first time nerves, careful hesitant hands, something about these two being a lil fumbly, both of them scared to make a wrong move and ruin a good thing 🤲🏻
robin buckley x childhood best friend!reader
the stars align after your rooftop gathering. Robin takes you by the hand and finds there's a whole other world to your presence.
foreword: for the sweethearts and girl kissers <3
cw: Robin x Reader, childhood best friends, sapphic/lesbian pairing, R wears a skirt, R referred to as ‘girl’ once, R is implied fat/plussized, R has breasts + a vagina, autistic4autistic vibe, pet names (incl. ‘Buck’ for Robin), weed and alcohol mention, hand kink, praise kink, flirting, making out, oral fixation, dry humping, thigh riding, oral (R receiving), soft service top Robin, body worship, overstimulation, aftercare, smut and fluff and feelings, MDNI
wc: 5.7k
Robin steals you away, after the sunset rooftop gathering draws to a close.
Tugs at your sleeve while everyone is hugging their goodbyes in the gravel lot of the Squawk and whispers, low at your ear- “Wanna stay behind an extra hour with me?”
With me, she’d said. Like it was a secret party and you’d been chosen.
Of course you said yes.
Scrunched your nose at her over your shoulder and delighted in her responding giggle. Followed her through the maze of the dark, quiet radio station while she led you with a brave face and a flashlight all the way to her favorite spot in the whole building.
Even after all these years and miles apart, the rhythm established between the two of you in high school has somehow transitioned seamlessly into your young adulthoods.
You fall back into it so fluidly- laughing at the same jokes, inventing new ones, striking up that familiar language that was invented around school bells and sleepovers and folded notes passed between fingers.
Robin is still finding ways to make you feel special, wanted- like maybe you’re still bumping hips in the two-pea pod of life. Even after all these miles apart, and all this time.
Another thing that hasn’t changed?
Robin’s hands are just as captivating and distracting as they were in your youth.
The shape of them, the way they twiddle in the air when she talks, black nail polish glinting in the lamplight- it’s like she’s mesmerizing you from the other end of the couch.
“-and technically, this is the greenroom, for, like, ‘radio guests of high esteem’, or whatever.”
Her fingers hook around the phrase, then flit back to toying with the rings on her right hand. “But I guess we never got anyone cool enough to actually put it to use, so… mostly Steve and I just used it to smoke contraband.”
“Oh my god.” You laugh at the idea, eyes dropping to watch the spin of the red garnet rock in a loop around her middle finger. “You didn’t.”
Robin gives you one of her turned-down grins, shrugging, going for innocent but missing it by a mile.
“What? There’s no smoke detector. It was a perfect room for lighting up some hash and coasting through a boring shift of ad reads and Steve’s questionable record choices.”
She shudders in mock horror, muttering something about too many Bee Gees as you laugh, again- this humor is easy, too. Comfortable and intimate.
Just like your sleepovers of long past, the ephemera of your lives come together again.
Your black kitten heels tangled in her combat boot laces, tipped over on the carpet by the door. Her earrings on the coffeetable- a longsword and, in proper Robin abnormal fashion, a tiny dinosaur- settled in the loop of your necklace you’d cast off earlier.
Your sheer tights are in a heap, too- you’d peeled them off the moment you were alone, feeling better with the cool air against your legs which are currently tucked beneath you. The tartan skirt you chose for graduation today has kept its pleats, spanning over your bare knees, just shy of too short which doesn’t really matter now that it’s just the two of you.
Robin’s hair is longer than when you last saw her. It falls over her shoulders in honeyed waves as she leans across the couch cushion separating your seats, whining playfully as she makes a grabby gesture in your direction.
“Come closerrrrr. I’ve missed you all night! Well, all year, really. We saw each other at Steve’s barbecue but that was last summer and it’s been too long and phone calls just don’t cut it and I’m gonna start singing Stayin’ Alive at you in the most off-key voice you’ll ever hear if you don’t get closer, right now-!”
“All right, all right!”
You giggle at her dramatics but obey the request, scooting towards the middle cushion and into the space of her waiting hands.
Apparently, Robin has gone away to college and learned how to be more assertive. To ask for what she wants.
There’s still that distinctive lilt to her words- all dorky humor, fast rambles, sentences that seem to cut in line and jump each other to get out first- but there’s something specific about it, now.
Something that makes your tummy flip.
Something that sends up a warning signal, because, oh, shit- you should definitely not be getting turned on by the way your childhood best friend is ordering you around, and pulling you into her side with those hands of hers like it’s where you belong.
“Better,” Robin sighs, happily, the leg of her denim overalls pressing fully against the stretch of yours. The frilled collar of her blousey shirt pokes at your upper arm. “You know what else is better? My palm reading skills. Here, I’ll show you-”
Robin picks up your left hand, settling your forearm across her lap while her pointer finger traces the lines in your palm. She hmms and deliberates, really hamming up her own focus for your benefit, until she seems to find what she’s looking for in the line branching from the webbing of your thumb.
“Ah-hah. See this? It’s your heartline. And based on the pattern alone, I mean, my god- something big is going to happen to your love life soon. Believe you me.”
You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, that shudders through your shoulders and bumps against hers, palm feeling itchy under the sudden attention. “Come on, Buck. We both attended Steve Harrington’s Flirting 101 seminar back in the day. I used this same trick on Jimmy Miller in ninth grade.”
“Did it work?” Robin asks. Gaze still fixed on your hand in her lap. The tips of her fingers petting and mapping the lines.
She’s not acting like a woman whose jig is up in the slightest.
You swallow down a shiver at the feeling of her touch. “No. But you already knew that. Are you flirting with me?”
You’d meant it as a joke, a light tease, but it comes out sideways. A bit too intense, too questioning.
Robin’s eyes lift to yours.
There’s something cosmic in those pools of blue. It reminds you of the surface of Lover’s Lake, how it looks at night reflecting the vastness of Hawkin’s starry sky.
“What if I was flirting with you?” Robin asks. Something cosmic but something cautious, too, like she’s charted a course that can’t begin without your permission. “Would that… freak you out?”
“No!” You answer much too quickly and now you’re the one verbally scrambling. “No, I mean- I mean it’s nice to be flirted with, I like it, especially if- if it’s from you, I just-”
The sentence dies in your throat when Robin’s touch trails further, up to your wrist, the soft pads of her fingers pressing gently to where your pulse beats erratically. As if she’s reading you as easily as a book.
“I thought-” you make another attempt at foisting off the wave of feverish thrill that threatens to flash through your body. “Is Vickie not, sort of, y’know… your girlfriend?”
In the last few months of phone calls with Robin, she spoke about Vickie less and less. You’d noticed, but hadn’t brought it up. For a number of reasons.
Robin’s still looking at you, even as her touch climbs your arm and settles into the ditch of your elbow. Her head shakes slowly, gently, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Nope. Not since the barbecue.”
Air hisses through your teeth but even you’re not sure if it’s an expression of sympathy or a reaction to this new information. “That’s… shit. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Robin’s voice pitches lower, silky even with the rasp around her consonants. “S’okay, I don’t really think about her too much anymore. Got other people on my mind.”
You can’t bear to watch the path of her touch anymore so you shoot her a sidelong glance, taking in the fine slope of her nose in profile, the way her lashes sweep as she blinks down at your arm in her grasp.
She glances back up at you, fingers stilling, the awkwardness to her charm shining through. “Uhm. The other people- it’s you, if that wasn’t, like. Totally clear.”
Something between a gasp and a strangled hah escapes your throat. The heat of a supernova is expanding in your stomach, stardust dripping southwards and upwards and everywhichway, making your tongue feel foreign in your own mouth as you trip over the words, vaguely-
“And- Nancy…? You never- with her?”
Robin’s thumb slips to the side of your elbow, drawing you in closer, gravity realigning and unfolding as your blood sings hot for her, just beneath the surface.
“I had a crush on Nance, sure. But nothing like the one I’ve been harboring for over a decade for my best friend.”
The straps of her overalls have slipped down the gauzy neckline at her shoulders. She looks like a painting- one from an old French master of the arts that you’ve studied in class before; Bouguereau, maybe. All soft cheeks and long limbs and light buffed into every pore until she’s glowing with it.
Robin leans in close enough that you can see she isn’t wearing a bra underneath the thin cotton of her shirt. Your pulse is frantic for her touch, hand twitching in her lap when her rings kiss cold at your cheek.
She cups the side of your face, eyes half-lidded and dancing between the curl of your mouth and the soft shock of your lifted brows.
“Can I kiss you?” Robin asks.
You’re leaning in to close the distance before the question is over.
Your mouths meet and it’s so gentle, so tender that you could cry from it. Her lips are soft as a peach, a perfect fit as they slot between yours, closing over your cupid’s bow like it’s what she’s wanted to do all along.
“Robin-”
You breathe into her space and she takes it into her own lungs. Nose pressing to the side of yours as she kisses you again, this one hungrier, more seeking, the tip of her tongue testing the plush of your lower lip.
Your hand finds her waist and hers slides past your ear, holding you in place and to her as your tongues slide against each other’s. She tastes like sweet mint and the hoppy beer you’d shared earlier, and also like spit- like Robin.
The groan travels from the depths of you all the way to her lips that open to take it, to suffuse the noise against the wet waiting of her own mouth.
Robin makes a noise, too, answering like an echo for a canyon.
It vibrates through you, tightening your fingers around the denim at her waist. Robin doesn’t detach from your mouth as she tips you backwards, slow but insistent, shifting until your shoulders lie flat on the couch cushion and she can kneel at either side of your hips.
“Jesus christ,” you pant, feeling a little delirious as her hands run along the length of your sides, your own reaching to cross over her neck as she dips down to kiss you more. “Buck-”
This isn’t like it used to be, when the two of you would kiss for practice under the covers of adolescent longing.
Or maybe this is exactly like that. Maybe all that practice with the right person has finally paid off.
Robin says your name, an equal catch to her voice as she kisses it back into your mouth, and then she’s drawing back just far enough to ask- “Can I go down on you?”
You pet the nape of her neck, feeling nerves alight alongside the longing. Robin shifts a hand to brush just at the hem of your skirt, a suggestion of touch over the fat of your bare thigh, waiting for your answer before she goes any further.
Your head feels foggy with lust but there’s a hesitancy that refuses to budge, so you tell her honestly. “I- yeah, yeah, you can, it’s just- I don’t usually- I mean, I’ve never come from it. Oral. I mean. Um. I don’t know if…”
“It’s okay.” Robin is so soft in her reassurance, thumb sweeping over the skin beneath her palm. Dragging the tip of her nose up the side of yours like a nuzzling animal. “We don’t have to, at all, I just- I’d really like to taste you. And feel you. And- and make you feel good.”
A confession and a plea rolled into one.
Robin’s always been like this- mouthy.
Always talking or shouting or moving, in some capacity. Always seeking stimulation, always something shoved between her lips- gum, a hairclip, the eraser of a pencil, the ends of her own hair.
And now that perfect mouth- your best friend’s mouth- is moving down your body. Kissing between the valley of your clothed breasts, the bare skin of your stomach where the hem has ridden up, one brief press of her mouth to each of your knees-
you prop yourself on your elbows to watch, breath punching in and out.
Robin flips the pleats of your skirt up and you think her hands might be shaking but then you see the moment she sees you, the wetness seeping from your core, the patch that is surely stained a darker pink than the rest of your panties.
“Fuck,” Robin breathes. In awe. Fitting her thumb to the beat of your clit through the fabric and just holding the pressure there.
Your jaw slackens. She hasn’t even properly touched you yet and it feels so good, just the pad of her thumb where you need her most. You have to make a conscious effort to keep your hips level with the couch and not have them snapping up into the touch.
Robin kisses the inside of your thigh, trailing her mouth closer, grazing her teeth along that arch of bone that runs into your pelvis.
“Shit.” Your grip on the couch cushions sinks in. “Buck, please-”
“How come you’re so wet?” She asks, as if you hadn’t just begged.
Her hands are moving again, settling under the band of your skirt to take hold of the padding that spans your hips, fingers digging in when you whine. “Hmm? S’it all for me?”
“Jesus, Robin.”
Your curse is confirmation enough, and Robin grins, that clever, devastating mouth dipping down again, this time to fit right over the wet gusset of your panties.
You’ve been aching and dripping for her all day, really- it’s been building up since this morning, since she’d touched you for the first time in a year. Folding you into a big hug before the carpool caravan left, smelling like cardamom and parchment and fresh spring blossoms.
And now she was moaning into the space between your thighs like you smelled just as good, her tongue running up the seam of you through the fabric, eyes rolling backwards at the taste she discovers.
The breath leaves your lungs in a rush, then fills again with sharp, short gasps as she hones in on your clit, laving over it with the flat of her tongue.
Robin fits her lips over just the right spot and sucks hard enough to make her cheeks hollow. Your thighs tense and tremble at either side of her ears and then you can’t bear to watch any more, the crown of your head tipping backwards to the armrest while she pulls more noises from your throat.
“Taste so good,” she’s murmuring, in between long licks and pointed suckling. “So sweet, so good for me-”
Good is the word that fills your chest, that makes you ache even more- you like being good, if it means Robin will praise you.
“Gonna take these off,” she says, into the joint of your thigh, fingers tugging at the elastic of your underwear.
You lift your hips without having to be asked, and Robin kisses your knee again as she peels the fabric from your body, calling you perfect once more before stretching low against the cushions.
This time, Robin eases your thighs over her shoulders, your sock feet fitting to her low back. You don’t have time to wonder or ask if the weight of you is too much because Robin is already pulling more of you into her orbit, tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip as she stares openly at your pussy.
The intimacy has the potential to feel embarrassing, but- it just doesn’t.
Robin’s pupils are so blown there’s barely any iris left. They’re like two glittering voids that bend to consume, to take more of you in.
The heat of her mouth is finally, finally on the bareness of your skin, your wetness- there’s an obscene slurping when she laps at your entrance, and warmth courses through your body at the sound, at the feeling.
Her tongue explores your outer folds, paying each side equal attention- something that would strike you as humorous in its distinct Robin-ness, except your head’s too full of pleasure to make room for any emotion other than oh, fuck.
“Oh, fuck!”
Robin’s tongue sinks inside the tight, wet channel of your cunt, and it’s like she’s got your spine on a string; it pulls up from the cushions beneath your body, arching you further into her mouth, and in turn her tongue.
Her nose brushes against your clit and when you gasp, again, she learns to keep that pressure up with every forward movement of her head.
She’s working you up in a shockingly short amount of time, pleasure beginning to bleed into every fiber of your being. Your hands fly from the couch when Robin curls her tongue against the front of your walls, fingers burying themselves into the roots of her hair.
It’s like holding the sun between your thighs. The heat pours from her scalp to your palms, an exchange of energy on a loop.
The fingers at your hips dig in again; you can feel the indent of her rings and hope there will be marks leftover. Proof that you were touched, that you were worshipped, by this woman.
Robin’s tongue flexes, hits again and again at the spot that’s making everything swell into a chorus, your toes curling at her back, your fingernails biting at her scalp as you swear, as you beg-
“Fuck, Robin- oh, my god- please- like that-!”
She holds tighter and fucks her tongue into you quicker with brutal, perfect accuracy, and then you’re coming with a waving bend to your spine, a pleasure that crashes into you with the force of a falling star, streaking gold behind your eyes as they slam shut.
There’s a long, sonorous moan that spills over as she works you through the peak of it, as she moans in response, the vibrations filling you from the inside out.
The pleasure still spirals with each pass of her tongue but it’s verging on too much, too good, your stomach under her palm tensing and releasing with the feeling of overstimulation as she continues to suck at the new wetness that spills from your core.
“Okay- hah, Robin- tha’s good, s’enough- please-”
Your words slur and feel mushy in your mouth, weak in the aftermath as your thumbs push at her forehead.
“Wow.” Robin emerges from between your thighs with a smile, wide and obscenely wet, covered in your release from the chin down. “Holy shit. Good job.”
This makes you laugh, emotion pitching about like a boat in a storm; Robin’s palm is soothing on your tummy, thumb rubbing circles like she wants to capture the kinetic feeling of your joy.
“Thanks.” Your hands drop to cup her cheeks, and then Robin is untangling herself from the drape of your legs to crawl up your body for a kiss.
She tastes earthy and sweet as she passes the slickness of your own release back into your mouth. Breathing heavily into the kiss before resting her forehead against yours.
“That was- wow. So hot, and so- so pretty, and- you came, right? I mean, you- you enjoyed yourself-?”
You can’t help but laugh again, and Robin joins you this time, smiling against your lips as you reply- “Yes, Buck, I enjoyed myself very much. Where’d you learn to do that?”
“Smith babes,” Robin says, sarcastic, and with a nip to your lower lip. “But really, they were all just practice. For you!”
“My god, you’re so suave now.” Your sarcasm comes out far too fond for any real bite. “Y’know, we used to ‘practice’, too.”
The feeling that rises in you isn’t jealousy, exactly- more adjacent to lurid curiosity.
How is she, with the college girls? Does she take them out for coffee? Bring them back to her dorm and touch them, like this, on her tiny twin bed?
You don’t have time to ask. Robin’s still looking down at you like you hung the stars, moony with awe as she murmurs, “I didn’t even put my fingers in you. And you- you came so hard.”
You feel squirmy under the intensity of her gaze, inhaling sharply at her words- “Yeah. I know. I want your fingers, next time.”
“These fingers?” She teases your bottom lip with the pads of her ring and middle digits, grinning and wolfish.
You could bite her. Instead you reach for her overalls, wiggling them down her shoulders until she gets the memo, sitting up to help your cause. Robin strips out of the denim and returns to your lap in just her droopy-sleeved shirt and a pair of baby-blue underwear printed with the word Tuesday.
“It’s Friday,” you chide, playfully snapping the elastic band at her skin as she fits a knee to either side of your left thigh.
“I know.” Robin wrinkles her nose in exasperation. Her hands plant just beside your shoulders, sinking more of her weight against you and the cushions.
There’s an uncoordinated bump of your noses and then she's kissing you again, strands of her long hair tickling at your cheeks, tongue lapping against the roof of your mouth.
Robin’s thighs are so soft around your own and with the next kiss, you prop your knee further up to slot more firmly between her legs.
“Oh, fuck, yes.”
There’s heat radiating from her core, sinking bone-deep into you. She goes clumsy with hunger, hips rolling forwards as her mouth fumbles another kiss to the side of your lips.
“D’you want- my fingers?” You offer, wondering if she’d prefer more stimulation.
Robin stumbles over the words to get them out faster. “No- no, no, please- honey, st- stay like this. Please. I wanna- I’ve dreamed about this.”
Her hips roll, your lashes flutter. “You dreamed about kissing me?”
“No- well, yeah,” Robin admits, breathily. “But I meant- your thighs. I dreamed about your thighs.”
You feel temporarily mute with surprise but manage to ask- “My thighs?”
“Yes, god, yes.” Robin chokes back another whimper, tip of her nose tracing down the side of your face to nestle into the crook of your neck. “Was thinking- about your thighs all day, during the ceremony- the rooftop, fuck, I- I thought for sure you’d noticed, that I was being so- so obvious-”
She pants ragged breaths into your skin, arms trembling while she holds her weight to grind against you.
“I was too busy looking at your hands,” you whisper in reply. “Always so distracting. Turning me on- seriously, Buck, you are so, so beautiful-”
Robin’s hips judder, her teeth skimming against the muscle of your neck. You can feel her eyes squeezing shut, eyebrows drawing together in the hollow of your shoulder.
You don’t ever want this to stop. You’re half helping her, half letting her simply take.
On the next motion of her hips your hands settle at either side of her jaw, and you gently coax her head from the comfort of your shoulder. Her hair makes a curtain around the both of you and while you love the feel of it and the smell of her rose petal shampoo, the urge to see her face is overwhelming.
You tuck the lengths of silky strands behind her ears and let your fingers slide into the roots, cradling her skull at either side. It’s so hot, so intimate and intense, seeing her like this- there's a deep flush of pink across her cheeks, orangey freckles over the bridge of her nose and under her eyes standing out in contrast.
“That’s it, Buck,” you whisper, encouraging. “Whatever you need. Take it from me.”
Robin whines again. Another grind of her hips and you can feel the wetness she’s spreading into your skin, even through the cotton barrier of her undies, a slick glide with every forward movement.
“You wore these- these goddamn shorts, in gym class-” Robin’s talking through the panting rhythm of her breaths, eyes flickering back in her head before they refocus on you beneath. “-red ones. Sophomore year. I’d go home and- and put a pillow between my legs, just like- like this- imagining it was you-”
“Fuck, Robin.”
You keep one hand in her hair while the other goes to the low neck of her shirt, tugging it down to expose the round of her breasts, shuffling your shoulders down just slightly to reposition your head.
When your mouth closes around the peak of her nipple, Robin cries out above you, working herself faster over the seat of your thigh. Your tongue laves over the stiff peak and you can feel the tremors it creates in her, a ripple effect in all the muscles of her legs.
Robin lets out this string of rasping ah, ah, ahs. The cushioned slope of her stomach nudges against yours with every down stroke.
Your teeth edge around the tender skin and Robin swears again, so raw and throaty that you moan in response. Her thighs are beginning to snap tighter around you, squeezing with every grind.
“Buck-” It comes murmured around the fat of her breast, nipple shiny with your spit as your grip in her hair draws taut. “Will you- I wanna see you, when you come- please-”
Robin doesn’t deny you this, even though you know she’d rather hide her expressions in the curve of your neck. She lets you lift her head and you get to see every minute detail, every tiny tremor and scrunch and line of her face that gives away how much she loves this, how much she’s getting off on you.
“Feels so- god- so good, baby-” She whispers, a broken sentence cleaved in two by a gasp. Her stomach tightens against yours in small, undulating waves. “I’m not- not gonna last- oh, fuck. Fuck. So close-”
Robin’s jaw is open around the shape of her noises, lips parted- on instinct, your hand in her hair slides to cradle her face, thumb pressing like a question at the corner of her mouth.
“Fuck,” Robin moans, taking the length of your finger against the wet pull of her tongue. Sucking the salt from your skin and groaning at the taste, the feeling of you inside of her.
You feel the dull flash of her molars against your knuckle, and then Robin is coming with the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.
The sky-blue of her eyes rolls backwards as the heat between her legs intensifies, as her muscles lock in place and the orgasm spirals through her frame, shaking with the force of it.
Robin grinds herself against your thigh as you hold her in place with a single finger until every little bit of pleasure is wrung out, until there’s a line of drool coursing from her mouth and an equally slick path kissing at the skin of your leg.
“Oh my god.” Her voice is faint with exhaustion but tinged with humorous disbelief as her eyes shut again.
Robin makes as if to move herself off of you but at your noise of protest and coax of your arms, she lets her spent body collapse comfortably into yours.
Her nose tucks to the slope of your neck again, limbs rearranging in a cozy tangle as you hum happily with her full weight pressing into you from all sides.
In the afterglow, you’re pleasantly shocked to find that those sticky, strange feelings that usually accompany the comedown of sex just simply aren’t around this time.
Maybe it’s the familiarity you already had with Robin before this, or the way she seems loath to do anything but trace the outline of your throat with her lips in the quiet aftermath; whatever the reason, this moment feels like a perfect little pocket of time, shared with your favorite person in the world.
Robin is still holding onto you like you’re the only thing that makes sense. It’s easier to coast the dip of hormones with the sweet-sweat smell of her scalp and her breath coasting beneath the collar of your shirt that didn’t have a chance to get peeled off.
Robin sighs deeply, content and worn out. Then with a light flinch of realization, she groans. “Oh fuck.”
“What?” You’re already half-giggling at her tone, blinking lazily up at the ceiling while your hands stroke down the length of her back.
The side of her cheek squishes against your collarbone as she speaks, sounding mournful even as she slides back into her usual rambling way of speech.
“I owe Steve thirty bucks. He said I wouldn’t be able to wait a whole day to make a move on you and I said ‘What do you think I am, some sort of hussy?’ And then he laughed and I cussed him out and threw money into the mix and it seems my lack of will power has screwed me over yet again.”
“Screwed me, you mean.” Your hands have found the end of her shirt and slip beneath, feeling for the scattering of raised freckles at her low back. “How about this. We wait to tell Steve until tomorrow, after we’ve had sex again, and this time I’ll give you a bunch of hickeys so he can’t deny the proof.”
You feel the apple of Robin’s cheek round into a grin against you. “Neat. I love tricking Steve, it’s my favorite hobby. Well, besides my new one of having sex with you. My favorite girl. I don’t ever wanna move again.”
Her head lifts and re-affixes itself to your chest, the shell of her ear pressing firmly over your heart.
“-see, stuck. Like a limpet. Or maybe… something more sexy than a mollusk. I dunno. I just orgasmed so hard my brain melted. Please don’t ask me to explain any further because I literally, truly cannot.”
Your fingers find the half-inch scar raised parallel to the base of Robin’s spine, running over the twist of tissue with remembrance.
She’d been eight at the time, and had taken a fall from the low boughs of the sycamore tree in her backyard. A stick had snagged in her side with the impact, and after a trip to the emergency department Robin boasted three whole stitches to show for the whole ordeal.
You can still remember her toothy smile a week later, braids swinging as she pawed with clumsy eagerness at the collar of her shirt to show off her wound. In the familiar stretch of her freckly back, there was a row of neat black thread and two butterfly bandages.
Gravity had pulled, and you’d leaned in to kiss the edges of the sutures- as if pure magical will and childish intent could bring your girl healing with a single brush of your lips.
You use those same lips to kiss at the crown of her head now, smiling with fondness. “You don’t have to explain a thing, honey. Or let me go, for that matter- but I wanna see the stars one more time, before we leave.”
Robin kisses her way up your neck, over your jaw, movements sleepy but no less keen. Her lips press to yours again- once, twice- and the bands of her rings are cool against your cheek as she holds your face with expansive tenderness.
“Let’s go sweep some stars. But only if you promise to hold my hand the whole way.”
It’s a promise easily made and mostly kept, save for the moments you need to separate in order to clean up a bit and re-dress. There are more kisses stolen and given between the motions, more giggling and teasing and Robin’s sparkling gaze laid plain on the side of your face as you dip to wiggle back into your shoes.
Your hands interlace, and this time, neither of you let go. Robin leads you back through the station, palm warm against yours, taking the steps to the roof one at a time to make sure you’re following close behind.
There’s a brick wall separating the roof access door from the rest of the space, with a roughhewn wood bench built into its side. It faces the vastness of the night sky and has a perfect lack of armrests to be able to fit both you and Robin comfortably.
Robin pulls you into her chest, chin fitting snug to the top of your head as your arms automatically wrap around her middle.
The night is clear, and the stars are everywhere. Anywhere you look: pinpricks of light, clusters and constellations, the world holding steady as you hold each other.
You pour your thankfulness into the universe, for whatever stars have aligned to bring you and Robin together again.
afterword: thanks so much for reading! reblogs are never required but always so appreciated by me <3
i love seeing best friends goofing around in public. i love seeing couples laughing together. i love seeing little kids walking hand in hand with their parents. i love seeing dogs running happily back to their owners. i love seeing closeness and positive relationships, and knowing all that love is out there
I genuinely cannot explain to a non-writer what it feels like when a chapter suddenly clicks. it's not satisfaction. it's not relief. it's this horrible specific feeling like you just remembered something you never knew. like the story was already there and you finally stopped being in the way of it. i don't know what to do with that feeling. i just close the laptop and stare at the wall for a bit.
i dont want to be in a fandom that critisizes the choices of fictional characters like they are human beings. i want to see THEORY and ANALYSIS and STORY STRUCTURE and CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!! I WANT PARALLELS AND MOTIFS AND VISUAL CUES!!! They're not REAL they are TOOLS so stop acting like they are people who made bad choices and should be punished. of course they made bad choices!!! that shit is funny and cool to watch!!
hiya honey!🍯 @urhoneycombwitch - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
