You were in love with Raymond Garraty the moment you saw him. No, not when you first locked eyes with him in kindergarten when he sat next to you during Storytime; it was when you saw him for who he was. When he was the gentlest, kindest man you thought you’d ever meet.

It was a dark and stormy Halloween night, and you had been dating him for three months. You were both seventeen, and it was your first argument. It wasn’t either of your first relationships, but it felt like it. It was almost as if, when he decided to sit next to you every day during childhood, that was already a declaration of pure love.

So, of course your first fight was horrible. In hindsight, it wasn’t anything earth shattering. He was still on good terms with his ex-girlfriend, Jan, and when you finally spoke up, he flipped out. Truth be told, you did first when bringing it up to him.

His mother was out with her own friends, so what was meant to be peaceful time alone with him, escalated into a mix of passive aggression, and pure animosity. Deciding to take a break, you both separated, and that was when the power went out.

It shouldn’t have been anything huge, but it was to you. Call it the stress from the night, call it an array of horror stories from the holiday, but your chest constricted. In the small bathroom down the hall, you felt like your heart was going to explode from the sheer fear that attacked you.

The door opened, and Ray was by your side.

He was calm the whole time. He soaked a washcloth in cold water, telling you to put it in your mouth. It wasn’t ridiculous at the time, and so you listened. The water brought you back down to earth, and it cooled your face from your hot tears. When you felt like you could breathe again, you embraced him.

Raymond Garraty held you on the tiled floor in that small bathroom until his mother came home an hour later.

That was when you knew you loved him, and you kept having that damn dream ever since he died.

You watched it on television with Ginnie. It was strange to call her that; she was always ‘Mrs. Ray’s Mom’ ever since you were a little girl. She had gone to see him when he and the other walkers passed by, but you didn’t.

He tried to be mean when he broke up with you a week before The Walk. He was, but you knew it was a farse. It was easier for him if he thought you hated him; just so that you wouldn’t get hurt if he inevitably lost.

You both knew, deep down, whether you broke up or not, it would still destroy you.

And it did.

Even when he sat down, accepting his fate, even when the Major shot him…you didn’t scream. Ginnie did, and you were there to hold her.

You stayed with her, even when she cried herself to sleep hours later. You didn’t rest at all; even while sitting in the kitchen, staring at artwork Ray had made as a child still stuck to the fridge, you got just a taste of what he must’ve felt on the walk.

Food came from the neighbors’ weeks after. Whether they were mourning because they had known Ray, or because Maine didn’t win The Long Walk that you, it was all the same. Ginnie didn’t see anyone, only you.

Until, a face you only saw on television showed up on the doorstep almost a month later. A face with a long scar running from the corner of his right eye to the top of his lip.

“I…” His voice was deeper than you thought. “I’m not sure I have the right house. Is Ginnie Garraty here?”

Peter McVries. Twenty-four, an orphan originally from Passaic, New Jersey who moved around ever since his parents died. The unlikely, underdog for The Walk who became a fan favorite when he spoke of nothing but hope and to ‘just keep going’ against all odds.

His wish was for a soldier’s carbine, he shot the Major, and he kept walking. Even after hundreds of miles, he still walked. Everyone and their mother was surprised he wasn’t hunted down. No, no if he was publicly executed, the public would grow restless from the confusion of how the winner of the Long Walk was meant to be untouchable.

If he was assassinated in private? Everyone would know.

Either way, it would end in a rebellion.

How sad…it takes a martyr to possibly make change, but who even knows if it would have meant anything?

You slammed the door in his face, and walked back to Ray’s room, wrapping yourself in his blanket.

It was losing his smell.

“Who was that?” Ginnie’s hoarse voice came from the doorway.

“No one.” You spoke for the first time that day.

She didn’t say anything, and you heard her socks pitter patter away from you. The front door opened, and you heard his voice.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know if-.”

You didn’t need to see to know that she cut him off with a hug. She did the same thing to you when she came home after dropping Ray off, and you haven’t left the house since.

Trying to put a pillow over your ear to muffle the sound of his voice, it didn’t work. The house was a small one, and that was when you finally decided to leave.

Packing up what little you brought, you stormed out of the bedroom, and your hand was on the doorknob when Ginnie called your name.

“Sweetie, won’t you come sit with us?”

“I don’t feel good.” You didn’t turn to look at them.

She said your name again, gentler. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, but I think-.”

“-Miss Garratty,” McVries interrupted. “It’s alright.”

“The hell do you think you are?!” You snapped at him, marching towards the table. “You go through so much trouble to find out where she lives just to make yourself feel better. You’re a fucking sick son of a-.”

“-I asked him to.”

You thought you couldn’t feel surprised anymore ever since Ray died; but to hear those words leave Ginnie? Your blood ran cold; you couldn’t say a word.

“I wanted-.” She wiped her tears. “I wanted to know what happened. What Ray was like, how he was feeling. Please, just try to understand-.”

You stormed out of the house. You didn’t live that far away, but it was just far enough for the sky deciding to rain as you walked, and for it to soak through your clothes. The moment you stepped inside, the damn broke. You didn’t even make it to your own bed, you just rested your back against the door and sobbed until you ran out of tears.

Days bled into each other after that. There were some where Ginnie would knock on your door, begging for you to open it. Every day she’d leave food, sometimes toiletries. Your parents and friends would beg you to open the door, but you didn’t for anyone.

Then, one night (or early morning. Your clock was broken, you didn’t know), another knock came, followed by a voice.

“You don’t have to open the door.” Peter said. “I know you’re not dead because you keep taking stuff from off your porch. And I know you hate me too, but I can live with that. I just wanted to let you know that I bought a house not far from here-.”

You almost ripped the door off its hinges. His eyes grew at the sight of you and lost all of his words. You spoke for him.

“Why?”

He blinked, gathering himself. “I never really had a place to call home-.”

“-So, you decide to take Ray’s?”

“We don’t have to see each other.” He sharpened his tone for the first time around you. “I don’t understand why Miss Garraty wanted to see me either. I sent her some money and-.”

“-You did what?!”

He tightened his jaw. “I have nothing else but the meaningless shit they call a prize, and I wanted to do some good. I sent her a letter with money, not even any words to it because what do you say to a mother whose boy died because of you? She still wrote me back, asking to visit. I don’t know what else the hell I’m gonna do with my life, but for the first time since…I actually laughed. Hell, I smile when I’m here. So yes, you never have to talk to me again, but I’m staying.”

There was nothing you could do, and you hated it. How dare he? How dare he try to replace your best friend, your other half? How dare he take advantage of poor Ginnie in her grief where she tries to find the closest thing to a son after losing hers?

“Which house?” You asked.

“On Mabel Lee Drive. The white one with the green door.”

“I won’t walk there anymore.”

Slamming the door, you thought that would be the end of Peter McVries. But it wasn’t. Of course you’d run into him at the market, the park, or the few places Freeport, Maine had to offer. Still, just as he said, you never spoke to him.

Life wasn’t as bleak as it was the first few months without Ray, but you wouldn’t say it improved. There were days you found yourself smiling again. Then, there were some where nothing bad happened to you, and it was beautiful outside, but you’d break down in the middle of your walk to work.

Your dreams still consisted mainly of Ray; whether you saw every inch of his face or felt his presence around you like a ghost.

The dreams where you were intimate with him would always be nightmares. No, nothing even remotely scary would happen in them; it was waking up to not have him beside you that was terrifying.

You were still just as close as ever with Ginnie; always would be. She rarely spoke of Peter, but you knew he saw her just as much as you did.

That’s why it shouldn’t have surprised you in December when she offered.

“I want to celebrate Christmas with you and Peter.” She stated. “Both of you here. We could just do dinner on Christmas Eve, or anything. You can say no, and we could just do something separately, but I would really like it if all three of us shared time together.”

It would be your first Christmas without Ray; hers too. You could’ve been selfish, but it was over half a year since The Long Walk, and you thought you could stand to be in the same room with the reason the love of your life was dead.

If that’s what Ginnie wanted for Christmas, then you were Santa Claus.

You brought the best thing you could cook and walked in the ankle-deep snow. It was Peter who opened the door when you knocked.

There was silence from both of you, until he spoke first. You hadn’t heard his voice for quite some time. “Merry Christmas.”

You thinned your lips. “Merry Christmas.”

The cold, New England air could not compare to the iciness between you.

“Do you want me to take that?”

“I got it.” You pushed past him.

A welcoming façade formed when Ginnie greeted you. She put in an effort to decorate for both you and Peter, and if you closed your eyes, it felt like how it was in the past, when the house was filled with life…

She’d gotten both you and Peter gifts, of course, and you had both given ones to her. Neither of you got anything for each other, which was to be expected.

But you could pretend to like Peter for her sake. He was kind; even after everything. He still had a look in his eyes you knew would never leave. If you stared at them long enough, you saw nothing behind them. Even if he’d look at you, you’d catch him looking through you. You knew he could see that in your eyes too.

And he still treated you with respect. It was all an act, you determined. The same one you were putting on. Never mind that he’d tell a story that would genuinely throw you into a fit of giggles, or how he complimented your cooking, or how you had to look away when he smiled because he almost looked like…

Christmas Eve wasn’t as horrible as you thought it’d be. And then you said goodbye to Peter like you were friends, and Ginnie asked you to sit down.

She smiled, but her voice betrayed her. “I found something in Ray’s room a few weeks ago.”

You slept in his room the whole time after the fact…what did you miss?

Ginnie placed a small pouch in your hands. Opening it, you reached in and took out a thin band with a diamond as its crown.

You couldn’t look at Ginnie, even as she talked.

“I don’t…I don’t know where he got it,” she whispered. “or even how he got the money for it. You can do whatever you like with it I just…I thought you should know.”

You were quiet for another minute, looked up at her, forced a smile and a ‘Thank you’, then left. She begged you to stay, but you insisted.

It wasn’t safe to wander around so late at night in the cold weather, but you did. Even where the snow rose to creep under your pants and pierce your skin, you still walked. Your tears flooded your eyes and sinuses clogged your nose to the point you were suffocating.

You thought you were doing better, but there you were, on the side of the road, crying and crying.

Someone said your name, and through your blurry haze, you saw a familiar truck. The window was rolled down, and after wiping your face, you saw Peter McVries.

He got out of the car and lowered himself in front of you. “What’re you doing out here?”

You could only heave in air through your mouth as he waited patiently. Taking out the ring, you held it in your hand to show him.

“He was going to…”

You’d talked about it with Ray before. Even when you weren’t dating, you’d talk about your dream wedding. When you were together, it morphed into what marriage would look like. You fantasized together about where you’d live, how many kids you’d have, and just about everything.

There was no doubt in either of your minds; you knew it would happen.

And then death had to have the last laugh.

Peter took a deep breath. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“I can’t get up.”

“That’s alright.” He soothed. “Can I?”

You nodded, and he went to your side, draping your arm around his shoulders and wrapping his hand around your waist. Of course you could stand but needed him to be a crutch for just a moment. He opened the door for you as you got into the car, and then he drove off into the night. The only time either of you spoke was when you told him where to turn to get to your house.

When you arrived a few minutes later, he parked the car, but neither of you got out.

“Are you gonna be okay on your own?” He first asked. “I know how you feel about me, but I’m not leaving you alone if you can’t promise you won’t do something stupid.”

His bluntness caused you to finally look at him, but you said. “I’m not gonna do anything stupid.”

He nodded. “Good.”

Yet, you still didn’t get out of the truck, and he didn’t ask you to.

“I still hate you.” You broke the silence. “I hate you, and that won’t change. But…you’ve been good to Ginnie and…you’ve been nice to me. So, I’ll try to be kind as well.”

How was he supposed to reply to that? You would forever despise him but never treat him as such? You couldn’t even say you respected him, he was part of the reason Ray died…

Still, and you would come to learn this about Peter, he had the right thing to say. “And I’m more than grateful.”

With a nod between you, he dropped you off and did not leave until you were inside your house. Whether you liked it or not, that was the change within your relationship.

You tried to avoid him at all costs, but when would you inevitably see him? You’d wave. If the two of you were waiting in line anywhere? You’d make conversation. Albeit, it wasn’t great, but it was something.

The next shift was The Long Walk…a few days before the anniversary of Ray’s death. It was like a horrible holiday; every non-essential worker had days off. Ginnie left town, going to see a friend from out of state she reconnected with. Without any deliberation, you offered Peter to spend the remainder of it at your house.

He couldn’t trust you not to do anything stupid at Christmas, you couldn’t trust him in May.

The rules you made were simple: The TV would never be turned on, and when the walkers would arrive in Freeport, you’d stay completely indoors. So, you had to get creative to entertain yourselves.

“You’re a songwriter?” You asked on the first day during lunch when he brought up how he used to spend hours at a music shop in New York, stringing on a guitar.

He shook his head. “Haven’t really for a long time. But yeah, I used to. Obviously didn’t make a living off it.”

“You’ve been eyeing my granny’s old piano.” You snorted. “You know how to play?”

“A little.”

“Show me.” You stood. “It’s your payment.”

He played ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ first to try and make you laugh (you didn’t, but he knew he got close), and then pieces of classical works you’d heard before, but unlike how he played them.

They weren’t the best, not at all, but it was nice to hear it live instead of from a record Ray’s father had smuggled ages ago…

As planned, you didn’t leave the house the day the remaining walkers were supposed to pass through Freeport. You also had barely paid attention. All you knew was that, as of the day before, there were four walkers left. Odds are, one or two of them would die in the night, or maybe three of them would, and they would never make it to your village.

Still, with disgusting excitement in the air when you looked out your window and listened to some of your neighbors excitedly gossip, you knew that they would still be passing through.

Peter didn’t speak to you at all. He rarely left your guest room either. You brought him food, but that was it. You tried to drown yourself in a book, and just as you were, it was only then did you actually realize:

The same day the walkers came to Freeport, was the same day Ray died.

It had been an entire year. The longest year of your life, yet you still felt frozen in time; the exact moment you watched as your husband-to-never-be was mercilessly killed.

You just laid on the couch and stared at the blank TV in front of you, tempting you to turn it on. You didn’t; you just stayed like that the rest of the day. You only got up to go to the bathroom, and then to go to bed and sleep when night came.

At an ungodly hour, you heard Peter in the room beside you. He was muffled at first, not just from the walls, but you knew the sound of when someone tried to smother their cries with their hand upon their mouth. Then, unmistakably, his cries grew louder to the point he couldn’t breathe.

You don’t know what possessed you to take action like you were a nightshift nurse. Immediately, you dashed to the kitchen and took a single ice cube from the freezer. Entering his room, you saw from the light poking in through the window, how hunched over he was.

He never cried once in front of you, not until then. It almost scared you, just frm how foreign it was. He was full on weeping, cradling himself.

“Put this in your mouth.” You sat on the bed.

“What?” He croaked, looking up at you with bloodshot eyes.

“Put it in your mouth.” You repeated. “Slow your breathing down too.”

Peter took the ice cube from you, following your instructions. He seethed at first from the freezing temperature, but his breaths naturally softened. Shutting his eyes, he bowed his head onto his risen knees, inhaling evenly.

You didn’t touch, didn’t say a word; only sat there with him.

“Thank you.” Peter whispered after composing himself. He brought his head up, wiping his face.

“What do you need?”

He shook his head. “Nothing; I’m alright.”

“You’re going to keep me up with your crying, at least let me help you.”

He choked on his laughter, and while it sounded like sobs, he was still smiling. “You’re too real, you know that?”

“What do you need from me?” You remained indifferent.

Peter sighed, taking a moment. “I see Ray a lot when I dream. It was…really bad tonight. That’s all.”

You wouldn’t have wanted to tell him your nightmares either, even if he had been nice to you for the past year. Still, a part of your soul felt compelled to ask.

“Do you want me to stay?”

He looked at you as if you’d grown another head. He acted like it too; he was too stunned to speak. Making an executive decision, you left the guest room and gathered pillows and a blankets from yours. Coming back in, you laid them all on the floor, creating a makeshift bed.

“If you try anything, I’ll kill you.” Was all you said before laying down.

Peter said nothing.

When you awoke that morning, sunlight filled the room. Rising up, you looked on the bed and saw Peter was not there. When you left the bedroom, the smell of every kind of breakfast food you had ever had in your life. Eggs, bacon, sausage, even pancakes. It wasn’t anything like what you saw in old movies where the table was filled to the brim, but it was still extravagant for you.

Peter turned from the stove to see you, then back to focus on whatever he was making. “Good morning. I didn’t know what you liked so…”

You sat at the table. “You cook.”

He nodded. “I’ve been trying to find things to do just to…It keeps my head quiet, and I’m good at it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” You stated, but when he turned around, you actually smiled.

He looked away to hide his own. Turned out, Peter McVries was genuinely good at cooking; dare you say, better than piano playing.

The winner of The Long Walk was a nineteen-year-old from Georgia who made it just on the outskirts of Boston. That was all you wanted to know.

Your relationship changed with Peter again. Now, you wanted to be near him. Not every weekend, but more often than not, you’d get together. Whether it was to go to a movie, or just sit and talk at one of your houses, you finally felt like…

Like he was almost a friend.

There would still be days you couldn’t even look at him; where all you could think of was the time stolen from Ray. You kept all of those days to yourself, not even telling Ginnie, who was more than elated you were finally getting along with him.

“I’m writing songs again.” He told you one night as you both walked home from the movies.

“Really? They any good?”

“No.” He snickered.

“I’ll have to hear them someday.”

“Maybe.”

You were existing alongside him; you were tolerating him. Nothing more.

So why was it that there were days he made you laugh so hard your stomach started hurting? Why were there days you’d spend with him and wouldn’t leave until he asked you to?

Why were there nights you began to dream of him instead of Ray?

Not all of them were sexual. Even so, you felt worse about the ones that weren’t, because you could plead to having no control over the intimate ones.

But you were losing Ray. You only had photos of him, and even then, you were forgetting his voice.

Perhaps that is why you were in a worse mood months later when Peter came to your door one morning.

“Do you wanna take a road trip with me?”

You blinked, holding the door open. It was close to Thanksgiving; the leaves had turned from green to red and gold, and the air had grown cold. The morning light nearly blinded you as you talked with him.

“Now?”

He shook his head. “Next week if you wanted. I’ve been…I got close to some of the other guys during the walk. I need to give one of their grandma’s his necklace, and I’ve been talking to one of their widows; they both want to see us. One’s in Minnesota, and the other’s all the way in Louisiana so I get if-.”

“-Why are you asking me?”

Why did he look so taken aback? It wasn’t as if you that close. Still, he answered. “Because I wanted to.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you didn’t know why. You glared at him, tears already threatening to spill. He spoke gently, as always.

“You’re giving me that look, what’s going on?”

Turning over your shoulder, you ventured back into the house but did not slam the door. He followed you in, beckoning your name.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

You looked at him with your steely gaze. “I don’t remember the last time he said he loved me.”

He stopped in his tracks, tucking his hands into his pockets. Of course he knew you had more to say, so you did.

“He didn’t even say it when he broke up with me, and he was already pulling away long before that when he knew he won the lottery and-!” You heaved. “I hate him.”

Peter rubbed his temples, saying your name again. “I’m going to be honest, but I don’t know what to say. I miss him so damn much, and I know that-.”

“-You got to hear him say it.” You revealed. “That he loved you.”

You knew it when Peter first came to visit. When his damn voice was so loud as he spoke to Ginnie. You were all the way in Ray’s room, but you still heard him confess that Ray’s last words he heard was him saying that he loved him.

That was the knife in your side that kept twisting whenever you saw Peter.

His eyes grew to the size of plates, and his mouth quivered as he tried to find the words. All he could say was your name.

You shook your head. “No, because if that is how he truly felt about me then why should I keep crying-?!”

“-How he truly felt about you?” He laughed, and you had never seen him like this before; even when you were horrible to him. “He talked about you on that damn walk like you were with us. No one would ask him, and he’d talk about you. How much he loved you, how you were too good for him, how he wanted to see you again. It doesn’t make a lick of sense to me considering he was more than ready to die for some cheap revenge fantasy.”

You hardened your tone. “What do you mean?”

His face dropped. “You don’t know?”

“What the hell do you mean, McVries?”

He breathed sharply in through his nose, bracing himself. “Ray was going to do what I did. Ask for the carbine, shoot the major…He thought he was going to die doing so.”

You didn’t need to know why he did that. His father. Raymond Garraty was open about everything with you, all except about his father. You had been dating when it happened, but he still didn’t say anything. You were honestly taken aback he hadn’t pulled away from you completely considering how early it had happened in your relationship.

“You’re a fucking liar.” You shook your head but knew he wasn’t.

“I’m not lying.” He said your name so softly you wanted to throw something at him.

“He’d never-.”

 “-You wanna know something?” He got closer to you. “One of the first things he said about you was that I would like you; that I reminded him of you.”

Your breath stilled. Had he really said all those things? He still thought about you? Wanted to be with you? None of it mattered the second Peter started crying.

“You know something else?” He tried to compose himself. “When he told me he loved me, he was talking to you.”

It was something you knew he’d been holding onto just as long as you’d been holding onto the fact Ray had said he loved him. Peter sat on the couch, trying to calm down, but the more he restrained himself, the more it was harder to cope. The damn had already broken with you, and you sat beside him. The only sound in the house was both of your muffled cries, until they fell into silent tears.

When all was quiet, you found your voice.

“Ray said he knew he loved me the third day of kindergarten.” You whispered. “I’d gotten the hardest math question right on the first try. He said he knew he’d marry me. He didn’t even know what it was, just that it meant he’d choose to spend the rest of his life with me.”

You turned to Peter, resting your hand on his shoulder, and he looked at you.

“The thing about Ray is that he loved quickly, but never often. He never said ‘I love you’ unless he meant it.” You swallowed thickly to say the next part. “I don’t think we’ll ever know how meant it when he told you, but believe me, he meant it period. And Peter…if he did love you the way he loved me…I don’t blame him.”

There was a terror in his eyes you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t one of typical horror; it was as if you were one of the very first people to see all of him. Relief poured into his gaze, and he let out a long breath he’d been holding.

As if it were second nature, you draped your arms around him. He reciprocated without any hesitation, holding you like you were something precious. You had been embraced several times by others since Ray’s death…

But Peter’s felt the warmest.

You didn’t go on the ‘pilgrimage’ with him until spring had come. You took three weeks off work to travel the road with Peter, and you both decided it was a much needed ‘vacation’. There was something unsaid about the two of you. Nothing changed with how much time you spent together, but you were closer.

Not just emotionally but in proximity too. You weren’t touching half the time, but even just feeling the heat of each other’s body hover around you was enough. You didn’t speak of it at all, and that was enough.

It was the first night of the trip where everything changed. You had made it all the way to a borough called Indiana, Pennsylvania. It was triple the size of Freeport, but you knew it would still be considered small to most. Yet, despite how small it was, apparently, there was only one room at the first inn you went to.

Peter, ever the surprising gentleman, offered to find another place, but you were exhausted. You were both adults as well; it’s not as if you never shared a room before.

It was different though. Yes, the elephant in the room of who would have the bed would need to be brought up, but you didn’t initially. Even after being stuck in a car together for nearly ten hours, you still didn’t run out of things to talk to him about.

Then, when it was nearly midnight, it was time to rip the band aid off.

“You took the floor last time.” Peter took one of the pillows off the bed.

“I chose to.” You rebuttal from the bathroom, slipping on a nightgown.

“And I’m choosing now.”

Walking out, you saw that he had his shirt off. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and he took notice.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He took a tank top from his suitcase. “I run hot, and I didn’t think-.”

“-Don’t change anything just to comfort me.” You stated. “I’ll live, it’s alright.”

And that’s all that was said about Peter not wearing a shirt to bed.

No matter how much you tried to convince him, he still slept on the floor. When the lights went out, you thought you could fall asleep just as easily as you did at home; but you couldn’t.  What gnawed at you was the same thing that ached within you the night before you told Ray you had a crush on him.

This time, you knew you weren’t going to sleep until you let it out.

“Peter?” You whispered. He grunted from the floor beside you. “Are you awake?”

“I am now.” He grumbled. “What is it?”

“I’m cold.”

Sighing, he sat up to look at you. “And you can’t go to the lobby to ask for another blanket?”

You said nothing, your eyes adjusting fully to the dark and making out the shape of his face. He was one of the most beautiful men, in body and soul, you had ever seen.

When you remained silent, Peter grunted, taking one of the blankets off his makeshift bed and holding it out to you. You shook your head, your hand cupping the right side of his face. He didn’t pull away; tensed at first but soon relaxed. Your thumb stroked his scar, and he leaned further into your touch.

Drawing yourself off the bed, you sunk into his lap, his hands resting on your hips. Your fingers explored his face, bringing yours closer to his without your lips touching.

With hooded eyes, he said softly. “I can’t do this if it doesn’t mean something to you.”

Your breath shuttered, and your heart was beating faster and faster by the second. You had to finally say it; it would be real once you spoke it aloud.

“I really really like you.”

It was childlike, but it was true. A part of you did love him; you learned how to finally love him as a person, as a friend even. You wanted to love him in the same way you did Ray, and maybe you already did, but saying it would be too much for both of you.

He smiled, voice lighter. “You don’t hate me anymore?”

You didn’t look away from him, feeling the words being pulled out from you effortlessly. “I think you’re my favorite person.”

That’s when Peter McVries knew you meant every word you said; the good and the bad. He stared at you for what felt like ages before kissing your cheek.

“Yeah?” He kissed your jaw. You hummed, trying not to shiver. He continued to tease you, kissing only parts of your skin. He lifted you up onto the bed, laying you down and finally (finally) kissing your lips.

You never thought you’d feel anyone’s lips on yours ever again. You hadn’t known you missed the feeling until Peter’s gently caressed yours, testing the waters, before immediately jumping into the deep end of passion.

Whining when he pulled away, he started kissing down your throat, loosening the buttons of your nightgown one by one, kissing your exposed chest. You mewled at the feeling.

Peter moved his hands under the skirt of your gown, slowly moving his fingers up your thighs until they reached your underwear. He never looked away from you as he slowly and painstakingly drew them down your legs until he threw them to the side. Peter brought his fingers down to your center, placing his lips back on yours, and began to gently rub.

You clenched your legs tightly around his hand, a sensation you hadn’t felt in a while followed by hollow grunts from you. Your back arched, bearing your neck to him. He kissed it, speaking against your skin.

“Let me hear you, baby. Come on, I know there’s something in you.”

He kept the pace of his fingers enough for a flame to grow inside of you. You moved against his hand, moans escaping your mouth as you braced a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Peter,” you babbled. “I-I need you.”

“I know, just-.”

You shook your head. “No, now.”

He smirked, pulling his sweatpants and boxers off. Your eyes grew, only then realizing what you were about to do. You wondered if you were pushing yourself too quick, considering you hadn’t so much as kissed anyone else since Ray, and there you were, ready to be intimate.

Your concerns melted away when Peter held your face in his hands. You never needed to say much for him to already know what you were thinking. It was a quality you only shared with one other person in this world, and it both frightened and calmed you.

 “You tell me if it’s too much, you hear?” He kissed your forehead.

You knew what he meant, and your heart lightened because of it. Still, to show that you were no longer worried, you glanced between his legs. “I admire your confidence.”

He snorted. “You’re playing with fire.”

“I said I was cold.”

He kissed you, more desperation built behind it. You parted your thighs to make space for him, and he slipped inside of you like he was always meant to be there. You thought you’d feel pain, but you didn’t. A tightness, yes, but it was Peter; and you never felt safer.

You wondered if it would have been better if he’d taken off your pajamas completely, but his bare chest pressing against your breasts just peeking out of the nightgown brought a new eroticism you never experienced before. A carnal but tender desire that presented itself in the gentle but desperate thrusts you and Peter shared.

“God, baby,” he breathed into your neck. “that’s it. I could be here forever if you let me.”

His name was the only word you knew how to say, your arms encircling his shoulders and just needing him closer. That’s how you felt the more he was inside of you.

Closer and closer and closer until-.

It happened. You felt like you were underwater as euphoria washed over you, and Peter wasn’t close to you anymore. He turned his back to you, his legs hanging off the bed as he took himself in his hands.

Sitting up, you reached over and took his cock into your own hand, resting your chin on his shoulder. Peter moved his hand to your face, pulling you closer to his mouth and kissed any part of you he could as you stroked him.

You couldn’t make out any of his babblings as they vibrated against your skin, and his voice grew tighter to longer you drew out his own pleasure. Sprouts of white escaped through the cracks of your fingers, and all that was heard was your erratic inhales and exhales.

“You’re fucking something,” he breathed into your mouth after kissing you. “you know that?”

Giggling, you fell back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “You only say that after I made you cum?”

He shook his head, kissing your nose. “I should of said it long ago.”

“I don’t think I would have believed you.” You got up, walking to the bathroom.

“You would have," he took a few tissues from the Kleenex box on the nightstand "you probably just would have slapped me.”

Your gaze dropped in shame as you relieved yourself, not being able to see him. “I was horrible to you.”

Peter was quiet when you were finishing up. As you washed your hands, he walked into the bathroom wearing his boxers. In the mirror, you watched him wrap his arms around your waist.

“You were grieving.”

“So were you.” Your eyes became glassy all of a sudden. “I shouldn’t have-.”

Peter shushed you, kissing your shoulder. “It’s okay. Just sleep, we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

Of course you wanted to stay up and dissect everything this would mean for the future, and what it even meant for the past. Yet, just how sure he was, and how comfortable he seemed that this did not have to be at the forefront of your worries…it meant he was in it for the long run.

You were too.

And you slept that night with him by your side.

“Dick please. I can’t baby. Need your cock” you whine. You weren’t even exactly sure what you wanted, for Dick to stop or to give you more. Your nerves were fried from the overstimulation. Dick curls his fingers just right causing you to tug particularly hard at his hair. This is what causes him to look up at you and see the tears rolling down your face. He smirks pressing a kiss to clit and speeding up his movements.

“Oh there she is, there’s my pretty girl”

JASON TODD

Jason’s head was buried in your neck as he pounded into you. Your nails digging into his back as he hit the deepest spots inside you. Your moans bouncing off the walls

“Jace. God Jay, it feels so fucking good” you moan. Jason groans and pulls away from your neck so he can see your beautiful, wrecked face. Instead her sees the tears that soak your skin and immediately stops his assault on your pussy. You whine pathetically as the pleasure leaves you and open your eyes to look at Jason.

“Baby, did I hurt you? Why didn’t you stop me?” Jason asks hands cupping your face and voice dripping in concern. You watch in real time guilt take over his features. Before he can pull away you wrap your legs around his waist locking your ankles. Now Jason is looking at you confused as you begin to grind up into him, desperate for stimulation.

“Jace please don’t stop. It feels so good. I’m ok I promise I’m okay. Just please, please, keep going” you whine doing your best to reassure him but your brain clouded by thoughts of lust.

Jason says your name softly still not entirely convinced. He can feel the way your walls are squeezing him, and your attempt at grinding into him shows how bad you want it. However, he couldn’t stop the fear in the back of his mind that he was hurting you. He doesn’t know how he would live with himself if he was ever the cause of your pain.

You take a deep breath trying to slow your brain down. You grab Jason’s face forcing him to look at you.

“Jason, I promise I’m fine. I swear to you. But I really need you to keep fucking me because I’m losing my mind here baby,” you plead desperately for him to keep going. Jason must be satisfied with that answer because he allows a small smile to take over his features before beginning to slowly fuck back into you.

BRUCE WAYNE

You had been bratty since the two of you got into the limo for the WE charity gala. You of course understood why you had to go, and of course you supported the cause. But tonight you really just wanted a quiet night at home with your husband. Instead you were in a tight, very expensive, gown and shoes that cost more than most people’s rent. Since you had to go, you decided to be a menance to Bruce all night. Teasing him at every possible occasion until eventually he couldn’t take it anymore. That’s how you ended up here. Back at the manor on all fours with Bruce drilling into you from behind.

“This is what you wanted huh? Tease me all night just so I could bring you home and fuck you. Dirty girl” Bruce tsks as he pumps his cock in and out of you. Your moans are muffled by the expensive bedding under you. Bruce leans over and grabs your jaw forcing you to look up into the mirror that was, conviently, placed across from your shared bed. You were a mess. Lips swollen and lip combo gone from your passionate makeout session on the way home, mascara running down your face from the tears that leaked from your eyes.

“Look at my pretty girl. Nothing to say now huh?”

Wally West

The way Wally fucked you was honestly unfair. No man would ever compare to the way Wally used his super speed on you in the bedroom. Whether it was his tongue, or fingers, or now with his dick moving in and out of you.

“So tight for me. Feel so good baby” Wally moans. He looks down and notices your tear stained face looking up at him. Your eyes bigger than ever and lashes wet with fresh tears while he shows no signs of letting up on you. “Feel good?” He asks. His convert attempt at making sure you were okay. You nodded your head

“Yeah Wals. It feels so good. Soo good” you moan, clenching around him for emphasis. He shudders and begins pressing kisses up and down your jaw. His tip hits a particularly deep spot inside of you that has you letting out a strangled cry and clinging to him.