#thread: up a creek

[anhonest-puck]

with you here, baby, i am strong.

no sign of weakness.

with you gone, baby,

i’m hanging by a thread.

(hanging by a thread-nickel creek)

[sugarandwhiskey]

"You get murdered first!"

[cherryheairt]

Pearls

Cregan Stark x named!fem!reader no desc (gif just for vibes)

18+!

my first smut writing and it was an intrusive thought that hasn't left my mind all week I need to get it out NEOW. I don't know my audience for this but please let it not be too niche idk 😭

Lately, Cregan had been absent from their marital chambers until the darkest parts of the night. Work had been keeping him apart from his Lady wife for far too long in her eyes. One night was almost unbearable, let alone weeks of it. Sometimes, he fell asleep in his study after pouring over scrolls and plans for hours.

It was hard to sleep without her husband, she found. After their marriage less than a year ago, they had shared the same bed every night after. Their relationship was most likely the healthiest in all of Westeros. Always in sync and filling what the other lacked. Whereas Vanya was compassionate and kind, Cregan was stern and unyielding. Together, they led the North as any Stark Lord and Lady should: In harmony.

Vanya had taken care of her tasks well, managing what Cregan could not in his time of occupation. Winter was upon them, cold and unrelenting. Vanya's first as Lady Stark, and one she intended to run smoothly to set a precedent for her live's rule.

However, even though she kept herself busy til late evening, she found her needs growing by the day. Usually, her and Cregan found themselves enjoying many rounds of pleasure before they tucked in for the night. Now, since he'd been busy, they hadn't even kissed in weeks. Simple glances at him or the feel of his arm's warmth draping over her in the early hours of the morning made her almost feral with want for her husband.

But he was always gone when she awoke. She was left to get ready for her own day of duties completely alone, longing for her husband's company. An emptiness struck her heart—one that she was determined to fill.

She got to work after her day was through. Knowing Cregan wouldn't join her til long after she was finished, she enjoyed the secretive project in the privacy of the chambers.

Pearls.

Lace.

Thread.

The only three things she dained to need for her little excursion. She worked quickly and nimbly, a nervous fluttering feeling drifting in her belly and staying there until she had finished. Quickly, she put the garment on. Satisfied by the mirror's view, Vanya giddily got dressed into her sheer white night shift.

She settled into bed, only being able to fall into a light sleep in her excitement.

It was not too long before she heard the quiet creeking of the door open and close, Cregan always making a point to enter and exit their chambers considerately. With a heavy sigh, she heard him drop his clothes and boots to the floor.

Weight dropped onto his side of the bed, and a familiar arm draped itself around her waist. Cregan sighed once more into the back of her neck, breathing in the comforting scent of his wife.

Vanya reached up gingerly, lacing her fingers with his. "Husband," she whispered, gauging his mood.

"Wife," he muttered back, thumbing absentmindedly at the space below her belly button.

"How was your day? You've been kept busy, far from the warmth of our hearth." She brought his hand up to kiss gently, starting to wake herself fully.

Cregan hummed guiltily, nodding into her smooth skin. "Tiring. I promise, once Winter starts to come to a close, I will make up every minute I spent leaving my dear wife waiting." The words were muttered slowly into the shell of her ear.

Vanya only huffed a laugh, shaking her head though he couldn't see her face. "There is time now, isn't there?" She asked coyly.

When she recieved no answer, "Cregan?"

None again, but the soft breaths coming from his nose. Turning to face him, she was met with closed eyes and a content slight smile gracing her husband's handsome features. She lay her head back on her pillow, sighing in accepted defeat. Brushing a piece of hair back behind his ear, she kissed his forehead, "goodnight, my husband."

The next day was the same as the last ones. She woke up alone again, only this time Vanya was much more determined to stoke the fire she knew Cregan had. Keeping the garment on underneath her day dress, a light powder blue number with tapered sleeves, she made her way about the Great Keep conducting her business.

Her mind was heavy with thoughts of Cregan, hunched over his desk and stressfully raking his hands through his dusty brown threads. Vanya finished her duties early, freshening up in their chambers before she returned outside of them. Hurriedly, she changed into a light blue shift, similar in color to the one she had worn out. She dabbled some sandalwood perfume oil on her neck and wrists, fixing her hair quickly before making her way towards Cregan's solar. The windows she passed by showed the fresh night sky and the dotted stars along it, the perfect time for any stray servants or maids to be tucking away for their own leisure time before bed.

Vanya took a short breath in before opening his solar door, spotting the exact visage she had imagined the whole day. Dressed in only his grey tunic visible above the pine desk, he had clearly discarded his pelts and leathers for the day, seeing as he had not even left the room once. The hearth was dying, only embers remaining. Clearly, he had wished not to be disturbed by any servants throughout the day.

He was still engrossed in writing a scroll when Vanya approached his desk. A tap on the spot above his elbow had jerked his head up, a shocked look in his eyes as he looked up at his wife. "Vanya, you should be abed already—" he said quickly.

Vanya shook her head, sitting herself on the edge of his table stubbornly. "Couldn't sleep." She lied. "I missed by husband's warmth next to me."

His lips pursed as he glanced between her and his work. "I'm sorry, I will finish as fast as I can. Wait for me?" He offered, though they both knew if she left now, he would only be swallowed up by his duties once more.

Vanya placed a hand on his cheek, running her thumb over the dark undereyes that deepened his tired expression. "I wish to stay with my husband, if it please him."

Cregan's eyes softened, nodding his agreement. He scooted his chair outwards, leaving ample room for Vanya to sit between him and the desk. Instead of sitting across his lap, as she normally would when accompanying him in his seat, she lifted her skirts to her thighs and sat facing him.

He tilted his head slightly, instinctively placing his hands over her hips to adjust her. "Won't this be uncomfortable for you?" He asked, though a faint blush dusted his cheeks and ears at the position.

Vanya shook her head, choosing to sit herself closer and bury her face into his neck. "Go on, don't let me interrupt." She said innocently, earning a glance from her husband before he followed her instructions and started back on his writing.

After a few minutes, she felt enough time had passed to make him inconspicuous of her actions. Slowly, she pressed herself closer to his chest, squishing her breasts again his own thinly clothed skin. She felt him pause and take a deep breath in before continuing, and had to bit her lip to prevent herself from smiling into his tunic.

A few more minutes passed, though she grew more impaitient with every second his hands were not on her. Slowly, she pressed her pelvis into his, revealing the hardened texture of the garment to him.

This time, he paused fully, confused. Setting the quill down, he leaned back. "What is that?" He asked, placing a hand on her hip again.

Vanya only smiled, grabbing his other hand and guiding it ever so slowly down to nethermost regions. "Feel for yourself." She cooed as she led a finger to run over the string.

"What—Pearls?" He asked, brows knitting together curiously.

Vanya nodded at the question.

"Where did you find such a thing?" Cregan asked, though did not recind his hand.

"I made them myself. Don't worry, no loud-mouthed seamstress will know of Lady Stark vying for some promiscuous garments."

"And they are..." He trailed off, swallowing heavily at the indication. Indeed, he shared in his logging and need throughout these weeks apart.

"For you, dear husband." Vanya purred, nipping softly at his bottom lip and pulling away just as fast.

Immediately, he lifted her from his lap and onto the desk, tossing aside his papers to the floor. He lifted her skirts further, bunching them carelessly at her hips as he tugged her legs to wrap around his waist.

Pinching the strand of pearls between his index and thumb, his eyes stayed glued to the glistening white pearls lying between her lower folds. Vanya felt herself throb with need at the lustful glare he held, leaning back on her hands to watch only his face.

Softly, he lifted the string to make it press against her own sensitive pearl. At her slight gasp and squirm, Cregan knelt to his knees faster than he ever had before. Glancing up at his wife's face, he silently asked for permission.

After she nodded, he was quick to move. The pearls, covered in her own essence, were moved slightly to the side as Cregan pressed his face to her core. Vanya threw her head back at the sudden stimulation, Cregan's tongue wildly moving from place to place as if he couldn't find a favorite spot.

Up and down, a solid stripe from her hole to sensitive bud. Circling the pearl with an eager swipe of his tongue, he moved down just as quickly as he began. With desperate, shallow thrusts into her clenching hole, Cregan tried and failed to press himself closer, already having no air to breathe with the space between them being nonexistent. Not that he minded, of course.

With a firm tug at his loose hair, Cregan turned his head with a heaving chest to face his wife. Looking offended at the separation, his fingers clenched at the soft parts of her upper thighs, ready to dig his face back to its spot.

Vanya whined out for him, shaking her head. She closed her thighs over his head, urging him up to meet her lips. She tasted herself on his tongue, enjoying the bittersweet slick with a deep moan. Cregan pressed himself closer, moving her by her waist to seat her on the edge of the table.

"I need you, Cregan, please." She pleaded, hards still carding through his hair to ground herself. She was so empty, only able to be whole again with Cregan's help.

At her plea, Cregan couldn't help but oblige, he unlaced his breeches urgently, allowing Vanya to strip him of his tunic and run her hands over the lean muscle of his chest and back.

He stroked himself a few times, smearing himself at her entrance. They both groaned in unision as his tip hit the string of pearls. They pressed to her swollen bud, making her jerk her hips up closer to meet his own. He slid the string to the side to make room for his length, sinking into the wet heat with a soft groan.

Her head found his shoulder again as she clawed at his shoulders, mewling. He mimicked her action, hands gripping onto her hips as he bit at her neck and collarbone sharply to conceal his moans.

His thrusts were fast and desperate, both wasting no time with soft touches and sweet nothings. That could be done later, after they were both saited and content in their own bed.

She panted heavily, reaching down between them both to rub loose circles around her pearl. He groaned as she tightened, knowing what it meant.

"Where?" He grunted out, kissing at her shoulder as a wordless apology to the angry red bite lying there.

"Inside," she gasped, tightening her legs around his waist to keep him closer.

It was not long before they both reached their peaks. Cregan continued his ministrations, thrusts becoming slower and less powerful as he winded down from his high. He stayed inside her even after they both came down, the warmth too good to pass up in the cold solar. The embers had long disappeared, leaving only the cobble to block out Winterfell's chill.

Vanya couldn't mind, either, enjoying the fullness it brought even in the sensitive state.

"What brought this on?" Cregan asked after a few long moments passed. He soothed over the marks on her hips, sure that bruises would appear in the morrow.

She hummed, kissing the space connecting his ear and jawline affectionately. "Is it too obscure for a wife to want for her husband?"

Cregan raised a brow, "of course not. I have missed you, too." He said, bringing her lips to his to kiss.

She deepened it, dragging him back to her after he pulled away. Tilting her head, she shivered at the brush of his tongue over her own, the texture a familiar delight.

Cregan pulled back after a while, a heavy look in his steel eyes. "I don't think we'll get much sleep tonight if you keep doing that."

She laughed, "I am far from tired, my Lord."

He growled playfully, bringing her from the table and carrying her in his arms. Cregan chuckled at her gasp, starting his journey to their chambers.

"Someone might see us!" She squealed into his neck, hiding her face uselessly.

"Let them. The whole of Westeros will know how my wife is the most beautiful in the Seven Kingdoms." He said, pinching her bottom with a cheeky smirk.

His solar was left open behind them, work long forgotten for the next day. Tonight was for Lord Stark and his Lady Wife.

🗡

Get yourself a munch like Cregan Stark

[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

[beck-hartman]

“Call them ghost tours, and it works. Those things are crazy popular. Talked my boss into that already years ago, it’s a special spooky season bonus tour, and people eat it up." Beck was actually very proud of that, having led his friends through some unofficial ghost tours growing up. It just made sense to add it to the job description, even if it sometimes made for longer days. "No offense, I just like winning," he teased, before laughing, "if I actually believed that I might be shaking in my boots." He was a great friend to have this time of the year, kept them all on their toes, but he barely had to try to get Aisha. This was gonna be a blast. "I hear a record calling our name too," he agreed, "if we make it out alive." He might be having a little too much fun, but that was the point of the exercise. And it was a blast until some time passed and...

"--Hey, not to sound paranoid, but does that corn look familiar to you?"

"Thinking about it, that could be a good Halloween attraction. Ghost hunting at the lighthouse, just kind of mess with the tourists enough to make them think there's a ghost roaming around. Though not sure your boss would go for that." She mused, knowing that the tourists would probably go wild for that sort of thing. And the lighthouse was spooky enough, in her opinion. "Wait, you wouldn't want me on your team?" she gave a fake gasp like his suggestion offended her. "Fine, I'll learn Volleyball so next year I can beat you at your own game." she teased, a small grin on her face. She tried not to roll her eyes again at his laughing at her being scared, knowing she could try to get back at him later. If only she wasn't the least stealthy person she knew. When he asked which way, she tapped her chin, thinking momentarily. "Maybe left? I think I heard people coming from that direction. So we have to be going the right way. We'll be out of this maze in no time."

[hypnogold]

Maple Heights 5: Hollow Creek

Now the whole family was united, they needed to spread this to the other surrounding neighborhoods, like Hollow Creek.

The glossy black rubber RV rolled silently down the quiet suburban streets of Hollow Creek, its polished surface gleaming like liquid under the midday sun. Inside, the family sat in perfect, calculated silence. Each of them wore their black latex Fred Perry polos, their unique numbers stitched in bright yellow just above the heart: Tyler, Luke, Michael and their fathers, who commanded the vehicle with calm authority.

The interior of the RV was designed for one purpose: transformation. Racks of freshly pressed polos hung in precise rows, their faint musky scent filling the air. A hidden compartment held fog machines for rapid deployment, and a polished mirror on one wall reflected the family’s pristine unity.

As the RV turned into a parking lot near a local park, Tyler leaned forward, peering through the tinted window. “There,” he said, nodding toward a group of three young men playing basketball on a worn court. “They’re perfect.”

Luke smirked, adjusting the collar of his polo. “Quick and easy.”

Their father brought the RV to a stop and turned in his seat, his calm, commanding gaze sweeping over his sons. “You know what to do. Be precise, and leave an impression.”

The door hissed open, and Tyler and Luke stepped out into the sunlight, their polished black polos gleaming as they approached the court. The basketball players stopped mid-game, their attention drawn to the brothers.

“Hey,” Tyler called out, his voice smooth and confident. The tallest of the group, a lean guy with a buzzcut and a loose tank top, dribbled the ball idly as he sized them up.

“What’s up?” the guy asked, his tone wary but curious. His two friends exchanged glances, unsure of what to make of the matching polos and calm demeanor of the newcomers.

Luke gestured toward the players, holding up a folded Fred Perry polo. “You guys look like you know what teamwork’s about,” he said with a smirk. “Ever tried something that brings you even closer?”

The musky scent from the folded polo drifted toward the group, subtle but unmistakable. One of the players wrinkled his nose. “What is that?”

Tyler stepped forward, holding out another polo, the yellow number 112 stitched boldly on the chest. “It’s not just a shirt,” he said smoothly. “It’s unity. Brotherhood. You’ll feel it the moment you put it on.”

The tall guy chuckled nervously, glancing at his friends. “Yeah, I don’t think—” But his voice trailed off as his gaze locked on the shimmering black fabric. His hand moved almost involuntarily, reaching out to touch it.

The moment his fingers brushed the polo, his expression shifted. His loose tank top began to dissolve, the fabric breaking apart into fine threads that evaporated into the air. In its place, the black latex polo began to form, spreading across his chest like liquid. His gym shorts followed, disintegrating into nothing as sleek black trackpants took their place.

“What the—” one of his friends stammered, stepping back, but Tyler held up a hand, his calm smile unwavering.

“Relax,” he said softly. “You’ll see.”

The tall guy’s body straightened, his posture becoming perfect, his eyes briefly unfocused before a serene smile spread across his lips. He turned to face his friends, his voice smooth and confident. “It feels... right.”

The yellow number 112 glowed faintly on his back as he gestured toward Tyler. “You should try it.” They both shot their black cum into their rubber pants.

Luke wasted no time, stepping toward the second player, a stocky guy with a headband and a skeptical look. “Just hold it,” Luke said, offering him a polo. “You don’t even have to put it on if you don’t want to.”

The stocky guy hesitated, but curiosity—and the strange, intoxicating musk in the air—got the better of him. He grabbed the polo, and the moment his hands closed around it, the transformation began. His headband slipped off as his hair styled itself into a clean, modern cut. His T-shirt and gym shorts melted away, replaced by the sleek polo and trackpants.

His eyes fluttered shut as his breathing steadied, and when he opened them again, they gleamed faintly. “This is...” he began, but words seemed unnecessary. His serene smile matched his friend’s, and the yellow number 113 glowed proudly on his back. Transforming others makes Luke so aroused, he couldn't contain himself anymore..

The last player, a wiry guy with shaggy hair, took a step back, his hands raised. “No way,” he said. “I don’t know what you guys are selling, but I’m not—”

Tyler moved swiftly, placing a folded polo in the guy’s hands before he could finish his sentence. The fabric’s warmth seeped into his skin, and his resistance faltered. His shaggy hair shortened into a crisp style, and his hoodie and jeans began to dissolve.

“Just let it happen,” Tyler said calmly, his voice almost hypnotic.

Moments later, the wiry guy stood transformed, his new polo gleaming in the sunlight. His expression was serene, his yellow number 114 standing out against the black latex. He turned to Tyler and Luke, his voice steady and sure. “What’s next?”

The brothers stepped back, admiring their work. The three newly transformed players sat on the ground, their faces calm, their bodies radiating confidence. Tyler nodded in approval. “You’ll know what to do.” First spread the black cum with each other, then find others...

Without another word, he and Luke returned to the RV, the door hissing shut behind them. As the vehicle pulled away, the players remained on the court, their serene smiles never fading. The transformation wasn’t just physical—it was mental, emotional, primal.

Inside the RV, Luke smirked, glancing at Tyler. “Fast, clean, and effective.”

Tyler leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. “Hollow Creek won’t know what hit them.”

As the RV disappeared down the road, the players on the court began to move, their laughter and camaraderie replaced with a strange, shared purpose. The musk of the polos lingered in the air, and each of them felt a growing, insatiable need to recruit more.

The sleek black RV hummed softly as it pulled to a stop near the bus stop on the outskirts of Ridgefield. Inside, Tyler adjusted the collar of his sleek black latex Fred Perry polo, its glossy material catching the dim light of the cabin. Beside him, Luke smirked as he secured one of the new black half-face masks over his jaw. The mask, sleek and gleaming, gave an intimidating aura of mystery, its yellow trim adding an edge of authority.

“These guys are rowdy,” Tyler remarked, peering through the tinted window at the seven men gathered under the flickering streetlights. They were laughing loudly, shoving each other playfully, dressed in flashy shirts, jeans, and sneakers. “But they’re perfect.”

Luke spun a folded polo in his hand. “They won’t be rowdy for long.”

Their father, seated calmly at the RV’s wheel, gave a single nod. “Be quick. Be precise. And clean up after yourselves.”

The RV door hissed open, and Tyler and Luke stepped out, their movements deliberate and commanding. The laughter at the bus stop faltered as the brothers approached, their black latex polos and trackpants gleaming under the flickering lights. The group fell quiet, their earlier energy replaced by cautious curiosity.

“Evening, fellas,” Tyler said smoothly, his voice cutting through the silence with an air of calm authority. “Big plans tonight?”

One of the men, a tall guy in a red bomber jacket, grinned but crossed his arms defensively. “Yeah, what’s it to you?”

Luke held up a folded polo, its latex surface shimmering faintly in the dim light. “Because we’ve got something better than whatever party you’re headed to.”

The group exchanged glances, a few of them chuckling nervously. “What, like some team or cult thing?” asked another, a lean guy with a baseball cap turned backward.

“It’s not a cult,” Tyler said, stepping closer. “It’s a brotherhood. Something bigger than a party. Bigger than anything you’ve ever been part of.”

The faint musk of the polos began to waft through the air, subtle yet insistent. One of the men, a shorter guy in a leather jacket, tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “What’s with the shirts?” he asked, gesturing toward the polo in Luke’s hand.

Luke smiled. “It’s more than a shirt. It’s a chance to be part of something real. Just try it.”

The man hesitated, his fingers twitching as he reached for the polo. The moment his hand touched the fabric, his posture softened, and his breath hitched. Without a word, he pulled the shirt over his head. His leather jacket and T-shirt unraveled into threads, dissolving into the air, replaced by the sleek black latex of the Fred Perry polo. His jeans melted into matching trackpants, and his sneakers took on a polished sheen.

Luke stepped forward and held up a half-face mask, fitting it snugly over the man’s lower face. The glossy material molded perfectly to his jawline, leaving his eyes visible but adding a sharp, commanding presence. He stood straighter, his expression serene yet focused.

“This is…” he began, his voice muffled slightly by the mask. “This is incredible.”

His friends stared in shock, a few stepping back.

“What the hell just happened?” the guy in the red bomber jacket demanded, his tone rising. “What’s going on here?”

Tyler turned to the group, his calm demeanor unwavering. “Relax,” he said. “This is your chance. You’ve all felt it—you’re not fully satisfied with where you are. This will change everything.”

“Like hell it will!” the guy in the bomber jacket said, stepping back and pulling one of his friends with him. “You’re not putting that weird cult shirt on me.”

Luke smirked, tossing a polo to another man in the group—a stocky guy in a graphic tee. “You don’t have to fight it,” he said. “You already want it.”

The stocky guy caught the polo reflexively, his hands trembling as the fabric’s warmth seemed to seep into his skin. “I... I don’t know,” he stammered, his resolve faltering as the musk surrounded him.

“Don’t!” the bomber jacket guy shouted. “Don’t put it on!”

But it was too late. The stocky guy slipped the polo over his head, his graphic tee dissolving into nothingness as the transformation took hold. His jeans morphed into black trackpants, and his face relaxed into a serene smile as Luke fitted a half-face mask over his jaw.

The bomber jacket guy cursed, yanking the friend closest to him. “We’re getting out of here!” he snapped. But the transformed guys were faster and his face relaxed into a serene smile as Luke fitted another half-face mask over his face.

Before they could escape, the distant sound of an engine grew louder. The bus rounded the corner, its headlights cutting through the dark. It screeched to a stop at the curb, the doors hissing open. A few passengers sat inside, mostly young men returning home or heading out.

Tyler and Luke exchanged a glance. “Time to expand,” Tyler said with a smirk.

As the bomber jacket guy and his friend hesitated, Luke stepped onto the bus, carrying a fresh stack of polos. The musky scent spread quickly as he moved down the aisle. “Relax,” he said to the confused passengers. “You’re about to be part of something great.”

One by one, he handed out polos, his calm yet insistent voice guiding each passenger. A few resisted at first, but as the musk thickened, their hesitation melted away. They pulled on the shirts, their casual clothes dissolving as the sleek black latex took over. Each man’s demeanor shifted, their faces serene as half-face masks were fitted over their jaws.

Luis, a warehouse worker, had been slumped in his seat, exhausted from another long night of loading trucks. His neon safety vest and worn-out boots had marked him as someone used to hard labor. As the transformation took over, his vest and steel-toed boots melted away, replaced by the gleaming black latex uniform. Now upright and composed, Luis’s sharp gaze peers out from behind the glossy mask, his exhaustion replaced by a newfound energy.

Mark had just finished a grueling workout at the local gym, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Dressed in a muscle tee and athletic shorts, he had boarded the bus to head home. The musky mist overtook him quickly, and his gym clothes faded into black trackpants and the polished Fred Perry polo. With the half-face mask securely in place, Mark’s athletic physique now exudes a disciplined, intimidating aura, his focus no longer on weights but on spreading the brotherhood.

The bus driver was the last to resist, gripping the wheel tightly. “You’re not getting me into this!” he shouted.

Tyler stepped forward, his voice low and commanding. “You’re already ours. Just give in.”

The driver’s hands shook as Luke handed him a polo. With trembling fingers, he slipped it on, his uniform dissolving into the latex material. As the mask was placed over his face, he slumped back into his seat, his resistance gone.

The transformed passengers stood as one, their black polos and half-face masks gleaming under the bus’s fluorescent lights. Tyler stepped off the bus, his expression calm and satisfied. The seven recruits from the bus stop now stood in perfect formation beside the RV, their earlier resistance forgotten.

“You know your mission,” Tyler said, addressing the group. “You’ll spread the brotherhood. Swift and precise.”

The recruits nodded, their voices muffled by the masks but filled with conviction. “Yes.”

The bus doors closed, and it rolled away into the night, its passengers now unified in their purpose. In the distance, the faint sound of sirens began to echo.

Back in the RV, Luke smirked as he removed his mask. “Looks like someone called the cops.”

Tyler leaned back in his seat, unbothered. “Let them come. We’re just getting started.”

The RV pulled away, leaving behind a faint trail of musk and the unmistakable mark of the brotherhood’s presence.

[cloudsmateria]

shitty friend. cloud strife x reader

tw: almost smut, forbidden romance

summary: tifa likes cloud, you're pretty sure. and you've been worrying about him ever since you left midgar, until one night in costa del sol you catch him sneaking out, following him on the way in the rain. u might know what happens next.

a/n: guys let me know if you want more of this i might make into a longer thing.

You were stuck sitting at your balcony watching the breeze run through the palm trees, Aerith and Tifa were dead asleep behind you after the long day you had all just had. You should be dead asleep, but your thoughts got the better of you tonight, anytime you laid down your continuous, tangled threads of thoughts came crashing over you. Sector 7, Sephiroth, your parents, Cloud. You were worried about him. He’s been acting off, he’s always been off but now he seemed a lot more lost, frustrated, trying to cover his thoughts up. Even his falling out with TIfa was uncharacteristic of him.

The thought of him was a strange amalgamation of feelings, comforting and fuzzy, or worrying. You don’t know what drew you so much to him, how you felt wasn’t something since you were a kid. You wanted to get to know him as much as possible, to be around him as much as possible, feeling giddier when he gave you a compliment, a look, an anything. Earlier on the beach he came to talk to you, while everyone else agreed to head back, that 10 minute talk felt like an eternity by the sunset, it made you feel warm. 

He worried you beyond what was going on with him. What was going on with you? Why did you like him so much? You had a creeping suspicion it was a crush, but denial didn’t let you acknowledge it. It wouldn’t work. Surely he likes someone else. And you’re pretty sure Tifa’s been in love with him since they were children, that must have gone both ways, especially against you who he’s only known for a month. You groan, leaning your head back against the pillar attached to the balcony fence you were sitting on. The thought of him added to your dizzying thoughts. 

You heard a door quietly creek down the hallway, along with some light noises from the creakier, shitty floorboards, and coincidentally, Cloud walking down the steps of the exit and going for the slim path to the main roads. What was on his mind this time? You silently hop down from your first-floor balcony, quickly walking toward him as you watched him get on the segway, zooming off quite a bit ahead of you. You got on one too, following him to the edge of the touristy bit of Costa Del Sol, getting off when leaving the area. Suspicious? You originally weren’t intending on hiding but that changed, trying to figure out what was going on. 

He ended up walking to the large pond by the cliffside, empty, and quiet, leaning up by one of the boulders and looking the moonlight on the water. You walked out, him looking at you. 

“Hey.”

“Following me?”

“I was worried about you." You said, leaning next to him.

“Why are you still up?”

“A lot to think about.”

“Haven’t got a moment to ourselves since before the reactor.” He said with a sincere look, the buzz was there again. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well, I’m here to talk to you but… Just everything… Sephiroth. Midgar. Shinra. Tifa. Aerith… You.”

“You shouldn’t worry about me.”

“So why are you out here so late? What are you thinking about?”

He shakes his head, it’s sweet how much you care. “Nothing, just needed a breath of air. Wanted to be alone for a bit but clearly the Planet had different plans.”

“Maybe the Planet is giving you a sign… I know you and I can tell something’s wrong, and you’re not alone. You should talk to me.”

It’s quiet for a second, before he decides to speak. “I’ve noticed about you that too, you never talk about what’s going on in your head.”

“If I did then would you talk to me?” 

He hesitates, he can’t remember the last time he really opened up to anyone about what was going on in his head, his thoughts. He opened one suspicion to Tifa, and look where that got him. But something about you makes him think you’ll listen, you won’t think he’s insane, or weak, something about you puts his head to ease. “Yeah. Why not?”

“I was thinking about my parents in Midgar. I’m mostly worried about you. I can tell you’re low, and there’s a lot on your mind.”

“What about your parents?”

You laugh awkwardly, thinking back to them. No one knows about it yet, Tifa and Aerith knows vague bits, but not the whole story. “My mum went missing when I was 15, and my dad has been missing since I was born.” You said, adding the second bit trying to make a joke out of it. “I don’t really know what happened to my mum, she went missing in Wall Market when she used to do underground fighting for money.”

“I’m…” He was lost for words. “Sorry, that’s horrible.”

“It was a long time ago, all of us have lost our parents so it’s not anything special. I just wonder what happened to her sometimes, and my dad, apparently he was a lovely man but she didn’t talk about him much, I have a few photos and a few letters he wrote to me before I was born.” You looked at Cloud. “He was a SOLDIER First Class in Shinra’s All-Star team before your time, so I assume he’s part of the regiment that died, if my mum got a letter she didn’t tell me.” 

He opened his mouth, but no words came out, there was a distinct solemn expression on his face. “You don’t have to say anything.” You said warmly, with a light laugh. 

“I’m sorry, it’s hard.”

“It doesn’t affect me that much. I found Aerith a year later in Sector 5, then Tifa when I eventually moved to Sector 7. So…” 

He stopped leaning against the boulder, beckoning you to come with him, you get up, walking beside him. “I don’t understand how you just open up to people like that.”

“I’ve never told anyone before.”

“What?”

“Tifa and Aerith just know I don’t have parents, they don’t know the details. Telling people about my past freaks me since I’ve never said anything for so long. But I know you feel the same way, I see myself in you, that’s why I can tell you’re off. We trust each other, don’t we? With everything.”

“I trust you, entirely.” You smile broadly, bumping into his shoulder, and in a strange way he felt at peace, being seen for once. 

“So you gonna keep up your end of the promise?”

“I don’t know, it’s a lot.”

“Nothing’s too much, don’t worry.”

“This might sound crazy, but sometimes, I don’t know if my thoughts are my own, it feels like they’re someone elses. I feel like I get memories triggered from a life and I don’t know if they’re mine or not, it’s all jumbled up, and it’s making me feel insane. Some of my memories don’t match up with Tifa’s, inconsistencies when we were in Kalm with Sephiroth. I started to doubt her, and we got into an argument. I feel crazy. I get these headaches and-” His words started to speed up at the end, groaning in annoyance at his own thoughts, wondering why he didn’t feel uncomfortable saying any of this. 

“It’s okay.”

“I get these headaches like my head is collapsing in on itself, ringing in my ears, static and jumping in my eyes, around Geneva, around fires, just randomly, and I see Sephorith and he’s not there, I can’t touch him, but it feels like he’s there talking to me, taunting me. I can barely move, it hurts so bad. Recently, I’ve been feeling like I’m losing touch with myself and thoughts that aren’t me are taking over me, although I’ve been able to keep it under control.”

“That explains so much… Maybe it’s some kind of mako poisoning?”

“I don’t know, I don’t think so. What do you think?”

“I don’t think you’re crazy or insane. I honestly think Sephiroth is messing with your head somehow.” You both have made it to the gazebo in the middle of the large pond, you stop to look at him, holding his hand in both of yours, his head blanking out. “We’ll get through this together, don’t worry.” A heavy weight had just been lifted off his chest, to be without judgement for once, to just say everything out loud without being trapped in his own head, alone.

You see him smile, like he’s about to laugh. “What?” You ask. 

“You scare me.” 

“What?”

“I’m too comfortable around you, it scares me out. You have some like, mind control materia on you. It’s weird.”

You laugh. “I can say the same thing about you.” He’s looking down at you with soft eyes, the green in them feels like it’s moving, the moonlight making them shine brighter. You can hear water lightly rippling around you, and looking at him so closely seems to drown the rest of the world out. When you look up at him, he can see the glossy reflection of the moon in your own eyes, lighting up your face. Your heart picks up, starting to hammer in your chest. You catch onto yourself, turning away and clearing your throat, walking to the edge of the gazebo to look over the water. 

You’re getting the wrong idea. You only met him a month ago, you’re out of your mind if you think there’s anything between you two other than friendship.

“Want to head to the beach?”

“It’s so late.”

“We’re used to restless nights anyway, right? It’s not often we get a moment of quiet in Costa Del Sol.” He said, grabbing your wrist to turn you toward him. “We’ll only be 30 minutes.”

“That is such a lie, Cloud Strife.” However, you let him slowly pull you out of the gazebo, in the direction of the beach with a huge smile on his face. 

“You want to, I know you do.”

“You’re such a bad influence.” You say, rolling your eyes sarcastically, walking up beside him, half the way there, you feel a drop on your shoulder. Then two. The four. A few seconds later, a light drizzle. You look at each other and lightning flashes hitting only a kilometer ahead and immediately rain starts crashing down. He grabs your hand since the rain is too loud for you to hear him well, leading you past a tree that seems to lead to nowhere, behind it an entrance into the inside of a hill.

“What’s this?”

“Found it yesterday by accident.” You take a few steps in the dark path, passing through some vine. 

“A lifespring.” You say breathlessly, there’s a small body of water in the middle with a gap in the tip of the hill, rain falling into the pond, the grass, flowers, mako crystals around it, untouched. There’s another hit of lighting and thunder. “Guess I’m stuck out here with you now.”

“This is better than the beach anyway. The rain and thunder add something.”

“Of course, you’d say that, Cloud Strife.”

“Never make a joke again.”

You smile. “It’s calming in a way, I agree with you. I like it too.” There’s a spot beside the pond, close to the crystal cluster you lay in, looking up at the hole rain pouring through, Cloud sits next to you, leaning on his elbows and looking with you. Your eyes shift to him, looking at how his hair has dropped down, swaying back, still fluffy, his side profile is gorgeous too. You could sit there forever looking at him. It seems to click, like a switch in your head. Your heart feels full, your stomach is in knots.

He looks back at you, and he catches the look in your eyes, a light, loving expression. It makes his head go hazy.

His eyes dart back to the sky. He didn't like it. Didn't want to like it. It was a problem, an inconvenience, and yet, he couldn't find himself caring about that. It was an amazing feeling, the feeling he had, even though it scared him. The way your eyes glimmered at him, the soft expression on your lips. 

“Thanks for letting me open up to you, Cloud. It meant a lot.”

"You know I'll always be there for you, you don't have to thank me. If anything, I have more to be thankful for.” There was a moment. “How do you feel about me?”

"I think you're great in every way." You say, vaguely, you cheeks heating up. "I love being around you, you're a good friend. How do you feel about me?"

He hesitates, a pause before he answers, but something about you made him think twice. 

"You're great." You felt a tinge of disappointment but it's what you expected. 

He's looking at you. He wants to kiss you. No. No. Stop. This is the worst thing he could ever do.

"But you don't really see me as a friend, do you?" Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's onto you.

"Cloud, don't be an idiot. Of course, I see you as a friend."

"Then why did you look at me like that earlier?"

"Look at you like what?"

He laughed. "I'm not stupid, you know. You don't have to be embarrassed."

"I..." You didn't know what to say. But you didn't need to know what to say.

“Am I getting the wrong idea?” He said quietly. You shake your head, butterflies being unleashed in your stomach, as his face is so close to yours. He had to be the one with that mind control materia on him, because your head was spinning, before he could even think about what he was doing, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours.

The butterflies in your stomach went crazy, you felt like you were flying, his lips were soft, the surprise took you off guard. When he pulled away, the two of you were breathless. You know what you were doing was wrong, but it was already too late, and you were too hazy to care. You turn over, sitting on his waist, his hands drifting to your hips.

He pulls you down again and kisses you, his arms wrapping around your neck, pulling you closer.

 You were kissing him back, not thinking, letting your feelings take over, you felt amazing, so good, so happy, like your stomach was on fire. He felt the same.

"This is bad." You mumbled against his lips.

"Mhm."

"We can't do this."

"Uh huh." He was barely listening to a word you were saying. 

You kissed him harder. He was all you could think about, how badly you wanted him, needed him. You knew you shouldn't be doing this, you were friends. Nothing could ever happen.

And yet, you were kissing him.

When you finally pulled away, your heart was beating a thousand times a minute, your chest was heavy. You didn't want to get off him, he flipped over changing the positions, pressing his lips against your neck. 

"You're not a good influence, Cloud Strife." You said, breathlessly.

"I know."

He was kissing you like it was his last night alive, his hands were everywhere, running through your hair, on your hips, your thighs. And yet, the two of you were not satisfied, not for a moment.

The feeling of his body pressed up against yours made your brain foggy, you could feel his muscles flexing under your touch.

You were completely lost in each other, unable to tell where you began and ended. His hands coming up to your chest, slipping under your flimsy crop top. You put your hand over his, stopping him, getting hit with the first sensible thought. Tifa.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry, we can't. We can't do this, I don't know what came over me."

"I... What?"

"We can't do this." You said. 

"Is there someone else...?"

"No, I’d be a terrible person, I can't do it, can’t do that to my friend..."

"To me?"

"No... Tifa likes you, I'm pretty sure. I just can't..."

"But..." He said, trailing off.

"I can't, and I'm sorry." You said. "You're great, I really like you, but I've already gone too far. “Fuck... I feel awful."

"Don't. I kissed you."

"Let's just... Forget about this, yeah? Just act normal." You tried to stand up, but he pulled you back down.

"I just don't understand, you want this. She's never said anything. Why should we ignore what's so strong between us?"

"But-"

"I'm not interested in her. This is right, us. Don't you feel it?"

"It's wrong, I'm not an option."

"Do you have feelings for me?"

"Yes, almost from the moment I met you and I didn't realise until now, because this can't happen. We're friends. We basically live with Tifa and Aerith, we can't go off complicating things like this."

"They don't have to know."

"Cloud."

"It's worth it, isn't it?"

"Fuck. Fuck. I don't know. I'm scared, and it's too soon, and I'm scared. We can't do this."

...

pt 2?

[uhohdad]

I know how specific this might sound so don't please don't hesitate to let this ask brew for a bit!: I'm wondering how loser!König would fair with a southern transmasc reader? Someone who's clearly backwoods country,but also cuntry, ya know? Ain't much to do other than swim in the rivers if your lucky,or check out nature if your not wanting to see the small towns scattered between said nature. Love love love your writings ofc,keep up the amazing work!

This is incredibly specific. I love it. Okay here we go I hope this tickles your fancy. Prob could be enjoyed by everyone.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・☆ ・・・・

☆ Loser!König was intrigued with you right from the start. He’s never met anyone like you before.

☆ He feels so comfortable with you. It was like he could tell you anything, and you’d just nod along. Not even so much as quirking an eyebrow at the odd things he says as you wade your ankles into the creek, hunting for crawdads to make friends with, just for the fun of it.

☆ He felt like he was swept off his feet, it’s amazing how such a simple lifestyle can feel so… magical, so thrilling. A whirlwind adventure that’s makes him feel alive, but simultaneously gives him a cozy, relaxing warmth foreign to him.

☆ (He’s not really sure if it’s the lifestyle, or if it’s just you.)

☆ You were so down to earth, so genuine, and you’d accepted König for who he was. His infatuation with you started here, and snowballed rapidly, and before he knew it he was in too deep.

☆ Funny, too. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s laughed this hard, this much. It’s always a good time with you.

☆ The stargazing is his favorite part. Konig’s fingers threaded together and resting on his waist. Lying in the bed of your shoddy old pickup truck, the stars clear and beautiful in the middle of no where.

☆ It’s still hard to keep his focus on the stars when you’re right next to him, your arms folded to use your hands as a pillow, shoe absentmindedly swirling as you soak in the night sky. He can’t help the way his eyes are lingering. How his head keeps tilting to admire you, taking you in as you lay.

☆ It’s the beer, he thinks. He’s had too much. Flushing his cheeks and giving him that warm feeling in his chest.

☆ No, maybe it’s the atmosphere. It’s so romantic out here, just you and him and the night sky.

☆ No, it’s definitely you.

☆ He wants to leave his old life behind, he wants to stay out here with you forever. He wants to chase this feeling, he wants to chase you.

☆ The air between you is electric. He can’t stop thinking about how he wants to touch you. How badly he wants to hold your hand, how he has the overwhelming urge to kiss you. As he stares at you, he can’t help but wonder if you feel it too.

☆ He’s thinking about you sliding on top of him, straddling him. Grinding down on him, teasing him, his hands on your hips as you revel in his needy whines and moans. He wants you to take him - right here, right now

☆ The thought alone is enough to bring his cock to attention.

☆ “See something you like, handsome?”

☆ A cheeky grin spreads thick as you side-eye him, watching him snap his head back to the night sky, as if that was going to save him, as if you haven’t been feeling the burn of his stare this entire time.

☆ You got him, successfully flustered him, he’s sure he’s ruined it.

☆ “Well, don’t play shy now.”

☆ He doesn’t even know what to say, tongue-tied and trying to put out the heat just under his skin, but he’s only fanning the flame.

☆ He’ll carefully meet your gaze, his mouth dry and his lips twisted in worry.

☆ “S’okay.”

☆ He gives a shaky nod, hoping it’s dark enough out here that you can’t see the glow on his cheeks.

☆ A hand slips from behind your head, elbow propped up on the ribbed tailbed, wrist limp as you offer your hand.

☆ Konig swallows, eyes wide and flitting between your hand and your eyes, twinkling as they reflect the stars.

☆ “Don’t make it weird, dude. Just hold my stupid hand.”

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・☆ ・・・・

ੈ✩

[beck-hartman]

"Well, good, because it's out of spite," he shot back, in a tone designed to annoy her further. Which was clearly working, almost too well, especially as they shared the goats. Cori had obviously earned an F in 'sharing is caring', Beck thought. "I do, mhm, but I wanted to enjoy the day with my dear Cori who clearly had her cheerios pissed in this morning."

"Wow, I feel so special," her delivery was incredibly monotone. Cori turned to make a face at him, clearly annoyed at the concept. The look only getting more and more annoyed, now more genuinely, when he reach over to pet the same goats she was interacting with. "I was.. There's a whole petting zoo, you realize that?"

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

141 + König + ale and Rudy railing their fem or gn s/o during a hiking/camping trip under the stars ✨ ⭐️🌟✨⭐️🌟✨

If that’s okay with you ❤️

Thanks for this request!!! I hope this is what you were looking for! I did fem reader for this one, as I'm still trying to learn how to write more GN smut!

141 + König & LV NSFW Blurbs While Camping/ Hiking

Warnings: smut, p in v sex, fingering, oral (f and m receiving) creampie, mutual masturbation

A/N: this is like absolutely 100% pure trashy smut, so read at your own risk🫣

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Simon Ghost Riley-

You and Simon had the weekend off together and were desperate for a small getaway. A friend of yours had told you of a local camp ground not too far from where you lived, and the two of you decided to spend the weekend there.

You packed up your belongings, and set out in Simon's pickup truck. It didn't take long to get there, and the two of you immediately set up a makeshift bed in the bed of his truck, and spent the day by the lake.

It was late into the night when you both found yourselves looking up into the night sky, laying in the bed of his truck. It was so quiet, the spot you chose being far away from any other person.

You were cuddled into Simon, when you felt his hand slowly slip into the waistband of your pants.

He began to toy with your clit, rolling the bundle of nerves in between his finger tips, causing you to bite back a moan. He watched your expressions intently, and was more than eager to please you.

He situated himself on top of you and began to slowly pull down your pants while pressing soft kisses to the exposed flesh of your abdomen. He pulled off your pants in one fluid motion, leaving you nearly bare to him, the thin fabric of your panties being the only thing keeping your pussy from him.

Simon gave a teasing stare as he settled his head between your legs and began pressing soft kisses to the insides of your thighs. You felt his hot breath fan against your core and nearly jumped out of your skin when he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the fabric.

Your hands flew to his hair as he pulled aside the fabric of your panties and languidly stroked his tongue through your now soaked folds. His eyes maintained contact with yours as he began to lick up and down your heat in slow motion, eliciting a load moan from you.

"That's it, love, no need to keep quiet out here." He cooed into your cunt, before biting at your panties, and pulling them down your legs with his teeth. The sight alone nearly made you cum on the spot.

He gave the inside of your thighs a nip, before shoving his face fully into your pussy, his lips latching onto your clit and sucking with fervor. Your head flew backward, your eyes staring into the night sky as Simon continued to undo you with his mouth alone.

You continued to thread your fingers through his hair as he began to flick your clit with his tongue at a rapid face. Your eyes fluttered closed, and your back began to arch pushing your pussy closer to your lover's face. You were teetering on the edge of an orgasm, the coil in your belly threatening to snap at any moment.

With one final flick of his tongue, your orgasm hit you hard, causing you to shake under Simon's grasp. He moaned into your core as he stayed licking at your folds, determined to get every last drop of your orgasm from you.

"Think you're more than ready for my cock now, don't you?" He asked with a devilish grin, wiping the back of his hand along his mouth. "Let's see how loud I can get you to be."

Alejandro-

You and Alejandro had just spent the day hiking some of the trails of your hometown and were now laying in a tent overlooking a small creek under the night sky.

It wasn't a fairly busy area, so fortunately, the two of you found somewhat of a more reserved area, ideal for what was currently happening with both of you.

Alejandro had been needy all day. The sight of you sweaty had sent him into overdrive, his cock being semi-hard in the confines of his shorts all day. Once you two had set up the tent, he'd pounced on you immediately and tore off both of your clothes in mere seconds.

He peppered your face as he pushed himself into you, burying himself to the hilt inside of you. Your hands flew to his back, raking your nails along his skin there.

His gaze flitted down to your bodies, and watched as he pulled in and out slowly, and let out a small groan at the sight of your pussy swallowing him whole.

He stopped mid thrust as the two of you heard a noise come from outside. His hand came to clamp down across your mouth, giving you a demanding glare. "Silencio, mi amor."

The sounds of people passing by could be heard from inside your tent, but that didn't stop Alejandro. He was giving you a test to see how quiet you could be, with his cock buried inside you.

You bit one of his fingers that covered your mouth as he continued to fuck you slowly, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. He purred softly, before picking up his pace abruptly, hammering his cock into you.

Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes as his balls began to slap against you, the tip of his cock hitting in all the right places with each jut of his hips. It was becoming near impossible not to make a sound, as his movements ellictied small whimpers from you.

"So close, mi amor." He whispered as he bit into the skin of your earlobe. The people had long passed before he finally removed his hand from your mouth, causing you to let out a loud, guttural moan.

He had a cocky smirk as he leaned back to place your legs on his shoulders, groaning loudly at how deep this new position allowed him to go.

It didn't take long, between the new position and the fucked out look on your face, Alejandro found himself cumming, hard. His toes curled behind him as he nearly collapsed on top of you, his cock still filling you up with his seed.

"Mierda!" He cried out as he regained his senses. He looked down to you to find you in no better state. "We will have to do this more often. I quite like doing this under the stars."

Johnny Soap MacTavish-

You and Johnny had spent the better part of the day hiking in a patch of woods by your home and had ended up getting rather lost. Johnny was getting rather stressed out, not knowing where to go, and you wanted to do something to help clear his head.

You both made your way to a large tree before stopping to take a break. After taking a brief sip of water, you got on your knees in front of him, your bottom lip tucked in between your teeth as you gave your boyfriend a sultry gaze.

"What are you doing down there, bonnie?" Johnny's brow raised, a devilish grin forming on his lips.

"Nothin'." You giggled as you fumbled with the buckle of his belt, undoing it, followed by the zipper of his pants. "Let me treat you."

Johnny swallowed thickly as he stared down at you, watching in awe as you began to palm at his now hardened cock through his briefs. "B-bonnie, someone will see us."

"Nobody ever comes around here, plus it's getting dark out anyways." You reassured, before running your tongue along his clothed cock. Johnny's eyes squeezed shut as he braced himself on the large tree behind him.

You began to pull down his boxers, freeing him from his confines, and immediately latched your hand onto his erection. Johnny let out a loud groan, and his hands made their way to your head, guiding your mouth to his member.

You licked your lips before wrapping them around the tip of Johnny's cock. You began slow movements, only taking half of him in your mouth, as you watched his facial expressions intently.

Johnny couldn't help the load moans that emitted from him. You were always so good at this. His grip in your hair tightened as you took him further in your mouth, his tip touching the back of your throat. His hips instinctively bucked from your movements, causing him to push himself fully into your mouth, gagging you.

Saliva began to pool from your mouth as you pressed your fingers into his thighs, taking him completely each time you bobbed your head. Johnny didn't care who'd hear him at this point, the only thoughts filling his mind was that of your pretty little lips wrapped around his cock.

You began to fondle his balls as your eyes closed, fully concentrating on helping Johnny find his high. Your other hand moved to the plump flesh of his ass as you pushed him as deep as he could go in your throat before gaging obscenely against him.

Johnny tugged on your hair, a sign he was nearing his end when you continued to deep throat him as best you could. He'd given a reflexive thrust of his hips, and when you'd gagged once more against him, it sent him over the edge. His orgasm rushed through him, causing him to spill into the back of your throat.

You pulled away with a POP and swallowed before giving Johnny a smile. He leaned back on the tree to take a breather, as you helped him get dressed. "Thanks, bonnie."

You gave a nod before placing a kiss on his cheek. "Pretty night sky."

He looked up and saw the stars before looking back down to you. "We've got to find our way back, babe. I don't even know where to go. Thank God for some of these lights out here."

"Is it a bad time to mention I've known where to go all along?" You asked with a sly smirk.

"You naughty fucking minx."

John Price-

John felt himself drooling slightly, as the view of your ass in the leggings you were wearing had his cock hardening in his pants. The two of you had been on this trail for hours, as it was known for the best views of the night skies. He made his way to you quickly, desperate to take care of the growing issue in his pants.

John pushed you up against a tree before palming at your ass through your pants. "Be a good girl and let daddy fuck you, eh? I've been staring at this ass of yours all afternoon, and it caused a little problem."

You let out a small moan, your fingers digging into the bark of the tree in front of you. "Someone will hear us."

John pulled down your pants roughly, exposing your weeping cunt to him. He gave a dark chuckle as he pulled out his painfully hard cock, fisting it a few times. He rubbed the tip of him along your folds, gathering up some of your arousal before sheathing himself fully within your velvety walls. "Be as loud as you want, baby. Nobody will hear you out here."

"John!" You cried out, your fingers gripping tighter on the tree as your eyes squeezed shut. He didn't give you much time to adjust before he began slamming his cock into you feverishly.

At first, the only thing that could be heard was the slapping of his skin against yours and the rustling of leaves. That was until John had reached his hand around in front of you, and began to circle at your clit vigously.

You screamed out, your vision becoming white as pleasure washed over you. John was always a rough lover, but always made sure you were fulfilled. His grunts had started to grow louder, as the tip of his cock began to kiss your cervix.

"Fuck baby girl, cum with daddy, yeah?" He asked as your walls began to tighten around him. He began to pound into you with fervor, the only thing on his mind being the two of you's highs. His fingers didn't relent, as they continued to circle at your clit matching the speed of his thrusts.

You gave a loud mewl as your orgasm tore through you, your nails digging so hard into the tree bark you broke skin. John wasn't far behind as he'd given a few lazy thrusts before unloading inside of you.

The two of you stayed like that a moment, attempting to catch your breaths as you both looked at the stars above you.

John looked to you to see you still staring at the sky. He bent down on his knees before parting your thighs. "Keep looking at those pretty stars, baby. Let Daddy clean up our mess."

König-

You and König had taken the weekend to do a small camping trip at one of the many camp grounds in Austria. It was the middle of fall, so the place had been pretty desolate, giving you and König plenty of alone time, away from prying eyes.

It was the last night there, as the two of you huddled around a small campfire König had conjured. You were wrapped in your boyfriend's arms when you glanced up at him. He'd looked unbearably handsome to you in that moment, the warm glow of the fire highlighting his striking features.

You grabbed at the base of his neck, pulling him to you as you placed your lips to his in a bruising kiss. He grunted softly against your mouth before laying you down on the blanket below him. The kiss had grown heated as his mouth moved from yours to latch on your neck.

He pulled away for just a moment to gaze into your eyes. "Are you sure? Don't want someone to overhear us."

"There's nobody close enough, and if there is by chance, let them hear." You replied, your eyes flitting back to his lips.

König chuckled before moving his hands to your clothes, removing everything until you were bare before him. It didn't take long for him to discard his own either before he climbed back over on top of you, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance.

He captured your lips in his as he pushed his way into your sopping cunt, groaning loudly as your walls hugged him tightly. "Scheisse."

The feeling of his thick cock protruding your walls, mixed with the feeling of the hot fire near to you had your mind in a haze, unable to form any coherent thoughts. "Kö."

He waited until you'd adjusted before setting a rather quick pace. He had quite an amount of girth to him, and it rarely failed to get you off.

He grabbed your hands, pinning them above your head as your legs wrapped around his midsection. He began to thrust at a deeper angle, allowing him to hit your sweet spot within your walls.

You let out a loud wail as your eyes squeezed shut and your toes curled. König growled at the sound, the noise you made, causing him to pound into you at an insatiable pace.

He felt his orgasm rapidly approaching as your walls hugged his cock, and you could feel each and every vein of him as he continued his movements.

With one final harsh jut of his hips, the two of you had both reached your highs at the same time, eliciting loud vulgar sounds from each of you.

As the two of you caught your breaths, Königs eyes brightened with excitement as he caught sight of a deer just a few feet away from the two of you. "Maus! Look!"

You followed his gaze and found the deer peacefully eating some of the grass before chuckling to yourself at the innocence of your lover. "I love you, Kö."

Rodolfo-

It was a beautiful night out in Las Almas, and you and Rodolfo were tucked away in a small cabin in the woods, far away from civilization.

The two of you had been quite stressed lately, with the state of Las Almas and other factors, so you thought a small getaway was ideal to help lessen some of the stress.

You both were currently lying on the deck of the cabin, watching out at the night sky when you'd grown rather restless. Rodolfo had noticed this, and turned his gaze to you. "You okay, cariño?"

You nodded, not taking your eyes from the sky. "My minds just wandering again."

Rodolfo gave a chuckle before turning his body to face you, his fingers dancing along the waistband of your pants. "Let me help you take your mind off it then."

He fiddled with the button of your jeans before pulling them down your legs slightly. His fingers ghosted your heat through your panties, pleasantly surprised to find you already wet for him. He slipped his fingers underneath your underwear, and slid down your folds slowly.

Rodolfo watched your face as he inserted his two of his fingers into your heat, pumping them lazily, the tips of his fingers pushing against your velvety walls.

You turned your head to him, letting out a guttural moan before slipping your own hand into his pants.

Your fingers grabbed blindly for his cock, and wrapped your fingers around it, stroking it languidly. He let out a hiss as the pad of your thumb swiped across his tip, collecting the precum that had gathered there. You turned to him, locking eyes, before bringing the finger to your mouth and licking it clean.

He groaned loudly at the sight before beginning to scissor his fingers within your walls. Your hand squeezed lightly at his cock from the feeling, and began to twist at it, pumping it slowly.

"Mind clear yet, babe?" He asked, a devious smirk on his lips. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Your mind became a haze as he continued his movements, picking the pace ever so slightly. He began to curl his fingers with each stroke, prompting you to arch your back slightly.

As he felt you walls tighten around his fingers, he pulled them out abruptly before licking them clean.

You shook your head with a smile. "I think I may need something a bit bigger to help out."

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

You and Kyle had been together for only a few months, and he was set to go on a two month deployment within the next few days. Desperate for a small getaway with you, as a way to escape the world, he booked a weekend getaway at his family's camp grounds in the mountains.

The two of you, a bit tipsy from a few glasses of champagne, were currently sitting on a small blanket you'd set out to watch the night sky. You'd grown rather horny from the alcohol, and found yourself palming at your boyfriend's semi hard cock.

He'd let out little mewls of encouragement, so you'd moved to straddle his waist, helping him of discarding his garments. You moved down his waist as you'd ripped off his pants and boxers, licking your lips at the sight of your boyfriend's now rock-hard length.

You climbed back on top of him, a sultry gaze lining your features. You fisted his cock a few times before lining yourself up with him, and sliding down onto him.

"Fuckkkkkinggg shit." Kyle groaned, louder than usual. This was one of the first times the two of you had sex somewhere that wasn't one of your flats, where had been a habitual concern.

You took his hand and guided it to your breast, moaning loudly when he began to massage at the flesh there. "Ky."

You rolled your hips as you sat yourself back down on him, and Kyle's head threw back in pleasure. "Faster, baby please."

Unable to deny him anything, you did as he asked. You placed two of your hands on his chest as you leaned forward slightly, before slamming yourself up and down the length of his cock.

The two of you continued to moan loudly, feeling utterly free now to do so. Your nails dug into his abdomen in an attempt to ground yourself as you continued to chase your high on top of him.

Kyle became a babbling mess underneath you as he squeezed at your thighs, his eyes rolling back into his head. You picked up your pace, full on bouncing on his cock now, your walls beginning to clench down on him as you neared your orgasm.

Sweat began to form on your brow from the exertion, and Kyle's grip on your thighs became bruising as he neared his own high.

With a few more lazy rolls of your hips, both of your orgasms rippled through you, causing you both to cry out loudly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You collapsed against him, you breathing beginning to slow as he pressed loving kisses to your sweaty brow. "I love you, Kyle."

"I love you too, Y/N."

Needless to say, neither one of you wanted to leave the next morning.

A/N: Thanks for reading, I hope my smuts improved at least a little😬🫣

[syrupgirl]

Sully men and the language they love in

+incl Neteyam, Lo’ak and Jake <3

NETEYAM

Quality time & acts of service

๑༄ ‧₊˚ This guy just wants to be helpful and be able to be with you whenever he has spare the time. I think being so close to his siblings made him love spending quality time with people he loves so that definitely translates into his relationship with you

⤷“Neteyam, where are you going?” Neytiri questioned, placing down the basket she attempted to weave.

“yn is going to help me with my free diving, maybe even teach me how to hunt.” He sounded giddy and was clearly ready to go. His mother smiled and looked down at her lap.

“Alright, do not get into any trouble.” Neteyam nodded frantically and without another second he took off towards the shore.

-

“Surely it cannot be that different than what Tsireya has been teaching us.”

The two of you bobbed up and down in the water, letting the waves gently jostle you while you taught Neteyam.

“You are right, not too different. But hunting under the water asks you to be able to move your breath around your body in a different way that just free diving.” You explained.

The distance between you closed and you placed a hand on Neteyam’s chest.

“Imagine the breath you take flowing all throughout your body.” His chest slowly expanded and deflated under your palm. “Like…Rain trickling from leaf to leaf, like wind weaving itself through the trees.”

Neteyam’s snorted and you whined, “Come one, you almost had it!”

He continued to laugh and brought a hand up to his face.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry. It’s just…The way you explained it. I could tell you were really trying to explain it in a way that you thought I would get.”

Heat crept up to your face and you looked away, a little embarrassed.

“I thought it might help you..,”

Neteyam’s laughing died down and he took your hand in his under the water, feeling a little bad.

“It did, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I think it is adorable you are trying to…customise your teachings for me.” He brought your hand up to his chest again and took a deep breath.

“Now, tell me what to do again.”

LO’AK

Gift giving & physical touch

๑༄ ‧₊˚ I don’t know about you, but I can totally imagine Lo’ak bringing you things he finds pretty or things he thinks you will find pretty. It might just be me over exaggerating that lone wolf, not-like-other-guys quality about him but in my head, he’s quirky like that

⤷”Lo’ak? Lo’ak!” You called. He was just next to you…Where could he have wondered off to? Leaping over a small creek, you continued to scan the foliage around you maybe to catch a glimpse of him.

The ground was moist beneath you noticed as you sat down, opting to wait for Lo’ak to turn up again like he always did. Your eyes drifted shut and you let yourself away with the gently breeze that combed and wove itself through the tall trees and colourful bushes. So caught up in the environment around you, you didn’t notice the sneaking footsteps behind you.

Lo’ak crept up behind you, a colourful flower in between his fingers. While sneaking through the thicket, he had noticed it and was immediately entranced by it’s delicate petals and long stamen. After sayings a quick prayer to Eywa in exchange for this beautiful gift, he plucked it and made his way back to you.

Now right behind you, he gently picked up the long braid that protected your tsaheylu and wove the stem through the intricately woven hair. You gasped and turned around suddenly, your hair slapping Lo’ak right across the face and he sputtered.

“Oh, Lo’ak! You scared me!” You gasped and punched him pathetically in the arm. He laughed and came to sit next to you.

“There was a flower, a pretty one. I thought you might like it.” He gently picked up the large plait and showed where he had woven the flower through. A smile settled across your lips.

“Thank you, Lo’ak, it’s beautiful.”

Lo’ak said nothing just smiled bashfully and shuffled a bit closer to you, threading his fingers through yours.

JAKE

Words of affirmation & physical touch

๑༄ ‧₊˚ Over the years, the world has worn on Jake. He’s a father and he will stop at nothing to protect his family. He worries, worries, worries CONSTANTLY, so the days where he can let the weight slip from his shoulders and just gather you in his embrace and shower you in gooey loving words feel all the more sweet to him.

⤷“Whose kids are those?” Jake sighed as he fell down next to you. “Not mine, that’s for sure. I was never that hyper as a kid.”

A laugh bubbles up from your stomach as you adjusted Tuk on your chest.

“Are you sure? Maybe they don’t mirror your childhood, but they do remind me of when you first arrived here. All clumsy and eager in your new body.” He laughed at that and wrapped his arm around you.

The sound of the boys in the river playing not far away washes over the two of you both. After a while, you remove Tuktirey from your breast and up to your shoulder to clear her airway of bubbles.

Jake’s eyes lingered on you and his youngest and smiled. He brought a hand up to gently pat her back and Tuk responded with a gurgle. He took her from your arms and lay the baby across his chest, then pulled you closer by the arm around your shoulders.

You nestled yourself into his side and lifted a finger up to stroke your baby’s cheek. She cooed and you both smiled.

“I don’t say it enough but,” you turned your head up to look at your mate, “thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything. For them-” he looked to the direction of his other children who were still occupied in the stream “-for her-” now looking at Tuk “-Everything. I don’t know where I would be today without you.”

No words were needed after that. As a tear rolled down your cheek, you closed your eyes and rest.

[marsdql]

Ivy's Grasp ‹🌿›

Pairing: Jake x Reader

Synopsis: Climbing high, it weaves its spell, Beauty born where shadows dwell. Toxic touch, yet hearts adore, Ivy's grasp—forevermore.

Genre/warnings: childhood friends to lovers to enemies to lovers again, toxicity, fluff, angst | wc: 1.1k

𝙈𝙖𝙧’𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: Inspired ff by Ivy - Frank Ocean !! I don’t know if I like how this turned out…. but I tried. It’s also kinda short so if I need to add a bit more plot, I’ll do it !! | 4 my mootie @nenesz

Jake was a constant in your life, a thread woven into every memory you could recall. You met when you were six, two kids chasing fireflies in the backyard. You were crying over a scraped knee, and he’d crouched down beside you, poking at the wound with a stick.  

“Doesn’t even look that bad,” he said matter-of-factly. “But if you want, I can tell people you got it fighting a bear.”  

You laughed, even though it hurt, and from that moment, Jake was your person.  

Childhood was a blur of scraped knees, whispered secrets, and late-night adventures. Jake was the boy who taught you how to climb trees, who dared you to jump into the creek, who held your hand when you got scared during thunderstorms.  

You didn’t know when it started to feel different—when Jake’s hand brushing yours made your heart race, when his smile lingered in your thoughts longer than it should. But by the time you were sixteen, the shift was undeniable.  

The first time Jake told you he loved you, it was after a long summer day spent at the creek. The two of you were lying in the grass, staring up at the stars, your shoulders brushing.  

“I think I love you,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear him.  

You turned your head to look at him, your heart pounding.  

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.  

“I love you,” he said again, louder this time, his eyes searching for yours. “I don’t know when it happened, but I do.”  

You stared at him, the world spinning.  

"I thought that I was dreamin' when you said you love me."

And then, without thinking, you kissed him.  

For a while, it was perfect. You and Jake were inseparable, just like you’d always been, but now there was something more. He held your hand in public, kissed you in the quiet moments, whispered promises in the dark.  

But nothing perfect ever lasts. It started with small things—arguments that felt insignificant at first. Jake wanted to leave your small town, to go to college in the city and chase his dreams. You weren’t sure what you wanted, but the idea of him leaving terrified you.  

“We’ll figure it out,” he told you one night, his voice steady.  

“How?” you asked, your frustration bubbling over. “You’re going to be miles away, living a whole new life. What’s left for me here, Jake?”  

“You don’t have to stay,” he said, his tone defensive. “You could come with me.”  

“And do what?” you snapped. “Watch you live your dream while I get left behind?”  

“That’s not fair,” he said, his jaw clenching. “I’m not leaving you behind.”  

“It feels like you already have,” you said, your voice breaking.  

The fight didn’t end there. Over the next few weeks, the tension between you grew unbearable. Every conversation turned into an argument, every glance felt heavy with unspoken words.  

The night before he left for college, you stood in his driveway, the silence between you deafening.  

“Say something,” he pleaded, his voice raw.  

“What do you want me to say, Jake?” you asked, tears streaming down your face. “That I’m happy for you? That I’m okay with you leaving?”  

“I want you to say you’ll wait for me,” he said, his voice cracking. “That this isn’t the end.”  

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to wait for someone who’s already gone.”  

His face crumpled, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he got into his car and drove away, leaving you standing alone in the dark.  

For years, you told yourself you hated him.  

You hated how he left, how he chased his dreams while you stayed behind, how he didn’t fight harder to make it work. But deep down, you hated yourself more—for not going with him, for not believing in the love you shared.  

"Ooh, I could hate you now  

It's quite alright to hate me now  

But we both know that deep down  

The feeling still deep down is good."

You saw Jake again five years later, at a wedding neither of you wanted to attend. You hadn’t spoken since the night he left, but when he saw you across the room, he froze.  

“Y/N,” he said, his voice soft, hesitant.  

“Jake.” Your tone was colder than you intended, but you didn’t care.  

He looked at you like he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Finally, he said, “It’s been a long time.”  

“Not long enough,” you replied, brushing past him.  

But later that night, you found yourself outside, sitting by the edge of the creek where you’d spent so many summers together.  

“You always come here when you’re upset,” Jake said, stepping out of the shadows.  

“I’m not upset,” you lied, refusing to look at him.  

“Then why are you here?” he asked, sitting down beside you.  

You didn’t answer.  

For a while, the two of you sat in silence, the only sound the water rushing over the rocks.  

“I broke your heart,” he said finally, his voice heavy with regret.  

“You did,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.  

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said. “Leaving. Giving us both a chance to figure out who we were without each other.”  

“And did you?” you asked, your voice sharp. “Figure out who you were?”  

“I figured out that I’m not me without you,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I thought leaving would fix things, but it just broke me.”  

You didn’t forgive him that night, but something shifted. Over the next few days, Jake began to show up in your life again—slowly, cautiously, like he was afraid of pushing you too far.  

One night, as you sat together by the creek, he turned to you and said, “I know I broke your heart last week and that i dont deserve another chance, but I’m asking anyway.”  

You looked at him, your heart aching.  

“We’ll never be those kids again,” you said softly.  

“I know,” he said. “But maybe we can be something better.”  

When he kissed you, it wasn’t perfect. It was messy and raw, filled with years of hurt and hope. But it was real, it was comforting, reminding you of the first time you two kissed. “I thought that I was dreamin' when you said you love me. The start of nothin'. I had no chance to prepare, couldn't see you comin'... And we started from nothin'.”

[immajustvibehere]

Quiet, Solitude Hour

Arthur Morgan x gn!Reader

summary: On a hot afternoon, you find camp deserted with only one lazy cowboy to keep you company.

warning: slightly suggestive, Arthur is some years younger than he was in the game (it's up to you how much tho)

960 words, 5 minutes reading time

Credit to oolonglatte on Twitter! The drawing inspired this fanfiction :)

Camp was uncommonly deserted today. The majority was out on jobs, including Dutch and Miss Grimshaw, whose absence left a void in the usual hierarchy of overseeing and assigning chores. The sun blazed overhead, and whoever wasn't working was seeking shelter in the next saloon or going for a dip in a nearby lake. Even Mr Pearson, who normally remained within the bounds camp, had wandered off with Tilly to fish at a creek.

Having just completed the task of unloading hay from the wagon and neatly arranging it beneath a modest, hastily assembled shelter, you were convinced that you were the only one at camp. But then you saw a wispy thread of smoke rising from Arthur's tent. Not the black sort of smoke you get when you light a campfire, no, someone was smoking a cigarette. It must be Arthur, though his body was well hidden behind the crates that surround his tent.

You grinned as a prospect for diversion and amusement presented itself. You walked up to him, the grass and soil beneath your feet masked any audible approach. Slowly, Arthur’s body appeared. Recumbent upon his cot, Arthur wore nothing but jeans and boots. It looked as if he had hastily unclothed after a ride and now was trying to cool down. It was clear that he hadn’t expected anybody to be here, because even his belt was discarded in the grass, the jeans’ button and zipper had been undone nonchalantly, the latter halfway at best.

You observed the dark hair on his body that thickened beneath the curvature of his navel, only to lead down where it was swallowed by the shadow cast by his jeans. Arthur wasn't one to run around topless very often. You tried to remember when you ever saw him like this, only to realize it must have been years ago if ever.

You smiled contently. Arthur's eyes were closed and when he led the cigarette to his mouth, this happened on instinct and with a perfectly studied movement.

It felt forbidden, watching him like that. So you snuck away, heading for the create in the shadow where the gang kept some bottles of beer. The crate was buried in the ground to exploit every damp coolness that the earth had to offer. When you returned, two moderately cool bottles in hand, Arthur remained blissfully oblivious to your presence. The hand unoccupied by the cigarette, it had since shrunken significantly and would only be good for two more drags, was tracing circles on his lower abdomen. You watched as his fingers sifted through the strands of hair, a gentle caress which underlined that his thoughts were miles away.

Gently, you allowed the bottles to emit a soft chime as they touched and spoke softly: "Hope I'm not interrupting something?" More calmy than you had expected he'd react on the disturbance, Arthur's eyelids parted at a leisurely pace to meet your presence.

"'Course not", Arthur sat up slowly, smiling when you came closer, offering him a bottle. The remnants of his cigarette were extinguished before his fingers grasped the offered refreshment. Then he shifted along the cot, patting the fabric next to him. You sat down and only when your arm lightly brushed against his, Arthur seemed to wake up from his daydream.

He jumped up and put the bottle down on a table.

"Sorry I wasn't expecting someone to be here. Ain't proper to run around like that", Arthur grinned cheekily for a fleeting moment, before he stretched his limbs, righting his jeans and grabbing a shirt.   "Oh, come on!", you giggled, "It's damn hot today, I don't blame you."

Arthur's eyes rested on you for moment. He must have noticed that you also had more buttons unbuttoned than usual, because, though he put his shirt on, sleeved rolled up to expose his forearms, he didn't bother buttoning it, but only cramped the edges into his jeans.

"What've you been up to?", you asked as Arthur sat down next to you again. You still saw some of the drowsiness in him. The hot air had made him tired and if you hadn't disturbed him, he might have dozed off soon.

"Jus' been out riding. I was looking into a lead Hosea told me."

"Is it a good one?", you asked, smilingly. You didn't know where you took the courage from all of a sudden, but you put your hand on top of Arthur's that was resting between your bodies.

"Y-yeah, think so...", Arthur almost choked on the answer, surprised about the hand holding. Well, it wasn’t entirely unexpected, because the two of you had been sweet on one another for some time now. But Arthur's method of dealing with his feelings was to stay away from camp as much as possible, because there was no way you felt the same and he wanted to get over this silly crush. He hadn't expected you to...like him back. Not even talking about daring to do the first move.

"Nobody's going to be back for another hour…", you said, standing up to look around camp. Your hand was still loosely holding Arthur's who was watching you in awe.

"We should make use of this", you grinned suggestively.

Arthur's Adam’s apple visibly bobbed as he swallowed.

"Ya sure? Y/N I didn't know you felt like this...", Arthur said, visibly flustered.

"Now you know", your cheeks were flushed from the confession.

You sat down on Arthur's lap, facing him. Arthur's hands immediately wandered to your hip, holding it in place while looking up to you. Slowly, you pulled out the edge of the shirt that Arthur had crammed into his jeans, undoing the work he had done only a minute ago. But Arthur didn’t mind that at all.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Love Letters: Day Five

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3K] A touch of a hand, only one bed with Steve.

THE LETTERBOX ♥

“Robin,” Steve hissed across the kitchen island, “Robin, I swear, I will actually kill you.”

The girl blinked, unfazed after so many years of friendship and empty threats. She grabbed the glass of water that Steve was definitely pouring for himself - not her - and grinned. 

“Sure you will. Do it in the morning, yeah? I’m beat,” she winked, backing towards the stairs where Nancy was waiting. “Sweet dreams… and you know, safe sex and all that.”

Steve glared, but his anger was overshadowed by the way his cheeks were glowing pink, even in the dark of the evening. 

You were waiting on the sofa, nervously picking at a loose thread on your shirt, pretending you didn’t hear everything that had just been said. Steve swallowed, blew out a deep breath and gave you a small, shy smile when you looked up and met his gaze. 

Honestly, Steve hadn’t even wanted to come on the trip. But it was Valentine’s weekend and despite breaking up a few months prior, Nancy and Jonathan were going above and beyond to assure the rest of the group that it totally wasn’t awkward and of course everyone could still hang out together. 

And what better way to prove that than to rent a cabin for a few nights out by Sugar Creek, courtesy of Mr and Mrs Harrington’s credit card, of course. Steve had shrugged off the offer at first, unbothered and wanting a weekend off to hang out in his room and be lazy, play some video games, reunite himself with his stash of playboys and maybe even catch a basketball game with some old school friends. 

But Robin begged and begged, claiming how much fun it would be, waxing poetic about forest walks and log fires and marshmallows and movie nights. The boy hadn’t perked up until she mentioned your name, and how you’d be joining. 

And that was fine. It was. ‘Cause you and Steve were friends, closer than ever, actually. Hanging out more and more just the two of you until Steve wasn’t sure what was just friends being friends and what was a date. But the first night at the cabin rolled in after pizza and some movies, a game of go fish that had alcoholic consequences and suddenly the bags that had been dumped at the doorway needed to be allocated to rooms. 

The three bedrooms. For seven people. 

Nancy and Jonathan cleared their throats and exchanged tight smiles, looking awkwardly around the room until Nancy’s voice went a little too high and bright as she exclaimed, “Robin! Roomies?”

Robin agreed, looking over at you with a silent apology, ‘cause she was the one who’s invited you. But you smiled and shrugged and weren’t all that surprised when Jonathan claimed Argyle and the two boys shuffled off to the room furthest away from Robin and Nancy’s. 

It just left you, Eddie and Steve. It seemed simple enough to deduce that you’d sleep on the sofa, sure that there’d be some spare pillows and quilts hidden in a closet or two. But Eddie threw himself down on the cushions before you could, stretching out and groaning theatrically, a grin on his face that seemed to be reserved for Steve. 

“Well,” he declared, beaming at you both as you stood shoulder to shoulder, lips parted in surprise. “Night night, kids.”

Steve made a strangled noise, somewhere stuck between surprise and a protest of some sort, but you beat him to talking. “Uh, wouldn’t I be better on the couch, Eddie?” you smiled, shy and sweet and it made Eddie grin wider. “You guys can bunk together instead.”

Eddie scoffed, already shrugging off his hoodie and throwing it somewhere across the room. “And leave a lady on the sofa?” He pouted at you. “What do you take us for, huh, sweetheart? Two douchebags?”

He didn’t give you a chance to protest. 

“Don’t sweat it, you and Stevie can share a room, it’ll be real cosy.”

You were definitely sweating it. And by the looks of the boy’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks, so was Steve. 

Eddie grinned again, salacious and as if he knew something you didn’t.  He lay back on the cushions, an arm sling behind his head as he waved the other at you both, fingers wiggling. 

“Leave room for Jesus,” he winked. 

————

Leaving space for the lord and saviour didn’t seem to be a possibility, ‘cause when you opened the door to the last bedroom, you stood and stared at the sight before you. From over your shoulder, with his chest almost pressed to your back, Steve swore quietly. 

There was only one bed. 

And it was tiny, less than a double, only a little larger than a single, with two pillows stacked on top of each other. You dropped your bag as you stepped into the room, a cosy space with matching pine furniture and deep green walls, almost the same shade as the forest outside the window. 

You spun on your heel, looking at Steve who was more flushed than ever, cheeks a pretty tint of pink and his lips were parted in a silent gasp that didn’t seem to end. He looked a little overwhelmed, the same way you felt. 

“Um—”

“Look, I can,” Steve interrupted, his voice a little weak, apologetic almost. “I can share the couch with Eddie.”

You frowned, a tiny stitch between your brows that Steve wanted to soothe away with the pad of his thumb. He didn’t. 

“Steve, the couch is smaller than the bed,” you huffed out a soft laugh but Steve could sense your nerves through the humour. He saw the way your chest was rising a little too quickly, the way you were pushing at your hair behind your ear. “And no offence to Eddie, but I think he might take up more room than me.” You smiled, shy and unsure and it felt like an offering. 

Steve smiled back, just as nervous, hands a little clammy ‘cause despite all the afternoons, the late nights and days out he’d spent with you, the closet he’d gotten was sitting beside you in the dark of his parents living room, shoulder to shoulder so he could feel you flinch when the movie screeched and the murderer appeared on screen. 

This was different. This was so much closer. This was more than the possibility of a date. 

“I could sleep in my car, or something,” Steve tried again but he really didn’t want to sleep in his car. But truly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to sleep next to you. The idea of it overwhelmed him. “I don’t wanna make you uncom—”

“Steve,” you cut him off, not unkindly, voice all soft and unsure and you were frowning again but shitshitshit, you looked sad. “Do I smell bad, or something? D’you think I have cooties..?”

“What?” The boy looked alarmed, “no! No, no, of course not. You smell, like, the opposite of bad.” Steve was rambling, his chest tight and hot with embarrassment but he couldn’t stop himself. “You smell like, super nice, all the time. Like, like mango or something. Cherries ‘n shit. Fuck.”

 You were grinning by the time he cut himself off with a curse, lashes fluttering shut as he winced and you wanted to reach out to him, curl your fingers around his in reassurance but you didn’t feel as brave as that. Not yet. 

“I won’t feel uncomfortable,” you told him instead and it warmed Steve to hear how sincere you sounded. “As long as you’re okay with it?”

Steve could only nod. 

And then you were disappearing into the tiny bathroom across the hall, a bundle that Steve assumed was your pyjamas clutched to your chest with your toothbrush. You smiled as you passed him, still shy, cheeks as flushed as his and you were pretty, you were so, so pretty that it made Steve’s chest hurt. 

The boy groaned into his hands when you closed the door, wondering how he was supposed to spend the night pressed up against you and not pop a boner. ‘Cause that shit had been happening most mornings for the last eight years and having a pretty girl tucked in beside him wasn’t a necessary ingredient. 

He heard you run the tap, the sound of your jeans and sweater hit the floor and he startled, rushing to pull out what he’d packed. Despite the extra pair of jeans, another sweater, a few t-shirts, a handful of boxers and the switched off walkie- talkie Dustin insisted he took, there wasn’t anything that Steve could wear to bed. 

He swore, groaning again as he threw his bag down onto the carpet and started to panic. Of course he didn’t pack pyjamas, he didn’t own pyjamas and he really didn’t expect to be sharing a room with anyone other than Eddie this weekend, maybe Robin, and neither of them certainly cared about him sleeping in his underwear. 

Steve was standing in the middle of the small room when you reappeared, still in his jeans and t-shirt, one hand buried in his messy hair. He smiled at you, an almost grimace that looked like an apology but it quickly faded into a slack jawed gape as he took in your shorts, your tiny tank top with tinier straps. 

You scrunched your nose as you dropped your clothes on top of your duffle, crossing your arms over your chest and you faced him with a new sort of shyness. Steve wasn’t sure he’d seen this much of your skin before.  

“Sorry,” you murmured softly. “I kinda assumed I’d be in with Robin.”

Steve let out a laugh, just as soft as your voice and he smiled a little easier. “Same,” he grinned before it faltered, nerves overshadowing once more. “I don’t, uh, I don’t have anything to wear to bed.”

You swept past him, mango and strawberry body wash left in the air behind you, as you sat on the edge of the bed, a heat to your cheeks that only you could feel. You swallowed hard, licked your bottom lip and tried to sound bolder than you felt. 

“You can take your jeans off, Harrington, I won’t bite.”

Steve turned beetroot at your words, lips parted and you swore you heard his breath hitch. But he nodded, hands fumbling at his waistband and you smiled, ducking your chin and turning away so he could undress with your eyes on him. 

You heard the denim hit the floor with a soft thump, his sweater following, until Steve cleared his throat and you turned back to see him in chequered boxers, a white T-shirt that looked old and soft. His hair was a riot from how he’d undressed so swiftly, eyes bright with nerves? Anticipation? Excitement?

There so much skin to see, all bare legs and arms between you both, your tank top revealing more of your chest that you’d usually put on display and when Steve stretched over the desk to turn off the small lamp, you caught a flash of his tummy, the trail of hair there, the jut of his hip bones before the room went dark. 

You couldn’t see him. Not with the absence of street lights outside the window, the tall forest hiding you both from the glow of the moon. But you felt Steve fumble over, heard him curse when his toes hit his bag and the bed dipped when his hands found it. 

“You got a preference?” He whispered, “what side do you wanna sleep on?”

You shook your head and shrugged before you realised that the boy couldn’t really see you either so you let out a breath and whispered right back. “I don’t mind,” you told him but you shuffled back anyway, crawling up the mattress until you could tuck yourself under the duvet. 

Steve followed, slowly, hesitantly, the sheets lifting and the bed dipped as he lay beside you, his head on the same pillow, close enough that you could smell his shampoo and the cologne he always wore. 

“Shit, sorry,” he winced when his hip bumped yours, an inevitable outcome considering the lack of space but the contact made your body burn so you could only hum back a response. 

The silence stretched on as your eyes grew used to the dark, until the ink black turned into shades of navy and you could see the outline of the furniture, the rise and fall of Steve’s chest beside you. The boy was as close to the edge as he could get without falling off, and you were almost sure he’d planted one foot on the ground below to ensure that didn’t happen.  You were on your side, body stiff and straight when your hands curled to your chest so you didn’t accidentally touch him and it was uncomfortable, it was impossible, it was frustrating. 

“Steve?” Your voice rang out like a bullet in the quiet, despite how softly you spoke and Steve startled. 

“Yeah?” Steve shuffled further away and your stomach dropped. “You good? I can go downstairs, honestly, there’s an armchair that looks like it might actually recline and I—”

You reached out, a hand across the mattress, across the cool space between you both until your fingers trailed across his arm. He was warm, much warmer than you and you let your hand curl around his bicep, underneath the cotton of his shirt and you felt him still. You circled your thumb on the inside of his arm, just once, in a way that you hoped was reassuring. 

Steve stopped talking. 

“You can come closer, you know,” you hated how shy you sounded, how unsure. But you were wearing next to nothing in bed with the boy you really, really liked and maybe it had been a stupid though, but you started to believe Steve liked you too. You couldn’t handle his rejection, not like this. “If you want to. It’s okay.”

You held your breath. Then, Steve moved, shifting across the sheets -  inches, really - until his leg was pressed to yours and then he rolled, settling onto his side and facing you. He finally relaxed, and you felt it, the way he sunk into the pillow, the way his breath left him in a long, soft sigh that smelled like spearmint toothpaste. 

You could make out the line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips. He was watching you, lashes fanning over the highs of his cheeks and Steve was all shades of blue and lavender in the shadows. You watched him part his lips as if to speak, but he decided against it, smiling softly instead.

So you whispered, “hi.”

His smile turned to something even more gentle, his body shifting a little closer still when you brought your hands to lay on the mattress between you both. Steve did the same, centimetres apart, close enough to feel the warmth from the other. 

“Hi,” he whispered back. He was looking at you like he thought you were magic, like you were made of gold dust, of stars. “Is this okay?”

You nodded, bottom lip tucked between teeth and it was okay, it was very, very okay. “Yeah, it’s okay, Steve.”

His heart clenched at the sound of his name on your lips, the way it always did, but Jesus Christ, you were whispering it to him in bed and it made him dizzy, made him see colours behind his eyelids that weren’t there when he blinked, hazy, feeling drunk. 

It made him feel braver. The dark, the blue shadows, the way you were looking at him like he wasn’t close enough. So he inched his hand forward, fingertips touching yours, a light graze, a small advance, a question, a what now? 

It was electric. 

Steve could’ve leant in, closed his eyes, found your mouth with his in the dark. Or maybe he’d wait until the last second, let his nose bump against your own until he could see your lashes flutter and your lips part for him.  

Would you do that? Would you let him? 

Your toes brushed his ankles, a shock of cold in the heat of the bed and it made Steve sigh, made his hand move over your own  a little more bravely. His pinky finger slid along the length of yours. He watched you swallow, eyes wide, bright even in the dark. 

He whispered your name, another question. Maybe a promise. It sounded like ‘please.’

You nodded, breath held in your chest until it burned, a white, hot lick of heat over your throat and it was delicate, it was insane, it was the best thing you’d ever felt until—

Steve leaned in, slow and careful, pupils blown wide and his nose pressed to your cheek  as you lifted your chin for him, lips parting so his slid over your own, a warm, soft kiss that made you gasp into his mouth. 

It was chaste until it wasn’t. It was gentle until your hand left Steve’s and they curled into the front of his shirt, soft cotton fisted between your fingers and you were pulling him closer still. His hand found your waist, slipping over and under the silky material of your pyjamas, an almost accident but he gripped you tighter when you pushed yourself into him. 

And then fingers were trailing up your side, a ghost over the dips and curve of your breast, almost too sensitive without a bra, too much bare skin to feel. Steve’s hand cupped your jaw, a soft cradle, a sweet hold until his thumb tugged at the corner of your bottom lip, sneaking between his mouth and yours so he could coax you to open up for him and you did with a breathy keen. 

Nothing else happened that night, but it was enough. You whispered into the night, kissed each other sweet and slow and deep and dirty and fell asleep tangled in each other. And in the morning, you avoided everyone’s knowing gaze, ignored the way Eddie grinned and wiggled his brows. 

“Good sleep?” He’d asked you both over a bowl of cereal, the smell of fresh coffee over taking the smoke from last night's fire. You flushed and Steve nodded, glaring at him. “Was there enough room for Jesus? Did he get squished? It’s really rude to squish Jesus, y’know.”

Neither you nor Steve answered, but the second night, you left even less room than the first. 

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Hi, I really enjoyed the way you write about Rose, so I was wondering if you could write a one shot about Rose The Hat/fem!reader where the reader is a member of the True Knot and can predict the future. As per the story of the book, part of the True Knot left Rose because they were afraid of Abra and the reader went away with them, however she saw a vision of Rose's death and came back just in time to save her :) sorry if my request is not clear, because I write with the help of a translator :)

[Hello lovelies! Super cute ideas! :) I definitely had fun with this one. I hope you don’t mind that I combined both of your asks to write this, I figured they were similar enough to do so.]

Doomsday

Rose the Hat x Fem! True Knot Reader

Summary: The tension between Rose the Hat and Reader leading up to the accident of the Overlook is both productive, and almost damning. Between the love triangle provoked by Rose’s dual pursuit of both Crow Daddy and R, Reader’s visions that produce a future Rose is too stubborn to acknowledge, and the fracturing of the True Knot following the failed capture of Abra, the world comes crashing down both metaphorically and literally as Rose is pulled back from the brink of death by Reader.

Warnings: Alludes to violence, description of gunshot wounds, dying via car crash, implied murder, more death. A metaphysical slap?Hurt/Comfort, hella angsty. Allusions to sex, but you don't get any. (Womp womp).

A/N: This is a re-imagining of the events of Doctor Sleep, what I would consider a healthy split between the book and the movie. It may be tempting to romanticize Rose as the victim here, (she’s evil and really, really, really deserves it), just don’t. The adapted 'Lodsam Hanti, Sabbatha Hanti' chant was translated with the help of this Reddit thread.

Word Count: 5.6k

Waking up in Snakebite Andi’s and Silent Sarey’s trailer felt… Wrong. Mostly because you’d been sleeping in Rose’s trailer for six months. Rose had been on the hunt for ‘the whale’ ever since she felt Abra looking in on her at the supermarket. She’d enlisted you to help. Sure, you could predict when it would rain, accidents, hell you’d predicted the 2017 Eagle Creek fire. The steam from that accident had been weak. Very few deaths. Not a proper ‘Big One’, as Rose called it, but there was something odd Rose had noticed. After taking a particularly good meal, as you’d had once or twice given how new you were to the Knot, you’d get these visions. Real proper visions. Rose had hunches, mostly. They were pretty accurate for hunches, but you, you got images. One trip into a casino, and the True Knot had walked out four hundred thousand richer, not like they needed the money. No, the Knot never needed anything, except steam.

“You gonna go back to the watchtower with Rose?” Andi yawned, in a bra and underwear.

As welcoming as Andi and Sarey were, they weren’t quiet hosts. Noise canceling headphones made little difference. You’d spent your night in interrupted sleep cycles, covering your head with a pillow as Sarey and Andi fucked like rabbits. 

“I don’t think Rose wants me there today.” you answered.

“How come?” Andi asked.

Silent Sarey came up behind Andi, pressing her face into her lover’s neck. The two of them were adorable, the token queer couple in the troop of mostly straight men and women that made up the Knot. The twins were the next closest thing to queer. They didn’t really have gender identities, and they weren’t their own people. They kind of existed as facets of each other. Neither one had a gender or identity separate from the other, you supposed that might’ve made them nonbinary. The twins didn’t do labels aside from being ‘the twins’.  That was their thing. 

“Well…” you stammered, shaking your head to rid yourself of the extensive internal monologue, “She just doesn’t need me. You guys are going up to Frasier to get Abra today, and there’s nothing for me to do except stay with Rose. 

Sarey gave a nod. She struggled to communicate with most people in the Knot, except Andi. She’d whisper away in the lisped speech pattern she had, snuggling closer to her younger lover. But the nod was nice. It was her way of saying, ‘I’m listening’.

“Alright, well, I should be getting ready, we’re heading out early.” Andi smiled.

You nodded, pulling on your shoes and exiting your trailer. You didn’t need to be a witness to the farewell sex the couple would inevitably have. Besides, the morning was too fresh to spend in a stuffy trailer.

“Hiya Dreamie.” Barry the Chunk hooted.

Dreamie. That was your name. It’s what everyone called you, and you didn’t mind it. Better than ‘loonie’ or ‘make-believer’. There were worse words, but it was early. No sense in ruminating on the bad.

“Hi Barry.” you smiled back.

The camp was waking up. And you needed some time away from the masses. There was a tingling in the back of your head, an incessant itch. It was the telltale sign of a vision, and a big one. You debated going up to the watchtower. Rose would get the cue, but you and Rose weren’t exactly on good terms right now. Crow wasn’t on good terms with you.

“Dreamie. Rose wants you.” Crow said, scruffy voice jarring you from your thoughts.

“Speak of the devil.” you mumbled to yourself. “Got it, thanks Crow.”

“It’s Crow Daddy to you, Dreamie.” he gave a smile, too white teeth throwing off the otherwise cleverly hidden sneer.

“Got it.” you gave a curt nod.

Then it was back into the lion’s den. You gave a knock on her trailer door before you came in. A noncommittal hum was the permission granted. One step into the trailer and it was clear Rose and Crow had been fucking. The trailer reeked. 

“It’s nice outside, you should open a window.” 

Rose stretched her arms, in a set of mens pajama pants and a sheer bra. Always with the bras, was she allergic to shirts or something?

“Got any dreams, Dreamie?” Rose smirked, not unkindly.

Like it or not, Rose was always in a good mood after a night of fucking. Always. 

“I have an aura, actually.” you sighed.

“Of course you do.” Rose smirked. “I can feel it, the second you walked in. You get this smell to you.”

She stretched again, rotating and twisting her back until her entire spine cracked. It was a bit eerie, watching how far she could bend.

“Someone’s thoughts are loud this morning.” Rose teased.

You shrugged. She was unusually receptive this morning. Or just allergic to minding her own business. You said that one in your head a bit louder.

“Childish, really.” Rose rolled her eyes, stepping out of her bed and coming forward.

You shrugged, giving her an innocent look. Rose raised an eyebrow, and then she pounced. All six feet of her moved with the agility of a cat, snatching you for a deep hug.

“Hmm… You really do have that aura coming on… You always smell like sandalwood. It’s really strong.” Rose hummed.

“And you stink of sex.”

Rose gave a sharp laugh, pressing you tighter against her.

“You don’t like it? It’s my signature perfume.” Rose joked.

The thought was gag worthy. Mostly because the stench of sex was ninety percent Crow’s BO. God that man stunk sometimes.

“I’ll take a shower if you make me some coffee, hmm?” Rose smirked. 

“Deal.”

Rose smiled, turning and walking towards the shower cubicle in her trailer. She was connected to a water pump currently, she could enjoy a long, extensive shower at the cost of virtually nothing. This campsite was Knot property, after all. With her behind the closed door, you had an opportunity to fumigate the room with fresh air. Every single window in the trailer was open. You stripped her bed, mostly because a night with Crow out meant a night with you in. And sleeping in sheets someone had fucked in? Not ideal, to say the least.

“Honeybunch, I forgot a towel, do you mind?” Rose called.

You paused what you were doing, going to grab her a towel. You made it about halfway to the door before the aura in your head got deafeningly loud. It was always awful, getting a particularly intense vision. First your ears would ring, really fucking loud. And then you’d get nauseous. All the saliva would dry up on your tongue, your hands would shake, and the world would go fuzzy. If you could compare it to something, you’d compare it to how a diabetic felt when their blood sugar dropped. This wasn’t a crisis of the body, though the body exhibited symptoms, it was a crisis of the psyche.

“Honeybunch? Hey, Dreamie, hello?”

You couldn’t focus on Rose. You were hunched in her kitchen, head in between your knees, breathing in and out really slow.

“Dreamie? Helloooo?”

The water turned off. Rose opened the bathroom door sticking her head out. She looked up, at where your eye level would be, and then right back down. Rose swore softly, grabbing a robe hanging outside of the bathroom door, pulling it on.

“It’s a bad one, huh?”

You nodded, it was all the response you could give.

“Well let me know when the symptoms…”

Her voice dulled. High pitched ringing, deafening. Your vision swam and all you could do was focus on your breath before images slammed into your skull.

Gunshots. That was what you heard. A forest clearing with railroad tracks. Teeny town? Yes. Teeny Town. Your hands were shaking, a gun in them. A gunshot through your head took you out. Immediately your perspective shifted, slamming into another person only to be killed milliseconds later. In between the pain of shifting perspectives and violently intense sensations of being shot over and over, there were shapes. People contorting, half-translucent, bodies disappearing into clouds of smoke. All of this was awful, but what was worse was the scene change.

Darkness, a calm drive on a quiet road, music playing over the quiet buzz of radio static.

 The switch was so quick it gave you metaphysical whiplash, almost like your brain was rattling in its skull. A child’s voice with a man’s tamber. That’s what you would describe it as. Looking into the rearview, you made out the shape of a small girl with dark curls and deeply old-looking eyes. Too old for a child, like they were borrowed from a man’s broken stare. Your eyes were dark. A bearded face. Crow. It shook you to see through his eyes. The perspective of the world matched, almost like you were Crow. You couldn’t make out what the girl was saying, but you could make out the threat in them. That was before the car swerved, steering wheel slipping in your hands. This death, was drawn out. You could feel every bone in your neck and upper spine shatter as your head went right through the windshield. The realization that you were going to die, the horrible sense of anguish. And then you cycled. Once, twice, dust. 

“.... okay….. How long… Seizures.. Gone…”

So many voices spoke. Your head ached, so did your body. It felt like someone had shoved you into a dryer on the highest tumble setting, you were so sore.

“...There she is! Dreamie, wake up.”

Colors blurred together, someone shoved something into your lips. A straw. You sipped, juice hitting your tongue, bleeding into the metallic taste there. It stung; somewhere on your tongue there was a cut.

“Jesus, Dreamie, you scared the living shit out of us.” Barry said.

Your body lurched. An image flashed, what you thought would be another lurch from a shotgun was entirely different. Barry burning up with fever. Red welts all over him, like that childhood illness your Mom had vaccinated you for. Pox?

“Hey, hey, easy.” someone whispered.

Rose looked down at you, her face contorted into an expression that would surely accelerate the aging of her smile lines.

“She’s never had one this bad… She was seizing for five minutes before she stopped. Then the last one you saw for yourself.” Rose told Walnut, the doctor of the Knot.

He nodded, taking off the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope he’d been using.

“Well, she’s stable now, it should be okay for the group to leave, we’re already delayed by-”

“NO!”

Rose jolted, gaze snapping downwards. She gave you a confused, angry look.

“What do you mean no? Jesus, send them off already. I can handle little Ms. Visions here.”

Your mouth was so dry, tongue bleeding and swollen. Grabbing for her wrist, you tried to get Rose to understand, to listen, at the very least.

“Shh, tell me in a minute.” Rose replied.

You squeezed more insistently. Rose pursed her lips, looking down at you with a warning look. You stayed silent. Even if the Knot left without you being able to warn Rose, she could always call them back. You stayed with Apron Annie while Rose dressed, slapping her topper on her head before slipping out of her trailer door.

“You sure gave her a scare, you know?” Annie smiled sweetly. 

“I… I saw something bad.”

“I figured. You tell Rose first though. I wouldn’t know what to do with your visions.” Annie shook her head.

You curled into the older woman’s grasp. She’d been a runaway slave before the Knot. Crafty, quick, an avid reader. Nobody read more than Annie, simply because no one refused to be fooled like Annie. 

“And your hair is a rat’s nest, lord have mercy.” Annie sighed.

She got up, getting some of your hair tools before setting down to the task of combing out and braiding your hair. It was comforting, the massaging of rosemary oil into your scalp relieved some of the ache in your head.

“Walnut said to keep drinking that juice. Your blood sugar dropped during the seizure. You’d best listen.”

You nodded weakly, sipping the juice without complaint. Annie’s accent was creeping back in, it always did when she was being stern with somebody. 

“You jus’ rest here awhile.”

←→

It was safe to say Rose didn’t believe you. You’d sat down with her and explained the vision front to back, the men who’d done the shooting and Crow’s death via car crash.

“Rose, I know what I saw-”

“I. Don’t. Care.” Rose snapped. “We need this Abra girl, and the bitch child isn’t going to kill the team.”

Denial. Always with the fucking denial.

“Rose, please.” you tried to coax her.

“No, don’t ‘Rose’ me. Your blood sugar dropped, you had a seizure, and…”

Even Rose was having a hard time believing her own lie. She didn’t want to be wrong. Abra could fix all of the True Knot’s problems. Steam on demand? God, what a novelty. After Grandpa Flick had died, Rose had gone frantic. They’d lost three True in twenty years. Three. That was like losing three family members in two weeks and Crow was getting old. Last night had been an anomaly for them. A whole night of love making three weeks after they’d taken steam? God, that never happened. Rose was still aching from it, still sore from the intensity of it. How often could that be if they were taking steam every three months? Could Abra withstand every two? Every two months for ten, twenty years? They’d consistently age backwards. A secluded ranch, a house? Somewhere permanent? Rose needed that more than she cared to admit.

“Please call them back.” you pleaded.

Rose shook her head immediately. 

“No. No, no, NO!” Rose snarled. ‘They’ll snatch the girl in Frazier, kill the family if necessary. It’ll take three hours tops. I can’t lose this chance just because you had a bad dream.” she snapped.

She watched your mouth bob. There was real fear in your eyes, real anger. It reminded her of a child fighting a tantrum. God, you really were young. Seven years in the Knot, snatched at seventeen, eighteen? A baby. You were a total baby to her, and so fragile. You were young enough and new enough to your gifts that Rose could take a chance on your dreams being wrong. It was plausible that your gifts had far more variability than just visions of the future. She wasn’t going to waste the best catch of her life because someone had anxiety.

“When they all die, it’s your fault.” you mumbled, getting off the floor of her trailer and practically running out of the door.

“Come off your soap box, Dreamie!” Rose growled.

You were gone. But someone else was waiting at her doorstep.

“Rose, Walnut called. The sickness that took Flick? Barry has it.” Annie anxiously whispered.

Rose’s breath caught in her chest. The sickness? Flick had died of old age, exasperated by heart conditions, not a sickness. But that was a lie too. For a week now, members of the Knot had been waking up with red spots on their bodies. Walnut had brushed it off as a skin condition from the bad showers, but privately he had told Rose a different story. The Knot was sick, they needed steam. Steam from a young, healthy, vaccinated child like Abra. Chicken pox was his diagnosis. And the True Knot weren’t healthy enough to withstand it.

←→

A night later, Walnut called. Barry was getting worse. He was starting to cycle. The group was scared and facing the possible passing of one of their own. There’d be no time to delay, they needed to work fast, leading Crow to split up and take a more direct approach to the girl’s residence. For the first time since the invention of the interstate, Rose told her people to speed.

“Rose, Dreamie is asking for you.” Annie interrupted her thoughts.

Rose turned, smiling up at her longtime friend. The smile fell off of her face, landing on the floor like a glass dish. Her stomach lurched. Annie had a spot on her neck, a big one too. Giving a tighter, less genuine smile, Rose slipped out of her trailer. Dreamie was curled up in a camp chair. She looked cozy, in blankets. Rose’s mind was elsewhere, she had every reason to prepare for a fight.

“If you’re here to tell me-”

“I’m not.” you cut her off, looking up at her gently.

Rose let out a breath and then nodded. She motioned you up, sat in the chair and opened her arms. You were a comforting weight in her grasp, and you smelled faintly of sandalwood. You’d have another vision soon, not that Rose cared. What was more pressing was the weight of your body on hers leaving her feeling soft, a bit vulnerable.

“Spend the night with me.” Rose whispered. “No strings attached.”

Rose needed it. She needed the intimacy of a night with someone young, inexperienced.

“What about Crow?” you whispered back, face twisted into an anxious look.

Rose sniffed, letting out an annoyed breath. She’d had enough of your anxiety for three decades. But they were so close to getting it all, and Rose wanted it all. 

“Crow isn’t going to find out. One night, one.” she whispered, eyes glimmering with an unfamiliar softness.

God, what you wouldn’t give for one night. The teasing, the pet names, the sleep overs… And it wouldn’t be rough, judging from the look in her eyes.

“Okay.” you breathed out.

Rose smiled, kissing your temple. You both stood, her hand in yours, bare feet padding across the dirt of the campground. Her trailer smelled of incense which meant she’d been meditating extensively, probably astral projecting to ensure the troop headed to Abra was okay. There were a few candles lit, adding to the ambience.

“Come here.” Rose whispered, shutting her camper door. 

Her arms found your waist, her mouth on your neck. She was so damn tall, and soft. Soft everywhere now that she was aging. You liked her soft, it was comforting.

“Lay down on the bed for me.” Rose whispered.

You complied, walking backwards, meeting her blue eyes. Your thighs hit the bed, and you scooted, backward, laying flat over her comforter. Her mouth was on yours, lips soft, tempting, and tongue flicking out to taste you throughout the kiss. After every kiss she’d give a soft hum, her fingers lazily slipping under your shirt to caress the skin underneath. Her fingers were soft, and she gave a sly grin, shifting her hips to straddle you further. Your arms tangled in her hair, enough to tempt her into removing the topper. She did, leaning further into the kiss. You would’ve thought someone like Rose wouldn’t like soft, wouldn’t find the moments of drawn out foreplay and intimacy worthwhile. You were wrong, so so wrong. Her mouth on your neck, her hands grasping you tight, bodies tangled like pretzels. This was right, this was the moment.

←→

An early morning call awoke Rose. It was from Walnut. She was on the phone for thirty seconds, and then her hands were wrapped around your waist. “Wake up, wake up!” Rose said, distressed. “Wha..”

Her hands were everywhere, lifting you up, throwing open the curtains to illuminate your body. She ran her hands over every inch, skimming every mark, every mole, every soft stretch mark. Rose didn’t relax until she was sure you didn’t have a single mark. 

“Oh, thank god.” Rose almost wept with relief, clutching you tight.

“Rose, what’s happened?” you asked, now wide awake and worried.

“The Knot has chickenpox. It killed Barry.”

Your body tensed. You’d never told Rose about the vision you’d had of Barry. “Chickenpox? Chickenpox can’t kill-”

“It doesn’t kill rubes. We aren’t rubes, Dreamie.” Rose growled out. “And if we don’t find a cure it’ll kill all of us.”

All of us? 

“Rose, I was vaccinated as a kid.”

Her expression tensed, and then relaxed. But then she frowned, a furious expression on her face.

“That’s because you’re young. Spoiled by modern medicine.” she spit.

You reached up, cupping her face. Rose was lashing out because she was scared, and upset. One of the Knot had died. Her family had died. You leaned forward, kissing her forehead. Rose didn’t cry, but she reached forward, cradling you tight.

“Thank god you’re vaccinated.” she whimpered.

←→

The Knot didn’t take Barry’s death well. There was a bit of hysteria, hysteria Rose struggled to calm. She leaned on you more and more, spending her nights tangled up with you in her sheets, an escape from her stress, from the hunger that was starting to claw at everyone’s throats. She had gray hairs again. Her crow’s feet were pronounced, skin starting to go scaly from sun damage. You didn’t love her any less, taking time to appreciate every bit of her changing body in between the bursts of passion. You aged too, turning from 17 to 21, almost 22. It wasn’t much of a difference, you were already quite young for a Knot member. But the hunger was awful.

“My joints ache, I’m going to take a shower.” Rose sighed, rolling out of bed.

She leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your sleepy face. You smiled, watching her pull on sweats and a shirt before grabbing some things. She meant the camp showers. They had a bit more space than her RV stall, you couldn’t blame her. The heat was more consistent too. You went back into a blissful sleep. It was broken fifteen minutes later when you heard a scream.

Half dressed in a pair of panties and an oversized shirt, you were running out of Rose’s trailer, bolting through the campsite in the direction of the scream. It was Rose, crumpled in Annie’s arms in front of the shower, sobbing in confusion and anger. Her towel was sagging.

“Rose, Rose.” you whispered, kneeling down and helping to cover her.

Her hands landed on your shoulders. An image burning forward. Gunshots, cycling, a smoke filled campsite.

“They’re dead. Everyone is fucking dead.” she sobbed.

You’d made it to the steps of her trailer before she collapsed against the steps, wailing like the dying.

“Crow!”

An image flashed through your mind, fear and pain as the vertebrae of your neck compressed, body flying through the windshield. Everyone had died, just as you’d predicted. Rose hadn’t listened.

←→

“That the last of it?” Annie asked, out of breath.

“Yeah, just two boxes.”

You were busy packing your things into Annie’s and Diesel Doug’s truck. In the days following the death of eight of the most prominent True Knot members, chaos had erupted. People packing their bags, convinced death was on their doorstep. The chickenpox was taking someone every other day now. Everyone was running, everyone was fleeing. You were leaving for a different reason, more personal. Rose had lashed out at you, blaming the entire loss of the crew on you. Rose insisted that if she had known that the visions were serious she would’ve called back the team. Your visions were serious, she just hadn’t listened. More fighting, more name calling, more discord. 

“I’m sorry Rose treated you that way.” Doug sighed, shifting the car in gear. “We’re all grieving, but treating you that way was a shitty thing to do.”

You nodded once, sneaking a glance in the rearview. Rose stood in front of her trailer, arms crossed, top hat balanced on her head. You could feel her thousand yard stare from here.

“You’re gonna die out there, Dreamie.” you heard a voice crawl through your ear, invasive and almost wet feeling.

“Well at least I won’t die alone.”

A phantom sensation cracked through the bones of your face, like you’d been slapped. You let out a choked cough, catching Annie’s attention. 

“I’m fine, choked on my own spit.” you mumbled.

“Bitch.”

You didn’t get a response. You figured she was saving the last laugh for later.

The drive into the Montana mountains was rough. Snow was starting to fall.

“You had to take the Denver route?” Annie groaned. 

“Who the fuck goes through the rockies at this time of year? It would take days!” Doug growled.

They were both irritable, both covered in red spots. You were in denial this time. If they died you really would be alone. Maybe that was Rose’s last laugh. The three of you settled into the hotel, Doug and Annie in a king bed, you in a twin pullout. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen, and you sure as hell couldn’t sleep. An overcoat on, boots crunching through the gravel, you set out to explore the area around the hotel. 

You felt a bit dizzy, probably from the altitude. Sitting on a boulder for a bit didn’t help, deep breaths of cool mountain air just made you feel sicker. Your ears began to ring, and that’s when it all added up. You were ready to brace yourself when-

“My, my. What a temper you have.”

You were speaking through Rose, a man’s flushed, pained face underneath her as Rose batted away his arms like he was nothing but an overgrown toddler.

“So much fire. Such a waste.”

You could feel Rose’s anger, her hatred for this man. You recognized him, he’d shot a few of the True Knot at the Teeny Town campsite. And his stare was so familiar.

“Or maybe not.”

It was horrific, this vision. You could feel everything Rose was doing, her sighs of delight as she ate the man’s steam, her thumb in his thigh. Rose was cruel, but this cruelty made your stomach churn in knots. 

“Oh, you’re not alone in there.” Rose breathlessly gasped. “What are you hiding? What’s in those?! Something special, huh?!”

That disgusting, inescapable feeling of dread clawed through you. It was impossible to speak in visions, but you wanted to. You wanted to scream. You could see the boxes as she saw them, alive and vibrating. They were full of darkness, and in Rose’s haste she wasn’t inspecting the aura, she was ravenous for food, for blood.

“They’re not special. They’re starving.”

The vision was a blur from there. Horror, fear, pain as Rose was eaten alive. You awoke on the ground of the hotel reception room, gasping for air and shaking.

“She has these seizures, poor dear.” Annie was tiredly explaining to the frightened hotel receptionist.

You didn’t let them give you juice. You didn’t let them feed you. There wasn’t time.

“I need the car.” you gasped to Diesel Doug. “Stay here.”

←→

The drive up into the mountains of Colorado was awful. You’d been taught to drive in the snow three years earlier by Jimmy Numbers, but this was something else. You’d loaded up Diesel’s trusty all wheel drive truck up with gas at the final station, filling up both tanks with diesel. You were driving up the mountains at night, hands glued to the wheel. Rose would be proud of you, pinpointing the location of the vision through memory alone. But this wasn’t about being proud.

The lights of the Overlook were on. You didn’t have time. Rose’s trailer was parked outside, you didn’t have time! You turned off the car, leaving the keys in the ignition, doors unlocked. It was so cold up here, one of the doors was frozen shut. You didn’t have time to break through the door, so you made the next best decision, breaking through a window with an axe. It was boarded up but the wood had rotted, giving you enough bend to punch through the wood with the butt of the axe. There were voices, not from people. The same darkness of the man’s boxes lingered here, and the whispers added more adrenaline to your movements. The hallways were mazes. It felt like this stupid hotel was trying to confuse you, to trap you here. It wanted blood, it knew you were hindering its meal.

“... I seem to have nicked your femoral artery. Gonna bleed to death, huh?”

You knew that voice. Well. A kid darted by you. Jet black hair, dark skin. Abra.

“You’re…” she stammered, backing away.

“I’m not here for you. Go.” you snapped at the little girl.

You turned, following the direction she’d come from. A large hall came into view, stairs descending downwards. Rose was crouched over the man, voice echoing. You attempted to step down the stairs, but there was some kind of force keeping you there, confusing you. Why did you even want to go down there in the first place? No, you were here for the little girl, weren’t you? Because you’re hungry. The woman at the bottom of the stairs is hungry too. You can’t let her catch the girl before you do, you’ll go hungry.

There was something you were forgetting. You looked down at the woman below you, confused. She was gasping in pleasure, feasting. You were so hungry too. You saw where the little girl had gone too. You knew where she was. No. No, the woman was important. You could feel it, an unmistakable, annoying little scratch in your brain. You were close to remembering something, almost like you were trying to remember a dream.

Dream! No. No. Dreaming? Day dreaming? Dream… Dreammmmmm……. 

Dreamie. Rose, the vision, the hotel. The tricks of the hallways, the bad aura. It all connected in your brain.

“.... Not special. They’re starvi-”

“NO!”

In your haste to get to Rose, you have walked, half slid down the stairs. There were about ten figures between you and Rose. All reaching all starving, all grabbing, all-

“The girl is in the maze.” you gasped. “She has more steam than all of us combined.”

The figures jerked, each turning to look at you with a peculiar, inhuman hunger. If the Knot were vampires, these were phantoms. Demons of the night, more deadly, more encompassing. The kind of dead that don’t stay dead.

“The maze. A girl named Abra.” I gasped.

They pushed forward at once, nearly stampeding you in their haste to eat. The man was heaving, reaching for the ax. You kicked him in the ribs, hard. Rose lay on the ground, crumpling in on herself, red dots crawling up her arms in accelerated fashion. The dead had taken much of her steam.

“Rose, Rosie.” you gasped, reaching for her.

She looked skeletal. It was the kind of skeletal that a True Knot took on before they started cycling.

“Steam.” she  weakly pointed to the man.

And you both were starving.

←→

Rose sat in a camp chair outside, feet propped up. She was soft looking, back to the usual look she got in between feedings.

“Mmm…” she hummed, twitching slightly.

“Crook in your neck?” you asked.

“More like an itch.”

She looked up, holding her arms out. 

“Let me see my beautiful girl, hmm?”

You smiled, curling in her lap. Tilting her head back, she exposed her jaw. You took the bait, nibbling softly as she sighed in contentment.

“I’m itching to open a canister.” Rose smirked. “Get nice and full, spend the night in the sand…”

She was getting old again. And the spots were coming back.

“Rose, can we try the siphoning method?”

She rolled her eyes.

“The pox spots only show up when I haven’t eaten. They go away once I’m full.”

You leaned in, nuzzling your nose against hers.

“It can’t hurt to try.”

Rose sighed, and then nodded. You both arose, walking into her trailer. She took out one of the canisters. You’d filled it with the spirit of the Overlook twins after they’d fed from Abra. It was easy enough, coaxing out the spirits. They’d gorged themselves on the little girl, ripped her to shreds, practically. Open up a canister that had a tiny bit of steam, and they’d pounce, only to be sucked inside with the vapors of steam. That’s all these spirits were, after all. Steam with a bit of bite. They tasted good, too.

“Alright, do you want to do the ritual?” Rose asked.

“You’re Irish is better than mine.” you smiled softly.

She nodded, holding your hands in hers.

“Meabhair, suaite, gortú” We are the chosen ones.

“Wounder rúnda, gortú” We are the fortunate ones

“I ngach slí gortaithe” We are the True Knot and we endure. What is tied can never be untied.

You took deep breaths of the steam in, filling your lungs with the haunted essence of the twin girls. Once the entire can was bubbling in your body, you reached forward, breathing the steam that had now become your essence into Rose’s awaiting mouth. In theory, you were breathing your own essence down her throat. Your vaccinated essence.

Her lips found yours once you were done, her hands tangled in your hair as she kissed you hard. She tasted like the blackberry mojitos you’d made an hour ago, tongue rolling over yours.

“I love being alive with you.” Rose moaned, half pulling, half dragging you out of the trailer. She was young again, twenty seven, shimmering and panting with desire.

“Rose!” you giggled.

Her hands ran under your skirt, grabbing your thighs mischievously.

“It is broad daylight.” you snickered.

“And I don’t see anyone around, do you?”

She took an inhale of your hair, catching a whiff of an aura hanging over your head.

“Dreamie, no seizures.” Rose playfully warned.

“Shh. It could be a Big One.” you winked.

It was a new year’s celebration, anyway. A new year, a new decade. Twenty-twenty. Something about those numbers screamed food, or more so, misery. But for the True Knot, misery was food, death and destruction was food.

Tag List: @bjoerkumlaut, @lovelyy-moonlight, @coffee-is-my-oxygen, @appparadox407, @ilovehotactresses, @marvelwomenrule

[javiersprincess]

𝐂𝐇. 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝚬: 𝐒𝐌𝚬𝐋𝐋

tags: wc - 2.9k, fem reader, cleric reader, reader worships lathander, features the battle against cazador, nudity, reader washes astarion after the hardest day of his life, gore and violence mentioned. finally a love confession !!let me know if i missed something !

synopsis: after the defeat of cazador, you are there to pick up the pieces and astarion finally learns how it is you smell so sweet.

taglist: @allright @ghostinvenus @ghostbeam @dottores @evergreenren let me know if you would like to be added !

taglist: it is with a heavy heart that this series comes to a close as this is the final addition to the five senses ! fear not i will still be writing for astarion and the rest of the baldur's gate when the opportunity presents itself! thank you all for your love and support for this series it has meant the world to me ! see you all on the other side of kinktober(jjk)!

Never had you been further away from Lanthander’s blessings than now, deep in the underground palace of Cazador Szarr. The brick, stone and marble all reeked of blood and decay. Echoing down each hall was the squeaks of rats, the scattering of their claws and the drips of water from the pipes. This is undeniably an ugly place - Astarion peeks at you from the corner of his eyes as you are all led to the great hall of where the ritual is to be held. A frown tugs at his features at the sight of your stiff posture and frightened eyes.

He would have never wanted you here, to bear witness to the ugliness of his past. Astarion thinks of you on the road - from the woods to the springs where you would pray to bless the day, you belong where the sun shines and the water runs clear.  His boot steps into a puddle of watered down sewage and remains of whichever poor sod was once there. The growl that pulls from his lips can’t be contained, and it bounces off the walls until the party stands in a room he remembers all too well.

It was where he was held down as runes were carved into his flesh, his screams so loud he wondered if he almost deafened himself that day.

Astarion can feel it, the all too familiar weight of his master’s presence, the thread in between his eyes that pluck with the command he has over him as he stands before a great hall as his fellow brothers and sisters pinned in the air. Each step feels heavy and with each breath he takes, the smell of this place digs him deeper into the “pathetic memories'’ of his past - his words not yours. Astarion feels something warm being pressed against his hand, red eyes digging down to see that it’s your hand. You, soft and warm, that the scent of the sun clings to even here, even in this place. You don’t go to touch him, in fact all you do is let the back of your knuckles graze against his and it’s enough.

Astarion is almost tempted to stop walking altogether, to tug you into an embrace as to bury his nose into your hair and let the smell of it erase all memory of this place. But it is not to be as the great Cazador Szarr is there all proud in his putridness. His eyes stay focused on Astarion - which he is thankful for, he doesn’t want your image to be tainted by the visage of the vampire master of Baldur’s Gate. His staff glitters in unnatural light, hair sleek and immaculately dressed, he addresses him and you and the rest of the party.

“Who stands before us? Is this truly our prodigal son?” Voice high and mocking,as it was then it is now, all it does is make Astarion scowl and lean forward in clear agitation.

“Do not slouch before me boy! Have you no respect for yourself?” A similar scowling look paints the vampire lord's face, his voice now rough with utter detestment at the sight of one of his seven creations. Astarion feels his lips being peeled back at the sound of his grating voice. It grinds and creeks, the snow-haired vampire thinks you’ve spoiled him by the soft way you speak to him that he can’t stand when he has to listen to others. Which is why his handsome face is scrunched into a venomous scowl as his master continues.

“Look at you, crawling back after abandoning your family. You should be begging for our forgiveness.”

You stay back, but he can see your hand twitch against the pummel of the legendary mace - The Blood of Lathander. When he says the word, Astarion knows you will give the vampire lord a punishment worse than death for the wrath of the sun is not to be trifled with. And it is with that assurance he scoffs at the words that ring through the hall.

“Forgiveness? You’ve never forgiven anything.” The words are cancerous in his tongue as he spits them out. “Every mistake, every slip was punished!” Memories too painful to speak are spoken into every syllable of the words that leave from his lips. Feeding off of rats. Trapped in a coffin.  The knife in his back and his screams echoing off these very walls. Retching up blood and dirt.

“I strove in perfection in all things - even those imperfect as you,” Cazador sneered. “A pity you amounted to so little despite my efforts.”

“No! No, fuck you and fuck everythig you’ve ever done to me.” Whatever Astarion wanted to say was caught off by you speaking in turn, your voice as soft as the wind in his hair when he first awoke to the sun warming his skin. Even in this desolate place you are a pillar of strength, a shining beacon so perfectly crafted by the Morninglord.

“We are here for justice. You will pay the ultimate price, by the Morning Lord’s blessing.” You speak, every word promising a radiant, golden death. The sneer of Cazador’s face only becomes more severe.

“I will not speak to cattle. This is between me and the boy.” Astarion hisses, tense at how Cazador dared to look at you, to speak to you and to call you such a thing. Fangs bared and eyes like slits, nothing could have filled the vampire you love with anger, bitter like bile as he rushed at his master. A swear on his lips, his fists raised, the fight began with the room doused in red light - the red of the Hells. From where Astarion was raised and pinned in the air the room was filled with the flames of Avernus but none did burn as bright as the radiance from your mace or from your blessed spells.

There was a bitter satisfaction to the victory of the battle, to being on his own two feet as he dragged Cazador out of the coffin and threw him to the blood covered marble. To see the creature of his nightmares squirm so pathetically, like a worm in the dirt, brought a smile to his face, one that fell when you pleaded with him not to take the power that so sweetly presented itself to him. Red eyes looked at you, truly looked at you and found that even like this, in this disgusting place he wants you. 

Astarion thinks of you, all of you.

The smiles, the jokes and the way you have trusted him all this time since you first met. You’ve always hoped for him, saw the best and gave him that in return. Never did you use him, never did you see him as an object - something to be used. How could he do to you what you were always warned he would do? No, he can’t bring himself to do it, to use the souls of his siblings and the unfortunate souls brought here by his hand. The radiance of your heart has touched him, changed him and molded him from a spawn to a man. Asatrion will not deny himself, indulge himself in the pleasure of ramming his knife into his master’s gut again and again but he does so in part of a greater plan. To become the man you’ve always believed him to be. Sooner than he could believe his master lies beneath him, covered in blood and his own organs cut to shreds to the point he could not recognise his liver from his stomach.

The weight of it all, of his decision brings him to his knees and among the stains of blood on his face the silver of his tears are like moonbeams on his pale face. Once again, for the final time his cries echo on the walls filled with tragedy, filled with rage, filled with grief. Your touch is a relief, a gentle reprieve from the shitshow of his life, the tough and smooth skin of your palm curving into his shoulder as your thumb rubs back and forth.

His gaze meets your eyes and finds the promise of a golden future, one burning anew if he just returns all that you feel for him. He uses the hand on his shoulder to help stand, to rise rather than fall into the deceptively sweetened path of power and to do what you have done all this time without faltering. 

To do the right thing.

The spawn are released, and his siblings off with a warning to live as they please but the consequences are their own now. Cazador’s staff is slick with blood in his palms, the metal cold now with the death of its master and Astarion wonders if his heart is the same now that the burning anger in his heart is quelled by the blood that decorates his hands. Your thumb has not stopped rubbing his shoulder, your palm cupping all that he is and staying there when he turns to his companions - all of them there with pride and understanding on their faces as they congratulate him on his newly taken freedom. Karlach is the most proud, he can see the embers dancing in her hair as she fights the urge to hug him to the point his bones creak and crack.

A smile is tugged at his lips, twitching before dying as the grief and the end come crashing down. Like always you tug him, leading him and the others into the light of the upper city, Astarion looks up at the stars with vague new found delight. Everything is clearer than it once was, now that the weight of the chains have been broken off, and replaced by the spare cloak you have in your pack that you wrap around him oh so gently with a tender smile. You all settle in an inn, and Astarion’s mind is half gone by the time he notices that the room is different - bigger, more ornate with a big washroom. When he asks you only to hum, looking back at him from the corner of your eye as you strip out from your armor.

“It’s been a hard day, I wanted to treat you to something special.” You say, voice soft as the night while you peel off the last leather piece that protects your form. He only blinks softly, confused and delicate in the night like a blushing maiden. Wide red eyes look at you with only confusion as you come closer, outstretching your hand with the gentleness of the dawn and just as warm too. He eyes the scar from across your palm, the one you got from touching the wrong type of plant in the Emerald Grove - a consequence of your terrible case of sticky fingers. The memory makes him smile and he nods, taking your hand and leaving the cloak behind on the bed. You lead him to the washroom and he gapes at the sight of such a huge bathtub. Not made of wood but of proper marble and plain, filled with pleasantly warm water and the scent of lavender wafting off the soapy water. Astarion turns to thank you and is only met with how you look at him, all soft with tenderness and worry lacing through the flecks of color in your iris.

“When did you do this?” His voice is soft, like this  is a dream and a wrong move will have him waking up in the cells of the Szarr palace again.

“When you were sitting in the room. I used runes to keep the water warm but you best get in. It won’t last for so long.” You say like it’s no trouble, like doing nice things are as easy as breathing for you but that’s what your nature has been the whole time. Astarion thinks of the time you two had embraced for the first time, how the goodness you see and act upon are not naivety but purposeful and intentful. This, this is a small gift in comparison to all that you have done for him, one that began with your blood and ended with lavender oil.

It almost makes him weep.

“I’ll be outside if you need me,  please don’t hesitate to call for me.” You say softly, holding his fingers in a relaxed grip, one that he could so easily break free of when he needs to, when he wants to. Astarion shudders a breath, eyes crinkled under the weight of your goodness; something you’ve been carrying for oh so long he can’t believe you are mortal and not a god of some sort. His fingers tighten to a hold so tight you can’t help but bite the inside of your cheek to stop from gasping out.

“No…please…please stay. I don’t want to be alone.” His voice is soft, filled with so much emotion you understand him completely with a single breath. You confirm that you won’t leave and ask him if he wants you to turn away while he undresses. 

Astarion nods and you listen, turning your back and Astarion traces the shades of your hair in the candlelight  when you move so fluidly. He is in the tub when you turn back, his scarred back to you as he sighs at the silken feeling of the water against his tired body. You ask if you may wash his hair to rid the snowy curls of the veil of blood that mars them and again he nods in confirmation. Your sleeves are tugged back, rolled at the elbow as you carefully sit outside the tub and scrub at his hair with an all too familiar scented bar of soap.

A sweet silence fills the room, only the burning of the wicks and the splashing of the water when it moves can be heard. It's nice, he thinks, letting his eyes shut as your fingers work tenderly into his scalp with all the care one would use when holding water cupped in between their palms. The suds of the soap are foamy and thick, out of curiosity he sniffs it and realizes when he recognizes the notes of the scent.

Lavender, sunlight and dawn’s dew.

“Did you realize it was my soap?” You ask, voice soft and teasing as you grin from behind him. 

You feel him nod and amidst the tragedy of the day there’s a smile tugging at his lips as he turns to look at you with the familiar mischievous shine of his eyes. When he speaks you catch a glint of his fangs, milky in the warm light of the candles and you smile as he speaks to you for the first time since returning from that awful palace.

“I hope you know this means you’ll be running out of the soap twice as fast.”

“I don’t mind that at all.” You hum back, face ever serene as you raise a smaller bucket to douse the warm water through his hair, carefully detangling the curls with your fingers as he turns again to look at you with wide, glittering eyes. There’s a smile on your lips, it grows softly as the setting sun when you reach to swipe at a particular cluster of stubborn suds that do not wish to depart from his alabaster skin. Not that you could blame them, your Astarion is beautiful through and through - you’d have to be dragged to the pits of the 9th Hell before you ever willingly left him.

“I like the idea of you wearing me on your skin all day, for me to embrace you at the end of it only to realize where it is my soap has gone.” You say looking at him so warmly Astarion wonders if he is to melt under your loving gaze. He can’t help but laugh at your words - pale features pinkening from his recent feeding as he lets your words wash over him like the tide on the banks of sand.

“You’ve certainly developed a tongue for sweetness haven’t you?” A weak comeback but it’s all he can think to say back when faced with all the sweetness of how you regard him.

“I’ve had the most impressive of teachers.” You say back, voiced filled with such tenderhearted fondness Astarion can feel warmth fill the points of his ears as he turns his back to you to try to hide how it is he smiles at your exchange. He sighs dramatically, his bones relaxing under the turmoil of the day as his neck bends to the curve of the bath, posture a little more free as if the weight of his choice finally has settled into the cracks Cazador caused.

“Alright enough of the flattery and poetry - I’m still not done with my bath.” Tucking a stray curl away from his brow you lean over to murmur a small “of course Astarion”, in that soft and spoiling tone that never fails to turn him pinker than he’s been in a decade or so. Before you grab either soap or water bucket you lean over to press a kiss, a mere chaste brush of your lips against the skin of his cheek that now smells of your soap; of you.

“I love you. You don’t need to say it back - but let it be known to you.” You say so softly that the bubbles of the soap don’t pop under the weight of your confession. His nose brushes against yours, full lashes wet and clinging to each other as he looks at you - you see the curtains plea back and you see him for what he is.

A man who loves you back, though he can’t utter the words just yet. That’s okay, your smile says - “I’ll just make a bigger batch of soap next time.”