine his way into getting more compliments from you?

jaemin’s smile is something that needs to be immortalized in a mural on the sistine chapel ceiling, or however, the damn saying goes.

it’s hard to remember much when he’s fucking your last remaining brain cells out of you..

“if only you could see yourself right now, baby girl - so fucked out you can’t even focus on me for more than a second,” jaemin sighs at you, eyes focused on the way your eyes cross and mouth twists in a choked cry.

you wanted so badly to strike back with something sassy, but his thumb has moved to stroke your clit just the way you like and the breath is knocked out of you.

jaemin’s left hand, the one gripping your thigh like a lifeline as it hangs limply around his waist, shifts downward to the back of your knee. he lifts your leg to drape it over his shoulder. his cock wedges deeper into you, the sensation completely blocking out the way your knee hits the roof of the car on the way up.

in the very back recesses of your brain you conjure enough sense to be happy that jaemin had driven your suv out tonight. fucking him in his sedan would’ve been doable, but a little trickier.

you would know since he has in fact, fucked you in his car before. comfort makes all the difference.

it had been him that needed you that night, the dress you’d worn for jeno’s birthday party at his favorite club making it impossible for jaemin not to watch you all night. just seeing you standing and talking to your group of friends had him locked in, his heavy gaze watching your every move. when he finally got his hands on you, he could only focus on dancing with you for a single song before he was dirty talking you out of the club and onto your hands and knees in the backseat of his bmw.

tonight, it just so happened to be your turn to shamelessly ogle your boyfriend like a woman starved.

in your defense, it is literally his fault. he’d been teasing you all day.

your boyfriend had taken it upon himself to wake you up this morning by crawling between your legs and rousing you out of your sleep with his lips attached to your clit. apparently, he missed you so much while you were asleep he couldn’t wait to have a taste of you as soon as his eyes opened.

you didn’t have a problem with it, nor did you have a problem with the way his hands took every opportunity to find your hips, your side, your ass, or your hands with his own as the day went on. you cleaned your shared apartment before getting ready for your friends’ housewarming gathering later and jaemin couldn’t keep his hands off of you - again, not that it was a bad thing.

what did end up being a bad thing - for you at least - is how wound up he left you, only to leave the house for your outing tonight looking like the sexiest man on the planet (as if he didn’t already do that every day).

jaemin wore dark denim jeans and a casual blazer - a very normal outfit in your opinion.

except, under his blazer was a form-fitting tank top. the get-together was only a handful of friends and the hosts made it clear it was an extremely casual time so neither of you had to worry over an outfit to wear. still, the moment jaemin decided to take his blazer off and you watched as his shoulders, arms, and the thick vein that runs up his bicep whenever he flexed became visible, you wished he had worn a three-piece suit instead.

how the hell were you supposed to be normal when he had riled you up so much over the course of the day? and of course, even in the car ride over, he had let his hand rest on your bare thigh, fingertips casually resting just under the bottom of your skirt. you wanted more than anything for him to creep those thick fingers up the rest of the way and find their way into your panties.

he didn’t though, he instead talked about how excited he was for donghyuck and his partner, your best friend, to have finally been able to get their own house. it made jaemin talk wistfully about when the two of you would do the same. your heart would normally be fluttering in your chest at how sweet your boyfriend of four years is and how much it made you fall even more in love with him when he talked about your future together.

and while yes, you were feeling that giddiness, your pussy was also throbbing, panties sticking uncomfortably against you as his fingers danced on your skin, but made no move upwards.

so, again, it was hardly your fault that you needed him so badly. that’s why, at some point in the night, you simply lost all decorum. it was when jaemin came into the kitchen while you were trying to decide which appetizer to distract yourself with. he was still just in his undershirt and had the nerve to smile at you.

“hey, beautiful,” he immediately came over to place a kiss on your cheek. your back was to him so he casually draped himself over you, back-hugging you as he surveyed the food options. “having fun?”

you hummed in affirmation, suddenly getting distracted as he pressed into you, reaching over your body to grab a slice of pizza. his chest was so solid behind you, his warmth striking the match that was your overwhelming thirst for him.

“yeah, but i’d be having more fun if you were fucking me right now.”

jaemin’s eyes widened, head tilting as he studied you. “oh yeah?” he sounded genuinely intrigued. “and where is that coming from?”

rolling your eyes, you scoffed at him, pushing your ass back into his bulge behind you, jaemin letting a grunt sound in his throat.

“you’ve been messing with me since you woke me up!” he smirked at the memory, obviously not sorry one bit. “then, you spent the whole day groping me like a perv!”

he gasped, “first of all, i’m offended that me wanting skinship with my girlfriend whom i love so much makes me a perv!”

“still! and then you walk around this house in this tight shirt with your arms just out!”

“is it not warm in here?! it’s not my fault donghyuck won’t let us turn the aircon lower!”

you flipped around, wrapping your arms around his waist, surprising him again.

“jaem, please can we go home? i need you so bad,” you gave him your best puppy-dog eyes, jutting your lip out for good measure. jaemin’s willingness to give into you would typically depend on how nice or how mean he was feeling that day.

unfortunately for you, it was obvious he wasn’t going to give you what you want anytime soon. a downright devilish smirk overtook him as he pressed against you, his bulge pressing into your belly. your grip on his waist tightened as you felt in real time, his dick hardening against you.

“honestly, i had no idea i was getting you so flustered, baby girl,” one of his hands moves to hold your waist, grinding against you once more. “but now that i know, i think instead of leaving now, it’ll be much more fun to make you wait until later.” as soon he says that, he snatches his hold on you away, separating your bodies before you can grab at him again.

“jaemin!” you pout, arms falling to your side.

“besides, it would be rude to leave our friends’ gathering celebrating this milestone in their lives! you wouldn’t want to do that, right sweetheart?” you cross your arms. that was true - you didn’t want to leave the celebration early just to run off and have sex with your boyfriend - even if your body was practically buzzing at the sight of jaemin just standing in front of you. “plus, sometimes i just love making you unbearably horny. you get so fucking desperate for me.”

he had the nerve to giggle at the scoff you let out as he blew you a kiss and left the kitchen.

and you hate how right he was. you were so pathetically desperate for him. you kept your eyes on him all night and quickly got tired of just looking, so you decided to flip the script on him, using every excuse you got to touch or rub up on him.

your ass rubbed against him as you inserted yourself into a conversation with he and jeno. your nail scraped across his firm chest as you scooted past him to get to the bathroom. you made sure to grip the highest part of his thigh when for “stability” as you rose from the couch to go talk to a friend.

it was partially to tease him right back and partially to fulfill your scorching need to feel him up. you were admittedly shameless in your lust for him, but so what? if it’s a crime to want to have sex at every opportunity with your incredibly sexy boyfriend then you’ll gladly accept your sentence.

by the time the night was over and goodbyes were shared, you knew your actions were anything but criminal.

“just so you know, when we get home i’m going to do so much more than eat your slutty little cunt out,” he says low enough for only you to hear, which combined with the way his fingertips dug into your lower back as he walked you to the car, was anything but a punishment.

excitement coursed through your veins - when jaemin started to say absolutely filthy things to you before using his soft words as foreplay, you knew he wanted you in more of a carnal way than anything slow and drawn out. he needed you then just as badly as you had needed him.

“oh yeah?” you mused, pretending to be surprised by his admission. you unabashedly smiled up at him, amused by the way he frowned back in response.

“yeah,” he said simply, opening your passenger door, holding your hand as you stepped up and in, not saying another word.

you had known he was going to fuck your brains out when you got home, but what you hadn’t known was that he’d decide he couldn’t wait anymore. that instead of waiting to bend you in half at home in your bed, he was going to pull onto a side road on the way home and do it. the road was still under construction, so it was a dead end with no one nearby, all the workers having gone home for the night.

jaemin drives his hips into the backs of your thighs faster, the sound of skin-on-skin echoing against the fogged-up windows.

“ja-aemin!” your back arches up when he takes his thumb away from your clit to readjust your hips on the seat.

he tuts at you, his hand quickly moving back between you to smack at your clit, the sting pushing a squeal out of you.

“patience, my slutty baby. i’m making sure you don’t fall.” he smacks your bud again, hand going back to your hips and forcefully slowing your movement down. he ignores your pleas and protests for him to do anything other than stop.

“jaemin, no no no no please!”

“fuck i love when you beg for me like this. my pretty, needy girl.”

“yes, yes, jaem please, i’m so needy.”

jaemin bites his lip, slowly rotating his hips. it’s not fast enough to give you any relief from the pressure building in your stomach and you whine out louder in frustration.

“needy for what exactly?” he’s teasing you because of course he is.

“you, jaemin!”

“what about me?”

“oh my god, jaemin, your dick! i need your dick and i need you to fuck me and make me cum! please!” you’re more irritated when you say it, your orgasm having been taken from you.

“i know, i just like to hear you say it,” jaemin chuckles.

“you’re so annoying!” you grunt, trying to move your hips to set the pace yourself. instead, jaemin presses them down into the cloth seats, leaning over your body to bring his face directly in front of you.

you stop your squirming to gasp, surprised by his proximity. his dark eyes sweep over your face before he’s leaning down to kiss you, plump lips moving against yours with hunger and determination. you instantly kiss him back, eyes slipping closed as jaemin’s tongue caresses yours, both of you sighing into the other. jaemin reaches up to cradle your head and he deepens the kiss, but only for a few more seconds. he pulls away, giggling at the tiny “noooooooo” you whimper, going so far as to kick your legs the best you could, throwing a tantrum.

jaemin coos at you, sitting up straighter. his hands skillfully reach for the buttons on your blouse, undoing them with little effort and pulling your bra up, making sure your tits fall out the bottom and tucking the unneeded fabric under your chin.

“jaem! i’m going to die if you don’t finish what you started!”

jaemin brings a heavy hand down, smacking your right tit, making you scream. “hush, brat! i wanted to see your tits while i fuck you.”

you humph at him, turning your head to look away from him with an attitude.

jaemin rolls his eyes as he repositions himself, slowly entering your waiting pussy again, and watches as your eyelids flutter closed, frown melting away as your mouth opens.

“you’re lucky i need to fill you up now or else i’d make you wait till we’re home.”

you barely hear him as inch-by-inch of jaemin slides into you until he’s bottomed out, stretching your walls out as if he hadn’t just been pumping into you minute ago.

jaemin carefully positions both legs over his shoulders, bending down into your space, both to witness the stunning expressions he’ll get you to make up close and to not risk hitting his head on the roof of your car.

the position allows it to feel as though jaemin fills you up even more, crowding so close to you that all you see, all you hear, all you smell is jaemin. if you lean up close enough, you may be able to kiss him again so you can taste jaemin too.

that stops being an option once he finally starts to move his hips and thrusts into you, wasting no time to ease you into it. jaemin grinds into you with a force that makes the car start to shake again.

“shit - jaem!”

“feel good, baby girl?”

“so so good!”

jaemin shuffles his lower half closer to you, pushing you further up the seat with each rough thrust. he manages to lean closer to pepper your faces in sloppy kisses with each snap of his hips.

“so fucking beautiful,” jaemin groans, the blunt nails on his left hand dig into the sensitive skin of your thighs as he bullies his cock into your sopping pussy harder, harder, and harder again, your cries for him nothing but incomprehensible nonsense at this point.

when the positioning of his hips changes an inch, it’s just enough to have the fat head of his cock knocking into your g-spot over and over again.

“fuuuuck! yes, right there jaem baby, right there!” you shriek, nails digging into his thick biceps as you cling to them, your head spinning with pleasure.

“open your eyes, pretty girl,” jaemin nearly growls. “look at me when you cum.”

it feels almost impossible, but you do as you’re told, prying your teary lashes open to meet jaemin’s gaze. you’re greeted with the sight of your boyfriend, eyes dark, pupils blown out as he stares you down. his black hair is sticking to his face as a few sweat droplets trail down the side of his face and drip, making his beautiful, honeyed skin glow.

your eyes follow, catching sight of the way his gold chain dangles over you as he snakes his hand between your bodies again, this time returning his fingers to your aching clit, twisting and rubbing harsh circles into the sensitive bud with a purpose.

“jaem…baby, i-i i’m so close. s-so close!”

“yeah? gonna cum for me baby girl?”

“mmhmm!”

“gonna be my good girl and make a mess for me to clean up when we get home?” jaemin’s words are strained, his own end also approaching.

“yes! anything please, jaem, just wanna cum! can i, please?”

“only if you look at me while you do,” he commands, pulling your gaze away from his sculpted chest.

when your eyes lock with his, jaemin immediately smiles at you again, this time in the cocky, self-assured way he always does when he watches you breaking down and falling to pieces for him.

“cum for me, pretty girl. come on and cream all over my fat cock,” jaemin demands, finger pressing against your clit at the same time that his cock drills into your spot for the final time needed to have your toes curling and vision turning white as you cum, nails nearly breaking skin on jaemin’s arms as you do.

through the static filling your ears, you can hear his moans getting louder and high-pitched.

he keeps his heavy eyes locked on you until he can’t anymore and his body stutters, then he’s cumming hard, lids clenching shut as ropes of white warmth fill your hole and drip out around jaemin’s twitching dick.

he rests his head against your chest, his sweaty hair making your bare skin itch. even so, you let him stay for a few more minutes, enjoying the warmth of his breath with each exhale.

eventually, you have to call his name a few times, tapping the top of his head. he doesn’t respond at first, so you have to shake him harder and he finally sits up.

“hmm?”

“were you asleep?!”

“no, but i didn’t wanna leave. your tits are so soft,” jaemin pouts, hands cupping both of your breasts and squeezing. he almost gets you - your head nearly lolling back as his thumbs roll over your nipples.

you fight it though, pinching his side which makes him yelp.

“you can play with my tits when you get us home if we leave right now.”

your boyfriend sighs, but straightens himself up, gingerly pulling his softening length out of you. he can’t help but hesitate to watch in fascination when his cum leaks out from between your puffy pussy lips, only looking away when you close your legs.

“babeeeeee!”

“babe nothing! home now!” you push him away with your foot and sit up to pull your skirt down.

“fine, but you better hold all my cum inside you till we get there. i need to fuck it back into you.”

you pretend to think, jaemin making eye contact with you through the rearview mirror when you hesitate. “mmm okay…but only if you promise to fill me up again right after.” jaemin lets out a huff through his nostrils, throwing the car into drive.

“seatbelt, baby,” he tells you, waiting for you to do so before he peels away. “good girl.”

the timber of his voice has you clenching around nothing, already missing the heaviness of jaemin stretching your walls to their limit.

“anything for you, sir.” the words are sticky sweet and jaemin has to count to five because he’s sure he’ll explode if you keep it up.

“you love playing with me, don’t you?” jaemin mumbles through gritted teeth, wishing more than anything that red lights were never invented as he slows to a stop, traffic laws delaying him in getting to his destination.

“i do. not my fault i always wanna fuck my gorgeous boyfriend.” you lean up when you speak, placing a kiss on the shell of his ear.

“fuck baby…” he trails off, getting momentarily distracted when your tongue starts licking up the side of his neck, your teeth biting down on his shoulder. he refocuses when you pull away, smiling flirtatiously at him in the mirror. “it’s a good thing then that i love fucking my gorgeous girlfriend, huh?” he looks at you for a second longer before stepping on the gas when the light turns green.

“it’s because we’re perfect for each other.”

you see jaemin’s reflection in the driver’s side window and catch him smiling wide - the sight prompting you to do the same.

“yeah, i guess we are,” jaemin concludes, still smiling as he makes a turn, your apartment only a few blocks away. you watch his reflection, loving his smile as you always do, but you also can’t wait to see the way he’ll smile down at you when you get home and you get his dick in your mouth.

jaemin’s smile is your favorite feature of his - no matter how you’re making him do it.

net tag: @kbookshelf

#wkcnet #kwritersworldnet #kbookshelf #jaemin #na jaemin #jaemin x reader #jaemin smut #nct dream x reader #nct dream smut #nct smut #nct x reader #kvanity #ksmutsociety #jaemin fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct fanfic #jaemin imagines #nct dream imagines #nct imagines

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enwoso · 7 months ago

Text

FORGOTTEN — alessia russo

*this has been sitting in my drafts forever, it’s a bit of a longer one, some angst but happy ending, also pls imagine arsenal were in the champions league knock stages for the sake of the plot🙏🏻*

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as her front door opened the first thing you did was practically through yourself at her, arms around her neck as your mouth presses soft to hers and you being eager after not seeing the blonde for over a month which only came to haunt you hours later.

alessia had kissed you back with just as much enthusiasm, of course she did, it was knee jerk reactions but once you finally pulled away and met her gaze as she was stood frozen still with a blank look on her face - a picture of total confusion.

"what are you doing here? why didn't you tell me you were coming? i'd have picked you up from the train station." you thought she was joking when she first said it, waiting for a teasing smile to curl at the corner of her lips as she tapped her fingers under your chin and kisses your cheek, while mumbling a 'i'm kidding - i missed you'

but she didn't - her head instead cocked to the side a little.

her gaze catching a glimpse of the roses you were holding as her brow crinkled even more, "what are the flowers for?" she asked. you blinked at her slow and unsure.

still trying to figure out if she was teasing you or not but her face gave you the answer, her face was blank as her eyes took in your form.

you looked down at the roses before looking back at the blonde almost as if you had forgotten about the flowers you had bought mere minutes before knocking on her door.

a feeling of something similar to dread beginning to boil low in your stomach as a heat crept up your neck, a one that felt a lot like humiliation as you wondered if the joke had been lost on alessia and she actually wasn't interested in the stupid bunch of roses.

"you." pressing them into her chest as you watched closely as her fingers wrapped carefully around the stems.

"i mean,, i obviously didn't just get you flowers, your other gifts are in my suitcase but i was at the train station and as i was waiting for a taxi there was a little florist and i remembered you always teasing me about how your always the one to send me flowers and i never send them back to.. you" the last word coming almost out as a whisper from you as it happened so quickly.

a wave of realisation hit alessias face as your words registered to her as the pit that fell deep in your chest when you understood her expression. pulling your head back and letting your hand drop from where it was settled on her waist and swallowed through the lump that had settled in your throat

"you've forgotten haven't you." plain and simple.

alessia had forgotten about your two year anniversary, she had clearly forgotten your plans to spend the weekend together that you had planned months in advance which she ensured you she had made sure nothing was in her schedule that would disrupt said plans.

but here you were standing like an idiot in her doorway with a bunch of roses and gifts you had spent months perfecting.

tension was building in her hallway as alessia's blues eyes were soft with guilt and regret. her mouth tipped with your worried lines and the only motion you seemed to be able to find was shaking your head as well as a disbelieving huff of laughter breaking the thick silence like a knife.

"you forgot didn't you? that it was our anniversary? that i was coming?" you could feel the pressure which was building behind your eyes, the hot flush and the sting of fear as you dig your nails into your palms to keep them at bay, willing yourself not to cry.

it was silly really but you had spent the entire train ride from manchester to london as well as the short car ride from the station thinking about finally seeing her, finally being in the comfort of her arms again and she has t even been bothered to remember the date.

you hadn't thought to remind her, hell you didn't think you would need to. she had assured you so many times that the date was marked in her calendar and that she would make sure she didn't have anything booked for that day. but maybe you should have sent her a heads up text.

"i didn't, no-not on purpose" alessia swallowed, setting the roses down on the small table beside her front door and taking a step towards you. her hands over her face as she rubbed her jaw. "i knew when it was, fuck i know when our anniversary is!"

"oh really?"

"i had the plans, i was gonna book the restaurant that you like to go to when you come down and take you to the new museum that opened up in town cause i made sure i didn't go with the arsenal girls cause i wanted to take you there first as you and i bought your gifts-"

"and what after all that planning, it still just suddenly slipped your mind?" you say bluntly taking alessia by surprise by your sudden coldness towards her.

"no! it's not like-"

"how do you forget something like that?"

"i've been busy with-"

"you're not the only one who has a busy schedule alessia! i have a life too, for fuck sake i do the same job as you and i still managed to remember our anniversary!" there was a hitch in your voice as well as a tremble to match the wobble of your bottom lip and this time it was alessia shaking her head she reached out trying to cup your cheek. only wincing when you jerked away from her touch.

"i've just been so distracted with training and the barcelona match, we play on wednesday and my head just been a mess. we've been working non stop, ive not nearly had enough time to do anything - it's all ive been thinking about. there's so much pressure on the me and the team and it's just taken over my whole life this past week!"

her hand fell tucking it away inside of her jogger bottoms which were plastered with an arsenal logo and the number 23, a way to stop herself from reaching for you again.

you could see the clear tension in her shoulders, a clear apology and pain in the way she was looking at you but you weren't sure how to actually accept it, you didn't know how to stop the ache that was ever so present inside of your chest. "i'm sorry"

"i know how important this match is to you, and i know how much work and effort you out in and i'm so incredibly proud of you, you have no idea but.."

"but what?"

"i thought i was important to you"

"no, don't do that" alessia began shaking her head as a evident frown appeared as she watched you quickly swipe your fingers beneath your eyes. "don't make out that i don't care about you or that i care less about you then football - you know that's not true."

"you forgot our anniversary because of a match, alessia! that's says a lot."

"and i’ve said im sorry! i lost track of the days not of you! i got too in my head and didn't realise. this isn't- this has nothing to do with how i feel about you. i love you and that you're the most important thing in my life, you know that but i just-" her voice began to crack and she made a face, taking a step back from you when she realised you were on the other side of the door.

your suitcase knocked over from your earlier eagerness to wrap yourself around the blonde. "i made a mistake" the blonde admitted, it coming out as a whisper as she fiddled with the rings on her fingers.

"it's a pretty big mistake." your cheeks were now wet but you weren't sure when you'd actually began to cry or when your stomach began to feel funny, that feeling of being in a free fall with the sleeve of your hoodie. you wiped over you face as you let your gaze fall to point over alessia's shoulder.

"people don't just forget things as big as this because of their job. relationships aren't supposed to feel second best."

"i've said i was sorry, i can make it up to you. i'll make the dinner reservations now and we can go to the museum tomorrow - you know i didn't mean to forget, i wouldn't have forgotten something like this if everything going on wasn't so chaotic!" the blonde sighed, pulling out her phone, probably to make the reservation for the restaurant but you began to talk again stopping her in her tracks as she looked at you dead in the eyes.

"maybe that isn't enough" you needed her to stop looking at you - needing some space to cry so you could get rid of the hurt, anger and embarrassment that had crawled onto your skin.

wanting also nothing more than to push the roses into the bin in her kitchen because looking at them were making the tears build even quicker.

"c'mon love, please i'm sorry. you have to let me try-"

"i don't have to let you do anything."

you probably sounded childish and maybe your reaction was, she had apologised and explained and maybe deep down you did understand but in the moment all you felt was anger. she had hurt you, making you feel as though you and your relationship was easily forgettable.

there was a breakdown building inside of you and as stupid as it may sound - the last place you wanted it to happen was in front of her.

"y/n" she spoke softly, as you sniffed and turned a blank expression at her. "i don't want to talk about it anymore. you forgot, you're sorry, no biggy right?"

"that's not what i said and you know it, let me fix it.. please."

"it's whatever" you mumbled moving your way towards your suitcase, tugging it into the house as you awkwardly pushed the door closed and moved you way around alessia's body. the blonde reaching out for you arm but you tugged it away - throwing a look toward the flowers. "you can just throw them in the bin, t'was a stupid idea anyway."

"y/n, baby."

"don't-" the sigh that escaped your lips was watery, the tears starting to fall again now that you were no longer facing your girlfriend. "can you just leave me alone?"

you hadn't spoken since then, both of you annoyed. you were embarrassed and hurt and alessia was riddled with stomach sinking guilt which she was unsure of how to get rid of.

she was avoiding the bedroom and likewise you were avoiding the living room which was a hard task considering she needed to use the bathroom and you need to use the kitchen. but with each passing it was met with a awkward silence - neither of you clearly ready to talk.

it was unlike the two of you. you rarely every fought and even if you did it would be over something silly like who had missed the other the most and would be resolved within an hour being brushed away with many breathy i love yous and mumbling apologies.

but this was different and not something that was small or stupid and couldn't simply be forgotten about because alessia had made you laugh.

she had forgotten your two year anniversary, forgetting that you had been due to visit her after being apart for a little over a month - this being the only time you both had off since you were still playing at manchester united and she had left to join arsenal.

the hurt that had unfolded in your chest as the image of her blank look reappeared in your head was nauseating.

embarrassment taking over you as the moment replays over and over in your head. you felt ridiculous standing there on her front step, roses in your hand that you had bought for her as it had always been a very long going joke between the two of you that you never returned the favour, hanging limp at her side.

it now being a little after four am and you were yet to find any sleep, the soft hum of traffic on the streets of london as a small breeze hit your hands creating small goose bumps on your hands.

your gaze glued to the street lights and cars which drove slowly down the street - each one having their own story. only blinking when the coldness of the air hit your eyes making them water.

her bed felt uncomfortable and cold - hence why you were sat outside on the small balcony at four in the morning. the lack of the blondes warmth was very noticeable as you had spent the entire night tossing and turning - huffing in annoyance and readjusting your pillow at least 25 times.

you wondered if she was still awake, still mulling over the afternoons fight - if she was feeling as bad as you did going to sleep on an argument after spending the whole day not talking.

it was now almost morning and you were missing not being pressed up against her, missing the way her head would be resting against your chest as she kept your hand intertwined with hers. there was no point trying to go to sleep so with a huff you pulled yourself from the floor of the balcony and pulled a discarded hoodie from the floor over your head.

for a few seconds you simply pressed your nose against the fabric of the collar, her scent of strawberry shower gel and perfume still lingering. tickling your senses and making your tummy dip once again.

it was stupid how you could miss someone so much when you were only a few apart.

you were still mad, annoyed and hurt that something so important has slipped her mind but you did understand the pressure she was under while still trying to prove herself at arsenal. you wanting to forget that yesterday had happened and spent the weekend the way you'd originally planned.

but you were too stubborn and even more so when you were hurt and so instead of finding your blonde lover in the living room and cuddling yourself against her. you instead made your way to the kitchen, your sock covered feet barely making a sound.

the living room was dark beside the tv where the low hum of a film was making it difficult for you to hear if alessia was sleeping or not. but taking her lack of movement as a sign that she was, you carefully made your way past her. flicking the switch to turn the kitchen light in with a slight wince.

the first thing your eyes were drew to once they adjusted to the bright light was the roses, placed neatly in a vase on the kitchen counter - the protective wrapping gone and your throat suddenly went tight alongside a fresh set of tears prickling your eyes.

the flowers had been an impulse were an impulse buy, an inside joke which turned bitter when you realised it had gone over alessia's head but still she had set them out for everyone to see.

the second thing was that she had left your favourite mug beside the coffee machine, everything prepped and ready for you to use, a clear indication that despite your lack of communication the night before, she had clearly been thinking about you.

both were small gestures, meaningless really on a bigger scale but they had your heart squeezing tight with a small smile tipping at the corner of your lips - the first once since you had arrived.

while you were waiting for the coffee machine to heat up you rearranged the roses, an unnecessary task but was really just to keep your mind from wanting to alessia.

if you thought about her you'd probably begin to cry again, your emotions still getting the better of you but as if she knew you were subconsciously thinking of her she appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.

her pink silk pyjama bottoms were slung low on her hips, a black hoodie covering her top half - the strings different lengths and was something that drove you crazy and taking everything inside you not to go and fix the strings with careful fingers, to press your lips to her chin.

her blue eyes were rimmed with dark circles, tired and dull and no doubt a mirror image of your own appearance and an obvious indication she hadn't slept either.

her blue eyes darting between you and the rose petal you were rubbing between your fingers. "they weren't a stupid idea"

the coffee machine began to splutter behind you, hissing a little with age and without replying you spun to make your drink. alessia's gaze sticking to your back and you could feel it as you added a coffee pod to the machine and slotted your cup beneath the spout.

without realising you reached for alessia's own mug, it being a habit of muscle memory alone and took out a vanilla late pod from the box on the side.

"look i know it doesn't matter how many times i say sorry, i know it doesn't make it any better but i am forgetting was a shitty move and football isn't an excuse but you have to know that it wasn't because of you. i think about you constantly when your not down in london, everything i look at here reminds me of you but this has been the week from hell and I've let everything get on top of me, and i'm so incredibly sorry."

her voice was thick with emotion, a harsh scratch to her usually honey sweet voice that made your insides ache. you knew she was sorry and you knew she's try anything in her power to make up for it and you also knew that your silence was slowly eating her alive as the hours went on but you weren't exactly sure what to say.

you weren't sure if you could say anything without getting upset again. instead you settled for grabbing a spoon, keeping your gaze locked in your coffee.

"tesoro." alessia was only a few feet behind you. "you can't ignore me forever"

"i can try."

"yeah?" she settled against the counter at your side back pressed into the cupboard and regarded you with lowered lashes.

you didn't meet her gaze, only swapping the old coffee pod for her new one and slipped her mug where you'd had previously been, an action which didn't go unnoticed by alessia.

"what about when you need something off the top shelf?" she said trying her best to crack your silence, but the only noise being made was the tinkling of the spoon you were using against the sides of your mug.

alessia sighed, "hey, look at me." her fingers hesitantly found your face, unsure if you were just going to move out of her reach but you didn't. her soft touch against your jaw as she tilted your head up until your gaze finally found hers. her brows crinkling in concern.

"i'm sorry, okay? and i'll continue to say it as many times as i need to until you forgive me. i know this isn't something small and i know i’ve hurt you and i hate that, you know you always come first and above anything and anyone else and i'm sorry if i made you feel like that wasn't my intention"

her thumb brushed over the skin beneath your eye and it was impossible not to turn your cheek into her palm, seeking comfort in her touch. "it's not an excuse, but i've nearly had anything to do but train and it just slipped my mind what this weekend was - but that doesn't mean you or our relationship are ever second best. i love you so much, just-just please let me make it up to you"

the coffee machine beeped when alessia's coffee was finished but not one of you made a move to grab it, gazes locked in a heated stare, one that was unfurling a hundred different emotions inside of you.

she looked unsure, worried that you may turn away from her, that this weekend was going to be spent in silence and that you were going to leave on bad terms. the longer you stared at her the more her face seemed to relax.

"let me fix it please"

"it was a shitty thing to do and it hurts"

"i know and im-"

"but i don't want to fight, i’m no in way saying it's okay or that it doesn't feel any less like shit but i know the amount of pressure you put yourself under and i know that this match is important to you." you fianlly allowed your hand to rise to her shoulder and pull at the strings of her hoodie making them the same length, fingers grazing the warm skin of her neck.

knowing this relationship is important too.

"you're important to me me." alessia brought your fingers to her mouth, pressing a series of soft kisses over your knuckles. "i know it doesn't make up for it but i really did have everything planned"

"it's okay."

"it's not and you know it's not" she tipped your hand, palm up and skimmed her mouth over the centre her eyes locked on yours. "but i want to fix it, if you'll let me. i have the day fee - i can book the restaurant and we can go to the museum and do whatever you want, i know it won't be the same but.. please"

there was a note of desperation in her tone and it was only then that you realised how close she'd drawn you to her, your bodies almost pressed flush together. you knew the full ache in your chest wasn't going to disappear immediately but you also knew alesssia was sincere in her apologies and in her determination to things right and it was obvious that despite yesterdays anger you wanted to spend today with her.

"i'm still mad at you."

"i know, i deserve it."

"but i've missed you."

alessia gave you a little nod, slipping her hand around the back of your neck her thumb brushed back and forth over the skin beneath your hoodie.

"i've missed you too, i promise today will make up for it!" her breath fanned warm over your lips and you hadn't even realised you'd filled your mouth towards her. the hurt that had been wedged in your chest was beginning to lift and being replaced with a burning need to have her arms around you.

it had only been hours but you felt her absence like a lost limb, a need blooming deep inside your bones to be pressed flush against her.

"i think you can start by kissing me."

"that i can do!"

alessia smirked slightly, bending her head and using her hand that was already in your neck to pull you in and close her mouth over yours. the kiss was soft and slow, a gentle drag of her lips over yours. the sweet and languid stoke of her tongue when you opened your mouth and angled in closer.

the tips of her fingers grazed your jaw and then she was cupping your cheeks and pressing your back into the counter, tugging lightly at your bottom lip before returning to kissing you.

heat trickled thick like honey down your spine, your hands fisting the material of her black hoodie tugging her impossibly closer before you wound your arms around her waist.

you didn't want to stop kissing her. you wanted to stay in this moment forever wanted to keep swallowing the sound she was making low in her throat until you were dizzy off them but alessia had other ideas. pressing a few single kisses to you mouth, her blue orbs opening and licking to yours - a gaze a lot lighter then when she first walked into the kitchen.

"i bought you a gift. for yesterday, it's been in my drawer for months and i spent the whole night staring at it thinking i wasn't going to have the chance to give you it"

she kissed the corner of your mouth and then your forehead before letting her hands drop from your face, once of them reaching into the pocket of her hoodie.

"i got it made at this jewellers when we were in australia, i thought it would maybe be a small piece of me that you could have with you even if we are not together" she blinked, sending you a sheepish smile as she pulled a little box, holding it between you and the palm of her hand.

"it probably silly but i remember you saying while we were in australia that you wanted a new necklace, one that you could wear all the time so-"

"lessi." you cut through her rambling with a soft laugh, letting your gaze dart down towards the box.

"huh? oh- sorry, here open it" doing as she said, you took the small box from her. lifting the top and revealing a thin gold chain and a tiny dainty gold charm - the number 23 sat pretty in the box, no bigger than the size of your pinky nail. a rush of emotions shifting through you, a small smile breaking out across your face as you fingers grazed over it.

"thought it might be nicer than my initial"

"it's beautiful"

"i love you, and yesterday- yesterday was stupid and i loyalty fucked up but it wasn't because of my feelings for you" alessia swallowed thickly, the worried crinkle had returned back between her brows but you were quick in lifting your head and pressing a reassuring kiss to her mouth.

"i know - and not because of the necklace but because of everything else you do for me, yesterday was a mistake and i know you love me and i love you, so much. what happened wasn't going to change that" you smiled softly and with your free hand grazed your fingers across her jaw before settling your hand against the back of her neck, pulling her softly into another kiss.

you let the kiss speak for its self and say everything you hadn't already, putting all your love and adoration into it. making sure that alessia knew how you felt and that you weren't going to let yesterday become a roadblock on your relationship.

feeling her hands on your waist beneath your hoodie, her finger tips warm as she gripped you, pulling you closer. the necklace was still in the palm of your hand, alessia realising this when she felt the edge of the box jab her in her stomach. the blonde pulling back, settling her forehead against yours.

"i love you, la mia bella ragazza"

"i love you, lessi."