#my favorite is the blue striped one :>>>

[bundrops-n-fluffytops]

Someone requested some Eddie paci icons so here ya go!!

Please credit and repost if you use it!!

[druidonity2]

Tried to design an outfit for Anduin that felt like him, but also didnt use any blue. Something comfy and more travel suited. I based the colors off his non-blue outfits from WoW and HotS, his pink one is based on his older self in the Legion comics.

[yardikins]

She’s a ten but her favorite background Rageons are ones that are really hard to find clear shots of in crowd scenes

[mtsworkshop]

Saegusa Ibara icons in Leonie at Dawn! Please credit if using, likes/reblogs appreciated as well!

Part of my Enstars Edit Roulette challenge.

[strang3lov3]

Lie to Me

Joel catches you red handed (3.7k)

Tags- dark!joel, i think we should call him darkdaddy!joel all in favor say aye, one shot, smut, dubcon, just the tip, oral sex (f! receiving) fingering, come shot, comeplay, overstim, handjob, coercion, masturbation, daddy kink, innocence kink, inexperienced/virgin!reader, biiiig girthy yet unspecified (legal☝️) age gap, weird feelings and some good ol' fashioned shame, hitting, implied abuse, Joel is fatherly in a hot and disgusting way, calls himself 'your old man', gratuitous use of the nicknames kiddo and pumpkin, Depeche Mode references because you can’t stop me. Balanced mix of Joel being mean and tender.

A/N - been a while since we’ve seen this guy, huh? Everyone give him your warmest welcome <3 i wanted to warm up with him before getting started on this joel's whole story so, here it is. and I am FINALLY done with this semester, so for about a month you’re gonna get a heavy fucking dose of strang3lov3. Apologies in advance. @endlessthxxghts, you know what you did you sick fuck. thank youuuuuu ♡ and thank you @beefrobeefcal for your eyes!

The warm bath Joel gives you each night is your favorite part of the day. Always. Washing it all away, both the good and the bad. All that dirt swirling down the drain. The delicate soap, the tingling when the water is a little too hot. Bath time is quiet. Joel doesn’t talk much, and neither do you. And he’s gentle, gentle as he washes you. Tender hands rubbing your skin, mindful of the bruises and contusions and the scratches and scrapes he leaves you. He tells you he doesn’t like to hurt you, but that you leave him no choice when you disobey the way you do. 

After helping you out of the tub, Joel thoroughly dries you off with a clean yellow towel. He’s a little rough as he does it, rubbing your skin too hard, tugging at your hair as he squeezes out the water. “Joel,” you whine. 

“I know, I know. M’tryin’ to be gentle,” he says. “You’re tender-headed. Makes my job difficult.”

“You always call me difficult.”

“‘Cause you are difficult, pumpkin. Challenging. Got my work cut out with you.”

You shiver when Joel hangs your towel back up. He unscrews the lid of a container of lotion, scooping out a generous amount. He rubs the cold cream into your skin, up and down your arms and legs. You’re not such a big fan of this part. “It’s cold, Daddy.”

“Sorry, kid. Nothin’ much I can do about that,” Joel replies.  

“Could warm it in your hands.”

Joel eyes you, brow raised. You’re testing him. He knows to expect it, you pushing his buttons. “And you could grow some thicker skin.” 

After moisturizing your skin, Joel reaches in the cabinet for a tube antibiotic cream and dabs a bit on each of your wounds, rubbing the ointment in. “Yeah…they’re healin’ up good,” he murmurs. “Be gone in no time. Alright now, sweetheart. Bedtime.”

Joel lightly swats your ass and sends you to your room, following closely behind you. His knees crack more frequently with his steps, fuck, he’s getting old. 

You bounce on the bed as Joel opens a drawer of your dresser, pulling out different pajama sets. “Let’s see what we got here,” Joel says, more to himself than to you. He shows you both options, “Blue stripes or green plaid.”

“That’s not green,” you point out, “That’s teal.”

“Mm. Clever, smartass. Now pick.”

“Neither. I wanna wear one of your shirts.”

Trouble. You know exactly which strings to pull with Joel wrapped around your finger. He rolls his eyes, biting down on a smile as he puts both pajama sets in your dresser and leaves to fetch you one of his t-shirts. “Arms up,” he tells you as he returns. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Joel pulls the shirt over your head, the fabric covering just enough of your body to keep you decent. You pull back the quilt on your bed and slip under it, and wrap a plush blanket around your shoulders. 

“Scoot.” Joel sits right next to you, the springs of the bed groaning and creaking with his weight. “God dammit,” he hisses, adjusting for his sore back. Joel reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out his slightly crooked reading glasses to put them on, annoyed at the way they never sit quite right on his face. He runs a hand through his graying curls, then turns on your lamp and reaches for the book he’s been reading you. He uses the dog-eared page to find his place in the book, something that makes you cringe. “I don’t like when you do that,” you tell him. 

“Do what?”

“Fold the pages.”

“You sound like the librarian,” Joel jokes. “Why don’t I find you some paints or somethin’ and you make me a pretty bookmark then, deal?”

“Deal.”

“Whatcha gonna paint for me?” Joel waits for your response, peering down at you as he pushes a bit of hair out of your face. “Don’t know yet?”

“Mm-mm.”

“S’okay. You got time to decide.”

Joel begins reading to you, making sure you’re following along with him. You rest your head on his strong bicep, your hands wrapped around his forearm. You trace the veins there, counting the scars and marks on his skin. His hands are so weathered and large. 

When Joel finishes the chapter, he closes the book, this time putting a penny between the pages to hold his place instead of folding the corners down. “We’ll read more tomorrow. Maybe watch a movie instead,” he offers. Joel puts his massive, warm hand against your cheek and pulls your head towards him, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then both of your cheeks, then the tip of your nose. “Get some sleep, pumpkin.”

Joel leaves then, shutting your door but not before turning on your nightlight. You miss his warmth immediately, the weight of him on the bed with you. He didn’t make you finish tonight, either. You’re sort of…itching for it, like you didn’t know how much you need it until now that it’s out of reach. 

You’re not supposed to do it on your own. Joel says you don’t know what you’re doing, that only he can touch you there, be it his fingers or his tongue. But you’ve touched yourself there on your own before, and it felt good. Not as good when Joel does it, but almost the same. 

You spread your legs wide, your hand going straight for your clit only for a moment, then bringing your fingers to your mouth to spit on them, just how Joel does. You reach for your pussy again, rubbing tight circles into your clit. 

It feels okay. Fine. You close your eyes, focusing on the small amount of pleasure you feel. Picturing things you find erotic, like the romance books you read in without Joel’s knowledge or Uncle Tommy, Joel’s brother. It makes you feel a little guilty to fantasize about him like this, but it feels thrilling, too. A special, private secret only you know about. 

You hold your breath as you work yourself, alternating between clockwise and counterclockwise circles in an attempt to determine which way feels better. Which direction does Joel do it? You spread your legs wider, testing out bigger and smaller circles. It’s been maybe five minutes maximum, and you’re feeling impatient. That’s another thing Joel tells you that you are, along with being difficult. Impatient. Stubborn, too. 

Joel pushes his fingers inside you when he makes you come, so you try doing that to yourself. Nothing much happens when you do it, sort of like when you try to tickle yourself. Your fingers aren’t as thick, as long, as deft as Joel’s are. But you try all the same. 

Whining, whimpering Joel’s name, the squeaking of the bed while you rock your hips into your own hand, Joel hears it all on the baby monitor hidden in your room. Broken moans in the crackling static. 

He’s only curious, wanting to measure your self control, if you even have any. You know you’re not supposed to be doing this and yet, you’re doing it anyway. Defiant. He gives you an inch and you take a mile, every single time. Always touching what’s forbidden to you, be it the handle of a door left unlocked or your own cunt. 

Maybe he’s gone soft. Maybe Joel’s too easy on you. He doesn’t like to punish you, but what else can he do when you leave him no choice? 

In truth, Joel likes this about you. It’s the thrill of the hunt, the game. And when his fingers are inside you, despite all that whimpering and crying, what’s really there? Arousal pooled at your entrance, twitching thighs and moans you do your very best to swallow. You’re all bark, no bite. You like it this way. His way. You just need a little guidance. 

Joel listens to you fuck yourself on your fingers for a little while longer, palm pressed against his bulge as your frustrated noises pour in through that tinny speaker. He understands, truly. Can’t sleep without orgasming - he can’t either, for fuck’s sake. He’ll be listening to you all night if he doesn’t make you come soon. And therein lies the problem - Joel gives in too much. He’s spoiled you rotten. 

Joel gets up and out of bed, takes heavy steps toward your bedroom. He can practically see you behind that oak door even before opening it - legs spread beneath the quilt, brow pinched together as you huff and pant in both frustration and focus. 

Joel twists your door knob slowly, and silently pushes the door in. He takes the quietest of steps toward your bed, standing above you with his arms crossed over his chest as he stares down at you. You look just as wrecked as he predicted. 

“Psst.” 

You freeze, eyelids flying open to see Joel glaring at you in the dark, his features harsh under the lack of light. You quickly move your hand-

“Nuh-uh, don’t you move,” Joel interrupts. “What’re you doin’ up so late? S’well fuckin’ past your bedtime, young lady.” 

“I’m not-”

“Think it through. You really wanna lie to me? Even after what happened to ya the last time you pulled that shit?”

Your cheeks heat up, your hands shaking. “I’m…uh…” your voice wobbles, you swallow thickly. 

“Spit it out.” 

“I’m touching myself.”

“I see that,” is all Joel replies. A silence hangs as you wait for him to continue. The ticking clock sounds louder, the groaning wind against your window. “But you know you ain’t s’posed to be doin’ yourself, kiddo. We talked about this. S’the rules, right?”

“Right,” you whisper. 

Joel nods, biting his inner cheek as he sits down on your bed, holding one of your feet through the quilt. “You’ve got quite the tendency of disobeying your daddy, you know. What’m I gonna do with you?”

You shrug and turn away from him to avoid his disappointed expression. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I just thought you forgot to make me come tonight, daddy, but I needed it. Please don’t be mad at me right now. I’m really sorry.” 

Your apology tugs at Joel’s heartstrings. “Got me wrapped around your fuckin’ finger,” he groans, rubbing his large hand up and down your leg. “You win, kid. I’ll let it slide. But you promise me it won’t happen again, ‘cause I don’t like havin’ to punish you.”   

“I promise.”

“Attagirl,” Joel whispers, smiling at you. He leans forward to press a kiss against your forehead, his wiry facial hair both scratches and tickles your skin. “Alright, now. Let’s see what you’re workin’ with,” he says, folding your quilt down your torso, and bunching it at the end of your bed. “Sounded like you were havin’ trouble, hm? S’that right?”

Joel doesn’t have to wait for your answer to know the truth. He pulls your hands away from your center, fingertips pruned and slick with your arousal. “Oh, pumpkin,” he tsks. “Look at the mess you made.” 

He spreads your legs far apart and sits between them, then licks one of his thumbs and brings it to your core. He slides the digit up and down your folds, circling your clit here and there. “Joel,” you whine breathlessly. 

“I know, I know, I know. Poor thing. You’re all outta sorts, huh?” he coos. “Gimme your hand. You don’t know what you’re doin’ at all.”

You hold your hand in front of yourself. Joel takes it, sucking on your fingers, growling at the taste of your wet before lowering it to your pussy. “Gotta give her a bit of finesse,” Joel instructs, dragging your fingers up and down your folds, just how he did with his own fingers. “Can’t dive right in. Gotta work up to it. See?” 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Am I doing it right? Like?”

“Yeah, jus’ like that. Give her a lil’ more, now. Rub that clit. Gentle, steady,” he directs, helping you to touch yourself. It fills him with a primal sort of power, being able to instruct you how to best touch yourself, knowing you’ll never be able to replicate his perfection. “Nice an’ slow, now. That’s it. Nope, slow it down,” he reminds you. 

You whine his name, frustrated with how long this is taking. “It’s not - it’s not working.”

“Easy, sweetheart, I know you’re hurtin’. M’only tryin’ to help,” he says. “Gotta work on that attitude.”

You speed up your ministrations, frantically chasing a release that is painfully out of reach. Joel swats your bare thigh, a warning. “Gotta breathe,” Joel advises you. “Can’t force it. Let it come to ya.”

“I’m try-”

“I know you’re tryin’.”

Your tummy rises and falls with your uneven breaths, fingers slipping on your wet heat. You can’t seem to find the right pace to rock your hips at, and you’re biting your lips raw to conceal the words threatening to spill that Joel doesn’t let you speak. 

“Alright, enough of that.” Joel pushes your hand away, and you cry in frustration. “You’re hurtin’ her. Daddy’s gonna take care of this now,” he whispers more to himself than to you, lowering his body. His hot breath fans over your slick cunt as he puts both of his wide, meaty hands on the backs of your thighs, opening you up wide for him. Poor fucking pussy, all swollen and throbbing and aching. Joel swallows hard and presses his lips against your folds, mumbling, “Gonna kiss her all better,” he says.

He begins with kisses, kissing your lips, nipping at your inner thighs. You’re dripping, leaving a puddle of arousal on the sheets. Joel can feel the heat radiating from your sex, how you vibrate with a need only Joel can satisfy. He squeezes the generous flesh of your thighs with his fingertips harshly, just shy of bruising you. Though he could, if he wanted to. But he is curious what your skin looks like unblemished by his violence. 

With a flattened tongue, Joel licks a long stripe from the bottom of your slit right to the top, rounding your clit before repeating the action. The room is quiet, save for the way Joel breathes steadily in and out of his nose that’s pressed against you, teasing you. And your quiet moans, sweet little whimpering noises spilling from your lips with every exhale. 

Joel circles your entrance all wet and sloppily, taking care to press a couple of more kisses against your folds before dipping his tongue inside you, tasting your arousal from the hole it drips from. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper. 

“Hey.” he swats your ass cheek. “Is that how good girls are s’posed to use their mouths? Hm?”

“No, daddy.”

“Uh-huh. ‘Cause those pretty lips of yours are for kissin’ daddy’s cock. Right?” 

“R- yeah. M’sorry.”

After chastising you for swearing, Joel dives right back in. Your hands find Joel’s scalp so you can tug on his hair, twirling your fingers around those silvery curls. The action makes Joel smile. God, your innocence. 

He licks at your slick folds, sucking one into your mouth and then the other, neglecting the little part of you that needs him the most. He savors you like this, the scent of your musk, your arousal like honey on his tongue. When you’ve soaked his face, when your thighs are twitching under his wide palms, only then does Joel circle your clit. You shake and shudder, muscles straining under Joel’s grip as he forces you to stay wide open to eat the most sensitive piece of you. You’re dripping wet, clit throbbing and pulsing under his tongue. “Focus right here, pumpkin,” he murmurs, reaching up to grab your chin and tilt your face down. “Daddy wants to see his favorite eyes.” 

Once you nod, Joel lets his hand trail back down your body. Instead of using it to hold you open, he turns his head to the side and brings two calloused fingers to his mouth, soaking them in his saliva before pushing them into your entrance. He curls them against the spongy spot inside you, its location is committed to his memory. You dance on his tongue, squirming and whining and writhing as he works you with his fingers. Joel pulling your strings, watching how you move. You’ll do anything.

“Yeah, daddy’s fingers do it better, huh?” he taunts. “Poor girl.”

God, it’s hard for Joel to eat you in the way he knows he should. It’s meant to be an act of love and it certainly is in some ways, sure it is. But really, it’s all for Joel. It’s all selfish, voraciously consuming you like you’re the first meal he’s seen in days, biting at your flesh like he means to tear it off the bone. His tongue laves over your sex, wiry beard rubbing your inner thighs raw - he’ll put ointment on your skin there, too, to calm down the irritation. 

He strokes that sweet spot inside of you with his fingers, pleasure building quickly. It blooms deep in your gut, roiling up your spine and down your legs. “Oh, Joel,” you moan, babbling incoherently. “Oh, f- oh…” 

The wet, sticky noises as you’re kissed, licked, sucked, lapped at, teased, stroked. The quiet as release approaches - holding your breath, muscles tightening, a pressure building. And then oh, there it is, there you are. Coming on Joel’s tongue, gushing into his hand. 

Joel licks his palm, then sits back up. He sets your feet back down on the bed, mindful of your achy thighs. Your moans have quieted, replaced with peaceful breaths as you lie with your eyes closed. “Nuh-uh, I ain’t finished with you quite yet,” Joel says, lightly smacking your cheek to wake you up. “You know the drill. You get yours and daddy gets his.”

Slotted between your legs, Joel kneels then, knees cracking as they press into the plush of your mattress. He pulls the string of his worn-out pajama pants and pushes the waistband down, and his hard cock lands against his tummy with a smack. “Gimme a hand, pumpkin,” he says, and you hold out your hand for him. He spits into your palm, then wraps your fingers around his thick shaft. “All the way up an’ all the down,” he reminds you. “Jus’ like I showed ya.”

Joel leans over you as you begin stroking him, gliding your palm up and down his length. 

“Tighter,” he says, reaching between your bodies to squeeze your hand tight. He keeps his hand there as you work him, keeping the pressure to his liking. “Attagirl.”

He works a twist into the motion now, bucking his hips into your hand. You admire the look of his soft tummy, the gray and white hairs smattered around the base of his cock. Joel’s cock pulses under your touch, in time with his beating heart. Tip red and swollen, aching for more, more…

Joel presses his forehead against yours and drops lower, taking control of the moment. With your hand still under his and holding his stiff length, Joel guides the tip of himself to your slit. He groans when the head meets your pussy, the warmth and the wetness. He lowers himself, the end of his cock prodding right at your entrance. “I think you’re ready for it,” he tells you, notching the tip inside. 

Your heart pounds, and you put a hand against Joel’s chest. “N-no, not yet, daddy.” 

“Toughen up, kid,” he urges, pushing in a little bit further, then pulling it out again. “Gotta rip that bandaid off sometime. Gonna let me do it?” Joel taunts you with the threat of fully penetrating you, dragging the tip of his cock up and down your folds, fitting it inside your tight entrance before pulling it out again. “On three. One, two…”

You shake your head.

Joel sighs deeply. “You’re breakin’ your daddy’s heart, pumpkin. I hope you know that.”

But it doesn’t change your mind. Joel tsks, then goes right back to fucking the head of his cock on your vulva. He focuses less on getting himself off, but rather getting you off again. Rubbing the blunt head of his cock against your still-sensitive clit, tapping it momentarily before rubbing it in the opposite direction. 

You breathe heavily and shakily, “T-too much,” you say. 

“Y’wanted to come bad enough you broke the rules for it,” Joel replies in a calm voice. “You’re givin’ me another, jus’ like this, and you’re gonna say ‘thank you, daddy’ when it’s over.”

He pushes his pelvis forward and resumes teasing your clit, moving the head of his cock in circles around your clit, causing you to twitch at the sensation. A quick dip inside your cunt and then he’s doing it again, but rubbing left to right. Like the good girl you are, you rock your hips in time with his movements, moaning as the pleasure builds once more. Joel coaxes one last orgasm from you, leaving you a twitching, throbbing mess. “What do you say?”

“Thank you, daddy,” you whisper. 

Joel kisses your forehead and allows you to relax on the pillows as he works himself, still using your hand. He breathes heavily, grunting and groaning as he quickens the way he pumps himself, thumb swiping over the head and the underside of his cock where he’s most sensitive. The pressure builds deep in his gut, just as it did yours, and his balls tighten. His brows knit together and he grits his teeth as he comes, growling as he paints his spend onto your sex. “Oh, Christ. Goddamn, fuck. Yeah,” he breathes, gathering his come onto the tip of his cock, then pushes it inside you before he softens. “You’re a good kid,” he tells you. “Good girl. Good girl, pumpkin.”

-

more dark daddy!joel here

If you enjoyed, please reblog with kind thoughts and consider sending an ask 🩷💜 your sweet words go so far in keeping me motivated and I love when you help this blog feel like a community

Kitty gifs instead of pics for you today I hope that’s allowed 🥹

[gold-medal-ribbon]

Halfway through knitting this blanket!!

[fox-guardian]

[ID: Three sets of digital drawings of Alice Dyer from The Magnus Protocol in different outfits on a brown background. She is a thin white trans woman with freckles, shaggy brown hair with faded pink tips, crooked teeth, and pink painted nails, and she is always wearing pink cat-eye glasses, two pairs of silver earrings and silver snakebites, with a varying third ear piercing as well.

The first image features three pajama outfits.

The first is a baby pink cami, dusty pink shorts, and burgundy slippers, in which she also has her hair tied in a bun with a burgundy colored scrunchie. She is standing hunched and yawning.

The second is a dusty pink cami, gray PJ bottoms with pink stars and moons, a dark blue robe, and burgundy slippers. In that one, her hair is down and extra shaggy, and she is scratching her side, lifting her shirt a bit.

The third has her with nicely curled hair, wearing a baby pink satin robe, a black cami, and burgundy stockings, slippers, and matching makeup. She is standing coyly lifting her robe slightly with one leg lifted and a hand to her mouth.

The second image features three work outfits.

The first is of her in a pink and gray flannel shirt, dark blue hoodie, patchwork flannel maxi skirt, and dusty pink converse. She is also wearing a gold and red braided bracelet and a pink one. She is standing in profile, smiling with her hands behind her back.

The second outfit is a blue, pink, and brown flannel shirt over a grey undershirt, a pair of ripped blue jeans, a brown and pink flannel tied around her waist, brown socks, dusty pink converse, pink bracelet, and a dark blue hoodie draped over her shoulder. She is standing with one hand on her hip, the other holding her hoodie, and she is smiling as thought talking.

The third outfit is a burgundy blouse, long navy skirt, brown belt, and burgundy shoes. Her hair is also done in nice curls and she is wearing soft burgundy makeup. She is smiling awkwardly and shrugging.

The third image features casual outfits.

The first is a soft pink tank top with a navy bra peeking underneath, a frilly brown maxi skirt, pink slip-ons, and a grey and brown flannel purse. She is also wearing the three bracelets previously shown with, and pink donut earrings. She is smiling with her hands behind her.

The second outfit is a burgundy bra, baggy brown and grey flannel hanging off her shoulder, a pink and brown flannel tied around her waist, a navy knee-length skirt, white crew socks, and dusty pink converse. She is also wearing a grey bracelet, a pink beaded bracelet, tooth earrings, and navy eyeshadow and burgundy lipstick. She is standing leaning to the side with one hand on her knee, smiling and holding up a peace-sign with her other hand near her face.

The last outfit is a dusty pink crop-top with a boat on it, dark blue hoodie, a short burgundy-plaid skirt, shredded navy tights, gray knee-high socks with burgundy stripes at the top, and dusty pink converse. She also has her usual bracelets as well as shark earrings and smeared burgundy lipstick. She is jumping up, smiling and shouting, with one hand punching into the air.

end ID]

~~~~

ALICE OUTFITS <3 these were soooo fun to do omg. i have my own favorites out of these, please tell me yours!! i'm really happy with how they all turned out <3

[mywritersmind]

GETAWAY - FC43

summary : An italian weekend getaway with your favorite loving boyfriend. Filled with strawberries and hammocks.

listen up : inspired by @purinfelix ! super sweet and blue vibes

word count : 884

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I yawn, walking down the kitchen and through the doorway that’s wide open, revealing my favorite part of this house. The balcony is long and filled with a couch, hammock, and table, all overlooking the crystal blue ocean. My feet are cold against the wooden floors but the moment I step outside, the sun warms my face.

I smile softly when I see him. He’s in a chair, quietly looking at the water. I wrap my arms around my lovely boyfriend, my coffee and strawberries in my hands still.

“Morning Mi amor.” His strong arms move so his hand is resting over mine, tilting his hair back so his waves brush the side of my face.

He gets a hold of my arm and gently pulls me around him, motioning to sit on his lap. He puts down his mate and welcomes me to sit on him. I put my breakfast down and wrap my arm around him, looking up into the fact I so love.

Franco’s hand goes to my leg, smiling. “Nice shirt.” I look down at what I'm wearing. It’s his shirt actually. A blue and white striped button down paired with underwear to match.

“Thank you!” I run my hands through his hair, messing it up at bit, “I stole it from a very handsome man!”

He tilts his head a bit, kissing my cheek, “He’s a lucky man.” I rest my head on Franco's shoulder. He smells like peppermint and coffee. He snatches one of my strawberries from my bowl and pops it into his mouth.

I breathe in the fresh air, closing my eyes and smiling. “You’re a vision, mi amor.” He kisses me on my lips this time, brushing my hair back softly.

I fell in love with him because of how soft he is. He never rushed me, never yelled. Him and those big brown eyes do everything to love me.

“What are you thinking about today?” I ask, looking out at the water and birds passing ahead as his lips go to my neck, “Farmers market?”

He hums against my skin, not giving any answer. I can’t even be mad at his lack of words because his lips against me and this morning view is anything I could ever ask for.

⋆༺

Our day is slow and peaceful, his hand never leaves mine and as soon as we get back to the house we change. Franco will go along with anything I do and I may be abusing my power a bit when I see our matching pajamas.

I can’t help but giggle at Franco in the blue and white porcelain design, they’re locally made and absolutely gorgeous. I have the pants and top while he seemed far too happy that they had no other pajama top in his size.

It takes approximately twenty minutes for the two of us to get into the hammock without falling out. He wraps his arm around me as I nuzzle into his chest, looking up at the star filled sky.

“I never want to leave.” He says as jazz plays from his phone across the balcony, “Let’s stay.”

I smile and look up at him, “We have to leave. But we can come back anytime.” I kiss his jaw as his hand brushes up and down my arm.

“I love you.” It makes me smile.

“I love you too.” I wrap my arm around his middle, his shirt soft against my skin. I look back up at the stars, feeling complete peace in the cool air, my warm skin, and my boyfriend next to me.

“Those stars look like a dick.” And he ruins it all in one sentence. I groan and he starts laughing, hard, shaking the hammock.

“Franco!” I scream and hold onto him tighter as we swing, “Fran- I swear!”

He's still laughing, his chest moving up and down rapidly under my head. He holds me tighter as we both try to stay still, “I’m sorry!” He laughs, “I’m sorry! You love me! You can’t be mad!”

“You’re the wor-” I go to jokingly hit his arm but when he moves to block me, we flip.

We’re on the floor and laughing seconds later. Franco grabs my face, trying to be serious but still laughing, “Are you okay!?”

Literal tears are coming out of my eyes which he wipes away with his thumbs, still looking at me worriedly. I just laugh again and pull him closer to me, pressing my lips against mine.

He pushes his hand into my hair, “Did you hit your head?” I shake my head and kiss him again, climbing on top of him.

He laughs against my lips, moving his hands to the side of my legs. “Attempted murder!” He says as I gasp dramatically.

“You were the one who made us fall!”

“Oh no!” His hand goes to my head, “You did hit your head!” I hit his arm as he breaks into laughter again and I move back next to him, looking up at the stars from the floor.

He kisses my head and tugs me against him again, “Those stars look like a heart.”

I raise a brow, “No they don’t.”

He shushes me and points, “Just squint.”

[dearsnow]

A WAITING GAME

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

word count: 20,135

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The days without his presence were much harder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can see!”

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

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

“Definitely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure you will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course! Go ahead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bobby would be your closest confidant for another Christmas.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You never had to wait long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guys, I’m not sure it’s a good-”

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. You exchanged glances with Rob.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As you wish.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. I’d like that,” you smiled. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Congratulations!

Congratulations!

Congratulations!

…pleased to offer you…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From: robertfl0yd444@gmail.com

Hello, my love!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love,

Bob. 

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

To: robertfl0yd444@gmail.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love,

Hometown Girl.

From: robertfl0yd444@gmail.com

Good morning, Randle,

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

Thanks,

Robert Floyd.

From: robertfl0yd444@gmail.com

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

Love,

Bob.

To: robertfl0yd444@gmail.com

It’s alright, enjoy your lock lol.

Love,

Not Randle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You saved the flower petals, pressed in a big dictionary under your desk. You saved every flower you had ever been given. Parts of them, at least. Your corsage from senior prom, the bouquets Bob had shipped to your door, and the marigolds your mother grew in her new garden are spread out across your bedroom. Most of your memories are tucked away in secret places, only noticeable if you know where to look.

After the wedding, you returned to your little apartment, smack in the middle of the busiest part of your town. The cars speeding by were significantly worse than Bob’s light snoring. It was the first time you had lived on your own, though, which was supposed to be important. You were free.

You could eat ice cream for breakfast, or in the late hours of the night, and you could sing loudly in the shower. You could even buy most of the clothes you saw in stores on your brand new salary and organized savings. However, you found that you didn’t necessarily want to do all that. You just wanted every day to be over already. Work was too much, waking up to an upset stomach was too much, checking your email every thirty minutes and seeing nothing was too much, and those goddamn people in the room above yours were too much, constantly blasting music and stomping around. Like always, you found yourself waiting for things to change again. You imagined you were anywhere else with anyone else, finding a sick sense of comfort in the fantasies. You thought you put those little phases behind you, but being an adult alone was so frustrating that you found yourself going back to old patterns.

Margie was caught up in the married life, Aaron was constantly working, and your frequently long-distance boyfriend was states away. The only comfort you got was periodic visits to your old neighborhood, checking up on your mom and Bob’s family. 

You stood in the middle of Georgia Floyd’s flower bed, tugging at a weed, hands adorned with thick, weathered gloves. The thing just wasn’t coming out. The little thorns were sticking to your sleeves, and you were drenched with sweat. It was the beginning of fall, and the leaves were turning all shades of fiery reds and somber oranges, but the sun was still high in the sky. The thriving asters and dahlias next to you taunted you with their beauty, bending in the slight breeze. Georgia stood in the shade of her doorway, one hand on her hip and the other holding a glass of lemonade. “Sweetheart, you’ve been workin’ so hard here. Take a drink, go home, be merry. I’ll get B… I’ll get someone else to pick up where you left off, ‘kay?”

You sighed, wiping the perspiration away from your brow with your forearm. “Yes ma’am. Thank you.” She handed you the glass and shooed you away from her flowers, making sure to take the gardening gloves you had peeled off and tucked under your arm. 

You hadn’t expected to be weeding today, but with Jodie at a friend’s house, Chris a state away on a work trip, and Bob’s father, Harold, off somewhere, she needed a helping hand. She had gotten a bit weaker over the years, no longer able to bend as well as she needed to in order to clear away the low-growing weeds, and you loved her more than enough to help out. You were her second daughter, she always said. A part of the family, no matter what. You walked across the street to your mom’s place and opened the door with your key. 

She had to go grocery shopping a while earlier, leaving you alone in the house. Given that the grocery shop was less than five minutes away by car, she should’ve been back by then. You didn’t pay it much mind, though. You just stepped into your bathroom, hung up your clothes, and took a well-deserved shower. 

After a good forty-five minutes of steam, hair dryers, and other pampering, you were ready to do absolutely nothing. The chair on your small front porch was all set up, and you held a book in your hands, ready to sit and see the yellow and orange sky cascade over the pages. When you stepped through your doorway, however, someone was waiting for you.

Bob. His hair had changed since you last saw him. It was longer but still military-issued, combed neatly, not a lock out of place. He was dressed well, too, with slacks and a slightly open button-up. You were suddenly glad that you had put on the prettiest dress in your arsenal—one he knew very well. He opened his mouth and then shut it with a look of determination.

“Bobby? What are you doing here?” you asked. He wasn’t expected back for months yet, and you certainly didn’t think he had time to visit. You were happy to see him, of course. Hell, you were overjoyed to be in his presence. But what was he doing?

He stepped forward, shined shoes crunching on a bit of gravel, and you met him in the middle. As he pulled you into his arms, hugging you tight to his chest, you breathed him in. He was really here, back home, after all that time. You finally pulled away after what seemed like eons and a millisecond all at once, and he clasped your hands in his, your book forgotten on the ground. His eyes were stormy, brimming with what looked like an onslaught of tears. You rubbed your thumbs up and down his hands worriedly. 

“Is everything okay?” Your voice came out as a tremble, slightly terrified at the prospect of something having gone wrong. Did someone die? Did he almost die? It didn’t help that he cleared his throat like he was steeling his nerves.

He put one of your hands on his chest, over his fluttering heart, and pressed a gentle kiss to the other. “There’s something I need to ask you.” You nodded, too concerned to speak. “I’ll… I’ll start with this. I love you so much it hurts me. When I first met you, years ago, I knew that I wanted to be around you forever. Your kindness, curiosity, your heart, everything just pulled me in and never let me go—not that I ever wanted to go, no, I knew you were too special to leave behind. I had to put so much in the past, but not you. Never you. I grew with you, and laughed with you, and loved you in a million ways. Throughout all that time, you waited and gave me your utmost support when my dreams took me a thousand miles away. Now, I’m still living a thousand miles away, but I don’t want you to wait here anymore. I want you to come with me and stay.” He took a breath, and his heart hammered under your fingertips. “What I’m really trying to get at is that I want to have a future with you. I want to be your husband.”

The world stopped in that moment. Did you hear him correctly? His eyes searched for a response on your face as he slid a black, velvety case out of his back pocket. He slowly lowered to one knee, keeping eye contact, and opening the box to show you the shiny contents.

“Sweetheart, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

You brought your hands up to your mouth. After all this time, the moment you dreamed of as a kid was finally happening. You nodded once, dropping down on your knees and nodding a million more times. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you,” you breathed, voice loud and quiet at the same time. Your arms found their place around him, like they had many times before, but something was different. New, in a good way. Like you were safe, completely safe.

Like while his ring was on your finger, you would never have to wait to be loved again.

You smile at the printed digital photos spread out on your bed. Bobby hugging you in 5th grade, the both of you in matching witch and black cat costumes, pumpkin buckets dangling from your fists. A snapshot of “the shaving incident”, in which you had come out with cut up legs and Robert with a cut up face. There was even a silly photo of him carrying you bridal style on your prom night, with your arm thrown over your face like a swooning princess. Your favorites, though, are the proposal photos.

Your mom hid around the corner to take pictures of your silhouettes in the sunset, while Bob’s mom pulled out her camera from across the street. They had coordinated everything perfectly, down to the fake shopping trip and weeding break. It was no coincidence that your mother washed the load of laundry that contained your favorite dress first. The meticulous planning from the people who know your routines best still makes your head spin when you think about it. They all knew about the proposal for at least a week before it happened, and they made sure it was absolutely perfect, down to the manicured background and time of day. Bob even managed to get away from work for a couple days to propose.

The ring is beautiful too. It’s the perfect mix between flashy and subtle, the main stone is cut exactly how you like it, and the band is the right amount of tight. When you asked your fiance about how he got it so exact to everything you had dreamed of, he said, “research”. You later found out from his mom that he had bought the ring while he was still at the Naval Academy from the best jeweler he could find: Randle Montgomery. Knowing that he was planning on proposing all those years ago makes it a different kind of special.

Your closet is open, the boxes and boxes of memories all pulled out and scattered around your room. The dictionary under your desk has been opened, and the flower petals and other flower material placed carefully into a container. A few minutes earlier, you even stumbled upon a written agreement you and Bob signed in middle school, agreeing to marry each other if you weren’t taken by 30. The wooden rose he gave you, also in middle school, was halfway sticking out of a cardboard holder, leaning on a series of first day of school photos Georgia took. You’ve taken to calling her Mom now, at her request.

All of your photo albums are open, with most of the pictures taken out. You’re trying to compile everything, every memory, into a new, large album. The new album is brown leather, stamped and embroidered with little inside jokes and important moments. Inside, you’ve documented every single stage in your life with Bob.

Some of the pictures even feature Margie, her husband, Aaron, Jodie, Chris, Georgia, Harold, your mom, Mickey, and everyone you’ve met along the way. Seeing the compilation of every person, every moment, that made you who you are brings tears to your eyes. 

You spend the next two hours tucking pictures, flower petals, and anything flat enough to fit into the album. By the time you’re done, your hands are coated in a fine layer of dust, and your front door is opening. 

“Honey, I’m home!” the intruder calls, and you hear the telltale jingling of him placing his keys on the bookshelf in your living room. You stand up, wipe your hands on your pants, and walk out of your shared bedroom.

Bob unzips his flight suit to the middle, letting it hang around his waist for the time being. His boots are neatly placed with the rest of his shoes; he’s tidy even when he’s tired, which is a phenomenon you don’t understand whatsoever. His hair is messy, his glasses are crooked, and he’s giving you a tired little smile. It was surely a long day for him. You open your arms, and he slouches into you like he was meant to be there.

“I was just about to get dinner started. Go take a nap, and it’ll be done by the time you wake up,” you murmur, kissing through his undershirt. He shakes his head softly. His hands hold steady on your waist, his pulse humming through the contact. 

“I’ll help. What were you thinking for tonight?”

You lead him into the kitchen, pulling out various ingredients from the pantry on the way. Pasta sauce clinks on the tile counter as you say, “Pasta. It’s quick enough. I’ll put mushrooms in the sauce, too, as a treat. You deserve it after the day I’m sure you’ve had.”

“You read my mind, baby,” he sighs, resting his head on you. “We had some rough ejections, but nothing too scary. And there’s talk of calling a few people to San Diego for a Top Gun mission, so every little mistake pulls people further away from that opportunity.”

He steps away from you for a moment. The absence of warmth sends a chill down your spine, but after he opens the box of spaghetti and turns up the heat on the pot of water you’ve placed on top of the stove, he stands behind you again. You look up from your place chopping vegetables. “Do you want to go back to San Diego? I feel like we just got settled in Lemoore.”

“Well, I’d like to marry you before moving, but I’d be honored to be a part of Top Gun again. Those missions are… dangerous, though, to say the least, so I want to have a wedding ring with my dog tags.”

You tap on his chest lightly, eyebrows furrowed. “If you do get chosen, you’d better be careful. I’m not prepared to be a widow.”

He smiles, a little sadly and a little reassuringly. “I’ll do my best.” 

When you hear the pot of water boiling, Bob drops the pasta in, and you turn your attention to the sauce simmering in your saucepan. You add mushrooms, onion, some ground beef, parmesan, and a lot of love. Before long, both parts are done, and you put a heaping portion on your fiance’s plate.

Your dining room furniture is basic, just a wooden table and two chairs. Neither of you have been able to decorate the house to your standards, considering you’re both working and you just moved in a month ago. It’s nice, though. Not permanent by any means, but nice. 

Not having any big decorations make it easier to move, you figure. By now, you know very well that living with a Naval aviator means moving from place to place until he gets a permanent station. Even then, there’s a chance they could change their minds and slap him onto the opposite side of the country. You’re just hoping that you can get married by a beach before that happens.

Speaking of the wedding, you need to do some serious planning. You swallow your bite of pasta. “I finished the photo album today.”

“Really? That’s great!” Bob beams. “I’m going to call the venue after work tomorrow to see if the date we picked out is possible. If it is, I think we can put the album by the entrance so people can look through it.”

“That sounds really good. Margie’s coming down next week to help me pick out decorations and stuff, so we need to decide on a color palette.”

“Hm… what do you think about our favorite colors? So we can represent both of us together.”

All the wedding talk makes you both excited and tired. You want to marry the love of your life and have a great time doing it, so every detail needs to be looked over again and again to ensure it goes according to plan. Bob’s a great help, despite him having so little time during the day. Living with him, finally, is like a dream come true. 

Everything is like a dream come true now. When you were little, before the Floyds appeared in your life like a fairy god-family, you prayed for something like this to happen. You begged and pleaded for your mom to get better, for you to have friends, for you to fall in love. Every part of that, miraculously, happened. Your life changed from miserable to joyous in a matter of days.

You’re going to marry the boy next door, and you’re going to be happy doing it. As you settle into bed, with his arm around you and a ring carefully placed on your bedside table, you think that all you’ve ever waited for has finally come to lull you to sleep.

Taglist: @withahappyrefrain @seitmai @winelover27 @shinzowosasageyoooo

[yamujiburo]

if you don't mind, would you rank ash's outfits from worst to best? (also on the same topic, would you have wanted to see him in ethan, brendan, victor, and any other missed protag's outfits?)

Oooh this is a great question I've never really thought about

Shoutout to @/leafbladex_yt for this cool edit of all Ash's fits! (it's helping me judge the clothes alone rather than the art style). Ranking under the cut!

Going from least favorite to most favorite! AG, DP, SM, JN, XY, BW, OS

AG- I'm not a huge fan of this one. I feel like there's not a lot helping break the colors up in this design. The block of blue and the white "U" shape are competing to draw your eye and it feels unbalanced. I feel like if the "U" shape was on his chest or took up more space it'd help

DP- This outfit is pretty similar to AG's except Ash has a popped collar rather than a hood. However this one has two things going for it that I like. The "V" shape placement is nice and is what I wished the AG design had and also the black shirt is very unique compared to all of Ash's other designs that tend to be blue-leaning! Also like the extra pockets that make the pants feel less empty than the AG one

SM- Another unique look for Ash that I do like but isn't my favorite. It's simple and I do like the pants a lot actually but idk I just want a little more. The shoes make me laugh a bit. I like that they're going for a more slick look for the shoes but the little circles on em feel vaguely clown-like haha

JN- From here on I really like these designs! I like the JN shoes a lot and they honestly be my favorite shoes of the bunch. Not the hugest fan of the hat but I really like the vest and the white undershirt with red stripe. The balance and colors are really nice! My only gripe is the color of his shorts. It's not egregious but the purple that's only slightly different in value compared to the vest is weird to me. It works but idk I think a higher contrast might've been nice or just going for simple black shorts would've felt better to me (?)

XY- Don't have much to say about this one! It's just a solid, clean design. The hat is fun, the simple shirt with white trim and just enough lines to make the design look cool but not crowded is great! I also like the black undershirt. It's subtle but this design would look weird without it

BW- UGH this design scratches my brain just right. I looove the tall collar/hood, the 1/3 blue 2/3 white combo is soooo clean especially with the blue accents for the pockets. It's also nicely broken up by they yellow zipper and bold black "U" lines to separate the blue and white. So beautifully balanced

OS- This is a hard design to beat. It's just so iconic. Love the league symbol on the hat and the white panel in the front of that hat (forgot to mention I like that about the BW design too). The green gloves are great, I'm kinda sad they just defaulted to black in his other designs. The blue overshirt is great with the white collar/white sleeves. The yellow trim on the bottom, for the buttons and pockets give it just enough visual interest while keeping the design interesting. Keeping the overshirt open for the black tshirt is sooooo nice. It draws the eyes to the center and balances well with the light jeans. Love that it's tucked in also so the overshirt is noticeably longer creating even more variation. The belt is also a great touch! Love a belt. Belts are such a nice way to break up a design. The cuffed jeans are a look and I love that the shoes are designed but not over designed. The black and white combo with red accents is balanced super nicely. 10/10 no notes.

As for an outfit I'd wish we'd seen Ash in........ honestly Victor's. It would have been a huge deviation from what Ash usually wears, similarly to SM. Idk if it would have been my favorite look but it would be so wildly different to see Ash in long sleeves, actual skinny jeans and a beanie haha. Might have to draw this at some point

[rainbow-banana-slug]

eye strain warning

gummy 🌈🐬

[plain text: gummy 🌈rainbow emoji🐬dolphin emoji]

(^ shark emoji not blue enough)

[id: dark skinned black person with williams syndrome in decora kei fashion walk with posterior walker. person have pink hair with rainbow bangs n all sorts hair clips in hair & stickers on cheek. have many rainbow necklace include one with double yoke egg. wear blue sweater with white cloud where one sleeve is yellow horse with pink leash thing. there many pins on sweater include gummies (gummy shark, peach ring, gummy worm, gummy bear) & green crayons & others. she wear cross body green dino plushie (bag?). rainbow vertical stripe pants with rainbow n star chain. one shoe red one shoe blue. posterior walker made of different color crayons. there text around character describe her which be functionally described below. end id]

🌈🐬.

girl (complicated gender) with williams syndrome n love decora kei fashion & bright colors (she call them happy colors/excited colors)!! she has lotssss of bows n head pieces n hair clips n necklaces n bracelets n other decoration & big wardrobe with bright colored clothing! she love wear different outfits but it consistently decora kei.

she love gummy candy & named herself after them >:) blue/red gummy worm & blue gummy shark her favorites (blue gummy shark also my favorite. to look at.)

williams syndrome (also known as williams-beuren syndrome) is genetic developmental disorder micro-deletion of some of chromosome 7. for gummy, WS lead her have moderate intellectual disability (ID) & global developmental delay, level 2 autism, ADHD-c; congenital heart defects (CHD); hypotonia (low muscle tone), & loose joints.

like many people with WS, gummy very friendly & social! she love hugs & talking to people & talk lot & very physical in show affection! but also often struggle tell when other people not want be social / be social with her, be called “a lot” & “too much,” which lead her have trouble make n keep friends n make her sad—even tho WS make her extra outgoing, she also still get sad n mad n not hide it. she also struggle with danger awareness & often treat strangers like would with friend, n it been something that her support team very focused on work with her entire life because this lead her be very easily taken advantage of n be put in danger.

also like many ppl with williams syndrome, language & verbal abilities her strong suit—tho it’s relative to her moderate ID, so one shouldn’t expect she write speak communicate like average person without struggle. her words more simple, n still need many help for communication, including various form of AAC & aide person.

she has aides that pretty much 24/7 present because WS & moderate ID but working on skills so can be more independent! it something she been work very hard on entire life n she quite proud of progress.

she has many classic facial features associate with williams syndrome, like epicanthal folds at eye, upturned nose, wide mouth & small teeth, small jaw, full cheeks (badly drawn), n large ears.

70% or more people with WS have some sort cardiovascular problem, n so do gummy. she has supravalvar aortic stenosis (narrowing of aorta) which form of congenital heart defect (CHD). hers not very severe n be closely monitored.

she also have hypotonia & loose joints due to WS & uses posterior walker full time to get around. she really like her posterior walker, it shaped like many crayons :D also wear SMOs but forgot write it so oops

art fight character profile

[reblog welcome but please no repost]

[aurorawritestoescape]

THE HOUNDS OF HELL

written with @milla-frenchy

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader x Steve Murphy

Summary: you meet two DEA agents in a bar. You drink too much and they offer to take you home.

Warnings: 18+ mndi. Dubcon (alcohol), dark!Javi, dark!Steve, unprotected piv, mfm, dvp, oral (f/m), ball sucking, manhandling, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, manipulation, cum eating, cum play, multiple orgasms. Steve can pick up reader. No age specified

Word count: 4,3k

A/n: @toxicanonymity this is for you🖤💖 It’s our way of thanking you for all the amazing fics you've been gifting us over the past year! We love you!🫶

The title is from the lyrics of Seven Nation Army by The White Stripes

Part 2 || AO3 || Milla’s Masterlist || My Masterlist

*****

You were spending Friday night with your friend in your favorite bar. The air was filled with music and cigarette smoke. You were chatting and drinking when two men approached your table. They asked if they could join you two, the place being packed. You didn’t mind, and they introduced themselves. The man who sat next to you had dark hair and piercing eyes. His name was Javi.

The blonde one, Steve, joined your friend. He had beautiful blue eyes.

Both of them were handsome and seemed nice.

Javi said they were DEA agents and you felt even more at ease around them. Every second man in Bogota was somehow connected to drug dealing and it was nice to meet someone safe. In no time you were talking, laughing and enjoying their company.

At one point Steve offered to buy another round and you agreed. A few minutes later, your friend said that she didn’t feel good. You offered your help but she refused, not wanting to interrupt the fun. At first, you felt a bit uncomfortable, alone with the two men, but as the night progressed you shared more stories, drank more tequila and forgot your concerns. They were good company and pleasant. They showered you with attention, yet weren’t sleazy or inappropriate. Sometimes you would notice their eyes lingering on your lips and chest for a little too long but you felt flattered.

“Vamos a bailar (let’s dance),” Javi suggested and you jumped at the opportunity to move as your head started to feel heavy after all the drinks.

Steve stayed at the table nursing his beer.

“Gonna watch you two for now,” he said with a glint in his eye and gave you a lopsided smile before Javi led you to the dance floor.

***

Soon your hips were seductively swaying to the rhythm of the music as Javi’s gaze was gliding over your lips, down to your breasts and legs. You turned around to show off your ass as your hands slid up and down your body accentuating every curve for his eyes to devour. A second later you felt his hands on your hips, not grabbing you but gently resting there, keeping you close. So close that you could feel his massive bulge brushing against your lower back. The idea of that handsome man getting hard because of you made you gush and you leaned against his broad chest as he wrapped his arms around your middle, a big hand splayed over your belly. Now with your heated bodies flush with each other, it seemed like there was only you and him on the crowded dance floor.

You felt his mustache tickling your cheek, his hot wet breath caressing your neck, and you turned your face to him. Javi’s eyes were obsidian with lust and even the flashing lights over your heads couldn’t push through their darkness. He looked at your lips and in the next moment he leaned in and kissed you, slowly and gently, as if luring you in. The moment his tongue tasted yours, you moaned and felt your cheeks heat up at your involuntary display of desire. You pulled away and turned your face away from him, trying to calm down and taking deep breaths.

Javi turned you around, and everything swayed, thanks to the tequila shots.

“Qué pasa, hermosa? (what is it, sweetheart?). It’s just a kiss. Estás buenísima (you’re so hot),” he whispered against your temple.

You realized that two pairs of hands were touching you. Feeling another broad chest at your back, you opened your eyes and tried to turn around but they stopped you.

“No, baby, stay like this. Wanna dance with you too,” Steve said into your ear and began moving with the music.

His bulge was grinding against your ass making you soak your panties. You were caged between the two man and albeit being nervous you couldn’t deny the growing tingling between your legs. They were hot and you were having a great time. While the music carried you, their hands were roaming your body, not aggressively but in the way that made you want more. At one point Steve’s face happened to be inches from you and your lips met. The kiss was slow and intense and you got lost in it while they both were holding you between them.

Suddenly you felt dizzy and hot so you stopped dancing and said that you needed some fresh air.

Steve walked you out while Javi went to pay for the drinks. Your legs were weak and you felt like you could fall any second.

“I think I should go home,” you mumbled, bracing your hand on the wall outside the bar.

“You ok, baby?” Steve asked with worry in his voice holding you by the waist, “Let’s get you in the car. We ain’t leaving you alone.”

“Take me home, please,” you asked as Steve wrapped his arm around your torso. You two got in the back of the car and a few moments later Javi joined you taking the driver’s seat.

***

You felt shaky and foggy, but happy to finally sit down. Too much alcohol in too little time, and you were clearly unable to drive. You took a deep breath of relief. Two DEA agents as bodyguards in the streets of Bogota, it couldn’t be better.

When Javi started the engine, you asked him to wait a few minutes, afraid of being sick. Steve, sitting next to you, leaned between the front seats to put a cassette into the car stereo and the sound of a bass guitar filled the space of the car. He turned up the volume, and you rested your head on the seat, staring at the streetlights lighting up the night city. Javi was hitting the wheel with his thumb to the rhythm of the music.

You turned to look at Steve, who was moving his head enjoying the song. Sometimes he closed his eyes, that way feeling the music even more. And then he started to sing.

You couldn’t believe how well he sang, couldn’t take your eyes off him. He looked at you and smiled as he was singing, and his blue eyes made you melt. He placed his arm on the headrest behind your head and leaned down to kiss you. Your panties had already been soaked under your short dress, since the three of you had danced at the bar. You felt yourself gushing more while you were kissing.

He smelled of mint, whiskey and cigarettes and was exuding self-confidence. Damn, he was so hot, with his brown leather jacket and jeans. When his lips slid down to your neck, you slipped your fingers into his blonde hair. His mustache was rubbing gently against your skin. You glanced over at Javi who was watching you two in the rearview mirror. He readjusted himself with a smirk on his face, a cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

Steve pulled back, his face still staying inches from yours, and asked, “how do you feel?”

“I’m better now. We can go...”

“Great. What’s your address, baby?”

After you told them, Steve gave a nod to the other man and leaned towards you again. Javi started to drive. Steve’s hand rested on your thigh, and you tried not to start rolling your hips while you two were kissing.

"Wait, I feel dizzy...we should…uh…slow down”, you mumbled, trying to blink the spinning away.

“You’re ok, baby. You didn't have that much. Soon you’ll be home, asleep in your bed, ok?”

You nodded, although you weren't sure you drank as little as he said. His lips were on yours again, and his hand slid up your leg. When you moaned against his lips, he slipped his hand between your thighs.

“No wait, I don’t-”

“Ain’t gonna hurt you, beautiful…just wanna have a good time before we get to your place.”

He hissed through his teeth when his fingers reached your pussy. “Damn! You’re soaked, baby. It's a shame we can’t enjoy it. But we’re good guys, aren’t we Javi?”

“Yeah…we’ll keep it in our pants, Hermosa, don’t worry.”

You relaxed, and when Steve plunged his fingers into your pussy you didn’t stop him. You let yourself be lulled by the ride and by his fingers, your head laid back. You snaked your hands under his jacket, and felt his hot chest, his muscles under the shirt. Your eyes rolled back, and you whispered, “fuck…’m gonna…’m gonna come.”

“Yeah, you're squeezing my fingers so damn hard. C’mon, give it to me, baby, you’ll feel better, I promise.”

You noticed him glance at Javi and smile, but your mind was too foggy to react. When you came all over his fingers, you grabbed his wrist to keep them buried inside you until you stopped shaking.

“Fuck…I really think I drank way too much…Shouldn’t have done that.”

You looked out the window, feeling the car slow down, but you didn’t recognize the houses.

“Where are we?”

“Just grabbin’ some stuff at Javi’s…won’t be long. Come on, baby. Can’t stay in the car at night, it’s too dangerous.”

“Wait, no…You said you were bringing me home!”

“And we gonna. Won’t be long, I told ya. Unless you wanna walk home alone, from here? Your choice.”

You sighed, and followed them. You couldn't possibly walk alone, in the middle of the night, in that dress. You stumbled, and Javi grabbed your arm.

“Lemme help you,” he said, smiling.

***

He led you to his apartment, Steve walking in front of you two. Your legs were still trembling from your orgasm and the alcohol in your blood. When you entered Javi’s place, the men glanced at each other and you felt slightly uncomfortable.

“You’re gonna drive me home, right?”

“Sure, baby”, Steve replied.

You shivered from the cold, your jacket was in your car, and your tight dress covered little of your body. Javi poured three shots of tequila, which he and Steve drank in one go. Javi handed one to you.

“Come on, hermosa. It’ll warm you up.”

You knew it wasn't a good idea, but you didn't dare refuse. You drank it, trying not to think about your complaining stomach.

They took off their jackets, and Steve moved closer to you. “Come dance with me,” he said, holding out his hand to you. Javi put on some music, and you mechanically took Steve’s hand. The music was soft, and even though you still felt shaky, Steve held you and you couldn't deny the warmth in your lower stomach. His hands slid down your body, brushing against your back then your hips, his nose buried in your neck. He breathed into you and his soft growls fueled the fire within you. When he moved his body closer to yours, you felt his hard cock. Javi joined you, pressing himself against your back. He was hard too. You let them lead the pace, and their sensual caresses made you forget your discomfort.

“You know, beautiful, we’d like to have a good time with you. I think you want it too. Don’t ya?”

“I…I don’t know. I’m not feeling well.”

“I’ll tell you what. We're gonna check if your pretty little pussy wants it. Ok?"

Without waiting for your response, Javi lifted your short dress.

“Look at me, baby”, Steve said, as Javi slipped his hand into your panties.

“Wow, hermosa…you're dripping. This pussy wants to get filled. She wants to take some cocks.”

Steve's eyes were fixed on Javi's, before looking into yours. His gaze was overflowing with carnal desire while Javi was gently running his finger over your clit.

“What do you think, baby? I know you liked it in the car. Want a little more?”

You couldn’t deny that Steve made you come quickly. If he was as good at fucking you as he was at fingering, you were going to have a great time. While you were trying to gather your thoughts, he smelled his fingers covered with your dried cum and licked them.

“Taste her, Javi. She tastes so good.”

Stunned, you felt Javi remove his fingers from your pussy, before licking them too.

“Yeah…wanna eat that cunt now. You’re ok with that, Hermosa?”

You saw yourself nodding, without really controlling your response.

“Come in the bedroom, bebita. Lemme taste you.”

***

You followed them, and Steve led you to the bed where you lay on your back. Javi took off his shirt. He was beautiful. Both of them were.

Javi crawled across the bed to you, pulling your dress up over your hips. He licked your pussy still covered by your panties and you couldn’t help but moan. Steve sat next to you, took off his shirt too, and unzipped his jeans. Javi alternated between running his fingers and pressing his tongue against the soaked fabric. He pulled your panties to the side, and planted a kiss on our clit, making you moan instantly.

“Fuck, hermosa…wanna eat you so bad.”

He traced your folds with his nose, then his tongue. Pointing it at your folds, he spread them as it went through, and you were no longer holding back your moans.

“Wanna let me fuck you a little, before I taste you? Yeah?”

You nodded. The fire in your core was devouring you from the inside and you weren't really in a state to say ‘no’ anymore. When Javi settled between your thighs after taking off his jeans, Steve was already lying naked against you. He let his fingers run over your breasts, your stomach, your hips. Both of them were gorgeous and hot.

Javi took his cock in his hand and rubbed it against your folds to soak it with your wetness. As he nestled his tip at your entrance, Steve placed his fingers on your chin, turned your face to his, and kissed you. When Javi thrust in, you whimpered into Steve's mouth and he smiled. You felt your folds spread around Javi’s thick cock, and it felt good, so good that you couldn't help but moan.

“Oh fuck, you’re tight. Damn…already wanna blow my load into this pussy.”

He thrust in a few more times, growling in your neck each time he bottomed out, before pulling out and sitting down on his heels.

“Want me to fuck you too, beautiful?” Steve asked.

You nodded, and he manhandled you on top of him, your back on his chest, your dress pulled up above your breasts.

“We’re gonna make you feel really good, baby. Trust me.”

Your knees were bent and your feet planted on the bed. He grabbed his cock and pushed it up into you slowly, while Javi's eyes couldn't tear themselves away from your pussy swallowing Steve's cock. “Fuck me, that’s hot”, he said, still looking at the place where your bodies made one.

You felt exposed, fully offered to them, as Steve thrust into you slowly, after Javi had already stretched you.

Your eyes were closed, your body following Steve’s movements, so you didn’t see Javi leaning towards your pussy. When you felt his lips on your clit you breathed out a soft “oh my god”.

Steve said, “I told you we’d make you feel good, baby.”

And damn he was right. Steve’s cock was plunging in and out of your pussy while Javi was sucking on your clit. Sometimes he lapped at your folds, and you knew his tongue met Steve’s cock, his soft skin. It turned you on even more.

They heard you moan loader every time Javi’s tongue moved up from your folds to your clit, as he played with your sensations, swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud. Steve groaned, still fucking your pussy, “Damn, I’m gonna come hearing you whimper like that, baby…”

"Not yet", Javi growled, "We're not done with her.”

He slightly lifted his torso up and asked you, “you’re gonna be a good girl, and cum on Steve’s cock, hermosa?”

You nodded, feeling how close you were from the double sensations. Javi’s tongue dancing over your clit and Steve’s slow strokes in your pussy were making your orgasm build fast.

“Come on, baby”, he said. Be a good girl, and soak my fat cock.”

When the climax hit you, Steve didn't stop talking. Telling you that he was proud of you, that you were taking his cock so well, and that he couldn’t wait to fill you up.

You had just come for the second time that night, and you thought it would be the last. But when Javi pulled back and Steve lifted you up, you realized that you were wrong. Javi lay down on the bed, as Steve took off your dress and said “You’re gonna ride Javi now, beautiful. Make him feel good, ok?”

You straddled Javi, and without hesitation this time you grabbed his cock with your hand before impaling yourself on it.

“Look at you, Hermosa…taking my big cock like a champ.”

Their praise made your head spin, and when Steve stood up and presented his cock to you, you didn't hesitate. You gave it a few licks, before letting him sink into your mouth. You slowed down your movements so you could suck him properly, and his precum was running down your throat.

“Yeah, just like that, baby. You’re so damn good at this.”

You were giving all of yourself, wanting to please him. At the same time Javi’s hands were roaming your body as you were riding him.

“Wanna suck my balls now, baby? Yeah, just like that, fuck…”

Steve held his cock against his lower stomach and jacked off while you licked his sack. You took one in your mouth, then the other, looking into his eyes. His gaze was down at you, as his firm hand kept jerking his cock, until he pushed it down your throat again, holding his balls in his large, firm hand.

“Fuck, Steve, we found a good slut. Ready to take our cocks in her little holes.”

Steve hummed, alternating between slow and deep thrusts in your mouth, and then fucked your throat until you were choking on his cock.

He pulled out and said before getting off the bed, “Fuck her rough now, make her scream on your thick cock. Gotta prepare her for what we’re gonna do next.”

You shivered when you heard him, wondering what he was talking about, but Javi didn’t give you time to think. He gripped your hips, fucking up into your pussy hard and fast.

“Yeah…take it like a good whore. Fuckin’ take it.”

Steve was sitting in a chair by the bed smoking a cigarette and watching you getting pounded. He turned on an oscillating fan standing on the dresser as it got too hot. The air was humid and smelled of sex.

Javi grabbed your neck with both hands, slowing down the pace and instead fucking you deeply, and groaned, “I want you to come on it.”

You didn't have the presence of mind to say that you couldn't come again. Your clit was rubbing against Javi’s lower stomach and, being impaled on his cock, you let your body take over and you came again, hearing Javi growl, “fuck…this pussy’s squeezing me so hard.”

Steve was calmly watching you unravel on Javi’s cock, a cigarette in his mouth and his hard dick in the hand. His thick long member was still glistening with your saliva as he was slowly stroking himself.

When you braced your hands on the bed feeling and looking spent after the drinks and the fucking, Javi sat up and let you rest on his chest. You were catching your breath on his lap, nuzzling his neck, when Steve got up from the chair and came up to the bed. He handed the almost finished cigarette to Javi who took a few drags, holding you against him.

Then the men looked at each other, communicating without saying a word, and Steve slid his hands under your arms lifting you and helping you off the bed. The men were manhandling you as if you were a fuck doll for them to use. You felt degraded but couldn’t help but love it.

You stumbled on your trembling legs and Steve immediately grabbed you by the back of your thighs and picked you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he searched for your lips with his.

Everything was buzzing around you and you felt like you could fall off him every second. So you embraced his neck tightly with your arms and let him devour your mouth. You couldn’t help but rock your hips and grind your pulsating clit against his soft tummy.

While kissing Steve, you heard Javi get off the bed and stand behind you. His hands grasped your thighs and he whispered into your ear, “ready to take our fat cocks, hermosa?”

When you parted from Steve and looked at him with worry, the man gave you a carnal smile, tilting his head.

“We got you so wet, baby, they’ll slide in with no problem. And we’ll be slow, we promise. Right, Javi?” he said with a smirk glancing at his friend over your shoulder.

“Claro (sure),” Javi chuckled, as Steve’s cock nudged your wet hole.

You moaned when he pushed his tip into you, your thighs spread wide around his middle letting him do it easily.

“Stick it deep inside her. She deserves it,” Javi murmured, his lips brushing against your neck.

You felt Steve’s cock slide into you deeper inch by inch until he bottomed out with a soft ‘yeah’, his fingers digging into your thighs. Steve made a few slow thrusts bouncing you on his cock and you whimpered into his shoulder.

“Stuff her pussy with me, Javi.”

He grasped the back of your neck with one hand and pushed you closer to him, your naked breasts pressed to his chest. Javi was helping to hold you up as Steve’s length was buried deep inside your cunt.

“Got a place for me, hermosa?” Javi murmured and his hand guided his cock to your entrance, already stretched around Steve’s thick member.

You felt him push the tip in and you gasped.

“C’mon, bebita, let me in,” he whispered as his hand slithered between your bodies and he began rubbing your throbbing clit. Your eyes rolled back and Javi finally slid the head in. You felt stretched to the limit as the second cock was spreading your walls wider but the dull ache soon was replaced by pleasure when they started rhythmically rolling their hips. Your moans and their grunts filled the bedroom as their cocks were moving in and out of your crying cunt. Steve’s half lidded eyes were locked with yours.

“Fuck… love your pussy, baby.. ‘s tight.”

“She’s dripping down my balls, Steve. Nuestra putita (our little slut),” Javi said through panting, increasing the pace at which his length was ruining you. Pleasure was spreading through every cell in your body and you were trembling in their arms.

Your cries were getting louder and the men were growling with animalistic vigour, caging you between their sweaty bodies.

“Come again for us, baby, come on our cocks,” Steve encouraged you as his hand grabbed your breast and he twitched your nipple.

“We’re gonna fill you so full, hermosa, you’ll taste our cum on your tongue,” Javi whispered, leaving kisses on your cheek and jaw, still rubbing your clit with his fingers.

Steve chuckled at Javi’s words and they both started moving you up and down their cocks. The gentleness was gone, only feral desire was leading their actions. You felt their members slide against each other inside your dripping pussy, hitting your cervix and massaging your soft spot.

Your climax hit you so hard and you were shaking in their embrace and tears welled up in your hazy eyes. Every part of your body was flooded with ecstasy and your brain shut off while they kept fucking you through your shattering orgasm.

Soon they both followed you. First Steve moaned, closed his eyes and thrust deep and slow into you, shooting the spurts of his warm cum as deep as he could.

“Gonna fill her too,” Javi growled and bit your shoulder before he began squirting his seed making your pussy even fuller. Steve seemed completely lost in the pleasure. They both kept fucking you through their highs and the lewd sounds of squelching mixed with the moans.

When they stilled inside you, you slumped down in their arms completely spent, exhausted, fucked out like never before and they both placed you down on the bed. You all were breathing heavily, bodies sweaty and satiated.

Javi went to get a cigarette and Steve sat down on the bed next to you. He was looking down at you smiling while his hand glided down from your stomach to your puffy folds. You whimpered when his thumb brushed your clit and you tried to close your legs.

“Shh, I won’t, I won’t. Just wanna see you ruining the sheets, baby. Spread ‘em.”

Still catching your breath you opened your legs. You felt a trickle of their cum spill out generously out of your stretched hole and slide down to your asshole. Steve cursed.

“Javi, come look at our messy girl,” he said, his eyes glued to your overflowing pussy. His fingers kept sliding between your folds gathering the pearly liquid and pushing it back inside you.

Javi came up to the bed, his semi hard cock swaying with each movement, and stood there smoking and watching Steve play with your cunt. You felt your core tighten again but couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore. The room was spinning when you finally let yourself rest and fell into deep sleep.

***

You woke up the next day in your bed, your pussy sore and your head pounding. Your roommate said that a blonde man had brought you home asleep in his arms early in the morning. You tried to puzzle together the details of the night but all you could remember was the best fucking of your life.

*******

Thank you for reading!❤️

Comments and reblogs will be greatly appreciated!

PART 2

*****

Other fics by @milla-frenchy and me

Keep on your mean side - Joel x f!reader - dark

The Burglary - Joel x f!reader x Tommy - dead dove, noncon

Bad Girl - Joel x f reader x Tommy - dubcon

*****

Here’re our Steve and Javi fic recs❤️ Check these hot stories out!🥵

The Raid (Javi x reader x Steve) @toxicanonymity

After Hours (Javi x reader x Steve x Carillo) @psychedelic-ink

Crossing Lines (Javi x reader x Steve) @lunitawrites

Lie Still (Javi x reader x Steve) @milla-frenchy

Tag list: @littlemisspascal @pascalsanctuary @survivingandenduring @missannwinchester @iamasaddie @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist @nervousmumbling @stevie75 @puduvallee

[holylulusworld]

A perfect gentleman

Summary: Your trip to Great Britain changed your life forever.

Pairing: Raymond Smith x fem!Reader

Warning: bitchy friends, mentions of anxiety, meet cute, sex with a stranger, smut, protected sex, unprotected sex, public sex, shower sex

You bobbed your head to the song blaring from the loudspeakers. It was the only thing you could do. That, and watching the others dance with men they just met. Grinding into them – their intentions clear.

Maybe you are not the most social person, but being in a place with so many people spiked your anxiety.

You shuddered and ripped your gaze from your friends to order another drink. Something light. You never were much into alcohol.

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself,” a man plopped down next to you and dipped his head. “How can I help you relax?” He purred and moved his hand to your thigh.

“You could start by stopping to touch her,” another man suddenly stood behind your back. He pushed the other guy off you and glared at the stranger touching you. “Is that the way to welcome tourists now?”

“Man, she looked lonely,” the man grunted but made space for the second guy. “Didn’t know you called dips on her already, Raymond.”

“Get lost,” Raymond snapped at the man. You flinched and tried to make yourself as small as possible while the men fought. “We don’t harass ladies at my favorite place.”

“Alright, alright,” the man huffed. “She’s not worth the effort. You can have her.”

“Hey, are you okay,” Raymond softly asked. He must’ve been from around, because of his sexy accent. You always had a thing for men with an accent. “I hope he didn’t hurt you. Some guys shouldn’t drink too much.”

“Uh-thank you,” you murmured and finally looked at the man. Raymond looked like you imagine a British gentleman, but with a dash of roughness and something hidden behind his neat appearance. 

He was wearing a navy-blue corduroy waistcoat, a slim tie with the same color, and a light blue and white striped button-down over dark wash slim-fit stretch jeans. His hair was neatly gelled back, and his beard was long but well-trimmed. Orange-rimmed clear lens glasses framed his handsome face.

“That was very nice of you.”

“A gentleman must protect a lady in need,” he grinned and sat next to you. “Let me buy you a drink for the inconvenience, and for not stepping in sooner.”

“You came the moment the man put his hand on my thigh,” you shyly glanced at Raymond. He offered his name to you and held out his hand. You placed your hand in his, feeling another shudder run through your body. This man was unlike any guy you ever met.

He screamed danger but acted like a gentleman. You could smell weed on his clothes when he leaned closer to ask you for your name. 

“Y/N,” you replied and allowed him to hold your hand for a little longer than needed. He ran his thumb over your skin, causing a tiny whimper to escape your lips. “Thank you again.”

“What brings you here, love?” Raymond leaned impossibly closer, letting you feel his warmth. “I assume you are a tourist.”

You chuckled. “What gave me away?” 

“Your accent, and I know every pretty girl in town.”He laid it on thick when he purred your name and told you that you look beautiful in your dress. He already had you when he saved you from the grabby guy, but you wanted to bask in his compliments for a little longer.

“Every single one,” you chuckled. “You’re a very busy man in that case.” 

He adjusted his glasses and smirked. “I don’t know every woman like that.” Raymond gave you a wink. “But I’d like to get to know you better.”

“My friends are still somewhere at this place,” you leaned closer to drink his appearance and scent in. You were enchanted by this man. “Probably rubbing themselves against the guys they just met.”

His eyes sparkled at your words. You were about to do the same with him. Why – you had no clue. He was handsome and charming. But there was something else drawing you in like the moth to the flame.

“Do you want to leave this place?” A question was not in his words when he got up, still holding your hand. “I promise to be a gentleman.”

You didn’t make it far. Before you knew it, you left the bar with Raymond. You ended up pressed into the wall in the dark alley behind the bar. 

He was all over you, lips devouring your mouth the moment you were out of sight. His hand slipped between your thighs, finding your panties soaked. He teased you for your floral cotton panties, moving the fabric aside to shove a finger inside your soaked cunt.

Raymond lifted you off of your feet, and you ended up in his arms, your pussy stuffed to the brim with his thick cock. 

“Fuck, this is a tight little cunt,” he puffed into your neck. Hot breath fanning over your skin. “You’ve been a good girl, huh? How many guys did you fuck behind a bar so far?”

“No one,” you held tight onto Raymond as he slowly rocked into you. “Only you.”

“You’re so good for me, love,” he whispered in your ear as he mercilessly battered your cunt. He was not a gentle lover any longer. Raymond fucked up into you, all the while holding your body safe in his arms. “I’m gonna ruin you.”

“Aw, baby love,” he crashed his lips onto yours to silence your moans. “You met the right man to ruin you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and started to move your hips.

“Ruin me. Do it. I’m done being the good girl.”

“Why did you leave without us?” One of your friends asked. Janice walked inside your shared hotel room, smirking as you were reading another book. “Y/N we are on vacation. Stop reading and go out there. There is a whole new world to explore.”

“Yeah. Maybe you’ll get some dick too if you stop hiding,” your other friend snapped at you. She didn’t get lucky last night and tried to let her anger out on you. Chanel always gets lucky. Just not last night.

“Oh, I think you will have enough fun for all of us,” you hid that you were the one getting a perfect dick last night. Well, they wouldn’t have believed you. You never take a risk. This includes fucking a stranger behind a bar. “Don’t forget to wrap it before you let any dick get near you.”

 “It’s their job,” Janice huffed. “I only need my lipstick and nothing else.”

You bit your tongue. Last night you were the one making sure that you didn’t take a bigger risk. Raymond was all too eager to fill you, but you insisted on protection. Even though you were a horny mess wanting nothing more than to feel him bare inside of you.

“Have fun reading,” Janice snapped at you. “We are going to meet up with some girls we met last night and tonight, we’re going back to the bar. Tonight, I’ll get lucky and fuck a British guy!”

“Don’t wait for us to come back today. You’re no fun to be around since you and Ransom broke up,” Chanel added. A low blow to your fragile heart.

With your friends gone, you had the time to enjoy the city. You explored the usual spots tourists would seek out and ended up in a nice little café to have a break.

It was close to your hotel, and you could enjoy the sun as long as you wanted to. 

At least no one tried to hit on you here or called you boring for enjoying your tea and biscuits.

“This must be fate,” a familiar voice said. Raymond stopped short in his tracks when he recognized you. “What brings you here?”

“I was—” You licked your lips at the sight of Raymond. Today he was wearing a soft camel tan shawl cardigan and a skinny burgundy tie over his dark wash jeans. He looked as perfect as ever when he claimed the empty chair on your table, “having a break from exploring town.”

“Sightseeing,” he nodded thoughtfully. “I see.” Raymond eyed you up and down in your simple shirt, cardigan, and a pair of worn-out jeans. “I could give you the Smith tour to show you all the secret spots no tourist ever saw.”

“Smith tour?” You wrinkled your forehead.

“That’s my surname, sweetness,” he smirked and nodded at the waitress to order tea and biscuits himself. “Do you want to go on that tour with me?”

“Sure,” you said a little too fast. He was still a stranger, but you let him fuck you twice last night. What else could he want? You were sure he wouldn’t hurt you and having the chance to fuck him again had you already dripping. “I’d love to see more than the usual spots.”

You didn’t see much of town. All Raymond showed you was his large, luxurious estate where he lives by himself. And you didn’t see much of it either. 

Raymond had you pinned to his mattress; his cock buried balls deep inside of your dripping cunt moments after he guided you inside his home. 

“Shit, look at you,” he purred before he claimed your lips in a heated kiss. “I could get used to having you like this. Underneath me, filled with my cock.” He kissed you again, softer this time. “Bare.”

He rocked his hips at a slow pace, dragging his thick cock along your walls. Raymond smirked as you dug your fingertips into his back.

“Raymond,” you whimpered his name. “Please.”

“Fuck, say my name again,” he buried his face in your neck to nip at your soft spot. “Now,” Raymond growled your name and gave you a particularly hard thrust. “Sweetness.”

“Raymond.”

“Again,” he snapped his hips into yours. “NOW!”

“RAYMOND!” You screamed his name on the top of your lungs. “RAYMOND!” You chanted it like a prayer. “Please.”

“Fucking take it,” Raymond whispered in your ear. “You’re meant to lie underneath me, my cock in your sweet pussy.” He slowly fucked into you, taking his time to enjoy having you again. “All I was thinking about was your cunt. I could smell you on me all day.”

Your arousal coated his cock with every thrust. It soaked the sheets underneath you, ruining the fine fabric you admired before you ended up on his bed. 

“You’re mine now,” he threatened, his voice a deep growl as he kept on fucking you into the mattress. “Say it.”

He stopped moving and stared at you underneath him. “Say it!”

“’m yours, Ray…”

He kissed you again, sweet but dirty. His tongue delved into your mouth, tasting the strawberries you ate earlier.

“Yes. Fuck.” You started to clench around him and tremble underneath Raymond. “Please.”

“Ohhh…fuck,” he thrusted into you, ignoring that you cried out his name. Raymond simply fucked you through your high, rhythm never faltering as you threw your head left and right. It sounded cliché, or like bad porn. But right at that moment it was all you could do because he just felt too good inside of your body. “That’s it.”

“Come inside of me, please,” you pleaded. “NOW!”

Fuck…He thought and exploded inside of your quivering cunt. Raymond didn’t stop. He trusted in and out of you, making an even bigger mess of his sheets. 

“That was,” you sighed when he slipped out of you to lie next to you. Raymond panted, and you patted his chest when he gasped for air.

“I know, sweetness.”

“Thank you for making my vacation much more interesting,” you laughed as he crawled back on top of you to kiss you softly and gently. 

“Thank you for making my shitty week better.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Smith.”

His shower was amazing. Just like the rest of his home. It was huge, and the rain showerhead was something else.

Not that you got the chance to enjoy it much. The warm water barely had the time to run down your body before Raymond was all over you again.

He stood behind you to nip at your earlobe with his teeth. His skilled hands cupped your tits, and you fell back against his chest.

“Still not enough?” He chuckled at your words. “You're insatiable.

“You’re just too cute to ignore.” He watched you turn around to cup his face to kiss him. “What are you up to, sweetness?”

“I’d love to fuck you again,” you purred his name and ran your hands over his chest. “What are you up to?”

Raymond smirked, and you knew you were in for a rougher treatment. He twirled you around, barking orders at you. “Hands against the wall.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You’re playing with fire,” he was on you again, to manipulate your body. He gripped your hip with one hand and guided his weeping cock into your dripping pussy. “But I’ll not stop you from being a perfect little cockslut for me.”

You hissed but welcomed his length like an old friend. “You feel too good inside of me, is all.”

“Yeah,” he kissed your neck. “How good? Good enough to spend the rest of your vacation with me.”

“Yes.” You said without hesitation. To hell with your friends, sightseeing, and biscuits. All you wanted to do is spend time impaled on Raymond’s cock.

“I knew it,” he breathed into your neck. “You’re perfect.”

Raymond nipped at your neck while slinging his arms around your waist.

“My little lost tourist.” He slowly but steadily pumped into you. “Lucky me getting inside this sweet body.”

“Oh, yes,” The warm water gently rained down on you and Raymond, and your wet bodies slid easily against one another. “Fuck, please.”

“Same, sweetness,” he growled as you started to push back onto his length. Raymond was close to losing all control. He pressed you against the wall, pumping into you with all the strength he had left in him. 

You slammed the palms of your hand against the shower wall feeling your high ripple through your body. You were panting heavily, and your knees buckled when he emptied himself inside of you. 

“No, you don’t understand,” Raymond grunted into the phone. He watched you turn around in your sleep to snuggle into his pillow. “I want you to tell me where to pick her things up. Y/N wants to spend the rest of her vacation with me, not you.”

He groaned as your friends bombarded him with questions. His patience was wearing thin, and he was close to sending one of his problem solvers to get your belongings.

“Listen, all you need to know is that she’s safe with me. No…I won’t send you a picture of her.” Cursing loudly, he looked at you.

“Give me the phone,” you yawned, and rubbed your tired eyes. “They won’t believe you, Ray.”

“Fine,” he handed you your phone, waiting for you to confirm that he’s not some psycho kidnapper holding you hostage. Even though, his cock twitched when he imagined keeping you at his home forever.

“Janice, relax,” you tried to calm your friend. “I met Raymond two days ago at the bar. Yeah, where you left me all alone. We met again at a café, and I spent the last two days with him at his home. I texted and called you, but you didn’t answer so, I believed you don’t give a shit about me and if I’m still alive.”

Janice muttered into the phone, but you didn’t care. You told her to pack your things and hand them to whoever Raymond will send to them.

One week later you sat on his couch, snuggled into one of the blankets he offered to you. “You’ve got a nice home,” you said and smiled. It pained you that in not a week you had to leave this wonderful place and the man owning it. “Maybe I can come back here one day.”

“Or,” he sat down next to you and placed his hand on your thigh, “I just keep you here forever.” Raymond nuzzled his face in your neck. “I heard you quit your job, left your boyfriend, and are looking for adventure.”

“What? I-“ you spluttered. “How did you find out?”

“Your friends are rather talkative,” he shrugged and moved his hand between your legs. “I got a big home, and a good job waiting for you. I know this is sudden, but I’d love to keep you around. What do you say?”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[am-i-interrupting]

Hi! I loved your Hazbin hotel with nails head cannons. Could you do an extension of that where you get nails to match your s/o? Please 🙏 ❤️❤️❤️

There are two ways to take this so depending on whether or not the character would let someone do their nails dictates how I’ll do it. For characters who will, you get matching sets of nails. For characters who won’t, you get nails that are inspired by their aesthetic.

(Part two— the gals)

Alastor

When you show him nails that are red in color with radio dials and deer antlers decorating them, his smile widened and he tilted his head, curious.

“What do you think?” “I think that you look lovely, darling.”

Expect some extra hand holding.

He will be bringing your hand up to his lips to kiss. Looks at the design, smiles a bit more genuinely, squeezes your hand, and let’s your hands drop.

When your in private, expect to be brought into his lap.

He lets you do whatever you like but he is holding one of your hands the entire time.

Running his fingertips down your finger.

He will run his thumb over any ridges that appear due to the design.

When you’re asleep, he memorizes the design, his color, his symbols on your hand against your skin.

Husk

He’s actually shocked when you take his suggestion. He thought you were just asking out of idle curiosity. He didn’t actually expect you to get it done.

He just kind of stares, shocked at your hand.

The nails are matte and coffin shaped.

Most have a black base and have a card type design. The spade, the clover, the diamond. The first two white and the last red.

What he didn’t expect the heart to be yellow and your free fingernail to have the white and pink stripes of his ears. (Listen, I love his pilot design)

He placed a kiss to your hand and compliments them.

He’s not as obvious as Alastor would be (in comparison to Alastor’s normal no touch behavior) but he would be holding your hand a bit more.

When he thinks no one is watching, he’ll stare at your nails with a quirked little smile.

Lucifer

You go get your nails done together.

Lucifer gets a little duck design with a white background.

He just sort of stares at them, surprised at how much he likes it.

He starts going with you more often to get his nails done. It makes him feel good. He starts wearing his gloves less.

When you get nails inspired by him, he’s absolutely speechless.

The pinstripe design of his favorite waistcoat. The apple and snake imagery.

He loves it so much.

He placed a kiss on every single finger.

When the two of you next see Charlie or anyone from the Hotel or Ozzie, Bee, or any of the other sins, he grabs your hand and shoved it in their face.

“Look at their nails! See! They’re inspired by me! They put that on their hand!”

Vox

“So, what did you get this time, my dear?”

His brow would raise when he saw the design.

The Voxtech logo, a wifi symbol, some red and black hypno circles, and the rest same blue as his claws.

“Well, well, what sight. I do believe these are my favorite set yet.”

Would bring your hand up against his and measure how they line up.

He would then curl your hands together so he was holding yours.

He would then pull you into your lap and give you a kiss.

Ideally he’d run his hands along your fingers but that’s just something he does without them.

Secretly (not really) he likes the fact that you’ve willingly put his symbols on you.

Would try not to give away his liking to them away too much so he doesn’t really do much aside saying they’re his favorite set.

[roosterforme]

The Birthday Blues | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley loves celebrating your birthday. It's his favorite day of the year. But you're almost too upset to celebrate, and you don't seem to want to tell him why.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, swears, mentions of trying to get pregnant

Length: 2800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"Roo?" you mumbled when you thought you felt your husband touching you. Was it morning? Or were you still asleep? You must be having a dream, because you felt good. No, you felt fucking great.

"Happy birthday, Baby Girl."

You cracked your eyes open, searching for the source of your pleasure, and then you saw that Bradley was nestled between your thighs, eating your pussy.

"Oh!" you gasped. That's why you felt like you were melting into a pool of pleasure. Because you actually were. You watched Bradley's head bob slightly as he licked long, languid stripes along your pussy. The early morning light was turning his messy bedhead hair a pretty copper color, and when you pushed your fingers through it, he kissed your thigh before returning to his task.

It was your birthday. You were thirty one. And you were pretty sure he wasn't going to stop until you came at least one time on his face. So you propped yourself up on one elbow to watch the show.

"Is this my birthday present?" you whispered as Bradley's mustache brushed against your clit.

"Just one of many," he rasped before kissing his way up and down your slit. When you were sufficiently moaning for him, he wrapped those pretty lips around your clit while you played with his hair.

Each little flick of his tongue had you gasping and asking for more. But he knew your body like the back of his hand, and he was drawing this out on purpose. Every time your voice got higher in pitch, he eased back the pressure until you calmed down. And then he started all over again.

"Roo!" you whined, practically riding his face as he held your hips down on the bed. "Let me cum! It's my birthday!"

The devilish look he gave you should have been enough warning, but a minute later, he was fucking you with two fingers and sucking your clit just right. When you felt the prickle of his mustache on your skin, your head tipped back against the pillow, and you felt yourself squeezing his thick fingers as you whined his name until you were laying in a limp, boneless pile. 

Then you felt his warm body weight on your sensitive skin as he kissed your lips. His mustache was wet, and he let you lick his face clean.

"I need to be on base in thirty minutes," he rasped, making no move to leave you or the bed. "Fuck, why didn't we take today off? It's the most important day of the year."

"Because we burned through all of our vacation time for our honeymoon," you reminded him. 

"It was worth it," he whispered next to your ear before he climbed out of bed. You watched Bradley step into his flight suit before he disappeared into the bathroom. You desperately wanted to coax him back to bed, but you also really wanted Bradley to leave for work.

He kissed your lips one more time and said, "Birthday dinner at seven. I'll let Tramp out before I leave. I love you, Baby Girl." 

And once he was gone, you dashed out of bed and into the bathroom. You dug around in the closet for the pregnancy tests you bought yesterday after work. 

"Come on," you whispered, pacing around the bathroom and bedroom after you peed on the sticks. This could potentially be the best birthday present of your life, even better than a birthday morning orgasm from Bradley. 

When your timer went off and you checked the tests, tears of frustration filled your eyes. You tossed the tests into the trash and got dressed for work. 

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

It was actually unfair. Finding yourself on the verge of crying at work on your birthday shouldn't have been happening. And now as you sat in your office, swiping tears away, you realized you were just angry at yourself for taking the pregnancy tests in the first place. 

But you had been trying for two months. And you'd spent the last decade trying your damnedest not to get pregnant. And if you knew there might have been something wrong, you'd have stopped taking birth control months ago. Because you and Bradley had been having very frequent sex for weeks now, and you felt like you were disappointing yourself and him, too.

You closed your computer and carried it down the hallway to your lab where your newest coworker Cat seemed to be having a great day. She was laughing with your other labmates just like you would normally be doing, but you weren't feeling like yourself. So you just kept your head down and got your work done. 

You knew you shouldn't have done it, but you texted Bradley and told him you were simply too busy to make it down to the cafeteria for lunch today.

Bradley Rooster Bradshaw <3 <3 <3: really? everyone wanted to see you. i wanted to see you...

And then you started crying again. Because the negative pregnancy test was getting to you so much, you were letting Bradley down even more.

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

"I think you should wear the dress you wore on our first date," Bradley crooned next to your ear as he wrapped his arms around you from behind. "You look so good in red."

You wiggled out of his grasp and finished unbuttoning your uniform shirt. As you removed your pins, you said, "Our first date was in the summer. It's too chilly out today."

Now he was looking at you like he was trying to figure out what he had done wrong. "I'll keep you warm. Or you can wear one of my sweatshirts over it if you want to. Or you can wear leggings and your oversized sweater. It's your birthday. And you're perfect. And you're going to look perfect."

But you really weren't perfect. You sighed and nodded at him. "I'll just throw on something casual. You said it doesn't matter what I wear."

You could tell he wanted you to wear that red dress. But you were feeling like punishing yourself for being in a bad mood on your own birthday. And you were bloated. Plus you'd gained a few pounds on the honeymoon and over the holidays. You'd look terrible in that dress right now. But Bradley just nodded his head once as you walked away from him. "Anything is fine, Baby Girl." 

"Great," you muttered, pulling on the leggings and sweater. The car ride was painfully quiet, and as soon as he got on the highway, you knew where he was taking you. You bit your lip to keep the tears at bay.

"Did I piss you off today?" he asked as he parallel parked the Bronco in front of the hot sauce restaurant he'd taken you to on your first date. 

"No," you whispered, closing your eyes against the tears you could once again feel. You were emotional because your period was starting, not because you were pregnant. And that thought was making more tears burn your eyes. 

"Sweetheart, if you're not feeling it, we can go home," he assured you. "I won't be upset. I should have let you pick what you wanted to do today."

"No, it's fine, Roo. I love it here. You did good," you said, trying to infuse your voice with the excitement you usually felt when he surprised you with silly little things. Normally you would have been climbing across the seat to wrap your arms around him, excited that he brought you back here, but instead you climbed out your own door onto the sidewalk. 

"Okay," he whispered a moment later, taking your hand in his larger one and kissing your fingers. "I'll let you order both meals and eat half of each one. I know you love doing that here." Bradley guided you inside as a smile found its way to your lips.

"I do love that," you told him. Soon you and he were sitting side by side in a booth, and he had his arm wrapped around your shoulders. You were pouring out little samples of various hot sauces onto your plate and tasting each one while Bradley sipped a beer. He helped you rank the bottles in order of deliciousness, and then you ate half of your meal and half of his. 

"Let me buy you bottles of your top three draft picks," he joked, taking out his credit card to pay the bill and asking the waiter to add on a few bottles of the hot sauces you liked best.

"Thanks, Roo," you whispered, kissing his cheek. This wasn't so bad. You'd get over this sadness like you had last month. It would just take a few days, and you could blame it on your period. 

Your husband took you by the hand, but instead of leading you back to the Bronco, he crossed the street with you. "Thought we could walk along the pier? For old time's sake?"

You looked up into his eager face in the dim glow of the streetlight. He just wanted to please you, just the same way you always wanted to please him. So you nodded and started out along the pier where you'd spent plenty of time getting to know him and making out with him so many months ago.

When you leaned against the railing and looked out at the dark water beyond, Bradley rested his chin on your shoulder and wrapped his arms around you. "Promised I'd keep you warm," he murmured next to your ear.

You smiled. "You should have put that in your wedding vows."

His soft sigh as he rubbed his hands along the front of your body made you feel a lot better. "I hope you enjoyed your birthday dinner. I wasn't joking, this really is the most important day of the year. My very favorite day of the year. Besides our anniversary."

"I love you even more than I love hot sauce." 

The promise fell from your lips as he chuckled and said, "I hope you don't lose your taste for spicy food when you're pregnant."

The chilly night air started to seep through the fabric of your sweater everywhere that he wasn't touching you. Your face fell into a frown. The dark water no longer looked peaceful. Tears filled your eyes quickly, as if they had been right there at the surface, just waiting for another excuse to drip down your cheeks.

You tried your best to keep it together, but Bradley knew right away that something was wrong. He spun you in his arms until you were facing him. "Please, Baby Girl. Please tell me what's going on. If I made you upset, you need to tell-"

But you just shook your head and pushed him gently away from you, and Bradley looked like you had slapped him across the face. "I'm not pregnant, okay? I'm not. I took a pregnancy test this morning, because my period should have started today."

"Sweetheart, that doesn't matter. We have time-"

"Just stop it, alright?" you asked, wiping away your tears as he reached for you. "Please, just stop talking. Let's go home."

Bradley rubbed his hand along his lips and mustache before he nodded. When he held his hand out for yours, you didn't take it. Rather you just strolled back up the pier toward the street a few steps in front of him, continuously wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands. 

When you reached the Bronco and went to climb in, Bradley jogged up behind you and buckled the seatbelt for you. He didn't try to kiss you, but he did run his thumb along your knuckles as he whispered, "Love you." 

But you pressed your lips together against the pain in your heart instead of responding to him. And then he took you home in silence, not even bothering to choose a playlist to listen to. 

Now you'd upset your husband by telling him the truth about what was bothering you. He probably thought you were insane, losing yourself like this for the second month in a row. Blaming yourself for not being pregnant yet when you knew, deep inside your mind, that you hadn't actually done anything wrong. But you felt the uncontrollable, hateful desire to blame yourself anyway. 

You were still dabbing at your eyes with your sleeves when Bradley pulled into the driveway. He killed the engine and turned to face you, but you were out the door and heading for the front porch before he could get a single word in. After wrestling with your key for a moment, you shoved the door open and nudged Tramp to keep him inside. But when you turned the lamp on, you froze in place.

Your entire house, literally every surface you could see, was filled with yellow flowers. Tulips, roses, daffodils and zinnias. Everywhere. Just like he had done for you last year. You squeezed your eyes shut, but you could feel Bradley's presence behind you. 

After you sucked in a breath, you peeked into the kitchen and saw more flowers along with pink champagne in the ice bucket next to a beautiful confetti cake. Music was playing softly through the small speaker you kept next to the sink, and you recognized the songs as ones from a playlist Bradley made for you when he had been deployed. Your breathing was getting ragged as you sobbed into your hands.

"I'm sorry," Bradley murmured. "I had Nat and Bob bring everything over to surprise you. Give me a couple minutes and I'll get it cleaned up."

"No," you gasped, crying harder. "It's perfect."

You looked up at him through your tears, and just shook your head. He was hesitating to touch you now, and you hated that. And a second later, you were stumbling forward into his arms.

"Don't clean it up," you whispered. "I love it."

You could feel him slowly wrap his arms around you as you buried your face against his chest and sobbed until you couldn't cry any longer. He just held you there while your head throbbed, gently rubbing your back and shoulders until you were done.

As you sucked in a deep breath, he whispered, "You know, you're not alone here, right? You're literally never alone, because I'm here, too."

You swallowed down your guilt and looked up at him. When you nodded he kissed the tip of your nose. 

"I don't want to have to keep telling you every month that you're not the only one trying for a baby. I don't want you to keep thinking that. This is 50/50 here, Baby Girl. You and me."

"I'm sorry."

He kissed you hard on the lips, effectively silencing you before whispering, "You're not allowed to apologize on your birthday."

You smiled up at him, half laughing and half sobbing. "Fine. I won't then."

He pulled you flush against his body and you took his face in your hands as he said, "We've got plenty of time, Sweetheart."

You ran your thumb along his scars. "I just don't want to disappoint you."

"Never," he promised, his voice growing deep and raspy. "You could never."

"But-"

He kissed you hard again. "All you ever do is make my life better. I wouldn't lie to you about that."

Instead of trying to argue with him, you just nodded and let him kiss you until you were smiling. He was right. You had plenty of time to do everything you wanted to do together. 

With Bradley's lips gliding along your forehead, you whispered, "Should we have some cake?"

A few minutes later, you were sitting on the piano bench next to him with Tramp in your arms, and Bradley played and sang Happy Birthday. He kissed you about a million times as he poured two glasses of champagne and sliced into your birthday cake. Then you stood in your kitchen which smelled like all of the floral arrangements, and he wrapped his arms around you from behind once more. You laughed every time he kissed your cheek and opened his mouth for some cake.

"Thanks, Roo," you whispered before you fed him a bite. You'd make sure he had his favorites for his birthday, lemon cake and beer. And maybe with a little luck, in a few months when he turned thirty seven, you would be skipping the beer in favor of something non-alcoholic. 

"I hope you enjoyed the best day of the year," he murmured. And you realized that all the best parts were when you were with your husband, living in the moment instead of worry about what you couldn't control.

Later, when you were ready for bed and snuggling up on his chest, you told him, "You could never disappoint me, either."

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

Once again, this one hurts a little bit. Because this really happens. Don't beat yourself up, BG. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls.

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[flawseer]

Jade Mountain Academy students

#1 - Seawing chapter

Part one of my attempt to draw all the students of Jade Mountain Academy. Keep in mind that a lot of these have virtually no usable character information available beyond one or two short quotes, especially the poor sods in the copper and quartz winglets. That means some of this data is going to be made up and will likely conflict with any established popular headcanons. Just trying to make sense of this for myself.

With that out of the way:

Turtle, Prince

Tribe - Seawing

Winglet - Jade

Color - Jade green

Relatives - Princess Tsunami (sister), Princess Anemone (sister)

Clawmate(s) - Umber (Mudwing)

Favorite subject - Literacy

Least fav. subject - Exercise

Physical characteristics - luminous markings: large, polygonal, interlocking; royal wing markings; average size, slightly overweight

Other characteristics - socially subdued, low confidence

Pike

Tribe - Seawing

Winglet - Gold

Color - Lapis blue

Relatives - Barracuda (cousin)

Clawmate(s) - Bigtail (Nightwing), Flame (Skywing)

Favorite subject - Cultural Exchange

Least fav. subject - Science

Physical characteristics - luminous markings: small to medium size, jagged; minor scarring; unusually small stature, lean and wiry

Other characteristics - unusual attachment to Princess Anemone, socially aggressive (suggest counseling), prone to self-injury (suggest monitoring)

Anemone, Princess

Tribe - Seawing

Winglet - Silver

Color - Baby blue

Relatives - Princess Tsunami (sister), Prince Turtle (brother)

Clawmate(s) - Ostrich (Sandwing)

Favorite subject - Exercise

Least fav. subject - History

Physical characteristics - rings of petal-shaped patches around eyes; royal wing markings; pink accents in wings and webs; small stature, average weight

Other characteristics - animus wielder (necessitates close behavioral monitoring), socially domineering (possible maladaptive coping response, suggest counseling)

Snail

Tribe - Seawing

Winglet - Copper

Color - Seafoam green

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Alba (Icewing), Mindreader (Nightwing)

Favorite subject - Exercise

Least fav. subject - History

Physical characteristics - curly horns; luminous markings sharp and vibrant; strong hindlegs, stature and build otherwise average

Other characteristics - fastest swimmer

Barracuda

Tribe - Seawing

Winglet - Quartz

Color - Violet blue

Relatives - Pike (cousin)

Clawmate(s) - Mightyclaws (Nightwing)

Favorite subject - did not disclose

Least fav. subject - did not disclose

Physical characteristics - luminous markings sharp and jagged; dark stripe patterns on neck scales; large stature

Other characteristics - socially outgoing, most enigmatic