#sunni's bits and bobs

[noctilucous-sunni]

game developer!creator in sagau that can play around with glitches and bugs, make things spawn or disappear instantly, which everyone perceives as magic or godly powers so therefore you must be the all creator if you can play around with the world as you wish, similar to the matrix in a way :))

(junior?) developer!creator in sagau thinking it must be a dream because how else can you play around with teyvat’s physics as if you’re coding in unity?

developer!creator in sagau saying their thoughts of fixing glitches or adding code out loud and its as if a big code editor pops up in the sky that only you can see which directly allows you to change the world as you see fit (you can even change it to a smaller one)

developer!creator in sagau having too much fun by creating a pen of boars and having them spawn continuously for xiangling and doing the same thing with fish and happily allow klee to go fish blasting forever without even changing the landscape because they can put it back together seamlessly

developer!creator in sagau having too much fun with bombs and spending time with albedo and sucrose in their lab

developer!creator in sagau teasing childe/ayato/cyno during a sparr by making their weapons disappear by muttering lines of code which instead looks like a incantation for a magic spell

developer!creator in sagau drinking with kaeya and venti in angel’s share, only buying one drink but constantly refilling it with their coding prowess causing diluc to frown and later kick kaeya and venti out, but not you, oh not his precious all-creator (that was mildly getting on his nerves)

developer!creator in sagau bonding with layla and kaveh over how stressful university is, complaining and encouraging each other

developer!creator in sagau struggling to figure out how to make themselves fly just so they can try to catch wanderer every time he flys off in a huff or with a teasing mark

developer!creator in sagau being head over heels for dain and trying to spawn a farm of khaenri'ahn flowers, the inteyvat, hoping that he doesn’t hate you because you’re somewhat a god yourself

developer!creator in sagau playing tcg with cyno and tighnari and kaveh and alhaitham and yet completely cheating with their powers just to mess with cyno because they think it’s hilarious and eventually apologize, creating a special deck personalized for him

developer!creator in sagau chatting with alhaitham about the language of code because he’s a little language nerd and learning about how you can literally change the world anytime you want

ALSO i added this real quick, but developer!creator working with albedo to make glasses/contacts because they can’t handle seeing the world in code constantly, they want to experience the world too, plus it gives them headaches

[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

[spicesprouts]

Sunny at the beginning of the quest: "I've done it once can I tell you abo-"

"NO I NEED IT FRESH."

"Alright."

we did this quest together as a team 😊💖

based on @spicesprouts's verbal recount of talking to sifuu afterwards

[liliacamethyst]

Playtime with Miguel O'Hara

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

summary: Miguel begging you to cum. That's it. That's the plot.

warnings: dom/sub, edging, blowjob, smut, 18+ content

a/n: Hey everyone, apologies for my recent absence, I've been buried in exam prep. But don't worry, the 4th part of the web series is on its way soon! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this little story I've had tucked away in my drafts. Remember to look after yourselves and I'll be back before you know it with even more requests and Miguel fics. Love you all and don't forget to stay hydrated!

“Care to play a game?” you ask, as you take steps closer to him. You can see his pride wrestling with his intrigue. “What’s the game?” he asks. You smile wide at him and without warning, you shoot a string of web that wraps around him.

“Simple,” you say, “You have to stay still while I…” you lean in and plant a soft kiss on his cheek, then his jawline down to his throat. His eyes widen.

Miguel tries to hide his delight. “Is that all?” he feigns nonchalance.

“Oh no,” you tease, “there’s more.” You lean in again and brush your lips against his, only to pull away at the last second. The tension between you both is electric.

You wrap more webbing around him, leaving him barely able to move. “Aren’t you going to ask nicely to be set free?” you ask with a smirk.

His pride is legendary, but so is his wit. “No. Yo no ruego." (I don't beg.)"he retorts. He squirms lightly but his face is stoic as ever.

You lean in, your lips a breath away from his, and whisper, “We'll see about that.”

With a flicker in your eyes, you suddenly whip out a sharp nail file and make a quick, precise cut on the crotch of Miguel's suit, freeing his big member. The blue fabric splits apart, revealing his already hard cock.

 You gently glide your finger down the exposed area, and then look up at him with an innocent smile. Despite the unexpected action, Miguel remains unfazed, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes. “ You just had to ask, mi amor" he quips, his voice laced with humor.

A chuckle escapes your lips. "I'm just checking for hidden weapons, Spider. You never know with you." You kneel down, looking up at him with a mischievous smile.

You delicately trail your tongue up and down his length, punctuating your actions with playful, kittenish licks on his leaking tip. When you decide that you've teased him enough, you take his entire manhood into your mouth, your cheeks hollowing.

You can sense his intense, half-lidded gaze on you, accompanied by a soft growl escaping his lips.

He looks down at you, his chest heaving, sweat dripping off his brow.

With every head bob, he grunts louder, his teeth gritted and sweat dripping down his face.

“Mierda, mi sol. I’m close.” You could tell, his balls are tightening in your hand and his moans are growing louder, that was always his tell. But then without a warning and with one final plop you release him from your mouth. 

His eyes shoot open, the intense concentration breaking momentarily for a glare. “What the hell. What do you think you’re doing, Sunny?” his voice is strained, he thrusts his hips forward to get even a tiny bit of friction. Meanwhile, you are already gracefully risen to your feet and slowly lean closer, your breath grazing his ear. "Beg for it," you whisper. Miguel appears perplexed for a fleeting moment, stuttering, “I... I...”

Then, gathering himself, his voice becomes firm as he declares, “I do not beg.”

You grab his balls gently with one hand, while with the other, you tenderly and painfully slowly trace your fingers down his length. In response, a deep, primal growl escapes his throat.

With a raised eyebrow and a faint, teasing smirk, you inquire, "Huh? What was that?"

He seems to be in an internal struggle, trying desperately to retain control. His voice comes out as a soft whisper, “Please, let me cum.”

But your playful side is not quite satisfied. You continue your feathery caresses near his overstimulated tip, replying, “I didn’t quite catch that.”

He makes an attempt to jerk his hips forward, but you assertively tighten your hold. A resigned look crosses his face before he finally capitulates. “Alright, you fucking win. Please, mi sol, please make me cum?” 

At this, you offer a wink of approval and once again take your place kneeling in front of him. “Now was that so hard, Spider-boy?”

[skele-bunny]

Aether texting the group chat, "Hey, has anyone seen Rain and Dew? We were supposed to meet up together in the gardens."

Only for Sunny to reply back, "Oops. My bad. I've got em held up."

She sends a video not too long after of Rain and Dew lazily licking up her cock, making out with her tip and each other. Eyes barely open as they look up at the camera, smiling wider. Rain pulling back to grab Dew's hair, pushing him down to her base and making him bob on it.

The video ends after, and Sunshine just turns her phone off, ignoring the mass notification sounds assuming from both Aether and the others. She's got two pretty boys to keep her occupied! Besides, Aether can wait a bit longer, can't he?

[ladykailitha]

The Rise of The Fallen Part 2

Here we are at last, the end of an era. Other than a short Christmas ficlet this is the end for our boys.

Thank you to everyone who tagged along with me for this long adventure.

Part 1

Abbadon reveals himself and the two most important people in his life. And we see a bit of the aftermath.

~

Abbadon: So before I take off the mask and let the whole world see who I am first I want to thank our manager, who the world had only known as Miss Celeste Baptiste. Robin Buckley. She is my rock and as Shane said, my platonic soulmate and twin. We might not be related but if feels like we were separated from birth.

A picture is shown of their fashion plate of a manager. Dark black bob, dark sunglasses, slinky feminine clothes. The woman that walks into frame is not that. She still has the slender frame and sharp features but she’s wearing boxy, masculine clothing. Her blond hair is a choppy bob that frames her pretty face and bright blue eyes. She grins as she sits on one of the arms of the chair and Abbadon puts one arm around her waist.

Robin Buckley: Hey guys! To all my friends and family: gotcha! As if someone as wonderful as me would ever be just some rockstar’s low level PA. Slubs!

I laugh. She winks at me and I can feel my cheeks flush.

KL: Were you their manager from the beginning?

RB: Yeah. Abbadon and I have always worked together since our first jobs. There was no doubt that I was going to be their manager.

KL: Tell us about those first couple of years.

She huffs her annoyance, not at the question but at the memory: It was pretty hard just getting into the doors of dive bars. Like really hard. I didn’t look like a manager and they didn’t look like a metal band. They looked like the dads of a metal band.

She kisses the top of Abbadon’s head.

RB: It was Abbadon who came up with the idea. At first it was just me. I’d dress up like some high powered manager maybe they would stop fielding my calls. And it worked to get them in the door, but the second they walked on stage, they’d get booed right back off again.

The band shifts uncomfortably in their seats at the memory. They all seem affected by the booing. Even Shane Kendrick who exudes sunny by nature.

RB: So I suggested they do the same. Dress up as metalheads and the metalheads will come. It was Abbadon that suggested the masks and hoods. All the members in the band have features that can’t be covered up by makeup to make them unrecognizable.

She starts counting off on her fingers.

RB: Spence’s crooked nose, Shane’s red hair and freckles. Simon’s high cheek bones and sharp jaw. And Abbadon’s hair.

I frown

KL: Is it red like Shane’s or something?

Robin and Abbadon laugh. And even Abbadon’s partner smiles widely.

Abbadon: I was famous for my hair in high school. It was even one of my nicknames. The Hair. So yeah. Hoods were the only thing that would cover it for sure all the time.

KL: Why not a wig?

Abbadon: I allergic to whatever they use for them. I’ve tried all kinds but I always end up with a rash and a bloody scalp.

I wince.

KL: That must be painful.

Abbadon: There’s something else the mask covers. I have distinctive moles on my face and while they can be covered with makeup, it’s still visible in certain lights.

RB: Like the stage lights in a stadium. You can tell there’s a bump there.

KL: So masks it was then?

Abbadon nods

Abbadon: But I never thought to cover the ones on my neck. I didn’t think that anyone would be paying attention to those.

Robin smacks his arm playfully.

RB: And we all saw how well that worked out for you.

Abbadon shrugs, clearly unrepentant.

Abbadon: I got a boyfriend out of the deal.

Then Eddie Munson, lead singer of Corroded Coffin walks into frame and sits on the other side of Abbadon on that arm of the chair.

Eddie Munson: That would be me! He waves cheerfully at the camera. I had a crush on Abbadon when we were in high school so I mapped every freckle, every mole, every line that I could see. A lot.

KL: Tell us about how you figured out they were one and the same.

He grins and Abbadon shakes his head fondly.

EM: I went to a concert of theirs with the friend everyone wants to see the reaction to this video filmed. I grilled the kid to figure out if he was in on the secret, too. But nope. He’s definitely caught on by now, though. He winked at the camera. Sweetheart, I have my own confession to make.

Abbadon looks up at him expectantly. Don’t ask me how I can tell with the mask still on. The best I can figure is that he looks like a puppy. Head tilt and all.

EM: Jeff’s known who you are for almost as long as I have.

Abbadon’s laugh is bright and clear.

Abbadon: I know, babe. He told me that first tour together. I thought you knew.

Eddie turns toward the camera slowly.

EM: Jeffrey Oliver Lawrence, I am going to murder you and no one will ever find your body.

Everyone laughs.

Eddie and Abbadon share a look and Abbadon takes a deep breath. He pulls off his mask, but his head is still down. He pushes back the hood and takes a deep shuddering breath. Both Robin and Eddie take one of his hands and gives it a squeeze. Abbadon raises his head. They give his hands another squeeze and exit frame, leaving Abbadon alone in the hot seat.

He’s a good looking man with an easy smile and yes, very distinctive moles. His hair is floppy and a warm honey brown.

Abbadon: Hey, Dustin. I know you’re about ready to murder me right now, and I can absolutely explain if you’ll let me. I’m really, really sorry I didn’t tell you. Hiding this from you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. But I know you. There is no way you would have been able to keep this to yourself. You would have been too excited.

Your two best older guy friends frontmen of their own metal band? You would be vibrating out of your skin to tell people. And you wouldn’t mean to, but someone you thought you could trust would sell me out for a tidy check and whole lot of hurt. Not just me and the rest of The Fallen, but for you too.

I know it’ll be some small consolation, but the first album is about you and your friends. I hope you can forgive me.

Abbadon chokes back tears.

Abbadon: Right. Now that the apology is out of the way. My name is Steve Harrington and I’m 33. Like Shane said, same birthday, year and all. I wasn’t always a metalhead. I only started listening to it because of Corroded Coffin. They were from Hawkins and Dustin highly recommended them to me. So I started listening to them. They were so good that I kept going back to the music store–he rolls his eyes yeah, yeah. Lame I know. But the internet! he waves his hands I wanted a person’s recommendation not some algorithm. And I got really into it.

KL: How long had you been singing?

Abbadon (SH): Since I was a kid. I learned how to play piano, sing, and dance. My mother wanted to me to be a little gentleman. Hell I even had allocation lessons.

My eyebrows shoot up.

KL: Was your mom trying to live out some Jane Austen fantasy through you?

Abbadon (SH) laughs: Something like that.

KL: I’m a little furious about the names, if I’m honest.

Abbadon (SH) throws his head back and laughs. The rest of the band joins in.

Abbadon (SH): I would like to take credit for it because it is so fucking hilarious. But no, that was all Shane.

Astraeus (SK) grins.

Astraeus (SK): Hell yeah it was. Robin hated it at first but once people started using them it just kinda made sense. And the rest is as they say is history.

Abbadon (SH) gets up and moves out of the hot seat to sit with his band.

KL: It must be so strange to be calling each other by your real names.

Asmodeus (SO): Fuck no. We’re friends outside of the band.

Abbadon (SH): I know we don’t have the decade long history of playing together before making it big the way Corroded Coffin does, but we’re solid as friends. We were all invited to Spence’s daughters’ Christening. Shane couldn’t make it because he had another family thing crop on the same weekend, but we support each other.

I am taken back at how fierce Steve Harrington is about the love his bandmates. I can see around him his band relaxes when he takes charge, like a commander of a military unit. They all look up to him, even though Shane and Steve share the same birthday, it’s clear they love Steve like an older brother.

KL: So what’s next for The Fallen?

Azrael (SP): I know fans will be disappointed to hear but we are taking a two year break. We need time for our families to get use to the fact we lied to them for the last twelve years.

Asmodeus (SO): There maybe some heavy fallout that we have to deal with and we don’t want our attention divided like that.

Astraeus (SK): Our music would suffer for it and we don’t want to do that to our fans. We love you guys.

Abbadon (SH): Trust the process. Trust us. I know that seems like a lot to ask right now. But please respect our privacy at this time.

KL: Thank you so much for joining us today. The Fallen everybody!

There is a smattering of claps from the crew and Eddie Munson and Robin Buckley whistle and cheer.

Looking over at the four men that felt they had to hide themselves to be treated with respect in the genre they loved you can see the weight of the world has lifted from their shoulders and they are happy.

*

“Why does Eddie have to record this?” Dustin whined.

Eddie laughed. “You are the self-proclaimed biggest fan of The Fallen, I’m honestly more surprised that you didn’t want to record it yourself.”

Steve bumped his shoulder into Dustin’s. “And it’s not like we’re going to stream it. If you have a bad reaction, it won’t go up on TikTok. I promise.”

Dustin narrowed his eyes. “Pinkie swear?”

Eddie and Steve both held out their pinkies. Dustin used both of his hands to shake on it and then settled in to watch the video.

Steve shifted nervously in his seat as his three best friends in the world revealed themselves to be members of a famous metal band. As they dropped hints about Abbadon’s identity.

Dustin’s face went from excitement to confusion to anger and Steve braced for the explosion.

But it never came. Dustin, for all his bluster growing up, had changed. He waited until Steve’s reveal and his apology.

Dustin’s anger vanished like mist in the morning sun as he watched TV Steve fight back tears about having to keep this secret from him.

He slowly turned to Steve. “Which songs are about me?”

Steve barked out a laugh. “There’s only one about just you. The rest are about you and your friends. The one about you is ‘Brother’. The ones about you and your friends are ‘The Heart and the Flame, ‘My Lullaby’, and ‘Kiss the Girls, Kiss the Boys’, from the third album is about you guys, too.”

Dustin frowned for a moment. “That last one was directed at Mike and Will specifically, wasn’t it?”

Steve shrugged. “It was aimed at all of you. Kissing who you want to should never have to hurt. Boys or girls. And at the time it was also partially about me being bisexual, too.”

Dustin thought for a moment and then launched himself at Steve, throwing his arms around the boy that became his surrogate older brother.

“I forgive you!” he mumbled into Steve’s shoulder.

Steve sighed in relief. He gave Eddie the thumbs up and he stopped recording.

“I almost told you so many times, Dusty,” Steve murmured. “You have to believe that.”

Dustin nodded. “I’m a little hurt at the moment but I think once the shock wears off, I’ll agree with you. But I’ll be grumpy about it.”

Steve squeezed him tight. “As is your right.”

“I still can’t believe you and Robin told us that you were gofers for the record label!” he huffed.

Steve and Eddie laughed.

“As if we would have stayed if it sucked that bad, bud,” Steve said. “We’ve always moved on and up with every job we’ve ever taken.”

“I guess I didn’t really look hard into it,” Dustin admitted. “The rest of us had all gotten these amazing jobs.”

He began counting on his fingers, “Max is a software designer and motion capture stunt skateboarder for all the Tony Hawk games. Lucas recently retired from a decade long career in the NBA. Mike and Will are New York Times best selling children authors. Ellie is a fashion designer that has had her work featured at New York fashion week. Eddie’s a rockstar, Nancy and Jonathan are an epic journalist duo. Argyle has three food trucks and a Michelin star restaurant in LA. And I work for freaking NASA, man, with my wife.”

“I’m still upset you and Ellie didn’t work out,” Eddie groused.

“She got invited out to London at the same time I got the job at NASA,” Dustin said with a wry smile. “We knew then we wanted different things.”

He huffed out a sigh and rotated on the sofa so he was facing Steve. He twisted his fingers together and bit his lip. “When Azrael talked about how isolating it felt that no one in your lives figured out that you were in one of the biggest metal bands in the country, I scoffed.” He looked down at his hands.

“Because I was so sure if I had known anyone in The Fallen I would have guessed,” Dustin continued. “Only I did know someone and I would have never guessed. I was so willing to believe that you and Robin just didn’t have the ambition to chase your own dreams. And I’m sorry.”

Steve, Robin, and Eddie all hugged him.

“Now you’ve got hella bragging rights at work now,” Robin said with a smile. “You’re friends with Corroded Coffin and The Fallen.”

Dustin lit up and started talking a mile a minute, hands waving and grinning from ear to ear.

Steve pulled out his phone and read the messages he was getting from his best friends and bandmates. There had been a couple of rough moments, like Steve knew was going to come from his own parents and maybe even a couple of their group, but they would make it just fine.

The least surprising thing to come out of the reveal was that Chrissy and Robin were dating and had for a couple of months after their trip around the world, but waited until the reveal to come out to tell people.

The most surprising thing to come out of the reveal was that Simon had plucked up the courage from somewhere to ask Vickie out on a date. She said yes.

There were hints on the horizon of another relationship forming too. And judging from Shane’s texts, once Gareth got over the shock of Abbadon being Steve, the two of them were going to be a pretty sure bet.

Nadia was the only one who really took it in stride. But that woman was unflappable. She just calmly sat Spence down to discuss the sudden invasion of their private lives and how to handle all that. Spence had admitted in the group chat that he cried in relief when she took over.

It looked as though The Fallen was going to rise from the ashes of this experience just fine. Hell, they might even get a album or two out of the deal.

Because “The Rise of The Fallen” sounded like one hell of a song title and album name, too. Their future was going to be as bright as their past. He just had a feeling.

~

Yes, Robin flirted with Karla but only to make her blush. She is faithful to her Chrissy.

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @chameleonhair @eyehartart

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95 @garden-of-gay

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @clockworkballerina

[notroosterbradshaw]

Oh thank you for the compliment :) i'm sure you could do it justice but maybe we could get some generic hangman fluff maybe with them at the beach and he looks out for her by putting sunblock on her and making sure she's eats lunch and stays hydrated and he's teasing her and being very playful with her? Thanks



Okie doke, you get your Hangman on the beach, nonny. I hope you enjoy! Hangman fluff awaits. Dagger Squad future fic.

You liked this new tradition you were able to share with Jake. Each year, around the same time depending on deployments, family commitments, you know the normal life stuff, Dagger Squad came from far and wide to try and get back to the beach for their annual defensive football game and bonfire. Mid-afternoon, the egos start running their mouths about which team will win, and what the stakes are (and the winners and partners always enjoyed the 200 push-ups for the losers and Fanboy's sigh at wishing he never mentioned it).

"Right here, baby?" Jake asked quietly, saying a quiet hello to Bob's partner and burgeoning baby belly and Penny. His warm palm skimming the skin between your ripped jeans shorts and his old Foreigner tee you'd knotted in the back to make work. He nuzzled your neck as he dropped the cooler and whipped off his shirt. He hadn't buttoned it so what difference did it mean as he slid out of his flip flops and put all his gear into a pile and into the beach bag.

Some regiments he just couldn't shake, and neatness was one of them. So was the gym. You would love him endlessly anyway, but he was proud of his body and worked hard on maintaining it as he got older. You were proud he was proud he took such good care of himself and you reaped the benefits.

Ha gave you some space as he unfolded the blanket and flicked it out onto the warm sand as Harvard and Yale approached him and within seconds, they were talking about recent deployments, new kit, and manoeuvres. You were as supportive as you could be with things you'd rather be kept in the dark over. Jake respected that. He knew what he did terrifed you but the boys just understood it better than you ever could. You were absolutely not offended.

You tossed some bits and pieces on the blanket, camera, snacks, and sunscreen. "Ooh," Jake smirked, popping to pick up the sunscreen. "May I?" he asked eagerly.

"May I?" you repeated, biting back your grin. "Aren't you proper today?"

"I would hate for you to be burnt. It's a skin trauma, baby," he protested as you took your sunnies off and glared at him. "And I wanna feel you up. Sue me," he shrugged, his true personality shining through.

"Well, aren't you sweet?" you roughly patted his cheek and the masochist in him loved the lack of caress in your touch. He adjusted his jaw appreciatively. "Okay, Jake. Just to avoid the trauma."

"Your skin is your biggest organ," he reminded you, watching you lift the shirt over your shoulders, licking his lips at the additional skin you'd been keeping under wraps. "Not mine..." he muttered cheekily.

"Jake, knock it off," you laughed as he grinned wide, turning you away from him. You wouldn't complain about the extra touch and affection that lasted a good five minutes, you we melting under his light touch. He kissed the nape of your neck in finality. "I'm good?" you asked quietly.

"You're very, very good," he growled playfully swatting your butt.

You gave him space and sat on the beach blanket, sunnies back on, and Jake plopped your hat on your head. "Thank you."

"Here ya go, sweetheart," Jake handed you your water bottle. "Gettin' hot out here," he grinned. He thrived in hot weather. You smiled against his lips as he laid a gentle kiss on you. "You wanna play?" he could hear the catcalling and jeering for Jake to toss the ball around.

"Would rather put knitting needles in my eyes. Only here to watch the bodies," you joked... kind of.

"You just mean mine, right?" he asked, a mix of unsurity and arrogance as you laughed.

"Yes, Jake. Only yours. Go have fun," you reassured him, taking a seat and a cool slug from your water bottle as he stood over you and squatted to give you another sweet kiss.

"I'm glad you're here, sweetheart. I'm happy as this group gets bigger that you're here with me and you get to meet the people I trust more than my own family."

You cupped his jaw. "They are your family. They are our family, baby. You big softie."

Warm in the sun, but you noticed his ears flush and duck his eyes. "Don't tell anyone or my reputation will be shattered," he teased as you both laughed loudly, and his heart swelled to bring that smile to your beautiful face. "Gimme some lovin' before I go and kick these preppy asses," he smiled against your lips and kissed you deeply. "Another," he demanded. "You're so sweet, I can't handle it," his nose nuzzled against yours.

You knew his friends were mocking him behind his back but you were very confident he didn't change his behaviour around his friends and was comfortable enough to lay some love on you and you were very aware of Penny's stare... and jaw-dropping.

"Jake, Jesus!" you hear Coyote holler.

"Your bestie is pissed," you told Jake as he looked back over his shoulder and gave the team a selective one-finger salute. "Go, before they think it's me keeping you here. And not your that's horribly whipped."

"I'm whipped," he admitted and stretched, this incredible body flexing in all the right places, the golden sun making the beads of sweat his flawless skin glisten. Jesus, he was just so sexy. "I freely admit it."

"Go," you scooted him as his persona changed and Hangman arrived.

"All right, all right, all right, who is ready for some football?" he boomed, drifting over to his friends. It got rough and competitive, sweaty and slippery pretty quickly and you got closer a while later to take some polaroids as the sun set for shits and giggles later tonight to hand out. You had a pleasant afternoon as more friends and family joined you and kept you busy.

As the game was called and losers paid their penance in the form of push-ups, you watched Jake and Rooster put together the bonfire, the part you were most excited for. Yes, Jake Seresin was hotter, if possible, in most light, but the way the flames flickered over his face as you chatted with Natasha and he kept his arm around your shoulder, under the pretence of keeping you warmed before the roaring fire.

"You hungry, babydoll?" he murmured in your ear, the barbecue well and truly cranked and the smells driving your tummy into overdrive. "Beer?"

"Yes to both, please?" you asked and he nodded, kissing you tenderly before leaving you with Natasha. She shook her head in disbelief.

"Who is that guy and what did he do with Bagman?" she asked, astonished. You grinned. "That is a man in love."

[hey-august]

Is this what you wanted? | Buggy x afab!Reader

WC: 3k Warnings: NSFW, mdni, Buggy x afab!reader, friends to something, profanity, mentions of alcohol, fingering - reader receiving, vaginal sex, creampie, pls practice safe sex, angst no comfort A/N: Um...I'm sorry. I'm happy with this story, but also so very sorry. Happy Angst August!

Teaser: Buggy placed a hand around your fist, keeping his coat trapped. He tilted his head and raised his brows, a cue for you to continue talking. Instead, you fell into the depths of his eyes. Like you did that night in the rain.

You both knew what this was. A handful of sunny afternoons spent with sandy feet and ice cold beer bottles dripping with condensation. Nights in seedy bars - fingertips salty from snacking on peanuts and empty shells found in your pockets the next morning. An hour or two grabbing a bite to eat, sharing a plate of puffed pastries stuffed with spiced meat, or seeing who can eat a bucket of fried spiraled potatoes the fastest. (Buggy got the furthest before he bit his tongue, shrieked at the horrifically incorrect crunch, and you dropped your food while cackling.)

This was fun and that’s all it was.

Just moments of levity whenever time found you two together. There was nothing more behind the way you hugged Buggy each time you saw him. Or how you’d compliment his new looks and applaud the goofy poses he’d strike. Nothing behind the way his hand would rest on your shoulder or back when you two walked through crowds. Or when you’d grab his sleeve and lead the way. When his hand would rest on your knee. Nothing in the way his eyes held the stars sparkling on the water. Or your laughter in the wind when his ship is at sea.

Sure, there was the one night you two kissed. But it didn’t mean anything. It was raining. There was lightening. And thunder. You two were stuck outside, huddled under Buggy’s heavy coat, which was only getting heavier with each raindrop that it soaked up. The flashes of light were bright. Blinding. And the thunder was loud. And his lips were close.

You couldn’t keep your eyes off of them as he talked. The red paint was faded from a night of drinking. Buggy would lick his lips while talking. Drops of rain clung to the stubble on his jaw. His adam’s apple bobbed. And his lips…they were soft and warm against yours. The next flash of lightening shone brightly in his eyes before he returned the kiss. In the rain, while hiding under a coat. And that’s where the moment ended.

They were rare, but the times you spent on Buggy’s ship were some of your favorites. He was loved by his crew and they embraced you by extension. Cheery greetings and invites to have a drink were plentiful. They pulled you into their tricks and dances, told you stories and listened to yours, asked for your help and shared advice. The ship was noisy, it smelled, there was chaos and mess, and it suited your Buggy perfectly.

The moon watched you and the captain in his quarters. Laughing and drinking, like usual. The pirate was showing you a map, a finger rasping as it followed the course set for tomorrow morning. He tapped a spot excitedly, telling you about all the treasures that would belong to him. How the expedition will make him and his crew famous. That you were lucky to know the Great Captain Buggy and the fearsome Buggy Pirates before it all changed. And even luckier, he would bring you back something special.

His volume rose and dropped, uncontrollable with the enthusiasm bubbling through him. The passion and fervor Buggy emanated was captivating. In this moment, he was walking among the stars. And in this moment, you wanted to walk with him.

“I could go with you.”

Buggy paused, then let out a deep belly laugh. He tapped the map again and explained how dangerous the trip would be. His crew was trained and ready and even then, some of them might not make it back. Meanwhile, you could count the number of islands and towns you’ve visited on one hand. On the map, the circumference of your travels was smaller than the bottom of the bottle you two had been sharing.

“Don’t make jokes like that,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye and leaving behind a smudge of eyeliner.

“I’m serious. I want to go with you.” You stared at Buggy, just waiting for him to laugh that beautifully irritating laugh again.

But he didn’t. The lighthearted joy slid away while the smile stayed. The twinkle in his eyes flickered, a weak candle in the darkness overtaking his expression.

“You don’t know what you want.” Buggy spoke slowly, as if you misunderstood yourself. As if he knew better.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that! Don’t fucking patronize me,” you stormed over to Buggy and grabbed the lapel of his coat, ignoring the giggle that escaped his mouth. “I know what I want.”

“Then tell me.” His voice was low. Teasing. Burrowing into your head.

You stared deep in the pirates eyes, ready to repeat yourself.

“I want…” The words drifted off as nimble shadows pulled at the truth that both of you knew. The real answer. It wasn’t what you wanted, but who.

Buggy placed a hand around your fist, keeping his coat trapped. He tilted his head and raised his brows, a cue for you to continue talking. Instead, you fell into the depths of his eyes. Like you did that night in the rain. You crashed, lips first.

He let you push his coat off, rolling his shoulders until the heavy garment fell. Buggy matched your movements to stay connected and entangled. When you were busy holding him close - hands on either side of his face, sliding to the back of his head, down to feel his chest - his hands busied themselves with buttons and buckles. Then they busied themselves elsewhere.

Your heartbeat increased dramatically, nearly pushing you out of your mind, when Buggy’s fingers dipped beneath your clothes. Biting his bottom lip, you whined. The moment was becoming too full to hold everything. It threatened to split you - mind and body. To force you to pick between thinking and experiencing.

“Too hard,” Buggy snapped, pulling his tender lip from your teeth.

You mumbled an apology. Maybe. It felt like you said something as you pressed your forehead against his stubbled cheek. Despite starting the journey cautiously, one of Buggy’s fingers slipped and slid between your folds and collided with your clit, sending a jolt through your body. Standing on tiptoes, you let out a pitiful moan and leaned into Buggy more. You swayed together, adrift in the waves the ship sat on.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.”

“Mmhmm…”

Buggy’s chin was pressed against your head grinding into the acknowledgment you nodded. His body continued to chase and constrain you. The arm wrapped around your back was less of an embrace for affection, but more for desire. He pulled you off balance just enough for him to hold and maneuver you. With a leg wedged in the area between yours, Buggy ignored the space you tried to create by hovering above the pleasure.

With each caress, every drag of his thick fingers against your bundle of nerves, you floated into the stars. Buggy pressed against you, pushing you higher and higher until there wasn’t enough air to breath. Your head was whirling, following the movement of the constellations and the spin of galaxies. You were far, far away. Clinging to Buggy’s shoulders, you clawed your way back into your body and back into his hold.

“N-no, wait,” you choked out.

Buggy’s jaw moved but the words were lost in your messy hair. Sliding a hand down to his elbow, you pushed the pirate’s arm back. The rest of his body followed, leaving an emptiness between your legs and in your chest.

He held up the two fingers that stole some of your heat and rubbed them together before pulling them apart. A strand of wetness bridged the gap, a sticky thread catching shimmers of light. With a wink, Buggy popped his slick-coated fingers in his mouth and nodded in approval.

The captain’s desk was barely a step behind you. Between the furniture and the captain himself, there was hardly enough space to undress. Sitting on the hard wooden edge, you kicked off your heavy shoes with a thud and shimmied out of your pants. Two hands on your hips stopped your next moves.

Buggy hooked his fingers on either side of your cotton panties and slid them down slowly. So fucking slow. The feeling rippled out across your skin, bringing heat and goosebumps. The little bit clinging slick that found it’s way to your thigh was cold.

“You’re fucking dripping,” Buggy said, his eyes following a tangible path from the thin, soaked fabric and up to your wet cunt.

“Because you keep teasing me, you shit!” Your breathless response couldn’t hold onto the intended sharpness. If anything, you were whining. Begging for more.

The hungriness only increased when Buggy finished undoing his pants and let them fall, along with his underwear. His cock sprang forwards and bobbed, finally freed in your presence for the first time.

Sure, some late night rum-fueled talks carried filthy stories. Raunchy comments about past trysts and boastful claims about sex and alcohol, both of which came with daring remarks about what was under everything. Poking at suspected lies and prodding at the truth beneath all the clothes and bravado. Despite the talks and drunken dances, stupid faces while eating hot dogs and sausages, cream-filled pastries and familiar looking fruit, you weren’t ready.

Buggy’s cock was thick and dripping, the shiny head swollen with the audacity he had for commenting on how wet you were. Despite all the precum smeared on the blunt tip, his stupid striped underwear was probably just as wet as yours. What a fucker. You watched his dick twitch, bouncing erratically under it’s own weight while another pearly bead gathered at the slit.

“Oh just say it! You’re too easy to read.”

Buggy’s taunt was accompanied by bringing a hand to the base of his erection. With his thumb and forefinger nestled more in the blue curls than wrapped around his member, Buggy held himself carefully. Little movements let him squeeze and stroke the bottom of the shaft, working out a groan that was just as light.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his. The cool color stood out among the hot flush on his face, which was adorned with beads of sweat already collecting near his hairline.

“You’re fucking dripping,” you said. The smile that grew on your face was met with an equally pleased grin from the clown. “You’re making a mess, Buggs.”

Buggy bit his lip and rolled his eyes. “I’m about to.”

Fuck, those three words were more than enough for you to spread your legs like a whore.

The first touch was everything. All the thoughts and feelings that you tried to ignore, that you peered at through closed doors, that brought you onto this damn pirate ship, went up in fire. White hot flames licked at your skin and consumed all the oxygen in the room.

Buggy’s hand trembled, sliding the tip of his dick along your slit and mixing the liquids with a sickeningly wonderful sound. Just as he took his time exposing your wet heat, Buggy took his time lining up. He ignored your little whimpers and gasps, or maybe he couldn’t hear them at all over his own ragged breathing. The way his gaze was hooked on the path his cock was following reminded you of the awe his eyes reflected when looking at a treasure map.

Just then, you wanted nothing more than to lay under all of the attention. It was agonizing. Delicious and painful. Your hands hurt from gripping the edge of the desk. Your ass hurt from hanging off the wood. Your pussy was tender from being swollen and needy for so long. Your chest ached. But all the pleasure meant you didn’t want the pain to stop. Not yet. You wanted the fire to swallow you whole.

Blue eyes found yours through the inferno. They were full of pleading and warning. Buggy’s tip rested against your entrance. Your lips mouthed a silent word, one that both confirmed and begged for what came next. For the connection that your bodies craved.

Buggy swore under his breath as he eased into you. Something about being so wet but incredibly tight. You weren’t sure. All you could think about was the stretch needed to accommodate his girth and the subsequent fullness. You were real fucking full. And you wanted more.

You looked at the man kneading your thighs. His cerulean brows were knitted close and his eyes were shut just as tight. His pink tongue poked out to moisten his lips before retreating so Buggy could clench his jaw. All while his fingers dug into your soft skin, his short painted nails threatening to leave crescent impressions.

“Bug-”

“M’fine,” he croaked. “Gimm- nnh- Give me a m-moment.”

You wanted to. Truly, you wanted to be patient. You had been so patient leading up to this, but as each second stretched in to eternity, you couldn’t wait any longer.

“Move… Please move.”

Buggy finally opened his eyes and were met by yours, which full of tears and longing.

“Fuck,” he whispered desperately as he pulled out. “How does it feel even tighter?”

Although he was talking to himself, your body reacted and Buggy groaned through the contraction.

“Goddamn it, just screw me. Stop fucking around and make a me-”

Your frustrated tirade was cut off by two fingers in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. With your mouth pushed open, Buggy pumped moan after moan out of you with the quickening thrust of his hips. It wasn’t fast by any definition, but his nails finally broke the skin on the inside of your left thigh as he tried to hold what he couldn’t.

Spit collected around his fingers. Spit that he smeared on your face when he pulled out his hand and squeezed your chin.

Buggy leaned in.

“Is this what you want?” Each measured word was delivered when his cock was buried deep.

A tear escaped from the corner of your eye and disappeared when it’s fall brought the drop to Buggy’s wet hold.

You nodded. And again, you crashed lips first. Buggy drank your bitter lie, which was sweetened by every sinful sound he fucked from you. In return, you took his heat, his lust, his passion - anything and everything he gave you in this moment. You held it all close, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“M-make a mess for me, okay? Make a mess on my cock,” Buggy panted.

You gave a half nod, stopping to press your forehead against his. Your nose against his. Buggy didn’t pull back, he stayed as you curled tightly and shook. He listened to your shallow breaths and the wet slap of his skin against yours. He bullied his cock into you repeatedly, pushing your limit until it became a new normal. Until your pussy welcomed him deep. Until you dissolved into the flames of ecstasy.

The sounds you made cracked with each throb of Buggy’s impending release. Your walls contracted and fluttered uselessly around the intrusion. The mindless responses were answered in kind by the pirate’s climax.

Buggy’s cock pulsed as it flooded your insides, his hot cum flooding what little area he didn’t already occupy before finding it’s way to the exit. With each slowing thrust, thick creamy drops fell to the floor, and seeped into the cracked wood.

With that, the fire was doused. It was gone. The heat was retreating. You clung to the embers, keeping your legs locked at the ankles. Buggy's soft touch drifted over angry red slivers on your leg before hooking under your knee and easing your tired legs further apart.

Buggy hissed when he pulled back and vacated your body entirely. The mess was undeniable. Cum and pussy juice coated his dick, collecting in the blue curls at the base. Some had found its way down his thigh, slicking down the sparse hair there. His face paint was streaked, ruined from being rubbed, touched, and sweated away. Strands of hair stuck to his face.

And as for you…well, you were entirely fucked up. Your head and heart were jumbled. Rubble and ash. And the little ember you hoped to protect didn’t survive what came next.

Buggy pulled up his underwear and pants, smothering everything under the layers of fabric.

“You should-” He was still out of breath. “You should probably head out now. You- you got what you wanted, so we’re good now.” His voice shook and he took a deep shuddering inhale.

Buggy put a large hand on your leg, his thumb grazing the marks he gave you. After a pause, he patted your thigh and squeezed one final time before leaving the room. He didn’t look back at the person he left exposed, half undressed and dripping on his own desk before closing the door.

Fuck.

The fire was back, but it hurt this time. Worse. Everything was melting and falling apart. You could hardly see through the haze as you pulled on your clothes. You couldn’t even fasten your pants. Your hands were too numb. Or maybe they were shaking. Holding your clothes together with one hand, you carried your shoes in the other. Fuck staying here any longer to put them on.

The door was in the fucking way. Not just because it was a door but because -fuck it. Just fucking fuck.

Your shoes fell from your hand as you struggled to turn the knob. You finally got the door open but those goddamn fucking shoes were in the way. Bending down, the first sob escaped your lips.

With shoes in hand again, you kicked the door open the rest of the way and padded out of the suffocating room. You kept your eyes trained to the floor as you navigated your way off the ship. While you could avoid seeing any of the sideways glances from the crew, you couldn’t tune out the murmurs and chatters. You did your best to ignore hesitant calls and move away from pitying hands.

You didn’t want their reassurances. You didn’t want their pity. You didn’t want any of it.

Because, according to Buggy, you already got what you wanted.

[bradshawsbaby]

“please don’t scare me like that again.  i can take a lot of things,  but not losing you” with bob? boyfriend on board with be so Emotional if you said this to him🥺😭

I feel like this is the perfect prompt for a little post-bird strike scene!

Nothing could have prepared you for the terror you felt when you picked up the phone one sunny afternoon, the stoic voice of Vice Admiral Simpson reporting that your fiancé had been involved in a training accident and was being held in the infirmary for observation.

Bird strike. Ejection. Burn in. They were nothing but words, disjointed phrases floating around in your muddled brain like alphabet soup as you slid to the floor, phone pressed tightly to your ear even as you struggled to make sense of what the man on the other end of the line was saying.

You knew that what your future husband did for a living was dangerous. Heck, it was one of the most dangerous professions out there. And you had known as well as he that when he got called back to TOPGUN for a top secret training mission, there was a chance you would never see him again.

But now that that chance had nearly become a reality, you found that you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t force any of the words you wanted to get out past your lips.

“Is he—is he going to be alright?” you finally managed to say after a shaky breath. There was a chance you’d cut off Vice Admiral Simpson, but you couldn’t be sure.

There was a pause for half a heartbeat, then he said, “Yes. He should be. He’s resting now, but I’ll leave a message for him to call you as soon as he’s able.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, the tears starting to flow once you hung up.

You sat vigil by your phone for the next two hours, until it finally began buzzing with a FaceTime call.

“Bob!” you sobbed out as soon as his precious face filled your screen.

“Hiya, sweetheart,” he greeted you, attempting a lighthearted tone despite the fact that his face was battered and bruised and his voice rasped with exhaustion.

“Are you okay?” you demanded, trying to keep your voice down and stop yourself from overwhelming him. “Vice Admiral Simpson called and I was so worried! What’s happening? Should I fly out there? Are you—”

“Hey, hey,” Bob cooed gently, holding his hand up to the camera as if he could touch your face through the screen. “I’m alright. I promise. A little banged up, to be expected, but the doctors said I’ll be discharged tomorrow.”

“Oh, Bob,” you gasped, weeping in relief. “Please don’t scare me like that again,” you begged him. “I can take a lot of things, but not losing you. I’d never survive that.”

You could tell, even through the phone, that your words had made him emotional. His throat was bobbing as he fought back tears, his blue eyes welling up as he looked at you.

“Oh, sweetheart, I never want to put you through that,” he whispered. “I’m going to come home to you. I promise.”

Sniffling softly, you curled up on the couch, holding your phone close to your face. “Can you stay for a little while? I just want to look at you.”

Bob smiled, nodding as he brought his own phone a bit closer to his face. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

soft(ish) angst prompts

[licorice-tea]

The Captain Who Loved Me (1/2)

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: Angst, Reader is hurt/unconscious (briefly), reader tries to run away from their problems, ends up in a dangerous situation, themes of fear/ danger!, fluff afterwards, sorry for any grammatical or spelling errors!

Word Count: ~1.6k

A/N: Hey… Sorry it’s been so long! My life has been busy, to say the least. Borderline chaotic, but I don’t want to make it out to be a bad thing when there are so many amazing things and people in my life right now. However, there have been a few personal events that have made me less motivated/ less focused on writing. I’m sorry for making you all wait for updates/ requests, but I genuinely am just lacking a lot of interest in writing fanfic at the moment. Still, J appreciate all of your support so so much <3 It makes my day when I go on this app and see that people are still enjoying things I’ve written! So, I hope you enjoy this one too. (Part 1/2 bc i want to do a shorter ending.)

Part 3

Law hadn't thought that when you said you would “go,” you wouldn't really try to leave. And in all fairness, neither had you. You just started walking away from him, way too peeved to even look back or slow down when you heard his stuttered “wait!” And when you got back to your cabin, you picked up a backpack. Then you had filled it with only the essentials (the same way you would pack to go inland for a day or possibly longer.) And finally, with no purpose in your plan besides getting away for a little while and clearing your mind, you headed below deck to the Soldier Dock System.

Franky named this deck the Soldier Dock System because, as he had once explained to you, all of the smaller vehicles housed within the Sunny are like her soldiers. The memory makes you smile as you quietly open the door and close it behind you, then stroll along the small walkway until you spot what you came down here for in the first place: The Mini Merry 2. She bobs in shallow water and seems to call to you; “Get in! Let’s go!”

You’re too tired to make the right decision, so you quickly open channel 2 of the dock system, drop your bag into the passenger seat, and climb in after. An opening on the side of the Sunny lets in higher waters, which carry the Mini Merry out to sea…

~

“Have you seen y/n?”

Zoro’s head snaps up to the other swordsman. The two don’t converse much outside of what's necessary, so he's surprised to see the equally stoic man standing over him while he “naps” (keeps watch) in the crows nest. He shakes his head.

“Nope.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be keeping watch?”

“Yeah, on the ocean. Not my own crew mates.”

Law scoffs, and mutters; “Thanks for nothing.”

Zoro can tell the other captain is annoyed for some reason, and decides to throw him a bone. “Traffy!”

“What?”

“Check the lower levels. They might be hanging out in someone’s workshop… or whatever.”

Law regards Zoro with a suspicious gaze, but it soon turns to one of quiet thanks. He nods and leaves through the hatch in the crows nest.

Cool sea air hits him stronger than expected as soon as he exits the confines of the crows nest. With one hand and both feet planed (somewhat) firmly on the rope ladder, Law leans back to view the weather. A storm is brewing on the horizon, which shouldn’t be any problem for a ship as massive and advanced as the Thousand Sunny. The navigator/thief had briefed everyone on board on the gloomy weather that night after dinner, and though Law had been too distracted by thoughts of you, he had managed to pay a little bit of attention for the sake of important information. You hadn’t been at the impromptu meeting regarding the sea and sky’s conditions, so he had just assumed you were probably resting in your cabin already. No reason to worry over your safety if you were already fast asleep, right?

But as Law continues to survey the waters surrounding his temporary residence, he spots an anomaly. A tiny boat, rocking on the water as the ocean seems to send more violent waves its way. With squinted eyes, Law observes the miniature ship. It’s hard to see through the oncoming rain, but he can make out the lone passenger’s bent knees. They’re apparently trying to brace themselves as they struggle with the steering mechanism at the front of the boat, and their hair is whipped every which way about their face by winds that must be much stronger that far out at sea. It’s hard to make out their features because of the rain that comes down in sheets over their mysterious figure, but when he finally catches a glimpse of their face, Law’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach.

He watches in horror as, what he now recognizes as your ship, is tossed back and forth on the tumultuous waves. You look over your shoulder and back at the Sunny, before you lose your balance. But your head seems to be struck by something at the front of the ship during your short fall, based on the way you first wobble, almost find your footing by leaning forwards, then jolt backwards. Law yells your name at the top of his lungs, but you do not move.

~

When you open your eyes to find yourself tucked into your bed, you think nothing of it. That is, until the throbbing pain in the center of your forehead reveals itself to you. Then the memories of a storm all come flooding back: the freedom you had felt in your first few moments in open water, alone with your thoughts. How quickly that sense of calmness had turned to panic as the weather changed in an instant, leaving you to desperately try to steer back towards the Sunny in a boat no taller than yourself. Slipping on the small deck, only for your head to hit something and… black out. And you remember Law’s voice, too; he had sounded so distant that it must have been your imagination .

The soft creak of your bedroom door draws you from the rush of memories, and you look up to find Chopper making his way into your room with a tray. He doesn’t realize your eyes are open until he’s set it down on a bedside table, and climbed up onto your bed with a stethoscope in hand.

“Y/n! You’re awake!” he gasps.

You offer a weak smile and attempt to sit up, but the reindeer gently pushes you back down. “Chopper… What happened?”

“You had an accident during the storm 3 days ago-“

“3 days ago?”

“Yes, Nami briefed the crew on it. But then Traffy found you on the Mini Merry 2, a mile from the ship!”

“I- I didn’t know there would be a storm…”

Chopper frowns while placing his stethoscope on your chest. You take 2 deep breaths in and he nods to himself before simply sitting beside you. “What were you doing out there?”

You shrug, “I just wanted to clear my head.”

He pays your arm, “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Traffy, but he cares for you a lot. He used his devil fruit to save you in the middle of the ocean, which… could have ended badly.”

This strikes a chord within you. Of course you knew Law cared for you to some degree, but knowing that he put his own safety on the line to help you in your time of need… Perhaps it was wrong of you to assume he was selfish and cold for refusing to admit what was so glaringly obvious to everyone else. What is now so clear to you, too.

He loves you.

“Oh… And is he-“

“He’s fine, but I prescribed him some much needed rest from coming in contact with sea water.”

Chopper finishes examining you and gives you some pain medication for your head, then leaves you alone to properly wake up and get yourself together. To no surprise, your alone time doesn’t last long as an influx of visitors find their way to your cabin.

First are Nami and Robin, who knew you were awake from hearing your voice through shared walls. They come with a small bouquet of flowers from Robin’s garden in a pretty little decorative vase, and each make themselves comfortable in your room. Though the door is closed, Luffy excitedly barges in soon after, followed by Usopp, then Chopper again. He scolds the two young men for disturbing your peace and possibly riling you up, but you assure the even younger doctor that it’s more than fine. Because, in your opinion, there’s nothing like your nakama’s company to raise your spirits. Zoro must have wandered in at some point and decided to take a nap on your floor, which you only realize when Sanji opens the door and hits the swordsman’s leg when he (gently) kicks it open. They resolve to only glare at each other for a moment before Sanji hands you a cup of something warm and sweet, “For someone warm and sweet.”

The 8 of you spend some time chatting and enjoying your company before you find the courage to ask, “Where is everyone else?”

“Jimbei is steering the ship-“

“Brook is keeping watch-

“And Franky is working below deck. Something about improving the Mini Merry 2… But that’s not really what you wanted to know, is it?”

You feel your face heat up as you meet Robin’s all-knowing eye and shake your head “no.” She smiles at you and giggles pass between your crew mates.

Your friends file out of your room (or are ushered out by Nami and Robin, rather, who insist that you should get some more rest.) But soon enough, there’s yet another knock at your door. Your breath hitches, as you feel you already know who’s on the other side…

“Come in.”

Taglist: @augustanna @lavanderdreamve @pinksaiyans @khaleesihavilliard @jennapancake @pinki-minki @loserbee14 @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction @nyxlai @mrs-monkey-d-luffy @pi-crust @bookboyfriendssaveme @dark-swedish-suitcase-blog

[dckweed]

THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND ➺ bob floyd

summary: In which bob floyd gets himself into a bit of a pickle and calls on his hot, recently single neighbor to help him out, the situation is mutually beneficial..in more ways than one.

warnings: fake dating, violence, domestic violence mentioned, nicknames, slowburn, eventual smut.

this is an x reader fic where reader is referred to as sunshine or sunny as a nickname, also i know the moodboard is a lil wonky no one say anything im gonna fix it! i made it on my phone half asleep lmao.

comment below for taglist!

wordcount: 2260

 PART ONE - THE LIE. 

The music was soft in the background for once, his friends laughter the loudest thing in the room. Bob couldn’t help but to laugh along with them as he took a swig of his third beer of the night, a little more than tipsy but not completely drunk. He knew he was a lightweight, and this was the only time he ever preferred to drink, in the comfort of his own home surrounded by people he trusted. His friends were all gathered around his coffee table, some of them on the couch, some of them sprawled on the floor as they laughed and goofed off, the NHL game they had all gathered to watch together no longer a top priority. 

Bradley and Natasha had been talking about the blind dates they had been on recently, set up by each other, each of them pointing out the flaws in the others choosing with racious laughter as they knocked back their alcohol and made a mess of Bob’s coffee table as they playfully fought each other, Bradley flipping over the bowl of potato chips that was sat out as he kicked his leg across the table from the floor to hit his friend. Bob laughs at the scene, not minding the mess because the situation was just so funny and he was for once in his life, enjoying being in the moment. 

“Look what you did, numbnuts! You spilled all the chips!” Hangman shouts, tossing his couch pillow at them from where he lay on the love seat across from Bob. Bradley catches it mid-air and tosses it back to Jake, a terrible throw and a clear enough window into how drunk he is because it doesn’t get any air and knocks clear into the row of open bud lights, knocking them over and causing what was left to slosh out onto the floor. Javy groans, slipping out of the chair he was sat in to pick up the bottles as Bob gets up to get a towel to sop up the wet beer from his outrageously expensive rug so his little shih tzu, Cosie wouldn’t go licking it up when he passed out tonight. 

He was only gone for a few moments but by the time he came back the subject of dating had suddenly been turned to him. He shakes his head, trying not to think to hard about how he was way more than tipsy by that point because the whole room started to spin when he did that. “No, not dating right now.” He says, kneeling down to start cleaning up the mess as Javy comes back from throwing away the bottles. 

Jake scoffs from next to him taking a long drag of his own beer, and Bob braces himself for whats coming next. “Of course not,” He says, a small bit of disdain in his tone, but Bob knew it was all just friendly teasing, even if it did hurt him. Even if he was so tired of constantly hearing from everyone about how he needed to get out into the dating pool. Truthfully, he was tired of being single, but he didn’t need these jack offs meddling in his love life the way Natasha had been doing with her blind dates with girlfriends she’d made off base. It just didn’t work out for him, it never did. 

But god, he was tired of hearing it from Jake about how he was ‘too afraid of girls’ to actually go out and date one, they were grown ass adults, weren’t they? Why did it matter what he did with his personal life outside of work and the friend group? He didn’t like to date around, he liked relationships. Besides, he wasn’t afraid of girls either. That one was starting to piss him off, wither away at that self control that his mama swore he was born with too much of. Not that any of them needed to know that..so why then, did he feel like proving them all wrong?

He knew in the back of his drunk mind that his next choice of words was not a good one to make, and he had just dug himself into a terribly deep hole that would haunt him for the rest of his life (good god he would probably have to change placements if they ever fucking found out, or better yet, retire from the navy altogether). But Lord help him, he opened his mouth anyway and let the words out. 

“I don’t think my girlfriend would like me seeing other people.” He says, taking a kind of sick pleasure in hearing Jake snort beer out of his nose as he sits up so quickly he falls off of the couch, his words catching the attention of his other friends too. “What?” He asks, looking around at all of their gaping faces. He regretted his lie immediately. “Is it so hard to picture me with a girlfriend? I am capable of getting one, you know.” A dig at Jake just for the fucking fun of it. 

There was a long moment of silence before all of their voices were flooding his ears at once, questions coming from all directions. It was almost as if the news had shocked them sober. 

What did I just do? 

THE WEEK PREVIOUS- 

Sunshine Y/L/N, was many things, a bitch, a whore, a liar, a psycho (all depending on which of her ex-boyfriends and family members you asked),..but a fool was not one of them. You were not foolish enough to let a man raise a hand to you and cower away and accept his apology because you thought you deserved it or because it would placate him. And so when the asshole you had been in the midst of arguing with because he swore to god that you were fucking the bouncer at work (you would never, you weren’t in to bald men who looked like broke versions of mr. clean) cocked his arm back and slapped you across the face so hard that blood splattered from your nose, you clenched a fist and let all hell break loose. 

You had screamed, and screamed and screamed and had thrown anything that you could get hands on, drawing blood on his forehead as an empty flower vase shattered against the wall that she shared with her neighbor. “Look what you did, you crazy bitch!” He yelled, holding a hand to his forehead, offended that you had dared to retaliate against him. 

You sucked in a deep breath, fists clenching. There was nothing you hated more than being called crazy. You were not crazy. You were not fucking crazy. “Get out.” You breathed, a surprisingly steady hand pointing towards the door that was being banged on from an outside source. The man looks at you as if you were a bull with three heads. “Are you deaf? I said get the fuck OUT!” You had bellowed, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and dragging him to the door, it took all of three seconds to throw open the chain locking the door before tossing the sorry fucker out, straight into your neighbor, Bob, who had very obviously been banging on the door. 

“Woah-” The tall, lanky man had said, catching the rat bastard who had been flung out at him. He pushes him off of him, noticing the blood on his face and looks at you, the blood streaming from your nose. “Are you okay?” He asks, his immediate thought on his neighbor as watched the guy storm off towards the stairwell at the end of the hallway. 

You sniffed, jaw clinched as you nod, watching the jerkoff walk away before running back inside. Bob follows as you yank open the window in the living room before running back down a hallway, to the bedroom he assumed. Bob had looked around at the mess of glass and blood splatters on the floor, wondering what the fuck had taken pace. He had heard yelling, and glass shattering and had run over trying to open the door. “Mother fucker, DON’T YOU EVER COME BACK HERE!” You scream, tossing a heap of clothes out of the window and down onto the street, Bob heard a mans yell and knew they must’ve landed directly on the offending asshole. “Stupid fucking son of a fucking bitch.” 

“Um, Sunny,” Bob says, placing a gentle hand on your slender shoulder. You were shaking, with fear or anger he isn’t sure but he wants to help. “Are you okay?” He doesn’t know what else to ask, what else to do. He’d never been in this kind of situation before. 

He watches you raise a hand and use the back of it to wipe your bloody nose before turning around to face him, your friendly neighbor whose dog you often watched when he had to work overnights at the base or when he had been on his deployment for the uranium mission. Blood smeared across your upper lip and cheek as you look up at him, eyes watery and full of an emotion he couldn’t quite decipher. The smile on your face is terrifyingly sexy. “Just peachy, bobby,” You whispered, blinking the tears in your eyes away as you set your shoulders squarely. “My step-daddy didn’t raise no fucking bitch, a man like him wants to hit me, he better be prepared for me to hit him back ten times fucking harder.” 

Bob didn’t know what to say, so he resulted for saying a simple okay and stayed around to help you clean up the mess that littered your normally spotless living room. He had even ordered you pizza while you were in the bathroom cleaning up your face, paying for it without telling you because he knew you would argue. He knew you made good money in your line of work, he knew you liked paying for your own things, but he was a gentleman nonetheless and wanted to take care of a neighbor who was clearly in some kind of need of support. He had stayed until you had fallen asleep, silently letting himself out of your apartment and the pair of you hadn’t crossed paths until a week later, granted, you hadn’t left your apartment much (you couldn’t very well go to work with a bruise on your face, it certainly wouldn’t bode well with your bosses nor with your customers) for your paths to have crossed to begin with. 

You were surprised to say the least when a knock sounded on your apartment door early in the morning on Saturday, and even moreso when you opened to find none other than your adorable next door neighbor (and, in a way, your savior) standing in your doorframe, hands in the pockets of his jeans and a cute little crease in between his eyebrows as he looked up at you from where he was looking at his shoes. “Hey Bob, everything okay?” You ask, wiping the sweat away from your forehead. You had been doing an intense pilates session in your living room, a good way to keep you limber and fit for your job. “Are you going on deployment or something? Do you need me to take Cosie?”

“No, no..” Bob shakes his head, he felt stupid for coming over here, for not just immediately fessing up to his friends about his dumb lie. He should just turn around and go back to his apartment and call it a day, and he was going to until his fuckin’ phone buzzed in his pocket and he was reminded of why he had told the damn lie in the first place. “Um, actually, do you think I could come in? I have a favor to ask of you, and it’s..a big one.” 

You were confused but allowed him to come in nonetheless, shutting and locking the door behind him as he did. What could he possibly need from you that wasn’t watching his dog while he was away? You couldn’t say you weren’t keen to find out, you were bored out of your mind and you couldn’t help but wonder what he needed from you of all people. Bob had literally seen you at your worst last week, and yet here he was inside of your apartment with his hands awkwardly shoved into the front pockets of his boot cut jeans, his pretty eyes flitting about, finding anything to look at that wasn’t your breasts that were pushed up in your slightly too small lulu lemon top. 

“What’s up, Bobby?” You asked, headed to your kitchen that over looked the living room. You grabbed a bottle of water out of your slowly emptying fridge and twisted open the cap, taking a hefty sip. 

“Um..” He says, his lips pursing as his eyebrows furrow together somehow even deeper. He blows air out of his nose and finally looks up at you, taking his hands out of his pockets only to place them on his hips, awkwardly. “I need you to be my girlfriend.” He says and you snort your water out of your nose on accident, choking on it at the first mention of the words as you tried to process them. “Oh fuck-” 

TAGLIST-

@mamachasesmayhem

[noctilucous-sunni]

Eternity truly is the ultimate curse (Dying in their arms)

me? posting? that happens like once in a blue moon. tbh i was mainly thinking about dainsleif and scara while writing this. its just a random drabble or smth. if there’s like a big mistake or error pls tell me bc i barely proofread this lol. masterlist

Scaramouche/Wanderer, Dainsleif, Xiao, Aether

Mortals were so painfully fragile.

Haven’t I given enough?

No. Not you, not this.

Countless arguments, countless days of delight and they all end here?

You whimper quietly as he shifts you in his arms. At the end of it all, you’re glad that at least you’ll die in the arms of someone you love and vice versa.

“I’m fine, I just need a nap…” you joke, taking a shaky breath. It results in you coughing painfully, wheezing as you can taste the blood in your mouth.

Always the fool with the slowest heart.

“I’m… so… sorry,” you continue to mumble out, your vision getting worse. “That I couldn’t… stay.” You grasp his clothing tighter, tears falling down your cheeks. “I… really wanted to. I promised…” you choke out, and it gets harder to hold on every moment longer.

But with my tunnel vision,

How was I supposed to see the way?

“No. No, this isn’t the end. No.” He murmurs, pushing your hair back. He shakes his head, unable to come to terms with reality. He won’t lose everything he ever had again, he won’t lose you.

You sigh, your hands loosening from their grip. You’re so, so tired.

Haven’t I given enough, given enough?

When he gazes at you, with fear and panic and despair and absolute utter hidden rage, a soft smile makes its way to your lips. “I’ll see you again. Soon enough.”

Haven’t I given enough?

“No, don’t—don’t… no, please, please…” He begs quietly, throwing aside any notion of dignity or pride he once had as he pleads for you to stay alive just a little longer. He doesn’t want to be alone again. The light in your eyes starts to dwindle, before breathing out your last words for reassurance. “It’s… okay….”

Your warm body is the last sign of life leaving you as it grows cold in his arms. He’d burn the world down if only that meant it would give you back alive.

[yukidragon]

Sunny Day Jack - My Joseph

In an effort to keep perfectionism from sabotaging my attempts to write and share said writing, I've decided to do more spur of the moment writing exercises. Last time I had a bit of a writing prompt about Joseph growing old with his beloved to inspire me. This time I decided to finish a WIP from a while back that was only a few paragraphs long and see where it took me.

Where it took me was a very smutty 1st person perspective romp about a gender-neutral MC wanting to mark their claim on Joseph.

Content Warnings: This story contains graphic sex with a spicy hint of yandere possessiveness. This story is for 18+ Adults Only.

Also please don't mind the rough spots. This is a first draft, off the cuff exercise to encourage myself to just have more fun with just the act of writing itself. I want to stop psyching myself out of creating and sharing my work even if it isn't perfect. I hope you enjoy this spicy tale and please let me know if you do. 💖

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

...

I was so happy that Joseph was doing what he loved. I wanted to support him as much as possible. He was a star, and the way he shined was absolutely spellbinding. How could everyone not love him?

However, after spending hours watching a crowd of fans adoring him, too many flirting with him, I just had to stake my claim on my Joseph once we were alone. Kiss marks didn’t have the staying power of his tattoos, but the sight of him covered in them, moaning in bliss each time I made a new one would stay with me forever.

Joseph was a big man, tall and muscular. Even dressed as a clown he was intimidating despite his charming smile. In his arms I felt positively tiny. He could crush me easily if he wanted, and I felt a thrill knowing that he never would… unless I asked him to.

Most of the time I enjoyed letting him take control, but right now I wanted Joseph at my mercy for a change. He hadn’t expected the ambush the second he entered his dressing room, my body pinning his against the door to force it closed. His wide-eyed look of shock was almost as delicious as his lips when I stole a kiss from him, stifling a yelp that sounded suspiciously like my name.

Those big strong hands of his roamed across my body, caressing and squeezing as he pleased. The feeling of his tongue twining with mine left me feeling lightheaded, but I refused to be swept away or allow him to reverse our positions. I countered his attempt to take control by sliding my leg between his and grinding against his crotch. He broke the kiss with a breathless gasp, his grip tightening on my hips, and I smiled as I felt him go hard against me.

“Shit, Sunshine,” Joseph moaned breathlessly. “What… what brought this on?” He paused to let out a breathless chuckle. “Not that I’m complaining…”

“I want you all to myself for a change,” I said, my voice husky, almost a growl, before I pressed on with my attack. His breathing hitched as I kissed his neck, and he tipped his head back to give me room to suck on his skin. I could feel the way his breath shuddered as he moaned my name, and I relished the way he submitted to me. “I missed you.”

His skin tasted of salt and smoke, and I relished that flavor that was distinctly Joseph. I raked my teeth against his Adam’s apple lightly and felt it bob as he swallowed. I sucked on him there to feel it move again and leave another hickey behind.

“I m-missed you too…,” Joseph responded in a shaky voice that I felt against my lips before he let out a gasp and a delicious moan of my name.

Though Joseph let me devour and mark his throat, he just couldn’t remain idle. His hands went down my pants to squeeze my ass and it took all my willpower not to make an embarrassing sound. “F-fuck!”

Joseph shushed me before flashing me that damn cheeky smile of his. “Careful, Sunshine,” he whispered breathlessly. “We don’t want to get caught do we?”

Oh no he didn’t. Joseph wasn’t going to give me that smoldering look and make me melt into a puddle this time. I was in control, and I was going to make sure he knew it.

“Of course not,” I practically purred. “So you better keep your voice down.”

The flicker of surprise on Joseph’s face turned into a wide-eyed stare as I suddenly pulled his pants and underwear down in one fell swoop. My attack on his neck served as a perfect distraction so that he wouldn’t notice me taking care of that silly smiling belt of his.

I slid down to my knees to get a good look at his cock, fully erect and ready for me. I caught the small amount of precum already beading on the tip on my tongue, getting a taste of salt and sex.

“Fuck…,” Joseph moaned my name as he took hold of my head with both hands. “God, yes.”

Now was the time to mark my territory just the way I rehearsed it in my head. I looked up at Joseph through my eyelashes, doing my best to set him ablaze with my eyes alone the way he always did so effortlessly. “You like that, Starlight?”

“Of course. What’s not to love?” Joseph chuckled in a husky, breathless tone. “I love seeing you like this for me, Sunshine… so beautiful and eager for me.”

I did my best to ignore the way his sweet silver tongue could send my heart racing. I focused instead on tracing the underside of his cock with my fingertips, making it twitch at my feather light touch. “Then tell me… who’s the only one who gets to see you like this?”

“You, Sunshine,” Joseph said without hesitation before saying my name with so much affection that it sent my insides fluttering. “Only you.”

I suppose it was too much to expect Joseph to be caught off-guard enough to sputter or fluster at my boldness, especially not after how many times we’ve made love, but this wasn’t a bad result either. “That’s right,” I cooed as I took hold of his cock, eliciting a low breathy moan from him. “You’re mine, Joseph.”

“And you’re mine,” Joseph said, his voice tender yet throaty. “Now and forever.”

“Forever,” I echoed, and the knot that was in my chest since he was surrounded by that mob of lustful housewives loosened a bit. It was so hard not to soften completely and let things fall back into their usual rhythm, but I was determined to assert my dominance a little longer. I brought a commanding edge back to my voice. “Now, tell me what you want.”

Joseph practically growled my name like an animal, sending shivers down my spine. “I want you, Sunshine. I want you to suck my cock and swallow every drop of my cum. I want you to take me in every hole and let me fill you up nice and deep so you’ll always feel me inside you. I want you to lose control and scream my name loud enough for the world to hear that you’re mine. I want everyone to know who you chose, who you love more than anyone else. No matter where you are or what you do, I want to be the only one in your thoughts, the only one who can make you like this… the only one you need in every way.”

I hadn’t expected such an intense response, though I suppose I should have. Joseph always had a way with words that left me hot and flustered. I tried to regain my composure and come up with a suitable retort, but those dark eyes of his that burned with love and lust made it that much harder to think. “Joseph… I-I want you to need me that badly too.”

“I do,” Joseph said in a near groan as he nudged his cock against my mouth, which was dripping again with his need. “Fuck, I need you so, so badly, Sunshine. Please…”

Fuck. I wanted Joseph to beg, but I wasn’t expecting what it would do to me. The desperate note of sheer need in his voice sent shivers of heat through me that pooled between my legs and left me aching.

How could I deny such a sweet plea like that?

Joseph moaned my name as I went down on him, and I relished the way he shuddered and twitched in my mouth. He was so big and hot, almost too much for me to handle, but I had more than enough experience to take him in deep.

“That’s it,” Joseph said in a low, breathy voice. “Fuck, Sunshine. Your mouth feels so good.  No one else could make me feel the way you do.”

He kept whispering my name between husky pants and sweet praise. His hands kept running along my head down to my neck and shoulders then back up again. The way his hips twitched told me just how hard he was fighting the urge to start thrusting. I squeezed those juicy thighs of his, holding him in place while silently reminding him who was in control right now.

“Oh God,” Joseph moaned. “You’re taking me so deep… Fuck… That’s it. Take all of my cock. It’s all for you… just you. Only you, Sunshine.”

Joseph always had a way with words, telling me exactly what I wanted to hear. I redoubled my efforts, wanting to take in every inch of him. The noises he made were just as intoxicating as his sweet praise and the way he said my name left me lightheaded. I was drunk off his love and need for me, and I couldn’t get enough of him.

“Shit, yes,” Joseph hissed. “God, you’re so beautiful. That’s it… just like that. Fuck!”

It was a struggle to increase the tempo while deepthroating him, but I was determined. I added my hands to the mix, toying with his balls before stroking the base of his cock where my mouth couldn’t reach. He let out a yelp, his hips jolting as I gave him a particularly firm squeeze, and I had to take a moment to catch my breath when I started to gag. I refused to let up on the attack while I gave my throat a break, squeezing him firmly as I moved my hands along his length in quick strokes.

Joseph started to buckle under the intense assault, his back sliding down along the door a little, though he refused to let his legs give out. His words of praise came out more broken now, sentences cut off by barely stifled moans that begged to become reckless screams.

I adored how beautiful Joseph looked in that moment, how weak and needy he was from my touch. He let go of the control he was so fond of having over me and was reduced to a pleading mess that I couldn’t get enough of. My groin ached for satisfaction, but I stubbornly refused to let myself get distracted. I put my mouth back to work with renewed vigor, making sure to swipe my tongue along the spots that I knew would make him whimper for me.

When all Joseph could say was my name as he started to tense, I knew he was close. I debated stopping at the last second, wanting to tease him a little more to make sure he knew who was in control this time and see how he might react, but I was nearing my limit as well. I needed him inside more than just my mouth. My body ached to be one with him. I needed him to fill me up like no one else could.

But before that, I needed to see him come absolutely undone for me.

One of his hands left my head so Joseph could bite down on it to stifle a cry as he gave me exactly what I wanted. The rush of hot sticky cum hit the back of my throat that I was quick to swallow. I focused on each pulse of his cock in my mouth, the way he arched his back and shuddered. With one hand he held onto me for dear life while the other tried to keep the entire studio from finding out what we were doing.

For a moment, I was tempted to rip that hand away from his mouth and let the world know the name of the person Joseph was screaming for so desperately.

I dropped the thought immediately. As much as I wanted to mark my territory, that was a step too far. We weren’t supposed to be doing stuff like this at the studio after all, and I didn’t want to risk Joseph losing his job.

Besides, if we were caught, we wouldn’t be able to enjoy scandalous moments like this where I got to reduce the famous Sunny Day Jack to a pleading, needy mess.

When I finally released Joseph, he all but crumpled to the floor. Despite the haze of bliss fogging his mind, he immediately reached out for me, crushing me to his shuddering body before fumbling to capture my lips with his. He whispered my name as we parted, breathless and husky, and sent a shiver down my spine.

“God…,” Joseph breathed. “I love you so much… so fucking much… No one makes me feel the way you do, Sunshine.”

“I love you too, Joseph,” I answered, but I didn’t get the chance to say more before his mouth captured mine again.

The kisses started off languid, but soon grew more intense as Joseph recovered his strength. Before I knew what was happening, I was pinned on the floor beneath him, deliciously trapped under his hot and heavy body. His hands were everywhere, leaving a trail of fire with every touch as he sought out every inch of me. My clothes were gone before I knew it, along with my domination over him.

I was beyond caring at that point. All that mattered was getting Joseph just as naked as me and tasting that silver tongue of his as he kissed me until I was breathless. All I wanted was to revel in just how much he wanted me, loved me, needed me. I wanted to savor his possessive growls, his frantic pawing of my body, and the way he marked me as his inside and out. The pleasure I took in knowing that I drove him to this state was almost as good as the way he made me feel as he claimed me as his.

Taking control for a change was a lot more fun than I expected. I needed to do it again sometime soon.

[rainecreatesstuff]

ok smthn I love SO MUCH is like. First day or two, Sunny was like. I am NOT doing work. Or getting my hands dirty. None of that. I will not go near dirt.

fast forward, like. A couple days. Now she’s constantly helping her pa with the small bits and bobs he needs for his machines, helps with the building, and does all of it without even complaining.

I’m just thinking about Sunny always having a little bit of grease on her skirt or hands, and at first she’s embarrassed about it, constantly trying to make sure she fixes it as soon as she notices.

But, well… it just ends up back on her soon enough. So she starts just fixing it at the end of the day, when she’s sure her pa’s done with work. But it does mean that she’s not infrequently seen with a bit of oil or grease or dirt on her.

And I think, at first, there’s… some moments, where someone mentions it, just teasing. Fit asks her what’s up with the stain on her shirt, or Phil teases her about her hand being greasy. And I think there’s a noticeable shift in her behaviour when it happens. She gets quiet, and a little huffy, and tugs on her pa’s shirt to get his attention before asking if they can go do something (away from here).

Tubbo notices, quietly discourages the behaviour from his friends. And it takes a while, a long time, but I think eventually, Sunny takes a little bit of pride in it. Of course they still want to look their best, and do their best to stay neat and pretty, but I think there’s a bit of pride when she realizes it’s proof that she was able to help her pa with whatever cool machine he’s building.

So now every once in a while, you’ll see her around the bakery with her pa, and there’s some dirt on their skirt from the gardening they’ve been doing around the factory grounds. Sometimes Tubbo has to remind her to wash her hands before supper, sometimes they pop up from behind one of their pa’s machines and there’s a bit of oil or grease on their cheek.

I like to think this happens hand in hand with Tubbo learning to take care of himself.

[renren-006]

Deans Playlist | Dean Winchester x fem reader

plot: exactly as it says. songs dean likes and the times you heard them with him.

a/n: sooooo i wanted to write something for dean and it hit me with the idea when Night Moves played on the radio the other day so here it is lovelies!

taglist: @rosecentury

Night Moves - Bob Seger

The first time you heard this song was on one of your first road trips with Dean. The two of you had just started hunting together. you both met when you were younger, our fathers being hunter friends, those in the business know everyone. After Sam left and Dean's father John was around less and less he figured he could use a hand, although he never admits he wanted company and truly hated the silence of working alone. He knew you were hunting and there was something in your area, that's how the whole working together started. 

Now you sat in the Impala months later, window rolled down as the night air swooped into the car. Segers's voice flowed out of the radio, and Dean turned up the music. You looked back over towards him smiling slightly. 

“What's this song?” you asked him, he gave a look of shock before his face morphed into that grand smile. 

“Night Moves,” he told you, smile still present. “Dad used to play it at night for Sammy”

“You miss them?” you asked. His smile falters a little bit. Asking Dean sensitive questions sometimes made the rest of whatever car ride you were on longer than it was. This time Dean just sat there driving for a bit, letting the song play out.

“I do,” he told you at last, as the last lines of the song played out from the car's radio. You nodded your head before turning back to watch the countryside fly by. The song finished playing and the radio was turned back down so all that was heard was the rumbling of the car and a slight noise from the radio. 

 

Spirit in the Sky - Norman Greensbaum

You knew this song, remember your dad enjoyed listening to it. While the song had a religious undertone, you liked the vibe of the song. Your father had never been a huge religious man but he always thought even though he was a hunter he would end up in “god's great palace”, as he would say.

“You think there is a heaven?” you asked Dean who was sitting across from you. He looked up from the research he was doing. 

“What brought on this question?” he asked you back.

“The song. Dad liked it, figured you must like it too” you told him. He nodded his head smiling a bit. 

“Greenbaum a good artist” he responded, “i never thought about heaven”

“Never?” you were a bit shocked. 

“I know what's on this earth, after that i'm not too concerned with heaven or hell”

“Ah, that makes sense,” you responded. You sat back in the booth letting your head fall back and listening to the song end. Dean continued rustling through the local newspaper, glancing at you ever so often. He loved watching you think, didn't matter what it was he liked watching. He knew this topic must have been something you thought about often.

“You think there's a heaven?”

“Hm, not sure. I mean Dad thought so but after all I've seen I'm not sure” you told him still resting your head back. Once the song was over you lifted your head back up to see Dean watching you. “If there is one, I'll find you don't worry”

“I wasn't worried,” Dean said fast. He looked back at the pages in front of him. A part of Dean knew that if he was gone and there was only science he would lose his mind. Another part of him hoped you would be there with him so he wouldn't have to be alone again. 

“Sure you weren't Dean”

Heat of the Moment - Asia

This was one of Dean's favorites, and you knew that because he would never ever keep the radio silent when it played. It was one of those awful sunny mornings and you were still miraculously asleep in the backseat when Dean started blasting this song. You didn't remember if you woke up with a start because of the song or the nightmare you were having, either way, you woke up to an absolutely stunning smile from Dean. 

“Morning baby” he said to you before turning back to the road drumming his hands on the wheel as he did. 

“I hate when you do this” Your voice was groggy when you spoke. Dean only laughed from the driver's seat. “Tell me you at least have coffee” As requested, Dean's hand went to the center console where there was a cup of coffee waiting for you. Gas station coffee was always horrible but it did the job, Dean knew you well enough to remember to grab you a cup on his fast trip inside before he rolled out early this morning. 

Simple Man - Lynyrd Skynyrd

The radio was playing while you sat in the car, dean fixing something about the car elsewhere. It was another lazy day at Bobbies, taking things easy after a recent hunt Dean and yourself did. You had a book out while he did his thing. Dean rolled out from under the car looking your way, he smiled at the sight of you reading. 

“What book is it this time?” Dean asked. 

“It's one of Bobbies wifes old books” you told him, “it's a romance”

“I should have guessed,” he said laughing slightly. He came over putting his arms on the hood and leaning toward you inside the car. You scooted forward. 

“How's the car looking?” you asked. 

“Babys all good to go,” he told you. He led down further kissing you. “How's my girl doing?”

“She's good, sad that the car gets more attention sometimes,” you told him. He laughed, pulling his arms into the car and on either side of you. You smiled at him, putting your book down.

“I see. Well darling, how shall I show you attention today?” den asked, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips.

“I can think of a few things”

Carry On my Wayward Son - Kansas

You smiled when the song turned on. You glanced back at the younger Winchester brother riding in the back. Sam gave you a smile. Your attention retired to Dean's face, the man driving the car. After this last hunt, you thought that would be it for you. Dean had been gripping the wheel since you got in and drove away. You rested your hand on his arm, and you could see the muscles in his arm relax.

“Don't you cry no more” you said to him, letting the lyrics sink in for him. Dean smiled at you.

“Always sappy,” he told you. 

“Always. I'm not sappy though, you just don't do emotions very well” You responded, hitting him with a little snarky response. Your hand had left his arm at this point, the tension was back. 

“Nah I do emotions just fine” Dean defended, Sam snickers from the back seat. 

“Want to talk about how you thought I was dead then?” You asked him. You were a bit forward with the question, knowing that not two hours ago you almost got killed by a werewolf. You were still in a haze about the whole experience but you knew Dean handled it worse than you. 

“Never,” He said, the steering creaking from his grip. Again you put your hand on his soldier, helping lighten the grip. 

“Case and point” you whispered to him. There was no reaction from him, he was still upset you brought up your near-death experience. Sam cleared his thoughts uncomfortably. “Sorry Sammy”

“Don't be. You only said the truth Y/N” Sam responded nodding at you with silent understanding. Sam knew his brother as well as you did. Dean still looked as if he wanted to fight the world. This will be talked about again tomorrow. You heard the last of the song die out before the car ride got quiet again. 

+ One song you like

Lost Angel - Heart

Dean plugged the tape into the cassette spot in his car. The sound of Heart played beautifully out of the Impala. You looked over at him, smiling. 

“I love this song” you told him happily. The last few days had been hard, not only for the fact that the two of you had finally done something about the budding tension between the two of you, but also the hunt was rough. The two of you not only had just started the relationship you both knew was inevitable, but had been so worried about the other dying right after that you became narrow minded. Dean almost got himself killed because he was hyper focused on your safety. There were conversations had after that hunt about everything. 

“I know you do darling, the only reason I played it” He said to you. Smiling that cheeky smile around you. This man was going to be the end for you. 

“That's sweet Dean,” you told him sliding over in the car and kissing him on the cheek. The song continued to play, and you hummed along and silently sang the words. Dean was enjoying every minute of your happy fueled mood that the past day's event left his mind.

[somewherebetweendisorder]

The Life We Build

Jason Todd x fem!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff ?? i think that's it

A/N: originally posted to my old blog (basicallybats). i was originally writing it as an eddie munson fic, but i really wanted it to be jason, so if you notice any typos or mistakes, no you don't. as always, thank you for reading! <3 i do not give permission to copy, repost, or use my work in any way.

~

"We need to go to the grocery store."

Your hands are buried in Jason's hair, thick waves curling around your fingers, soft and smelling faintly of your conditioner.

"Huh? Why?"

He tips his head back, so he can see your face, fingers freezing, a page caught between them. You recognize the book. It's your annotated copy of Pride and Prejudice. A soft smile curls at your lips, something painfully saccharine about the fact he prefers your copy; your thoughts.

"Because we have no food, Jay. Did you use my conditioner again?"

"Yeah."

"I know. I can smell it on you."

He snorts, eyes closing as you continue to massage his scalp, shaking his head lightly. "Then why did you ask?"

"I just wanted you to 'fess up. Now c'mon, we need to get food, for real. There's like, half a jar of peanut butter and a beer."

"Sounds like a decent enough dinner."

You remove your hands from his soft locks, and he whines, sitting up and carefully setting your book on the bed beside him. Jason doesn't want to go, you know that, can see the distaste and boredom brewing in his eyes already, but he will go, for you.

"Fine. Get dressed. Let's go."

You pull on an old, well-worn tee of his, slipping on your shoes and trailing him down the hall. He holds open the front door for you, locks it behind himself, jogs down the stairs to meet you at the passenger side door, swinging it open with a flourish.

The drive to the store is quiet, Jason tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the music on the radio, bobbing his head gently, one hand on your thigh. The smile on your face didn't go unnoticed as he snuck glances at you out of the corner of his eyes.

Gotham is a god-forsaken place. Smog, trash, the highest crime rate in the nation, and a mile-long list of casualties. Jason remembers what it felt like to be back. The whisper of trauma is at the forefront of his mind. The memories, good and bad, all shot through with something unshakeably bitter. Part of him will always love Gotham, just as part of him will always hate it. But you- You are beautiful. The sort of beautiful that frequently had his heart stalling, breath burning in his lungs when he forgot how to breathe at the sight of your sunny smile, and bright eyes. Your personality and laugh, uncensored and genuine.

You are Jason's diamond in the rough. He can't bring himself to hate Gotham quite the way he did before you, but he can't shake the thought that you'll never reach your full potential here. A flower without enough sunlight can't fully bloom. Fuck, everyone knows Gotham is where good things go to die.

As Jason grabs a shopping cart you walk next to him, sliding your arm through his, a sort of camaraderie.

"We should make a casserole this week," you suggest, eyes reading the signs above the aisles, trying to piece together a meal plan in your head.

"What kind of casserole?"

You sigh, distracted, uncertain. "I don't know. Never mind. I've never even made a casserole."

He bumps his hip against yours gently, silently asking for your attention. He waits until you look at him to speak, lips twitching into a soft smile. "We have that cookbook your grandma gave us. And lasagna counts as a casserole. You've made that plenty of times."

"Does it?"

"Sure."

He's bent on reassurance. Jason knows this is new; cooking is hardly your forte. It would be easier to let him do the cooking, but you've been so eager, and you're taking to it really well. He hates the insecurity bubbling in your voice, he wants it gone. At his insistence, you soften, a bit of tension leaving your shoulders as you nod.

"Okay, we can make lasagna. And what else?"

Your gaze catches on the fresh flowers, bright and fragrant, their sweet smell permeating the air. You look at Jason, desperately curious to see if they've caught his attention too, but they haven't. He's looking at a rack of magazines, leather jacket pulled taught across his shoulders, green eyes crinkling in the corners as he squints at the cover of the newest scandal magazine.

"Good God, Dick is on the cover of another fucking tabloid. I thought he-"

It's an odd thought, this sudden need to pick out flowers with your boyfriend. You long to talk about where you should put them, what color would match your sofa and look nicest in front of the window.

"Jason."

It's not the fact you use his name, his birth name, though this is unusual for you. It's always 'baby' or 'Jay' or 'babes'. No, it's the way you say it. Thick and serious, something he hadn't quite heard before, an almost severe expression taking over your pretty features.

"Y/N? Yeah, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing, just- Can we get some flowers?" He watches you shake your head, trying to clear the cobwebs.

It's the domesticity of it. A tender, mundane thing catching up to you as those things often do. Something painfully sweet about it, stability your life lacked until Jason. And now? Now going to the grocery store with him was better than anything you did before. Like cooking, like cleaning, like laying in bed all day, face pressed mercilessly into his skin, breathing him in as he reads to you, just because you could. It was an insatiable craving, one you needed fulfilled right now.

"Sure, baby. You wanna pick some out?"

Your nod is almost imperceptible, arm still curled around his, goosebumps creeping along your flesh. He sees. Sees the light in your eyes, knows you need this moment. Jason knows that every day like this erases those brutally lonely hours from before. Minutes marked with blood and grief, a bitter memory. He knows because these moments do the same for him, setting things right he wasn't sure could be fixed.

Fuck, he'll buy all the flowers here if it brings the carefree smile back to your lips. "What kind do you want?"

"I- I'm not sure. Anything. I'll know the right ones when I see 'em."

He peruses the bouquets, at a loss, this is far outside his comfort zone, but if it makes you happy.

Your wonder hurts his heart, wide eyes and shock every time you find new colors squished together, or flowers you haven't seen before. You should have been given flowers all the time. He checks the price of the bunch in his hands and winces. What he wouldn't give to buy you flowers like this every day. Maybe he should, he thinks.

"How about these?"

Your eyes fall on the wild bouquet of rich, wine roses, flowers in full bloom, overlapping each other, fighting for the gaze of the beholder. They're gorgeous, you can feel them without touching the silken petals, velvet. "They're nice."

He sees it on your face, the dismissal, the gentle rejection. The flowers are pretty, too pretty even, gaudy, and suffocating. They're the type of thing that would fit well in Bruce's home, but not yours. Far too formal, far too showy; you want something sweeter.

"They don't match… Anything at home."

"We'd have to pick weeds to match our apartment."

His words come too fast, voice flat, deadpan, shooting for humor, missing, falling by the wayside in a shallow bitterness. He sees the hurt in your expression the instant the words gush past his lips, a geyser of ill-timed distress. Fumbling, rushing forward, trying to make it right, he presses on. "I'm kidding. That was an exaggeration. We make a nice life. It's just we-"

He stops, letting the chatter of other patrons and the store radio fill the silence as he watches tears build in your eyes, shimmering beneath the harsh fluorescents.

"I'm kidding."

You know he wasn't. He meant the words, frustrated with dead-end jobs and your meager incomes, scraping by with just enough. He wanted more for you, more for himself, more of a future. But all you heard was the immediate dissatisfaction. It wasn't enough, it was never enough.

You shove the small cluster of sunflowers you're holding into his chest, plastic wrapping crinkling, flowers smushed against his chest with the severity of your action.

"I need to use the restroom. You can put these back. I'll meet you at the checkout."

"Baby I- Y/N!"

You run. There's not enough care in your bones to think about how odd it is for a grown woman to be running through the store, stumbling into the restroom, tears already tracking down her face.

Hands braced against the cool countertop, you stare at the water droplets scattered across the laminate from whoever last washed their hands. It's a fascinating pattern, water catching the light. A tear falls, splatters on the surface, and shines too. How pathetic are you that you're hiding in here, waiting for the onslaught of emotion to pass before you can face your boyfriend again? Before you can face his disdain?

Minutes drag by, the tears slowing and finally stopping. Red eyes stare back at you, bloodshot and hollow. With a harsh tug, you turn on the faucet, splashing cool water on your face, hoping it soothes the obvious signs of crying.

Time is up, you can't stall any longer. With a fortifying gulp of oxygen, you drag the paper towel harshly across your face, wiping away the water, and push the door open. Jason is waiting there, shopping cart abandoned a few feet away, leaning against the wall, local business cards pinned to the wall next to store notices, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Baby."

You're frozen, eyes locked on the overlapping flyers and cards on the wall over his shoulder, unable to meet his gaze. Jason can see it. The remnants of salt tracks on your cheeks, eyes red and puffy, lashes clumped together from the water you hastily splashed on your face in a harried attempt to cover your reaction. 

He wishes he could rewind, take back the past few minutes, and unsay those words, spare you the heartache. He knows he can't; it's a pointless wish, spent in vain like the coins he tossed in the well with his mother all those years ago. 

"Baby," he repeats, voice low, shoulders sagging when you ignore him. "Y/N, just look at me, please."

His voice isn't him, isn't Jason, viscid like a flower soaked with dew, drooping beneath his regret. He's too pretty, too serious, you shouldn't let him wallow in it, you know that. But his words were too real, too close to that oozy, rotten spot in your heart that cries for acceptance. 

It takes everything in you to drag your gaze to his, jarring when you meet those eyes, deep and sorry, churning like an earthen ocean, soil and sediment devouring itself. It's like watching the earth cave in. It's alarming, unsettling, it makes you want to touch his face and beg for the promise that it's all okay. 

Is it though?

"I'm sorry. What I said- It came out wrong. I would never insult the life we've built, I-"

"You did though, Jay. You did insult it. You pissed all over it."

Jason winces at your bluntness, nearly an idiom, yet far from it. He focuses on your words, playing them over and over, watching your lips twist sardonically, building a wall around yourself. "It's fine, okay? I get it."

"No, you don't." He finds his voice, gruff with the nasty feeling building in his stomach, unable to be gentle in the wake of his own despondency. 

"Can we just go home? I don't want to have this conversation here."

Movements stilted, uncoordinated he moves to the abandoned shopping cart, hands wrapping around the handle in a white-knuckled grip. He takes two steps, yanks the cart back, and turns to you so abruptly that you nearly collide with his chest. 

"No. No, we are going to have this conversation now, otherwise you'll never have it. You know damn well I wasn't insulting you, or our home, or our life."

Blank-faced, eyes a hollow shade of their usual verdancy, you don't show any sign you really heard his words. 

He's never felt this before, desperate and shaky with wanting- no needing you to understand. Why does this feel so insurmountable? His hands land on your shoulders, large, hot, scarred, shaking just enough to inspire a rise out of you. 

You swat his hands away, fresh tears burning tracks down your face, humiliating, telling. "I care, okay! Damn you, Jason, I care!"

You suck in air too fast, choke on it, a strangled sob dancing on your lips, free falling. Hands useless on his chest, feigning a shove, curling in his soft tee shirt and pulling him closer. Tucked away in your little nook, no one is around, no one sees the mania tainting the air. Lovers begging forgiveness for the transgression of misunderstanding. 

He buries his face in your hair, hiding his face, hiding his relief at your touch, at your admission. "I care too. I care that I've tied you to this hell hole with almost no chance of getting out."

"You don't get it, do you?"

Jason can barely hear, your voice smothered by his chest, the fabric of his shirt, his hearing a bit unreliable from too many head wounds. "Get what?"

"I don't want more. I don't want... I don't know what you envision, but my happiness is this. Buying groceries with you and, and- Gotham. My happiness is fucking Gotham if I'm here with you. I don't need-"

"You deserve-"

"Do not interrupt me, Jason Todd!"

He recoils, stung, chastised, conceding quickly, lips pressed into a thin line. "Okay."

"I do not need anything more. I don't need a big house or a safer city to play in or whatever it is you think I ought to have. Deserve? I don't even know what that means. But I want you, and I'm content with this life. Until you start picking it apart and making it seem like it's not good enough for you. I cannot tolerate that. I won't." 

He waits, the silence stretching on and on, like the fraying string on a shirt that refuses to snap, until he is certain you're finished.

"You're right."

"That's all?"

"No. It's much more than that. But-"

He releases you, feeling your hands release his shirt slowly, confused as he steps back, raking his hands through his hair. 

"You asked me so nicely for flowers. Let's start again. And we can finish at home, like you asked."

You blink. Once, twice, three times, trying to process, waiting to see if any argument floats to the surface of thought, but none does. Nodding, you step to his side, following him quietly to the tables of flowers once more. 

It happens at the same moment, your eyes find the simple bunch of sunflowers and baby's breath the second his do. Understated and sweet, the type of flowers to catch your eye and hold it with a strange fascination. 

"These?" you ask, eyes never leaving the buds, fingers tentatively caressing the soft petals. 

"Yeah. I like those. They're pretty."

They are pretty. And suddenly, you need to see him, touch him. Placing the bouquet back you turn to him, cool hands pressed to his warm cheeks, eyes tracing soft lips, and the strong line of his nose. Those eyes that say secret things to you, things his lips could never speak. The panic and overwhelming nature of the trip are still fresh in your mind, but his eyes say he understands, his eyes reflect the same image as yours and it's less. Less upsetting, less frustrating, less misconstrued. 

"I get it too."

Your words soothe the cuts on his heart, shallow and stinging like paper cuts. His lips are on yours before he knows what's happening, no self-control left at this moment.

It's over too fast, a promise, a vow, an apology. You know; you feel it, trying to pass over all of your love in return. It's enough, more than enough because he smiles when he pulls away, kisses a trail up your nose to your forehead, and into your hairline. 

"I love you, Jay."

"I love you, Y/N."

Gotham isn't much, your apartment isn't much, and a single bouquet of flowers in your drab little living room is hardly anything at all. But it's plenty for you, plenty for Jason. It's enough.