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gwydionae · 2 years ago

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The Truth According to Raphael

A/N: Fair warning, I take all my TMNT fake media ideas from the '87 show, so I cannot be held responsible for names such as "Hungerdunger", lol.

Posted on fanfiction.net >here<.

Teaser: As soon as his words had fully escaped into the lab, Raph's body tensed. A part of him wanted to attempt to play it off as a joke, but the words to form said joke refused to materialize, as if covering up his mistake with a lie was... ...was something he was no longer capable of... "Donnie!"

Disclaimer: I do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Takes place before season 2.

The Truth According to Raphael

"Now, drink this. Don't worry, I promise it's almost certainly non-toxic and completely safe for mutant turtle consumption."

Raph looked down at the cups of clear liquid Donnie had just asked him and his other two brothers to choose from with annoyance, a handwritten "C" haphazardly taped to the one currently in his hand. They had stumbled upon a Kraang facility the night prior, and while politely informing the alien residents that they were being suddenly and violently evicted, Donatello had found an inner laboratory with strange concoctions they'd never seen before. Being sure to grab some samples before trashing the rest and lobotomizing their computers, Donnie had begun work on trying to figure out what it was the second they'd returned home.

Apparently he had come up with a solid theory, but he needed three guinea pigs to test it on.

"Are you sure, Donnie?" Leo glanced up at his younger brother with a raised eyeridge. "If the Kraang were making this stuff, it can't exactly be good for us."

"Yeah, dude, what if it, like, turns us all into mindless zombies or something?" said Mikey as he held a cup labeled "A" out as far from his face as his arm would stretch.

"For some of us that might be an improvement," said Raph, smirking as his youngest brother shot him a glare.

With a roll of his eyes, Donnie huffed, "It won't turn you into a zombie, Mikey. I've tested it thoroughly. I just need to see exactly how it manifests once consumed by a sentient being."

Raph put his free hand on his hip. "Well, you're the brainiac. Just drink it yourself. Or are you not sentient enough?"

Shooting him a dull look, Donnie picked up his pencil and notepad and held them in Raph's face. "I need to monitor the effects in someone else. I can't be sure I'm making unbiased observations if I'm studying myself."

Quickly stepping between his two siblings, Leo held his free hand up placatingly toward Donatello. "Ok, we get it. If you say it's safe, we'll believe you. We'll all drink it." He glanced over his shoulder. "Right, Raph?"

"Whatever you say," he grumbled in response.

With a sigh, Leo turned back to Donnie. "So, what exactly is this going to do to us?"

"I'd rather not say just yet," he replied. "If I told you my hypothesis, it could influence how you respond to the testing. The effects should be subtle, only lasting at most a day or two."

Mikey nearly dropped his cup. "This Kraang juice is gonna be inside us for two days!?"

Disgust written on his face, Raph stuck out his tongue. "Did'ya have to call it that?"

"Alright, that's enough," said Leo, pulling out his best oldest brother voice. "Donnie worked hard to figure out what the Kraang were up to with this stuff, and it's in our best interest to have as full an understanding as we can. So knock it off, and drink it, both of you."

Raph's eyes narrowed with a huff. "After you, fearless leader."

Leonardo straightened and attempted to put on a confident front as he lifted the cup labeled "B" to his face, but the hesitation to bring it to his mouth along with the quick glance toward Donnie betrayed his wariness. After a deep breath, Leo poured the contents down his throat and swallowed in one quick motion. A look of curiosity briefly crossed his face before he raised his eyes to Michelangelo and Raphael, folding his arms across his plastron, waiting for them to follow his lead.

Mikey gulped nervously, gaze meeting Donnie's. "If I don't make it, tell Master Splinter to bury me with a three cheese, bacon, jalapeño, and jelly bean from Antonio's." Opening his mouth with a loud "ahh", he downed the liquid, tightly squeezing his eyes shut as he swallowed. Like Leo, however, he quickly opened them again and looked down at the now empty cup in confusion.

With a sigh, Raph looked at his own cup, the handwritten "C" glaring back at him. As harebrained as drinking a glass of "Kraang juice" might be, there was no way he was going to be the only one to wimp out. He'd also be lying if he said his brother's reactions hadn't left him at least a little curious. And so he raised the cup, staring Donatello in the eye as he drank it all. The taste was mild, a slight bitterness with an almost minty tingle left behind in the back of his throat. Not something he'd grab after an intense workout, but still better than some of Mikey's cooking abominations.

A satisfied look settled onto Donnie's face as he picked up his notebook and pencil. "Ok, the effects should kick in almost immediately. I'm going to need you all to keep quiet unless I ask you a direct question so I can collect the clearest data. So no snarky comments interrupting my examination." He gave Raph an especially pointed look, receiving a silent but exaggerated eyeroll in return. "Now, do any of you feel even the slightest bit different?"

All three brothers looked at each other before offering up a shake of the head.

"Interesting..." muttered Donnie as he scribbled down some notes. Stepping in front of Mikey, he said, "You had the one labeled 'A', correct?"

Mikey nodded, holding out the cup as he flashed a smile and struck a dramatic pose, "'A' for 'awesome'."

"Right," replied Donnie flatly, "well, would 'awesome' care to tell me what he knows about the microscope from my lab that rather mysteriously broke overnight a few weeks ago?"

Raph held back a snort as Mikey's face paled slightly at the question, eyes darting around the room as if searching for the proper response. "No way someone as awesome as me would know anything about that, D!" said the youngest with a nervous smile. "Maybe it was a giant cockroach with rabies! Or maybe a cat broke in, stole my skateboard and some cool shades, and ran into your desk because the shades made everything too dark!"

Donnie narrowed his eyes. "A cat, hm?"

"Yup! Totally must've been a cat!"

The grin plastered on Michelangelo's face looked shaky at best. Maintaining his penetrating stare, Donnie snatched the empty cup from Mikey's hand and placed it on his desk before returning his eyes to his notebook to quickly scribble something down. Upon finishing, he turned to Leonardo.

"And you had 'B'?" Receiving a nod in response, he added, "And you're sure you don't feel any different? No increase in heart rate? Sweaty palms? Sudden desire to showoff in front of your girlfriend?"

This time Raph's snort managed to escape as he fought to swallow a comment about pots, kettles, and their similar color, Leo meanwhile stiffening as his face flushed.

"My heart rate is perfectly fine, and Karai is not my girlfriend," he said, voice cracking only slightly. Gaze falling on the cup in his hands, he hurriedly placed it onto Donnie's desk next to Mikey's, folding his now free hands under his arms while he added, "And my hands are not sweaty."

Donnie glanced at Leo's hidden fists with a knowing smirk. "But you would like Karai to be your girlfriend?"

"I—no, I mean—she's Shredder's daughter; that's just—" He stumbled over his answer, the color of his face indicating that perhaps his heart rate was no longer perfectly fine. Voice pitch now fluctuating between opera singer and dog whistle, Leo cleared his throat and asked, "Why is this question necessary, exactly?"

"It allowed me to collect exactly the sort of data I was looking for," said Donatello vaguely with a pleased smile as he jotted down additional notes. That smile turned downright menacing, however, as at last he turned toward Raph.

"And, finally, Raphael with the one labelled 'C'."

Putting his cup down with more force than necessary, Raph crossed his arms with a huff, chin jutting out defiantly. He was fully prepared for whatever Donnie was planning for him.

"Before we turned fifteen, how many times did you sneak up to the city?"

The rather blunt question brought a number to Raph's mind. It was so vivid and obvious and precise that it startled him into blurting it out without thinking, "Eleven."

As soon as his response had fully escaped into the lab, Raph's body tensed, eyes growing wide as his mouth clicked shut. A part of him wanted to attempt to play it off as a joke, but the words to form said joke refused to materialize, as if covering up his mistake with a lie was... was...

...was something he was no longer capable of...

Oh no.

"Wait, seriously, bro!?"

"You went up there alone? Does Splinter know about this?"

"I mean, I knew it must have been at least once or twice, but eleven times?"

The raised voices of his brothers dragged him out of his thoughts. His green eyes took in each of their stunned faces, ranging anywhere from jealous to appalled, before finally settling on Donatello's. Arms slowly falling to his sides, Raph clenched his hands into tight fists, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Donnie..."

The barely contained rage seething behind the name was enough to cause the owner of it to at least appear ever-so-slightly sheepish.

"I know one of them must have been when you found Spike, but when were the other ten?"

Not sheepish enough to bring the experiment to an end, however.

As if on cue, all ten answers immediately formed in his mind clear as the liquid he'd just ingested. The time he'd snuck out to find Mikey a Christmas present, the time he ran away and nearly wound up adopted by a human kid, the time everyone else in the family had gotten sick and they'd run out of medicine...

Raph quickly slapped a hand over his mouth as the first of his recalled escapades nearly tumbled out of it. It seemed, at least, that he wasn't being forced to verbally answer Donnie's question, but the way the truthful answers pushed every other thought from his mind upon being asked made the idea of answering dangerously tempting. Instead, a growl seeped from between his fingers as he continued to glare at his brother who, obnoxiously, merely looked thoughtful as he scribbled more notes into his book.

Clarity suddenly dawned on Leonardo's face. "That was a truth serum."

Mikey's blue eyes began to gleam with mischief before his face pinched into a light scowl. "But we all drank it. How come only Raph's acting all mind-controlled?" His gaze began shifting nervously, however, as he quickly added, "Not that I was lying about the cat. Because I totally wasn't."

"All three cups contained different concentrations of the truth serum," explained Donnie matter-of-factly. "The one labelled 'A' was mostly water, and 'B' had equal parts water and serum. 'C' was the only one that wasn't diluted at all. I was fairly confident that it had to be ingested without any dilution as its composition is quite delicate, but I had to be sure."

"So..." began Mikey slowly, hope creeping back onto his face, "Leo and I are fine? Only Raph has to tell the truth?"

Raphael watched as Donatello grinned.

"Only Raph has to tell the truth."

Absolute glee radiated from Mikey as he danced in place and threw his arms in the air. "This—is—a—mazing!" Completely ignoring the sharp, pointy, green daggers that Raph's eyes had suddenly become eerily similar to, he ran up to him with a toothy grin and began rattling off questions, "How would you react to finding a cockroach in your bed at night? How often do you tell Spike how much you love him? How awesome was I when I saved your butt while you guys were obsessed with being eaten by a giant wasp?"

As soon as his brain conjured up scenes of him shrieking like a banshee and jumping out of his bed in a mindless panic at the sight of a cockroach, Raph had clenched his teeth tight, refusing to allow any admissions of weakness to slip past them. The answer Mikey got instead was a low, predatory growl followed by a raised fist ready and waiting to be swung at his head. Donnie, however, stepped in before a mad chase around the lair could ensue.

"Now, Mikey, I need Raph to cooperate so I can better understand how the serum works exactly. He's very sensitive, so we have to be delicate about this," he glanced at his older brother with a sly smirk, "right, Raph?"

"Right." Not expecting the statement to suddenly become a question, Raph's response again slipped from his mouth before he fully realized what he was answering. He felt his face flush as his brothers all grinned at his unintentional admission.

"Don't worry," said Leo in what Raph was sure was meant to be a calming voice but wound up coming across as patronizing instead, "we're already fully aware of how sensitive you can be. There's no reason to be ashamed of it." Leo placed a placating hand on Raph's shell, receiving a fierce glower in return. "Try to think positively about this. You're always saying that we don't understand you, so maybe having to tell the truth for a while will help us with that."

Mikey ran up to his unoccupied side and threw an arm around his neck with a sagely nod and a declaration of, "The truth will set a bro free!"

"Besides, if the Kraang have more of this truth serum, it's important that we understand how it works," Leo continued, "and hopefully Donnie can create an antidote in case we need one."

Donatello nodded in agreement. "As soon as I'm done studying you—I mean, it, I'll get right to work on that. Even without further testing, it's obvious how dangerous this could be."

Raph crossed his arms but said nothing as Leo patted his shell. "This will all be over before you know it," he said, not even hesitating before adding, "but that was you that unplugged Atomic Robo-X after I beat your high score, right?"

"Ri—GAH!" Throwing up his hands, Raphael shoved his two snickering brothers off of him and promptly stormed out of the lab and straight to his room, ignoring the shouts from Donnie following behind him. Once inside, he slammed the door shut—right in his brother's face. The yelp he got in return didn't even make him feel marginally better.

"Bet you're having a better day than I am," Raph muttered as he reached out to pat Spike's shell, doing his best to pay no attention to the banging on his door.

"Raph, I need to know exactly how the serum works, so I'm coming in whether you want me to or not."

He considered either rushing over to lock the door or giving the owner of the muffled voice a suitable hot-headed welcome upon his entrance, but instead he merely remained crouched in front of his pet as the door quietly creaked open behind him. The shuffling of feet was followed by a light click from the now closed again door and a soft huff.

"Look, I'm sorry I teased you, alright?"

Raph managed to keep the, "No, it's not alright," firmly in the back of his throat. Apparently realizing he wasn't getting a reply any time soon, Donnie let out a sigh.

"Raph, I really need your cooperation on this. Will you please just let me ask a few simple questions? I promise I won't pry into anything private."

"I don't want to answer any more of your stupid questions, Donnie," said Raph as he closed his eyes in frustration. He didn't need them open to know his brother was bristling at his words.

"And why is that?"

The answer that popped into his head was just disarming enough in its honesty that it slipped past his defenses, "Because I'm afraid of what I might say."

There was a thoughtful hum from behind him as Raphael continued to sulk, hunched in the back of his room with Spike. A momentary silence hung in the air as not even Donnie's pencil could be heard scratching furiously against the page like he'd expected. At last his brother spoke again, though the tone of his voice had returned to a softer timbre.

"I believe that it is safe to assume that direct questions are difficult for you to ignore without answering out loud. If this is correct, I would appreciate a confirmation."

With a sigh, Raph finally turned to look Donnie in the eye. His brother merely stood there calmly, waiting patiently for a response. After a short pause, he finally offered up a curt nod, causing Donnie's eyes to light up before glancing down to write some more notes.

"If you can, I would appreciate if you could describe why that is," said Donatello as his pencil danced across the page. Finally looking up, he explained, "If I know what is making ignoring direct questions so difficult, it might help me understand how the serum is affecting your mind."

The silver lining to this whole mess was that while normally he might struggle with how to describe what was happening to him, simply thinking about the topic seemed to materialize the proper words in Raph's head. "When someone asks me something, the answer instantly just pops in there. It's, like, suddenly no other thoughts exist. Even now, as I'm telling you all of this, it's like my brain is just shutting everything else out. So when asked a question, I end up just blurting out the answer before I even get a chance to really think about what exactly I'm saying."

Donnie frowned as he listened, writing as Raph described the effects of the serum. Once his brother finished talking, he paused briefly before saying, "So if I'm understanding correctly, you're not fighting against some muscle-based urge to physically move your mouth and say things out loud. This is an entirely mental battle, where the truth manifests in your mind at all times, not even allowing you to imagine a lie." He put down his pencil and glanced back up at Raphael who nodded in confirmation. Donnie's face grew grim. "We probably could have undergone some mental training to help resist the urge to speak, but the way you're describing it, I don't think that will help. The Kraang have telepathic abilities. They could probably use them to steal the information they need without us ever having to utter a single word."

Raph's eyes narrowed as he finally pushed himself back up to his full height. "So if they do have more of this stuff..."

"...we could be in serious trouble," said Donatello, closing his notebook with a snap. Expression softening, he said, "I'm sorry I wasn't more understanding of the position I put you in. I really appreciate you cooperating. I'll get to work on an antidote right away." A slight frown returned to his face as he brought his free hand up to his chin and turned his gaze to the floor. "I'm not sure how long it'll take—the composition is nothing like I've ever come across, and I may not have all the necessary chemicals on hand, not to mention—"

"Donnie." His ramblings interrupted, the turtle in question blinked and raised his head to meet his brother's gaze. Arms crossed, Raph said flatly, "You're smart. Like, really smart. You can do this."

A pregnant pause filled the room before a small, "Oh," escaped from Donnie's mouth.

The dumbfounded look being directed at him made Raph wonder if the serum was somehow messing with what he meant to say, but a smile soon replaced the shock on his younger brother's face.

"Thanks, Raph," he said as he made his way to the door. Opening it, he looked back at his older brother. "I know being forced to tell the truth all the time can't be fun, but maybe it's not something you need to be afraid of either."

Raphael watched with a light scowl as Donnie left, shutting the door behind him. "Not fun" was an understatement, and obviously his traitorous mind disagreed about being afraid. Even now, as he mulled over his brother's words, the truth of the matter remained that he was afraid of what might slip past his mouth if he wasn't careful. With a heavy sigh, he sunk down onto his bed.

"Man, I hate this," he grumbled as he reached over and snagged a magazine off the top of his pile.

The bevy of articles he had practically memorized ages ago unfortunately did little to focus his mind on the mundane and away from heavier topics—topics such as "what exactly am I afraid I'll say". Because as soon as his brain asked the question, it also felt compelled to answer it, and the further down the rabbit hole he went, the more queasy he felt. There were things about himself even he didn't want to know.

Finally giving up on the magazines, Raph pushed himself out of bed, gave Spike a friendly pat, and headed back out to the common area, hoping the TV might miraculously be unoccupied.

It wasn't.

At the sound of an annoyed groan, Michelangelo turned away from whatever latest abomination he was watching, shooting his grumpy brother a wide smile. "Hey, Raph! Just in time, bro—'The Adventures of Rhino-Man' is about to start! There's a whole marathon of all six movies; isn't that awesome?"

Fully on his guard around the youngest, Raph kept his mouth pressed into a thin line as he crossed his arms with a huff. "Awesome" was not the word he would have used, though the silly action movies were at least slightly more tolerable than some of Mikey's normal fare.

Suddenly seeming aware of the tension, Mikey's expression morphed into something at least bordering on apologetic. "Sorry about earlier, dude. But Donnie made me and Leo promise to lay off you, so you've got nothing to worry about."

Raph very much doubted that, but the fact that Donnie had at least talked to their brothers gave him the barest hopes that maybe a movie with Mikey wouldn't be so bad right now. Walking over to the pit, he hopped down onto the bench and stretched out, ready to fill his brain with goofy action sequences and painful one-liners.

No sooner had he done so then Mikey held a half-eaten box of pizza out toward him from where he sat on his beanbag. "Bacon, mushroom, and peanut butter," he said as he took an exaggerated whiff, "gotta try it, bro."

The hesitation to reach for the box was a mixture of revulsion and skepticism. The grotesque combination of toppings was nothing new, but the fact that Michelangelo was offering to share his pizza made the whole situation far more akin to a spider welcoming a fly into his web than he liked.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously before replying, "No, thanks."

Mikey simply shrugged and grabbed a slice for himself. Taking a large bite, he said, "Your loss, dude," before settling back down to enjoy his movie.

The first half an hour or so went by with only a few quips and giggles from the youngest of the siblings. The colorful characters and breezy dialogue lulled him into a false sense of security, brain happily distracted from the intrusive thoughts that had plagued him in his bedroom. So when Mikey randomly blurted out, "Oh man, this movie is so great, right?" the answer fell from Raph's mouth without a second thought.

"It's ok."

The response was innocent enough, though had he not been under the influence of the truth serum he would have scoffed and made a far more derogatory comment. But the fact that the answer had again emerged unbidden returned the tension to his shoulders, the relaxing atmosphere broken.

Mikey, as one would expect, did not notice in the slightest.

"There are just so many awesome characters! Rhino-Man, Mighty Hog, Patti Wise, J. G. Hungerdunger—it's so hard to choose the best!" Leaning back in his beanbag chair, Mikey looked at him upside down as he asked, "Which one do you like the best, Raph?"

Crossing his arms for the dozenth or so time that day—his brain automatically offering up the information that the position was, in fact, a feeble defense mechanism almost convincing him to immediately uncross them again—Raphael frowned at his baby brother before allowing himself to answer.

"Rhino-Man."

With a laugh, Mikey grinned. "Yeah, figured you'd say that. You and him have a lot in common with your whole 'punch face's in, ask questions never' routine." Jumping to his feet, his face screwed up in faux concentration as he punched the air a few times before a smile and laughter ruined his charade. Throwing himself plastron first back onto the beanbag, he looked up at Raph, saying, "It sure is a good thing he's got someone as amazing as Mighty Hog to watch his back, though, right?"

Doing his best to push aside how he really felt about the pig-like superhero, Raph growled as he stood and leapt out of the pit. While the questions weren't exactly invasive, it was obvious that Mikey was trying to get as much mileage out of Raph's inability to tell a lie as he could, and he would have none of it. Maybe he'd have better luck convincing Leo to let him use his oldest brother as a punching bag for a while.

"Hey! Raph, wait up!"

Mikey suddenly skidded to a halt in front of him looking mildly crestfallen. "We're in the middle of a movie, dude! You can't just leave now—you'll miss the part where Hungerdunger finds out that Rhino-Man is really Barry Clarke and then he tries to—"

Pushing past his motormouth of a brother, Raph kept stomping along toward the dojo only to find Mikey again racing to cut him off.

"Ok ok ok!" he cried, holding his hands out toward Raph as if he were trying to tame a wild velociraptor. "I'm sorry for asking so many questions! I thought maybe since they were about the movie you wouldn't mind so much. But I promise, no more questions! Not a one! Ok?" As soon as the word left his mouth, Mikey's face blanched. "Wait, no! Not ok! That was not a question! Don't answer that! It was an accident, I swear! I didn't—"

Mikey's voice was cut off by Raph slapping his hand over his little brother's mouth who had stilled but continued mumbling until Raph leaned in, eyes narrow.

"No more questions," he said firmly.

Straightening up to his full height, Mikey gave a stiff salute, responding as Raph removed his hand, "No more questions."

Hoping he wasn't making a mistake in trusting the hyperactive turtle to keep his word, Raph headed back to his seat on the bench as Mikey happily plopped down on the beanbag once more. Raph remained on edge as his brother continued to prattle on about the movie, but over time he settled back into his previous relaxed state as Michelangelo was indeed very careful to avoid phrasing any of his musings as a question.

"Patti is the best!" exclaimed Mikey. "Rhino-Man would be running around in circles without her!"

This was at least the fourth character he had given such a designation during his single person commentary. Apparently he wasn't kidding when he said he couldn't choose a favorite earlier. Still, Raph had to admit that her sass and go-getter attitude more than made up for her lack of mysterious vigilante status. It was easy to see how Rhino-Man fell for her.

"I just love that she, like, instantly knew that Barry and Cam were Rhino-Man and Mighty Hog!" said Mikey with a laugh. "They think they can fool her, but, come on, dudes, she's a reporter! She's got a nose for this stuff!"

Raph snorted. "Not like they're being very subtle. I doubt she knows too many other guys that bench press a literal ton without breaking a sweat."

At the sound of his voice, Mikey turned to look at him with a smile, his entire face practically beaming. "Seriously! He knew she was watching him, and the dude just couldn't help showing off." Mikey shook his head. "Just goes to show that love can make anyone crazy."

"Yeah, I mean, just look at Donnie."

The amused snickering that burst out of Mikey managed to paint the smallest of smirks on Raph's face. For the rest of the movie, Raphael found himself more and more being drawn into the conversation, the fact that his thoughts and words were being filtered barely even registering. And by the time the first movie was ending and the second was starting, he found he could even stomach a slice of the leftover pizza, which turned out not nearly as bad as he'd initially feared. That, however, was not something I was willing to admit out loud no matter how badly Mikey so obviously itched to ask the question outright.

They hadn't even made it to the second act, however, when Leonardo entered the common area geared up and ready for their evening patrol.

"Come on, Mikey, it's about time to head out," he said. Noticing Raph jumping to his feet, Leo gave him an apologetic look. "Not tonight, Raph. Donnie said that you need to stay behind in case we run into any Kraang."

With a groan so loud he wouldn't have been surprised if a meditating Splinter could hear it, Raph slumped even further down the bench, resting his head on the floor of the upper level of the common room as he glared daggers at the ceiling. He wasn't sure if several more hours of Rhino-Man movies would be enough to keep him from getting bored without Mikey's running commentary. His head was telling him that Leo was right but also that his heart disagreed anyway, and so, grumpy and torn, he refrained from saying anything as their leader headed into Donnie's laboratory to collect their final sibling.

"Don't worry, Raph," said Mikey as he sprang to his feet and stretched before punching the air a few times with a wink. "I'll be sure to make you and Rhino-Man proud if we run into any Kraang tonight."

Raph lifted his head with a snort. "I'm sure you will," he said.

At his words, Mikey froze mid-punch and stared at him, blinking, before he finally cocked his head and said, "So either the truth serum wore off way early, or sarcasm isn't considered lying."

"If I didn't think it were true, I wouldn't be able to say it," said Raph with a shrug as he laid his head back down. "Besides, you're as good as any of us when you actually take the time to concentrate, so why wouldn't I believe you?"

Dull eyes focused on the ceiling above, Raphael had no warning of the body that suddenly dove at him, arms tightly wrapping around his middle. Surprised, his head quickly shot up and found his baby brother attached to him like a leech. "What the—?"

"You're the best, bro!" said Mikey, eyes squeezed tight with a bright smile on his face. Pulling away as quickly as he had latched on, he cartwheeled and flipped toward the entrance of the lair, Leo and Donnie emerging from the lab with looks of confusion that matched Raph's own. "Watch out, Kraang! Michelangelo is ready to dish you out a special helping of his sweet nunchuck fury!"

His two much calmer siblings turned to Raph expectantly. "Don't look at me," he said, raising his hands as if to prove his innocence.

With a sigh, Leo hurried after the youngest, muttering, "Of all the nights for him to be wound up..."

Raph watched as his brothers ran out of the lair, leaving him sitting there with only the sound of the TV to fill the stillness. His mood had managed to buoy considerably since he'd chugged that truth serum hours ago, but being left behind, unable to race around rooftops and beat some bad guys had soured it once again. With a sigh, he returned his attention to the Rhino-Man marathon, it somehow seeming far less amusing than it had five minutes ago.

The hours ticked by as Raph mindlessly sat there, the images on the TV screen starting to blur together. Much as he tried to ignore them, the anxious thoughts he had shoved away earlier began creeping back, reminding him that his mind was still not fully under his own control. He tried getting up and pounding away at their training dummy, grabbing a late night snack, and even going to his room and bringing Spike out to watch with him. But while his pet turtle sat beside him happily crunching on a leaf of lettuce, that same sense of serenity continued to allude him.

Finally, just as the title of part four, "Son of Rhino-Man", flashed across the screen, the sounds of his brothers voices reached his ears. Much as they had gotten on his last nerve earlier, he could not have been more grateful for their return now. Mikey was the first to greet him, admitting that while they sadly had encountered no Kraang that night, he did make sure to give a little extra love to the Purple Dragons mugging an old lady. Donnie stopped by just long enough to inquire about his current state and if there were any changes—all in the form of roundabout statements rather than questions, thankfully. Upon finding out that nothing seemed to have changed, he quickly excused himself, hurrying back to his lab to do a little extra research in regards to the antidote before being forced to bed.

Leo, on the other hand, waited patiently for Mikey to settle down in front of the TV before motioning for Raphael to follow him. Curious, Raph scooped up Spike and hopped up and out of the pit, following Leonardo in the direction of the bedrooms. With Mikey in the common room, Donnie in his lab, and Splinter in the dojo, this was the one place they would have some real privacy, and Raph couldn't help but wonder why it was necessary. Returning Spike to his room, Raph noticed Leo waiting patiently right outside his own and strode over.

Upon entering his big brother's room, eyes darting around to the various martial arts posters and Space Heroes memorabilia lining the walls, Leo closed the door before turning to face him.

"I know you haven't really been in the mood to talk, so if you don't feel like answering, you don't have to," he said calmly. "I just wanted to check in with you and see how you were holding up."

With a huff, Raph let the truth loosen his tongue. "I've been bored. I been tryin'a do stuff to keep my mind off of everything, but it's hard when that's all my brain wants to focus on. It seriously bites, and I can't wait for it to be over."

Offering up an apologetic half-smile, Leo nodded. "Sorry about earlier. Donnie explained how difficult it is for you avoid direct questions. I can't imagine how weird that must feel."

The temptation to yet again cross his arms arose, but he squashed it, keeping them stiffly at his sides as he muttered, "Feels like you have no control over your own words, even if they are how you really think and feel."

After a slight hesitation, Leo said, "Donnie also mentioned that the reason you didn't like being questioned was because you were afraid of what you might say." Raph's fingers twitched and he shifted his stance as he was reminded of his admission from earlier. Ignoring the signs of agitation, Leo pressed on, "Now that we better understand how the truth serum works, I hope you'll trust us to be more considerate. Everyone has their secrets, and we'll do our best to not pry into yours while you're dealing with this."

Raph shook his head with a growl, unable to keep himself form blurting out, "That's not it."

"It's not?" the accidental question proof enough of Leo's confusion.

"No!" said Raph, the words forming in his mind at lightning speed as he began to pace back and forth, hands balling into fists. "I don't care if you guys find out about all the times I snuck out or broke something without owning up to it or whatever. I mean, I don't want to tell you those things, but they're not really important, ya know? I just—I just don't wanna hurt anybody."

Leonardo cocked an eyeridge and put a hand on his hip. "Raph, you make fun of us all the time. You slap Mikey at least three times a week. You're obviously not lying, but if you really don't want to hurt anyone, you sure have a funny way of showing it."

"But that's just it," he said, stopping his pacing to turn back to Leo, "I do make fun of you guys, and maybe I do it too much, but a lot of the time I don't really mean it—I'm just messin' around." He looked away. "But anything I say now, you guys'll know that I do mean it, that's it not just a joke. The fact that I can't control that..." Clamping his mouth tight, he refused to finish that sentence out loud.

This time it was Leo's turn to huff and cross his arms. "So let me get this straight," he began with a frown. "Sometimes when you make fun of us, you're just joking. But sometimes you're not just joking. And now that everything you say has to be the truth, you're afraid we'll find out all the things you actually hate about us instead of the things you just pretend to."

Raph's head whipped up, green eyes showing clearly how deeply Leo's words affected him as more of his own pushed their way out of his mouth, "Sometimes even I don't know if I really mean what I say, Leo, and I don't want to find out."

Eyeridges furrowed, Raphael pressed on as his brother stayed silent. "You remember that time we were trying to track down Snakeweed's lair? When I kept acting all jealous because you were the leader and I wasn't? When you left, I lead Mikey and Donnie straight into trouble. Mikey got really hurt, and it was all because I was too busy being mad at not being made the leader to realize that I didn't actually want to be the leader."

"Why were you so mad if you didn't even want it?"

The directness of the question pushed the answer to the forefront of Raph's mind. He didn't bother trying to stop it from coming out.

"Because I thought it meant that I wasn't good enough," he said, face flushing at how childish he sounded. "It felt like no matter what I did, no matter how many times I kicked your butt in training, Splinter would never think I was good enough to protect you guys. But seeing how I froze up when Mikey got hurt on my watch made me realize it wasn't about how good of a fighter I was. It was about being able to take responsibility for the lives of others, and I—I just can't handle that like you can." Raph broke eye contact with his older brother, ashamed of the truth behind his words, before turning back and fixing him with a pointed look. "That's why you're such a great leader. You can carry that weight. I don't think I can."

Leonardo was staring at him, his face showing no signs of the annoyance from moments ago. Instead his blue eyes were wide and clear, reflecting a mixture of emotions Raph wasn't sure he wanted to pin down. Suddenly feeling very self conscious as the realization of the full breadth of embarrassing things he'd just admitted to finally sunk in, he willed a stony, impassive expression to cover his face, allowing his arms to at last cross over his plastron in a feeble defense of his ego.

"Anyway, that's not the point," he hurried on, as if changing back to the original topic would wind up any less humiliating. "The point is that if I was so obsessed with something I didn't even want, how can I know for sure that I'm not hiding some dark secret that I wouldn't even know about until I was forced to really think about it?" He couldn't help shrinking in on himself ever so slightly, all dirty laundry at last aired, but he refused to break eye contact again. "That's it. That's what I'm afraid of."

Of all the things Raph expected to see on his older brother's face, a small, amused smile was not one of them. His indignation over the seeming belittlement of his honest confessions must have been apparent because Leo quickly straightened, donning his best leader facade. Reaching out, Leo placed both hands firmly on Raph's shoulders, taking a deep breath before speaking.

"Raphael. Since drinking the truth serum you have encouraged Donnie and told him he was smart. You told Mikey that he's just as good a ninja as the rest of us and that you knew he'd make you proud. And you just now explained to me what makes me such a great leader." The stern look melted away as he spoke, leaving behind a smile and a twinkle in his blue eyes, adding, "Call me crazy, but I don't think you have anything to worry about."

It was Raph's turn to stand there blinking stupidly as Leo's words sank in. His brain quickly began flipping through his memory files of the day, realizing that everything his brother said was true. He knew his brothers to be all that and more, but saying such things out loud, directly to their faces was another matter. Giving praise wasn't exactly a strong suit of his—the tough love approach better complimenting the whole loner, bad boy thing he had going on—but having to think so little about what was coming out of his mouth had apparently loosened his tongue even more than he'd realized.

Seeming to catch on to Raph's inability to ignore the cracks in his tough guy persona, Leo threw his arm around his brother's shoulders and began walking him to the bedroom door. "Why don't you get some sleep," he said, pulling his door open for Raph to walk through. "Who knows? Maybe by the morning it'll be all out of your system."

"Yeah..." mumbled Raph as he left his big brother's bedroom and headed toward his own. Cycling through everything that had happened had brought to mind the grateful smile on Donnie's face, Mikey's fierce hug, and the expression Raph now realized included pride and affection to go with the utter shock that had adorned Leo.

Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed his big brother heading toward the common area and suddenly called out, "Hey, Leo." As the other turtle paused and turned, Raph shot him a lopsided smile. His reputation was already crumbling anyway. "I love you, bro."

The amusement at the unexpected declaration tugged at the corners of Leo's mouth as he called back, "Love you, too, Raph," before continuing on.

Entering his room, Raphael shut the door behind him and sat on his bed. Reaching over to give Spike a pat, he found the smile not quite ready to leave his face.

"I'm turning into a real soft shell, Spike," he said with a sigh. "Not sure how I feel about that, but maybe lightening up a little sometimes wouldn't be so bad."

____________________________________

A/N: Needed a bit of a break from "Bound". This was supposed to be a silly little fluff piece, but, well, it's not. Story of my life, I guess!

As always, critics and grammar police appreciated!

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #raphael #donatello #michelangelo #leonardo #my fanfiction #can you believe this is the second longest one shot i've ever written #like #what the heck #where did this come from #raph is a good bro fight me

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ghcstpyre · 8 months ago

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it's 1am. im stoned and sleepy but the fic is cooking so hard it's on fire. we're at 5k words now. do i roll one last j to take to bed with me or do i roll one last j and continue writing?

#weed mention #anyway happy 4/20 guys!#i've smoked 7 joints today. absolutely outdone myself with them all #im gonna have the biggest weed headache tomorrow but so worth it #im gonna look at the amount of weed i have tomorrow and weep probably lol #either way im ending tonight with one last j #anyway this one shot is literally the longest thing i've ever written #if only i could've put this much effort and time into school when i was there lol #m: ash speaks.

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cosmically-powered-starscream · 2 years ago

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Just finished editing chapter 6 out of 7 and hit the 27K mark in the process.

I know it's probably not the longest fic anyone's ever seen but my God, do I feel absolutely unhinged for this word count.

I'll definitely need a break after this, ahaha

#fic posting #chasing stars series #I do one last re-read before posting but the word count doesn't change too much in those cases #I'm once again stating this is the longest thing I've ever written #English is not even my first language #I hope all my English teachers I've ever had are proud of me for using the skills they taught me for writing about alien robots in love #though I have two more ideas for one-shots but they are... dirty #one is soft dirty and the other is just... dirty dirty #well we'll see

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spicyspiders · 1 year ago

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open the door to another door

5+1 Ghost/Reader + Size Kink

13k words (the longest fic I've ever written).

Warning for canon-typical violence and lots of smut.

Thank you so much @stupidslavicguy for being my beta for the story :) <3

Simon was a giant man, so it really shouldn’t be all that surprising he had a dick to match his stature. It was long, thick, and slightly curved to the left. The color of it almost matched Simon’s face too, a fact that you were sure would make it hard in the future to look at him and not think of.

“Woah,” you breathed, mentally kicking yourself for such a stupid reaction. You pulled your eyes away to look at Simon, a small smile stretching out your lips.

“Sorry,” Simon murmurs in response, a blush darkening his face.

“Sorry? For what?” Your hands cupped Simon’s face so your eyes could meet his.

“I haven’t always gotten,” he pauses and lets out a sigh, “the best reaction,” he finishes, the words coming out quickly.

“It’s,” you look back down, “intimidating I’ll admit,” your eyes go back to Simon’s before continuing, “but we get shot at almost daily. “This,” you take one of your hands away and wrap it around the hard length, “isn’t going to scare me off.”

Simon lets out a breathy noise as you give a slow pull on his cock, “yeah?”

“We’ll just have to go slow until I can take it all.”

“You still want it? All of it?” Simon asks, his hips pushing forward as your pace goes faster.

“Yeah–” Simon cuts you off as he swoops down to press his lips to yours. Your teeth clack together, but Simon makes it easy to ignore the pain as the sound of the moan he lets out fills your ears. Your lips stay locked even as Simon pushes you back, and then onto the bed when it hits the back of your legs.

“I’ll make it good,” Simon breathes as he gets your pants and underwear down. His mouth is against yours once more as he wraps one of his large hands around both of your cocks, “get you open and ready,” he says when he pulls away again.

“You’re gonna ruin me for anyone else,” you say around a moan. You couldn’t tell the future but were almost 99 percent sure of it.

“That just means I get you all to myself,” Simon’s head moves down to your neck to suck a dark bruise into the flesh. His fingers tighten and your hips jump as you feel the edge approach.

Simon lets out a shaky breath against the skin of your neck before his mouth is at your ear, “you can help me too,” he whispers into your ear. “I can never get the angle right when I try it myself.”

“Fuck, Simon,” you moan, one of your hands going to his hair to pull his face up so you can smash your lips on his, “gotta show me,” you say when you pull away. You fall over the edge to the thought. At first, it was building to the feel of his cock against yours, and knowing that soon, his big cock would be inside you. But now, it was also to the images flashing through your mind of Simon laid out on his bed with his thick fingers pressing deep inside himself, and his sweaty forehead pressed against his bedspread as he tried to get his fingers against his prostate.

Simon came after you did in white splatters against your chests. You almost immediately regretted not getting your shirt off as most of it ended up on your chest, “sorry,” Simon whined as his cock pulsed and shot out white ropes, one of them just missing the bottom of your chin.

“Was the hickey not enough?” You question, looking down to watch Simon’s cock shoot out spurts of white. “You’ve got to mark me like this, too?”

“Can’t help it,” Simon whimpers as the aftershock takes over. Your cock gives a twitch when the last of his mess ends up dripping onto your cock. He ducks his sweaty forhead into the crook of your neck to press against the mark he left there.

“I’m only teasing,” you respond, and place one of your hands to the back of Simon’s neck to run your fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “As long as the others don’t see.”

You let out a grunt as Simon lets his heavy weight rest on top of yours. He lets out a sign of contempt that nearly sounds like a purr, “you think they’ll get jealous?” He asks.

You laugh quietly, “we’d probably just never hear the end of it.”

Mouth

For the time being after that, you tried your best to keep what you had to yourself. As you suspected, it was easier said than done. It’s not like you were fooling around in other places around the base that weren’t your respective bedrooms, so you wouldn’t have to worry about that. What you did have to worry about was things that were more out of your control, like the absolute looks of longing you could see on Simon’s face whenever you would catch him staring.

Gaz and Soap were the first ones to pick it up. You honestly thought what gave it away was the dark mark on your neck Simon had left a week before, but it wasn’t until after it had healed that you were cornered by them.

It nearly looked like something from a horror movie the way they had matching smiles on their faces as they backed you into the corner of the kitchen. So close, yet so far from the pick-me-up you needed after rolling out of bed.

You turned, armed with a mug and a few hours of sleep as you heard them walk up behind you, “I was about to knock you out! Don’t sneak up on me like that,” you hissed, your other hand covering your racing heart.

“You wouldn’t have gotten us both,” Gaz nodded at Soap, “it’d break on his hard head.”

Soap swatted at the back of Gaz’s head, his smile falling from his face. However, When he looked back in your direction, it was back.

“Was Simon too tired to come with you to the kitchen?” Soap questioned.

“I haven’t seen him today,” you glanced over at Gaz, “I just woke up.”

“Didn’t you wake up next to him?” Gaz asked.

Your brows furrowed as you looked between the two men and let out a laugh before responding, “I don’t have sleepovers like you two do.”

“They’re not sleepovers!” They both respond, making you laugh harder.

“Sorry, sorry. I forgot you call it spending the night,” you say as you set the mug down.

“You still haven’t come to one, but we understand now,” Gaz says, and the two share a glance.

If it was possible, your eyebrows would go lower to show your confusion, “understand what?”

“You can’t come,” Soap’s smile grows into a toothy smile, “because you’re dating,” he proclaims loudly.

You slap a hand over his mouth, “we aren’t dating,” you hiss. Soap’s eyes go wide before they fill with mischief, “if you lick my fucking hand I’ll–”

“Easy,” Gaz says, one of his hands going to your shoulder, “we’re just wondering,” Gaz pulls his hand away when you glare at him.

Soap pulls your hand away from the wrist, “we’re just happy we didn’t need to have the intervention we were planning.”

You don’t even want to ask, and you blame it on your lack of sleep when you feel your mouth form around the question, “intervention?”

“We could only watch the man pine for so long,” Soap responds.

“Pine?”

Not even answering your question, Gaz responds, “you both can come the next time we spend the night,” his voice full of excitement.

“Like a double date?” You ask, a slow smile stretching out over your face as you look between the two men. “He can only pine for so long!” You yell at their backs as they both turn and quickly leave.

Compared to Soap and Gaz, when Price finds out and speaks to you about it, it’s much more awkward.

It happens in the same place, but you’re a lot less cornered. If you wanted to, you could have just left and avoided the conversation, but it was better to just rip the bandaid off you guess.

“So,” Price says, dragging the word out, “you and Simon.”

“Oh my god,” you say into the cabinet, “you too?” you ask as you slam your mug down onto the counter.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he clears his throat before speaking again, “as long as you two are happy,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Thank you for your blessing,” you respond sarcastically before turning to grab another mug.

“Is that for Simon?” Price asks after you set the other one down. The smile you can hear in his voice has you tempted to throw it at him.

“You’re going to the kitchen next time,” you say once you’re back in your bedroom and away from Price and the stupid smile plastered on his face.

“That bad, huh?” Simon asks from the bed. He looks way too good for someone who just woke up with his sleep tousled hair and sleepy eyes. “Where’s yours?”

“I changed my mind,” you say, placing the mug on the bedside table on Simon’s side of the bed.

“Want some of mine?” He asks.

“I’m okay,” you respond, sending Simon a tired smile. It was like all of your energy drained away once you had gotten out of the kitchen. Waiting for the inevitable conversation with Price after the one you had with Soap and Gaz had you on edge, so now that it was all over, you just wanted to sleep it off and gain your energy back.

It was still early in the morning and the sun had just started to rise for the day, so the only thing that illuminated the space was the lamp on your side of the bed. The warm glow made you sleepy, and the feeling only intensified when you were back under the covers.

“I didn’t add anything to it,” you laid your head onto Simon’s shoulder, “had to get away from Price,” you said around a yawn.

‘I guess that’s kind of my fault,” Simon places the mug down lightly before the arm you’re laying against rises to wrap around your shoulder.

“They did say something about you pining, but I think we’re both to blame,” you smile up at him sheepishly.

“I wasn’t pining,” Simon responds, scoffing. He looks down before a small smile appears on his face, “I’m surprised you didn’t pick up on it,” he says quietly.

“You’re not exactly easy to read,” you say, laughing fondly. “I thought you hated me at first.”

“You might’ve been reckless and headstrong and rushed into danger-”

“Okay!” You say, ducking out from under Simon’s arm to sit all the way up, “but?” You ask, waiting for Simon to say all the great things about you. After all, you get all of your tasks on missions done, no matter how you tend to rush into danger and be reckless and headstrong like Simon just said.

“But?” Simon asks in confusion. The expression melts away into a grin when you jab an elbow into Simon’s side, “but,” he rubs at his side, “you always come out on top. No matter how much it terrifies me.”

His voice sounds like he wants to say more, but his mouth clamps shut and his eyes fall to his lap. You wait for him to continue, but before he does, he grabs at your wrists to pull you over into his lap. Your knees end up on either side of his legs, tangled in the sheets that pool around you.

“On our first mission after you joined the task force,” Simon begins quietly, his eyes glued to the shirt you wore to bed, “when you pushed Johnny out of the way and took that bullet for him, for all of us,” he goes quiet again, one of his hands moving to your shoulder where the scar is, “I sat outside your room while you rested, waiting for you to heal.”

You don’t remember much of that moment, only remembering the bang out of the gun before you were tackling Soap onto the ground. It was all a blur after that, the pain medication making everything spotty and difficult to remember.

What you could remember, or what you actually should say what you now realized from Simon’s words was that the shadows under your door that you thought you had been hallucinating in a medication filled haze was actually Simon.

“I thought you were a monster outside my door.”

“No, just me,” he runs his fingers softly over the cotton covering the scar, “Johnny kept laughing at me when he and the others would come check up on you,” he says quietly.

“That was months ago, Simon,” you whisper, your fingers running back and forth along the back of his neck.

“You’re still the same old guy,” Simon’s voice finds that same fondness again as his hand moves from your shoulder to cup your face, “but you’re mine now.”

You moved your hand from his neck to place it on top of his, “not much has changed, I guess,” you moved forward to press your lips to his to keep your mouth occupied and to keep it from saying the words at the tip of your tongue.

Kissing doesn’t help, it actually only makes it worse. You love Simon, and you’re all his.

You try again with another kiss, only to be met with the same outcome. At least while your mouth is occupied, it gives you less of a chance to let the words spew forth.

Simon’s tongue tastes mainly of the tea he just drank, but also with a hint of minty toothpaste. He must’ve ducked out of your bedroom to brush his teeth while you were in the kitchen trying to avoid Price. You made a mental note to ask Simon what the combination tasted like. Maybe the minty taste would be hardly noticeable as it was washed away by the tea, or maybe it would combine to taste like how orange juice and toothpaste do. The thought makes you shudder.

“Feel good?” Simon asks when he pulls away,

“Yeah,” you breathe. You weren’t about to tell Simon that your reaction was to the thought you just had, and not his tongue.

His hand moves to the back of your neck to pull you back into another kiss. His tongue was quicker than it was before to make its presence known. Simon’s cock also follows suit when you feel it poke at your hip.

“Feel good?” You parrot, smirking when you see just how pink Simon’s face is.

You press your lips to the redness on Simon’s cheek before moving down to his neck. You’re tempted to do what he had done and leave a mark, but you had other wants. Instead, you simply press a kiss to one side, but let your lips linger. You pull away, but not before dragging your lips across his pulse before continuing lower.

Simon’s legs spread to accompany your body, his feet all the way on either side of the bed. “Can I take these off?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes.

Wordlessly, Simon nods before he raises his hips to make it easier.

“No underwear,” you softly laugh once his shorts are gone. Laughing is an easy coverup to the nervous feeling that runs through your body. He wasn’t even fully hard, yet his cock was still impressive. And now, kneeling between his legs, this is the closest you have been to the largest cock you have ever seen.

“Can I-”

“Anything,” Simon breathes, cutting you off, “you can do anything you want,” he ends, his cock giving a twitch against his stomach.

You hear him gasp above you when you run your hands up his thighs and through the soft hair. The next noise he lets out is a low whine when your lips meet the head of his cock. It soon begins to thicken and fill with blood when you go lower and run your tongue up until you’re back at where your lips just were.

You wrap your fingers around the base, the saliva from your tongue making it easy to bring your fingers to your lips after you take the head of his cock into your mouth. You wish you could take it deeper and get it into your throat, but the most you can take only has the head, and a little bit of the thick vein along the underside resting against your tongue.

Simon doesn’t mind, at least that’s what you assume by the noises he’s letting out above you. You hear the soft sound of his head falling back into the pillows as you try to go lower. Not to your surprise, it feels as if you’ve barely taken any more of his cock before you feel your gag reflex threaten to bring tears to your eyes.

To compensate for what you can’t take, your forearm lifts from the bed and your hand goes down to Simon’s balls. Your fingers roll his heavy sack and if cock wasn’t going to choke you, the load his full, heavy balls would shoot down your throat likely would.

Simon lets out a groan, the noise going straight to your cock. Trapped in the confines of the shorts you had worn to bed, the most you could do was spread your legs to grind your cock against the mattress. The feeling distracts you from the suction you had on the head of Simon’s cock as it pulls a moan from your chest.

Under the feelings of your hands and mouth on his cock, the added stimulation of the vibration has Simon’s hips twitching up off the bed. The action catches you both off guard, setting off your gag reflex before tears are spilling from your eyes a moment later.

To your astonishment, Simon’s cock spills onto your tongue as you pull away. The feel of it twitching sends a wave of want through your body to take it deeper into your mouth until you can feel it twitch and throb in the wet heat of your throat.

You suck in air through your nose as you try to swallow all that his cock shoots onto your tongue. As you lay still, swallowing bitter waves of his come, Simon too lays still as you listen to his muffled moans hitting the pillow. It sends a rush of affection through your body knowing that Simon isn’t trying to accidentally choke you again, and the feeling then burns into lust at the noise of fingers balling up the sheets as he tries to hold back.

You drag your hips into the bed as a reward for causing Simon such pleasure. You let out another moan at the friction to your cock, and Simon answers with one of his. His hands unclench from the sheets slowly as the aftershocks of his orgasm subsides, his cock softening on your tongue.

You pull off his cock with a gasp and then feel one of Simon’s hands on your shirt pulling you up. He moves to kiss you, but stops once he sees the tear tracks on your face.

“You okay?” He asks softly, his thumb running through the tears to wipe them away.

“Yeah,” you respond, sending him a small smile, “sorry.”

“For what?” He questions, his brows furrowing, “I made you fucking cry I-”

“It was an accident,” you say, quickly cutting Simon off, “I wanted to take more, but I couldn't.” Your voice goes quiet, but you’re not quite sure why you suddenly feel so embarrassed. You had just made Simon come hard enough to still feel the warmth of it in your stomach, you had no reason to be embarrassed.

“You’ll get there,” Simon pulls your pants down low enough to hook the waistband below your balls, “then I’ll fuck your face,” he pulls you into a wet kiss, his tongue mapping out your mouth so he can taste himself on your tongue. His fingers wrap around your cock to stroke at the sensitive flesh, “you’ll take it so deep I’ll come straight down your throat.”

“That’ll take a long time,” you moan and glance down at Simon’s soft cock before you’re pulled into another kiss.

“That’s okay,” Simon responds before giving you another kiss. “Wanna take my time with you,” he murmurs. His soft words are full of promise that sends a rush of excitement through your body that ends at your cock.

White ropes of come shoot from the head, coating Simon’s fingers, and like the first time, also his shirt. You moan into Simon’s mouth as he kisses you again, making it hard to breathe as you gasp and try to keep up with the kiss.

“You’re coming so hard just from my hand,” Simon observes quietly, “I wonder what it’ll be like when I get them inside of you,” his fingers from your softening cock to your balls. Two of them sneak beneath your waistband to rub at your taint.

Much like Simon’s had earlier, your hips twitch forward at the feel of his fingers. You groan, more of your come dribbling out of the head of your cock as your aftershocks end.

Dirty and spent, Simon wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest. Your soft cock rubs against his, pulling a gasp from each of you.

“You’re sensitive,” Simon observes.

You roll your hips into his, laughing around the gasp that falls from your mouth when Simon whimpers, “you are too.”

Hand

Wanna take my time with you.

Those words ring through your head every time you both have had a moment to yourselves after that. Your free time was sparse, and you wanted to spend every moment of it that you could with Simon. It’s not like you had time to get Simon’s fingers inside of you slow enough for you to take his cock, but you learned quickly that there were other things you could do that you could both enjoy.

You knew that you wouldn’t have time to slowly try and take his cock deeper into your mouth and then into your throat, but you also knew that your mouth could get his cock wet enough that Simon could fuck your fist.

Simon groans when you get back onto your feet and pull him into a kiss, “you like how it tastes?” He asks after pulling his tongue free from your mouth.

“Do you?” You ask back. You raise your other hand up to his mouth, “spit,” you command, not even letting Simon answer.

He spits into your waiting open palm, keeping his eyes locked to yours, “good boy,” you whisper as you run the wetness on your palm across his cock.

You had to be quick. You didn’t even know how long it would be before you were called onto another mission or task to complete. You had just gotten back from one just nearly an hour ago and didn’t even give yourself the time to pull your gear off before Simon was pushing his balaclava up enough to press his lips to yours in a heated kiss.

It was intoxicating seeing such an intimidating looking man all decked out in his gear knocked down and only able to fuck your fist as he chased his pleasure.

Your cock was hard and aching in the confines of your pants, and though one of your hands was free, you kept it where it was and continued watching Simon. Luckily, the display is something you can’t take your eyes away from, so you aren’t even wanting to touch your cock.

“Wish we had more time,” Simon whines before you press your lips to his to swallow the noise. He moans into your mouth and when you pull away, his lips chase after yours. He lets out a loud noise of protest when you step away, the noise making you let out a quiet laugh.

You come back holding a tube of lube, Simon’s eyes glancing down to it then back to your eyes. He stares up at you when you push him back onto the bed. It’s messy and the sheets and blanket are all crumpled, but you’re too focused on Simon to care.

Simon makes a low noise in his throat when your hand returns between his legs. The lube makes it much easier to stroke up and down his cock, and the squelch of the lube rings out through the room. You rest your weight on his back and hook your chin over his shoulder to get a better picture.

“Better?” You whisper into his ear.

Simon leans back into your chest and fucks his hips up into the circle of your fist you’ve made for his cock. “It’s a little,” his voice breaks off with a moan before he continues, “cold,” he whimpers, his hips pumping up and down.

You laugh softly before nipping at his lobe, “sorry sweetheart,” you coo, “I’ll keep some in my pocket so it’s always warm.”

Simon’s head falls back onto your shoulder when you tighten your hand around his cock. You’re not even having to move your hand, Simon’s hips are doing all of the work for you.

“What’re you thinking about, Simon?” You ask. “Are you imagining its my hole you’re fucking and not my hand?”

Simon lets out a groan and the vibrations travel down his back to your cock where you’re kneeling behind him on the bed. The stimulation makes you gasp and your hips twitch forward into the rough material of his gear.

“Yeah,” Simon moans, “thinking about your cock, too,” he says, his hips speeding up.

“Yeah? Where, baby?” You ask, the pet name slipping free on accident.

“In my-” Simon tries, but his answer breaks off into another moan.

“In your mouth, or your hole?”

Simon’s answer comes in the form of another moan as he comes over your fist. You stroke him through it until his cock begins to soften and he lets out whimpers of overstimulation.

You pull your hand away and Simon lets out another noise, the rest of his weight falling heavily onto your chest. You wipe your hand onto the sheets, trying not to grimace.

“Did you just-”

“You want me to wipe it on your gear?”

Simon’s head jerks up, the skin of his neck that you can see from where he pulled up his balaclava is red. He clears his throat before responding, “no,” he says quietly.

You press your smile into the back of his neck, hearing the obvious lie in his voice. Your smile falls and your body tenses when you hear the sound of movement outside your bedroom door.

“Get your gear back on, we need to go, Now.” Even when muffled through the door, Price’s tone sounds just as commanding as it always does.

Thighs

You could admit that it was frustrating not being able to take care of your erection before you were whisked away to your next mission, but it was always something that lingered in the back of your mind.

You could only let out a sigh when you heard the sound of Price’s boots walking away. Simon looked at you like he either wanted to cry, or he wanted to cry for you. You couldn’t help but feel annoyed as you looked down at him when you got off the bed, his soft cock still hanging out of his pants.

To occupy yourself, which actually meant to make your fucking boner go away so the others wouldn’t see it, you walked out of the room to the attached bathroom. Not every base you were stationed at had one, but fortunately, this one did.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say to Simon when you’ve come back in with a wet cloth.

“I wanted-”

You cut him off with a soft kiss, “we’ll take care of it later,” you say once you’ve pulled back. “Plus,” you run the warm cloth across his cock carefully before tucking it back inside his underwear, “I need this to go away, and hearing about all of the things you were going to do to me wouldn’t help.”

“You’re probably right,” Simon responds before he presses his lips to yours again.

Once you’ve been briefed and are in the transport, you feel Soap’s eyes on you. You glance over at him but quickly look away, not wanting to give him the reaction. You ball your hands up into tight fights, grateful for the gloves you wore to avoid the crescent moon marks that your nails would leave.

You weren’t in the mood for his or Gaz’s words or looks, you just hoped the mission would go without a hitch.

Once on the field, you let your frustration fuel your actions. You weren’t sure if it was necessarily smart or healthy, but it kept you focused.

To no surprise of your own, you get shot at, which is normal, and do some shooting of your own. What does take you by surprise is when you feel a sharp pain hit your arm. Soap takes him down as you quickly apply pressure to the wound. You let out a sigh of relief when you’re able to find the hole in the wall where the bullet ended up, that’s the least you could ask for.

When the mission is over and you’re back at the transport, you feel lightheaded, but you were going to blame that on how far you had to run, not from the blood loss. Under Price’s careful eye, Gaz patches you up lightly, knowing that it would soon be taken off once you were back on base before you took a shower.

“All good,” Soap says when Gaz is done. He smacks lightly at the bandage and you swat his hand away.

Simon, who was practically fucking vibrating with anger locks a hand around Soap wrist and pries it away. The noise Soap makes almost pulls a laugh from your chest, but you have more important things to focus on, like making sure Simon doesn’t fucking break Soap’s wrist.

“It’s okay,” you say to Simon, wrapping a hand around his wrist, “you know Soap doesn’t hit that hard,” you reassure.

“Hey!” Soap squawks, and this time, you can’t help but laugh at the noise. “Control your fucking boyfriend,” he grumbles, rubbing at his wrist when Simon lets go.

You pull Soap’s wrist closer with your uninjured arm and look over the skin after pulling back the fabric that covers it. The redness of Simon’s grip is already nearly faded, “you’ll live,” you say and let Soap pull his hand away, looking like an injured animal about to go lick its wound.

You try your best to ignore the boyfriend comment, but every time you look at Gaz and Soap you’re reminded of it. You’re reminded of it not because of the close proximity of the two men, but because when you look at them, you’re reminded of your own relationship with Simon. No, Simon wasn’t fucking cradling your wrist in his hand like Gaz was doing with Soap’s, but the affection they showed each other made you think of your affection for Simon.

You could now understand why they would give you such smug looks and then look at each other. At least you were actually injured, but you would let Soap have his moment. You shook your head and rolled your eyes at them when they looked at you. In turn, Soap sent a glare your way, but it quickly fell when you saw his eyes move away and look to Simon.

Once back at base after all of the excitement has gone down, Simon acts as if he’s your shadow. You even had to push him by the shoulders out of the doorway to close the bathroom door. Not that you didn’t want to shower with Simon, you wanted to have a moment to yourself to breathe.

The water at your feet runs red once you’re under the warm spray, though, it doesn’t take long for it to lighten to a pinker shade before it runs clear. You press your forehead to the cool tile and your eyes slip shut. You breathe in and out slowly, struggling at certain intervals when the water makes the wound on your arm sting.

You clean yourself slowly, slower than you normally do before you turn the spray off. You dry off and put a clean, dry bandage over the injury under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. A small jostle of pain runs through your arm as you put a shirt on, but you’ll take that over something that could have been much worse. Thankfully, it’s easier to put your pants on.

You let out a sign as you place your hand on the doorknob, not knowing what to expect from Simon on the other side.

He stands in the middle of the room, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s at least dressed down a little bit, with just his undershirt and pants being the remnants of the rest of his gear. He steps up to you quickly, panting. He must have been pacing, you thought, trying to let out the rest of his energy.

“I’m-”

“Don’t!” He barks, cutting you off. When you both flinch at his tone, he lets out a heavy sign before he speaks again, “just let me check, please?” He asks quietly.

“I just put on a new bandage,” you say, holding your arm out.

He inspects it closely, holding it in careful hands. You feel a laugh bubble up in your chest when he holds your arm up to inspect the underside of your arm. A smile makes its way onto your face, but when Simon puts your arm down, he looks like he’s about to break down. You don’t even want to think about how he looked when he was waiting outside of your bedroom door.

“Come here,” you command softly, opening your arms so Simon’s chest can fall onto yours as he buries his face into the side of your neck.

You feel his breath on your neck as he breathes you in and holds you close. His arms are almost too tight around you, but you don’t say anything. When the silence does break, it’s from Simon, “if something would have happened to you-”

“Nothing happened to me, Simon.”

You couldn’t see his face, but could practically feel his eyes looking down at your arm.

You brought your arm up to Simon’s head to run your fingers through his hair. It was wild and messy from where he had pulled off his balaclava. “It only grazed me.” After a few moments more of silence, you put some pace in between your bodies, just enough to place both of your hands on his shoulders, “I’m still here.”

“I couldn’t be here if you weren’t,” he responds softly, his eyes looking away from yours.

The words hit you hard, and there’s a voice in the back of your head saying you could say the same thing about him. When the words do come out, they aren’t the same as is, but you hope they put across the same meaning.

“I love you.”

Simon’s eyes widen as they look back up at yours. He claims your mouth in a kiss that has you feeling lightheaded again when he pulls away. “I love you,” he pants around the words when he says them, but repeats them over and over again as he backs you into the bed.

Simon wastes no time getting you naked before he’s ripping off the rest of his gear. When you’re both fully naked, you’re sent back to earlier in the day and you’re reminded of what you didn’t get. It gets you dizzy how quickly you get hard, but your hands stay wrapped around Simon’s neck as you keep kissing and kissing and kissing.

“Can I try something?” Simon asks, panting after he pulls back from the kiss.

It takes a minute for your brain to catch up and answer his question, but you give a quick nod after a few seconds. You sit down on the edge of the bed and watch as Simon opens the drawer to the bedside table and pulls out the bottle of lube you had used earlier. You almost expected Simon to get behind you on the bed and have a repeat of what happened earlier, but instead, Simon commands you in a soft voice to roll over.

He presses a kiss to the side of your neck after he gets on top of you, and you smile into the comforter when he presses another one to the other side. His hands bring your thighs together before you hear the sound of the lube being opened.

You let out a gasp when his wet cock is slowly making its way in between your thighs. Simon was right, it was cold. It heats up quickly though as Simon slides his cock back and forth in your thighs. His cock nudges your balls on each thrust that he gives, making you let out muffled moans into the bedspread.

When you turn your neck, Simon presses his lips to yours. You let out a noise at the loss of air, it wasn’t like you were going to break the kiss to tell him you had turned your head to breathe, not for him to kiss you. You could just breathe when the kiss was over, that would be okay.

When Simon pulls away, his hips still. You raise your ass up to be able to wrap your fingers around your cock, but Simon grabs your upper arm to pull it away.

“Let me,” he says beside your ear before his hand replaces yours.

“You’re going to crush me,” you respond, moaning as Simon bites into the side of your neck.

“Do you not think I’m strong enough to hold myself up?” He asks, laughing in your ear.

You knew he would be, but Simon was still a big man. Yes, there were times where the thought of Simon’s weight on top of you turned you on, but you didn’t exactly want to test out if you’d feel the same way after losing blood from an injury.

“We’ll see,” you respond, hiding your smile into the bed.

Simon’s huff hits the back of your neck before he keeps going. He grunts into your neck as his pace picks up. Occasionally, the slap of skin on skin rings out through the room, but each time the sound does, Simon slows down and places a kiss on whatever inch of skin he can reach.

It gets to the point where you nearly want to yell back at him, to beg him to go faster, but when you open your mouth to do just that, a moan spills out as your orgasm hits you. It comes as a surprise as you spill over Simon’s fist. You press your face into the bed to muffle your yells of pleasure as you’re finally able to have the release you craved.

You turn your neck again to breathe, but this time, Simon doesn’t claim your mouth in a kiss. Instead, he pulls his cock from your slick thighs and tugs at his cock. Your skin doesn’t even have time to cool before Simon is shooting ropes of white that land on your thighs, ass, and back.

For what feels like a long time, Simon stays kneeled above you, even after you fall onto the bed. You thought after you did, that Simon would rest his weight on top of yours and crush you into the bed, but the next time you feel him on you is when his mouth is on your thighs.

He licks at the skin where his come landed, continuing up your body until he reaches the small of your back. He does the same at the small of your back before he moves down to the globes of your ass. His saliva cooling on your skin makes you shiver, and you press back on shaky legs into his touch.

You doubt any of his come had landed on your hole, but Simon still spreads you apart licks with broad strokes. Your soft cock gives an interested twitch, still coated in the mess you made as you make a low noise in your throat.

Simon pulls away once he’s deemed you’re clean. Your hips meet the wet spot again, but you’re too tired to even move away from it. After he’s crawled back up your body, Simon does the work for you and rolls your back into his chest.

“I should probably go shower,” he murmurs into the back of your neck as he tangles your legs together.

“I’ll keep your spot warm,” you respond around a yawn.

Simon presses a kiss to your cheek before he leaves. You’re even too tired to crane your neck and watch his ass as he walks the few steps to the bathroom. You fall asleep to the muffled sound of the shower, missing when Simon whispers a soft thank you when he gets behind you in the bed, his spot nice and warm.

Just the tip

It feels as if Simon barely touches you for the next few weeks until your arm is nearly fully healed. Near the end of it, when your injury has scabbed over, it gets to the point you feel yourself getting hard when Simon lets his touch linger.

It leaves you feeling so fucking needy that you’re stupid for it. Stupid enough you convince Simon to spar with you. Simon was a big fucking man, and though he was big, his size didn’t slow him down. He was faster and quieter than most people expected, information that he used to his advantage whenever he could.

“Take him down!” Soap yelled from the side, stealing your attention away. You think Soap was still angry about his wrist.

Simon fixes you with a heated look that’s a mix of the glare he gave Soap, and determination. It takes everything inside you to not get hard.

Simon charges at you, but you stand your ground. You dodge out of the way before going back in, Simon had bulk and he was quick, but you knew you could use that against him. Or so you thought. He’s quicker than you are, easily getting his leg between your own to trip you up.

You go down hard. Though there was a training mat laid out, falling onto the arm that was grazed by the bullet a few weeks ago didn’t feel good. You don’t even notice the stab was broken and you were bleeding again, until Simon’s eyes zero in on it.

You glance down at it before you get back into position. You’re ready to charge, but Price places a hand on your shoulder, “as much as Soap wants to see you take him down, I don’t want you to get blood on the mat.”

You let out a huff, but you suppose he was right, “fine,” you grumble. You grab your towel and water bottle before exiting the room to your bedroom.

“This isn’t over,” you hear Soap say behind you, and don’t see the way he points a finger in Simon’s direction.

Soap jogs up to your side before he’s grabbing your arm, “you okay?” He asks.

“I’m fine,” you respond, trying to keep your annoyance from your tone. You shrug your arm from his gasp before you walk through your bedroom to the bathroom to get to the medicine cabinet.

You swat his hand away when he tries to help and he scoffs loudly before finally giving up. “Want me to beat him up?” He asks.

You make eye contact with him in the mirror before you look away to finish placing the bandage on your arm after cleaning the area, “as funny as that would be,” Soap’s face scrunches up in offense, pulling a laugh from you, “he took me down fair and square.”

“It was a dirty play,” Soap responds. He jumps when a throat clears from behind you, “see you later!” He says quickly and claps you on the shoulder before leaving the bathroom and exiting your room.

Simon watches Soap the entire time, only turning to look your way when he’s exited the room.

You walk out of the bathroom as Simon goes to shut the door, “don’t start,” you say once Simon has turned around.

“You were bleeding,” Simon says softly as he steps close enough to grab your arm to inspect it. This close, he smells of deodorant and clean sweat, it’s intoxicating.

“I didn’t even notice at first,” you place a hand on his face, “not until you were staring at it,” his face still looked stormy with negative emotions. “You were just trying to distract me so you could win,” you add, hoping that your joke would make him feel better.

It works a little bit with the small smile that appears on Simon’s face, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “you almost had me,” he says before he lets your arm go.

“Let’s finish it then,” you step closer until your chest is flush with his, “we’ve got the space,” you whisper against his mouth.

Simon opens his mouth as if he wants to protest, but you cut him off by mashing your mouth to his. He goes easily when you flip him around and push him onto the bed. Still connected at the mouth, Simon goes down with a grunt that breaks off into a moan when you push your tongue past his lips.

Realistically, it hasn’t been that long since you’ve gotten off, but without it being from Simon’s touch, it doesn’t take too long for your cock to be straining against the front of your shorts.

You were surprised you were even able to get him to spar with you. Maybe it was because Price, Soap, and Gaz were also in the room and he was trying to avoid Soap and Gaz from being able to make jokes about there being trouble in paradise. Or maybe it was because he missed your touch just as you missed his, even though he was the one that established this unspoken rule that he was going to avoid touching you until your arm had fully healed.

You had fun on your own, and even found entertainment in being loud enough for Simon to hear. There had also been times where it excited you over the idea of being caught, and whenever the feeling hit you, so did your orgasm. The clarity that came afterwards nearly made you forget, but it would always rush back when Simon would enter the room.

It was always pretty obvious what you had been doing, from the salty smell of your come in the air, to sweat that shone against your skin as you cooled down from your high. You thought that the site would bring Simon closer, but it only made him keep his distance. It hurt at first, but after picking up on the looks he would give you and the way his chest would expand slowly after he would enter the room, like he was trying to relieve what you were just doing through the smell alone, it just made you want him even more.

It drove you crazy with want and frustration, but at least Simon felt the same.

“Don’t want to hurt you,” Simon grits between his teeth, like the moan he lets out is actually one of pain when you grind your hips down into his.

“I need it,” you whine into Simon’s mouth. Your need only gets worse when Simon’s hands go below your waist band to clutch your asscheeks in his hands. It’s a tight grip that’s almost too painful, but that pain is overtaken by pleasure when Simon grinds your hips together.

You pull back from the kiss when Simon’s hands push the garment away to have better access. You raise yourself and look at Simon with lust filled eyes as you pull your shirt off. Your shorts are more difficult than your shirt, but it becomes much easier when Simon rolls you over and he’s on top helping you get them off.

“What would you have done if you’d have gotten hard while we were-” he begins to ask when he sees your lack of underwear, but you cut him off with a kiss.

“Hopefully this,” you answer, sliding your hands up his shirt.

Simon claims your mouth in another kiss when you pull his pants off and throw them to join the pile of the rest of your clothes. He takes your lip with him with his teeth, “quiet,” he says against your mouth, knowing that you were about to comment on how he didn’t have underwear on either.

You wrap your legs around his hips, high enough that when Simon grinds forward, his cock is sandwiched between your asscheeks. When he pulls back and brings his hips forward again, you both groan as the slick head of his cock catches on your hole.

On the second pass of the head, his hips still, making you whine in protest, “please.”

Simon groans like your words hurt him, “I can’t. I haven’t gotten you ready with my fingers,” he says, his hands cradling your face.

“Just the tip?”

“Just the tip?” Simon parrots, his eyes light up, like your question caused a lightbulb of realization to light up above his head.

If you thought it was crazy convincing Simon to spar with you, it felt as if you were out of your mind when he pushed your legs down and rolled you over.

You lay with bated breath for Simon and bring your ass back closer to Simon. You arch your back and you’re almost to the point of losing all self respect and pulling your hands free from under the pillow and bringing them to your asscheeks and spreading them open.

“Breathe,” Simon whispers into your ear after he leans down.

You don’t even realize how tense you’ve become until Simon’s whisper hits your ear. You let out a whine into the pillow when Simon’s cock is on your hole, rubbing the moisture of his precome around your hole. To add to it, Simon spits on your hole and rubs it around the tight pucker with the pad of his finger.

You both gasp when he finally presses the head inside, “so tight,” Simon moans, his body blanketing yours. The sheen of sweat on your body makes it hard, but he grips your hips tightly in a bruising grip, keeping you still.

You squirm against his grip, trying to get his cock deeper, even though you know you shouldn’t without the proper preparation. You could feel that your orgasm was there, all it needed was a little push.

“Stop!” Simon holds you down into the pillow by the back of your neck, his tone sharp.

His words make you freeze and you clench around what’s inside you. It makes Simon groan and pull his hand away to instead put it on the middle of your back. His other hand moves from your waist to below his cock. In between your balls and his cock, he presses his fingers to your taint.

You come with a yell into the pillow, Simon’s hand pressing you down into the bed as you shake from the intensity. His other hand moves the tiny distance from your taint to wrap around his cock.

He leans down into the crook of your sweaty neck to muffle his moans as he strokes his cock. It doesn’t take him long for him to come and once he does, you moan when you feel his spend hit your hole. Some of it goes in your hole, but the most of it splatters and leaks out, going down your taint right where his fingers just were.

“You’re filthy,” he says, his voice deep and rough.

You turn your head to pant open-mouthed, your cheek against the pillow. You wanted to repeat the same thing right back at him, but your brain has difficulty getting your mouth to get the words out.

Your brain finally does catch up when you feel the bed shift as Simon leans down to lick at your hole. “You’re fucking filthy.”

“At least I clean up the messes I make,” he says before going back in. Unlike last time, his tongue goes inside as he licks out the mess his cock made. He groans deep in his chest when you bring one of your hands back to his head to get his tongue deeper.

When Simon deems you clean, your hole now wet with spit, you pull him by the hand in his hair up to where you can get your lips against his. You make a noise into his mouth when his tongue presses inside, past your teeth until his tongue is against yours.

“We should probably go shower,” Simon murmurs, though he really doesn’t look like he wants to, laying on the pillow beside yours.

You run a hand down his back. You’ll get up and take a shower after you’ve rested your eyes for a little bit. You feel Simon press his lips to the bandage on your arm before you feel the weight of his arm around your body as it pulls you closer.

Hole

Normally, when it was time for you to go home, you were always excited to finally get back, but when Price finally told you that it was time for a much needed break that wasn’t on base, you were terribly nervous.

You thought it would be okay, it’s not like you and Simon had spent every waking moment together, but the feeling that hit you when Simon turned in the opposite direction of your bedroom to go pack up his own, you knew it wouldn’t be okay.

You stayed silent when Simon came back into the room with one of his suitcases, and when he went into your dresser to pull out a few of the shirts he brought from his room to yours, you bit hard into your lip, fearful of what might come out if you opened it.

“I don’t have much, but I hope you’ll have the space for it,” he says as he folds the clothing before placing it in the bag.

You froze from your place beside him, wondering if you heard what he said correctly, “what?”

“Do you have space in your closet? Or I can shove it in a drawer if you need me to,” he answers, not looking up from the suitcase as he finishes folding his clothes.

“Yeah,” you shake your head softly and smile down at your hands as they rested on the clothes you still had to fold, “I’ve got plenty of space.” The clothes could wait, you decided.

Simon makes a noise of surprise when you turn his neck and press your lips together. His hands move to your waist to pull you closer as he responds eagerly to the kiss. He chuckles softly after he pulls back and you chase after his mouth.

“We have to finish packing,” he says against your mouth.

“We’ve got time,” you respond. Not really, but kissing Simon was much more enjoyable than packing.

After the impromptu make out session that had to be cut short before your hands were down each other’s pants, it’s finally time to go.

You let out a dramatic sigh when Soap steps up to you to say goodbye. You can’t quite tell if the way his bottom lip trembles is actually real, or if he’s just trying to be funny. You pull him in for a hug before you can think more on it.

Gaz, who you had just hugged, joins in to sandwich your body between theirs. You nearly expect Simon and Price to join in, but they only stare at you. Simon just looks bored, whereas Price has a small smile on his face.

When you’re on the plane, one of Simon’s hands finds yours, and his fingers rest on top of yours until it’s time to get off.

Your key feels foreign in your fingers, but once you’re through the door, it all feels familiar. The air feels stale, but that’s something you could easily fix the next day by opening up the windows.

It’s nighttime. It feels oddly permanent the way night always does when it feels like the rest of the world is settling in. The world being your area, at least. The feeling really only hits you at home. Back on base, it didn’t matter what time it was, you could be whisked away at any time to do what was asked of you.

“I’ll save the tour for tomorrow,” you tell Simon as you walk through your house to the bedroom. You almost want to slow down to make sure Simon is able to follow you through the dark, but the sound of his footsteps stays close behind you.

You flick the light on and place your bags into a corner of your room. You grab your bathroom essentials before walking past Simon, letting out a laugh when you see the way he’s looking all around the room.

You wait for Simon to join you as you toss your toothbrush into the cup near the sink and toothpaste onto the counter, “you can finish looking around if you want,” you say when you hear Simon enter.

“I’ll wait for the tour tomorrow,” he responds as he wraps his arms around you. He hugs you to his chest for a moment before placing his toothbrush and toothpaste in the same spots you had. It makes your heart swell. When you arrived back on base, you didn’t expect to be coming home with another toothbrush sitting beside yours when you arrived home.

You help each other undress before you’re stepping into the shower. It’s wet limbs and pointy elbows under the warm spray. You expect it to get on your nerves when Simon ends up accidentally elbowing you, but it only makes you laugh. Even after it happens again and Simon’s face is going red (but that’s just probably from the heat), you feel nothing in your heart but love.

“Fuck,” you say under your breath after pulling the curtain back, “forgot the towel.” Your nipples grow hard from the change in temperature when you open the door and go through your bedroom to grab a towel from your bag. You could’ve checked under the sink, but you were going to wash everything in your bag anyway, so it really didn’t matter.

Simon stands naked in front of the sink brushing his teeth. If he wasn’t so fucking good looking, you’d be annoyed as he dripped all over the bathroom rug in front of the sink. You towel off quickly in the doorway before he’s able to catch you staring.

“Cold out there?” He asks around the toothbrush, one of his hands going to your chest to pad his thumb across one of your hard nipples.

You swat his hand away and step around him to pull on the shirt and shorts you also brought with you, “forgot to adjust the thermostat,” you say as you grab your toothbrush.

Simon’s toothbrush makes a soft noise when he places his back into the cup. You watch with a soft smile on your face as he places the cap on his toothpaste and puts it neatly beside the cup.

“Are you going to watch me?” You ask, your toothbrush held close enough to your mouth to smell the minty paste.

“Yeah,” Simon answers, saying it like it’s the easiest question in the world to answer. He grabs the towel you just used and dries himself off as you brush your teeth.

Back in your bedroom, you suddenly feel shy. Turning off the light makes it easier, especially with how sad it makes you to see Simon cover himself up. It’s only a pair of underwear, but still. In the dark, he finds your body as if on reflex and pulls your back to his chest.

Simon lets out a sigh, his warm breath tickling the back of your neck, “what are we going to do tomorrow?”

“Probably go get groceries after I check what’s left in the cabinets,” you respond as you run your hand up and down his arm.

“Good. I think we left the lube back on base.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” you say around your smile.

You feel Simon press a kiss to the back of your neck. It makes you feel crazy knowing just a few minutes ago you had been nervous, and now, you were surrounded with a level of comfort you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“I love you,” Simon whispers behind you.

“I love you too,” you respond before you’re falling asleep.

Soap calls a few weeks later.

“Hello?” You asked into the phone. The caller ID said unknown, you probably shouldn’t have answered it in the first place.

Soap’s voice comes through the other line. Yeah, you shouldn’t have answered it. “Hey!” He says, his voice full of excitement.

“Soap?” You hadn’t expected to hear from any of them so soon. “And Kyle!” You hear from a distance on the other side of the line.

You were confused for a second before your brain was able to catch up, “hey, Kyle. Hey, Johnny,” you say, a smile coming onto your face.

“How are you?” Johnny asks, “how’s Simon?”

“Good,” you glance over into the kitchen where Simon was, “we’re good. How’d you get my number?”

“Price gave it to us. He also told us to tell you that he was sorry. For whatever reason.”

You shook your head, your smile growing. You were sure you could forgive Price just this once.

“Price? What, not on a first name basis?”

“Oh, we are. It’s just that I’m the better John so I refuse to call him that.”

You’re unable to contain the laugh that bubbles up from your chest, “I miss you guys,” you say into the phone once your laughter has died down.

“Who do you miss more?” Johnny asks.

“You ruined it,” you answer with a sigh.

That sounded like he said Kyle,” you hear Kyle say.

You’re tempted to hang up once you hear them start bickering, but with it being the most entertainment you’ve had since you got home, (outside of Simon) you stayed on the line and tried not to laugh too hard. You didn’t need to be roped up in their lover’s quarrel.

“Trouble in paradise?” You ask.

“Fuck off!” They both yell in unison.

“Who was that?” Simon asks when you walked through the doorway of the kitchen.

“Kyle and Johnny,” you respond as you lean against the counter. It looked like a tornado had gone through your kitchen with all of the cabinets being open, but you just blamed it on Simon still getting used to where everything went. Or maybe that was just how he liked to put things away. You were learning new things about each other every day.

“How’d they get your number?” Simon asks as he chuckles.

“Our commander betrayed me,” you said sadly.

“You poor thing,” Simon responds. He closes one of the cabinets before he walks over to place a kiss on your cheek.

“Gaz said he wants us to go on a double-date together,” you go to help Simon put the rest of the groceries away, but really it’s just because you want to stay close to him.

“What kind of date?” Simon asks.

“Don’t know,” you smile as you think back on what he said, “he said he thinks we’re lame for the walks we go on and we need more excitement.”

“I like our walks,” Simon responds, a hint of offense in his tone. It would be so easy to fall into a routine of staying inside the house, especially after how tiring the last few months were on base, so the walks were a great way to get outside.

“One night out won’t kill us,” you say as Simon finishes up with putting away the rest of what was in the bags, “at least I hope it won’t.”

“We have plenty of fun here,” Simon responds. The placement of his hands on your hips after he steps forward goes to show that he’s talking about a different type of fun.

“That’s just with us-”

Simon cuts you off with a kiss that leaves you gasping, “I tend to keep it that way,” he says, his words full of heat and possessiveness.

It’s just another day when Simon finally gets his cock inside you. You weren’t really surprised though, it’s like you expected a grand romantic gesture with candles, rose petals, and chocolate. Truthfully, the only thing you expected was for a lot of lube to be involved.

Just from him getting you ready with his fingers, you feel fucking soaked from the lube. “Simon,” you whine when you pull away from the kiss his lips had you locked in, “we’re going to run out.” He ignores your words and swoops down to kiss you again.

“You didn’t buy any when we were at-”

“No!” You moan as his two fingers brush against your prostate, “I’ll never be able to get the lube out of these sheets,” you say as you feel the lube that drips down your taint joins the small puddle between your legs.

“I’ll clean them, baby,” he says against your mouth, “just let me get you ready,” he whispers. You both hold your breath as a third finger, coated in too much lube in your opinion, presses to your hole. “ So fucking tight,” Simon looks down to watch his finger go slowly inside, “not going to last when I’m actually inside.”

“You won’t be able to get inside if you use all the lube,” you bite back.

Simon chuckles, his other hand goes to one of your nipples to pinch it, “cheeky little fucker,” he growls. His fingers move in and out of you slowly, but at the sound of the moans you let out, the speed of the thrusts of his fingers increase.

“I’m ready,” you say to Simon before he tries pressing in a fourth finger. The thought makes your cock throb against your stomach. With the pace Simon was going, you were sure he would slowly work you up to it, to take his entire fist and not just three of his fingers.

The thrust of his fingers slows down before he pulls them out. Your hole feels open and ready for his cock, and you feel a rush of excitement when the wet head of it kisses your hole. Your legs tighten around Simon’s waist and you hold your breath in anticipation.

Above you, Simon’s eye clamp shut as he breathed heavily through his open mouth, “are you ready, Simon?” You question as you reach your hands up to cup his face, “we can stop if you want,” you say softly.

Simon leans down to press his forehead to yours, “don’t want to hurt you,” his voice comes out soft.

“I can handle a bit of pain,” you say, a small smile on your lips. You lean up to press your lips to his in a chaste kiss.

“I know you can,” he responds with a small, sad smile. He moves down to press a kiss to the scar on your shoulder, and then to the scar on your arm. “I love you,” Simon whispers after he comes back up.

“I love you too,” you say back, your arms wrapping around his neck.

Simon smiles again as he reaches a hand down to press his cock against your hole once more, “I meant it about not lasting long,” his mouth falls open as his cock slowly goes inside as he inches his hips forward.

“That’s okay,” you reassure, “I probably won’t either.”

“Yeah?” Simon asks, his cock still going inside your body, “I’ve wanted you for so long. Wanted this,” he moans as he finally bottoms out.

“This is all yours, Simon,” you say back. You clench down on his cock, the both of you groaning from the feel of it.

Simon pulls out almost as slowly as he went in. He keeps his eyes locked on yours when he pushes back inside. His balls rest heavily on your ass and it’s almost hard to comprehend that you finally get to have this. It brings you back to months ago when you first sucked his cock and the amount of come went down your throat. It’d probably leaked out of your hole as he came to join the mess of lube on the bed, but this was a stain you didn’t mind.

As Simon’s thrusts pick up, you can already feel your edge approaching. The fat head of Simon’s cock hits your prostate, bringing you closer and closer to coming. Your hand goes between your bodies to wrap around your aching cock to stroke to the rhythm of Simon’s thrusts.

The bed creaks as Simon fucks forward into your hot, willing body. The headboard bangs against the wall, and the volume of it matches the sounds you each make.

Once you start stroking at your cock, it doesn’t take long for you to come. Your other hand digs into Simon’s back as yours arches off the bed, like you’re afraid the rest of your body will come off the bed too. Your mouth falls open into a soundless scream as your cock shoots ropes of white up your chest.

Unaware that you closed your eyes, they open to watch Simon above you continue to thrust inside your body. You pull your hand away from your cock, the mess of your orgasm evident on not only your chest, but Simon’s as well. Mixing with your spend is the sweat on Simon’s skin as his pace increases before stuttering off.

Simon’s thrusts come to a halt before he switches the position but moving your legs until they’re on your shoulders. His eyes are droopy and filled with lust as he raises himself up onto his knees enough to watch his thick cock disappear into your hole.

“Simon,” you call, a smirk appearing on your face when Simon doesn’t pull his eyes away, “Simon,” you repeat. “Feel good, baby?”

Simon nearly folds you in half when he leans down to kiss you, his tongue fucking into your mouth like his cock was. He pulls away to answer, but all he can muster up as he moans is an enthusiastic nod.

“Gonna come for me?” You ask, your hands going to cup Simon’s face. When Simon starts up his brutal pace again, you almost think you’re about to get hard again as his cock goes deeper than it was before, but Simon’s stuttered pace continues before his head falls back. His hips come to a halt as his heavy balls draw to his cock as he pumps you full of his come.

Simon’s head falls to your shoulder as wave after wave of his orgasm washes over him. His moans turn to whimpers as his hips give an occasional twitch as the aftershocks set in. You don’t feel him pumping you full of his come like you had thought of earlier, but you can sure feel the way his cock throbs and twitches before it starts to soften.

Simon grunts when he moves your legs off his shoulders, his soft cock falling free from your hole. He presses a kiss to your ankle when he puts down the second. He falls down on top of you in a sweaty heap, your body having no choice but to take his weight.

It soon sets in how gross you feel from the sweat all over your body and the drying come and lube on your skin, but when you start to feel his come leaking from your hole, a warm feeling rushes through you.

You feel Simon let out a chuckle above you, “I’ll need some time before I can go again,” he says after your cock gives a twitch at the feel of his come leaking out.

“It’s not me,” you respond, one of your hands running up and down Simon’s sweaty back, “it’s got a mind of its own.”

Simon laughs again as he rolls off of your body and onto one of the pillows, “you okay?” He asks softly, one of his hands runs up your chest.

“Yeah,” you say, sending him a smile. You turn on your side to face him and place a hand on his cheek, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he responds as he leans into the touch. “I’ve never done that before,” he says quietly. “Never been inside someone, I mean.”

“Yeah? Have you ever had anyone inside of you?” You ask, your voice just as quiet.

“Just my fingers,” he responds, a blush rising on his cheeks below your fingers.

“I’ll take care of you like you took care of me,” you respond. Your cock gives yet another twitch at the fact that you’re learning you have been and will be Simon’s first. A hot flare of possessiveness and jealousy runs through your body all at the same time. Knowing that someone has gotten to have Simon in the way you’ve had him and made him feel insecure enough to warn you about the size of his cock makes you angry. You would make sure to never make him feel like that.

“I know,” he responds before pressing his lips to yours. Before the kiss can become wetter and more open-mouthed, he pushes you onto your back by your shoulder before he makes his way onto your chest to lay down.

You let out a grunt at the weight but you wrap your hands about him to keep him close. One of your hands traces imaginary patterns onto his back, while the other goes to his head to run your fingers through his hair.

“Before we go out with Johnny and Kyle,” Simon’s voice goes quiet and shy, “I want to take you out on a real date. Just the two of us.”

“We can do that,” you say around a yawn as your exhaustion sneaks up on you and your eyes fall shut. The last thing you feel before falling asleep is Simon’s smile against your shoulder and his soft lips against the scar as he kisses the skin.

Bonus

“Ready?”

Simon gives a nod against the pillows. You could tell he was nervous based on how tense he felt, but his face didn’t show it.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” you say to him quietly before leaning down to kiss him.

“Not nervous,” Simon responds, but his face finally gives it away when a blush rises up his face, “just excited,” he whispers.

You laugh against his mouth,” I can tell,” you say after pulling back, your eyes on his half hard cock. You run a finger from his balls to the head of his cock. Once at the head, you drag your finger through the precome at the slit, and when you pull your finger away, a string of his precome follows your finger.

That finger is the same one you use to work Simon open. You don’t use as much lube as Simon had with you when he first fucked you, but you made sure you had plenty.

Simon’s legs spread further, his feet nearly hanging off either edge of the bed. You run your other hand up and down his thigh soothingly when you press your finger to his hole, “ready?” You repeat.

“Yeah,” Simon whispers, and then your finger breaches his hole.

He’s tight and warm around your finger as you go slowly inside. You keep a close eye on his face as you work your entire finger inside. Simon looks more relaxed than you expected him to be, but it’s really only because he’s hiding any discomfort behind the action of biting his lip.

“Can I hear you?” You ask Simon before placing a soft kiss to his lips, “please?”

After Simon nods, you press another finger inside. His mouth opens as he lets out a whine, and when you crook your fingers, his whine turns to a loud moan.

A slow smile spreads across your face, “feel good?”

Simon nods, but before he can respond, you press your fingers into his prostate again, just to hear him moan again. He finds his words when you pull your fingers free and replace the two with three, “what do I do?”

“Just lay there and let me take care of you, baby,” you respond. “Want me to touch you here?” You question, running your free hand over his cock.

Simon lets out a groan when your fingers glide over his cock, “want your mouth,” he says, his hips raising off the bed.

You lean down and run your tongue along the length of his cock, starting at the root, and ending at the tip. You moan when the flavor of his precome hits your tongue, as does Simon when you run your tongue around the sensitive glands on the crown of his cock.

Simon lets out another moan when your three fingers are going inside of his hole. His hips move again, but this time, they’re moving to fuck down on your fingers. His cock lets out a glob of precome onto your tongue when your three fingers are on his prostate, and you press them to it over and over again to see if you can get some more of the taste.

Instead, what you’re rewarded with is his cock gushing come into your mouth. It catches you off guard, but you do your best to swallow down what his cock lets out as the sound of his moans fill your ears. The sounds make your neglected cock throb, but you keep in place until Simon’s moans subside and his hole relaxes around your fingers.

You pull your fingers free slowly and press a kiss to his hip bone when he whimpers. He pulls you up with a hand around the back of your neck to get his lips pressed to yours. Simon groans into your mouth when his tongue runs along yours, tasting himself all over your mouth.

“Your turn,” Simon’s voice is rough and gravely, way too low in your opinion for a man that just had his first prostate orgasm and should be tired.

“Are you sure? I can just-”

Oh, Simon was so sure. Sure enough in fact that minutes later, your cock is in his mouth.

He gets you sat on the edge of the bed and makes his way between your legs before taking your cock into his mouth. He had moaned at the flavor on your tongue when he had kissed you, so it was no surprise that when he got the head of your cock in his mouth, he was moaning around it as he tried to take you deeper and get the flavor further down on his tongue.

You gasp when he puts your legs over his broad shoulders, to make it easier for his fingers to dip further down between your legs. You open your mouth to try and question him to see what he and his fingers are up to, but all you can do is let out noises of pleasure as Simon’s fingers go past your balls to skim over your taint.

One of your hands sits stretched out behind your body, so you can stay up and watch the display of Simon’s lips stretched around your cock. The other hand goes into his head to run your fingers along his scalp, “so good, Simon,” you moan as your fingers run through the soft strands of his hair.

Simon looks up at you with his dark, tear-filled eyes. They spill over when your hips twitch forward, feeding Simon more of your cock when Simon’s fingers go lower to brush the dry pad of his fingers across your hole.

Your body bows over his head as your hands move to grip his shoulders tightly, trying to keep your body in place as your orgasm racks your body. Simon obediently swallows down what shoots from your cock as feelings of euphoria rushes through your body.

You open your eyes as your body uncurls from around Simon’s head, panting as you try to calm your racing heart. “Fuck, Simon,” you whisper down at him as you wipe the tears away from his face. Your soft cock falls from Simon’s mouth with a wet pop before Simon is joining you on the bed.

“You okay?” You ask Simon, his naked thigh resting beside yours.

“I’m good,” he responds, his voice rough. A few minutes later, when Simon has you laid on his sweaty chest, he lets out a sigh before he speaks again, “I got a message from Johnny the other day.”

You raise yourself up on your elbow to look at him, “what’d it say?”

Simon rolls his eyes before answering, “that he’s excited for our double date.”

You lay back down onto Simon’s chest, laughing as he lets out another sigh, “why’d you agree to this again?” Simon questions as his warm hand settles onto your back to run soothing circles over your skin.

#x male reader #x male reader smut #ghost x male reader #simon riley x male reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #ghost x male reader smut #simon riley x male reader smut #bottom male reader #also just a heads up the reader bottoms for most of the story except in the last part #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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rehmes · 3 months ago

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Nothing Solitary about Us : ⋆༘ Wriothesley / reader | headcannons . oneshot

‗ content / trigger warning: bigger story / reader background not fully mentioned, reader is a refugee, Wriothesley swooning (in his own way), thoughts of self doubt, fluff/angst?? Like a weird mixture of the two, not beta read, we die like Wriothesley's adoptive parents. ‗word count: 4k ‗ author's note: If you saw when I accidentally posted this the first time . . . no you didn't! Apologies if it's ooc, a little long, or has errors in spelling. English isn't my first language and this is the first time I've written for Wriothesley! Any suggestions to improve will be much appreciated! :D

Wriothesley could still remember the day he saw you, the day that you had come into the Fortress after, purposefully, committing a crime to gain some sort of refugee status; Why you thought to come to a prison, of all places, to receive such a thing baffled him the most. And it had baffled him for the longest time until you had told him why:

You and The Duke first met when The Duke wasn’t even The Duke; Meeting as cellmates in the Fortress, having been put in the same age group for practically everything that the Fortress had to offer at that time. Which wasn't a lot, and with Wrothesley’s lack of enthusiasm to even look in your direction, it made everything a lot more insufferable. But, Wriothesley didn’t know that; He was just intent on staying out of your way and not causing any more trouble for himself. Likewise, the thought of making friends with you did creep into his mind but so did the doubts that you might hate him after you figured out why he was sentenced here. So, it took a lot for Wriothesley and you to actually begin talking, despite being paired for a lot of the backbreaking activities. And, Wriothesley does still remember that day, too: It was after a tiring shift, where you were both thoroughly whipped out and about to crash at the dinner tables. You both had used coupons to buy food, and didn’t even have the energy to sit at different tables, muchless to open the containers containing your dinner. It felt as though every muscle in your bodies had been torn, limb from limb, muscle from tissue and bone, it was excruciating… and you were about sure you could appeal to the Iudex about this being considered some sort of child labor. Maybe even murder if they kept pushing you both like this. Luckily, you guessed, Wriothesley looked a little better in shape than you did, but he was not far lagging behind. With shaking hands he reached out to open his dinner for the night, to only pause and stare down in horror at what was on his tray. It made you nervous to even peek into yours, seeing the way Wriothesley’s face contorted; A corner of his left eye tightening, his eyebrows furrowing down to create visible creases along his forehead, and a scowl you’ve only ever seen when someone bothered him. A look of pure disgust.

Yet, you still checked yours away. You didn’t know that Wriothesley had glanced up to see if you had gotten the same horror as he did, and by some god awful prank (or pure disluck) you also had the conglomeration on your plate. Some weird, mysterious meat that sat on the plate, sometimes twitching like it was still mooing, sometimes resting as meat should rest. Equally unappetizing and making your hunger even more apparent, as you were tempted to taste the horrific creation that came out of that unsanitized kitchen. “You know,” Your voice caught Wriothesley's attention, as his had drifted down to the plate of food in front of him. His eyes shot up and barely met yours, “it could be worse?” You shrugged your shoulders in a joking way, giving Wriothesley an awkward look paired with an even awkwarder smile. He was a bit baffled at your conclusion, “It could be worse?” He questioned, calm and steady, confused and a bit curious on where you were going to go with such a statement.

In his fatigue, he had broken the one rule he had set for himself in this place; Don’t talk to anyone, don’t make yourself known, don’t make any friends. In his fatigue he didn’t believe answering you would be so wrong nor did he believe that you two would ever speak again after his point, so why not entertain you… and himself.

“At least they didn’t puke on our plate?” The joke fell from your lips with the weakest chuckle you could muster. Your eyes drooped and the pain was evident in the way your eyes shined ever so less than normal. Wriothesley was about to respond, yet you managed to get at it before him; “You know, where I came from, if you didn’t have a fire you had to eat your fish cold! Like, ice cold. And there was nothing you could do about it… other descale the thing and pray you didn’t just eat your last meal.” “Is that right?” Wriothesley cocked an eyebrow up, unsure where you had come from yet didn’t enjoy the images that came into his head. Well, one was particularly funny and it was the thought of you trying to bite into a frozen fish and hurting your teeth. Not like he wanted that to happen, maybe. “Well, don’t give the kitchen staff any ideas or maybe they’ll just import that from your weird homeland.” It had been a while since Wriothesley had laughed, and he couldn’t help but chuckle softly alongside you. The conversation was a ridiculous one, especially when first conversations usually went along the lines of introducing yourselves to each other. Yet, oddly to Wriothesley, it felt about right. And from that day, Wriothesley was sure he didn’t know of a day where he didn’t talk to you. Even if it started with a small greeting in the hallway or pointers on how to do a job more efficiently, small conversation gradually turned into the two of you chatting for hours eating lunch or dinner and even trying to talk after lights out. It finally felt like you had escaped your past and had a friend in a place you named your refuge, and Wriothesley finally felt like he had met someone (though this feeling was slow and gradually coming) that would accept him, despite his past doings.

Wriothesley interlocked his fingers, resting his elbows on the table, and nestled his chin on the finger net he had made. His eyes were softer than usual, yet that piercing blue. Back then, when you two had simply been inmates trying to work out your frustration and struggles with the world; Now, you laid on the couch in Wriothesley’s office in the fortress, with his coat draped over you like a blanket, napping. From outside eyes, you both would look like the perfect couple, yet he hadn’t even managed to ask you the question yet; But, he had an inkling you understood, just as he did, how he felt about you. Otherwise, Wriothesley couldn’t fathom why you decide to spend your nights in his office, keeping him company, when you could be in the nurse wing with Sigewinne or doing “orderly duties” for the fortress above on the surface. It made a small smile twitch onto his lips seeing you, you always managed to do that; But, it also bubbled the age old question in his mind . . . is this life good enough for you? Wriothesley is usually a calm man, a collected one, who didn’t often question why people came to the Fortress and simply gave them a second chance at peace – well, more frankly, at life. He understood how such a thing could quell the anger that simmered in convicts and made it his life work to make sure everyone was treated as fairly as they worked for. Yet, you? You were a different question. He still wasn’t sure why you had come to the Fortress in the first place, yet had deduced from several conversations you came from the Snezhnaya. Sure, he could go into the room lined with file drawers with the reasons why convicts had been placed into captivity, but that room was one, far too crowded for his taste, and two, he didn’t wish on peaking into your personal life. At least, without your permission.

Yet, still, the thought always crossed him on why you were here – by choice! Not that you walked in and checked yourself in, yet you committed many crimes to be noticed in Fontaine, trailed in court, then admitted to your crimes to be placed into the Fortress. The thought of doing such a thing made him cross his arms and lean back in the chair, his eyes more settled on your sleeping form and the way his jacket hugged the curves of your body. You always looked so happy on the surface, to see the sky and breathe the fresh air. Wriothesley wouldn’t want to keep you trapped in the Fortress. “I’ve never seen you so pensive before, Duke!” A voice suddenly appeared besides Wriothesley, causing him to jerk out of his train of thought. He sat up straight, a little suddenly, as he quickly turned to notice the all too familiar nurse of the Fortress: Sigewinne. The Duke played off his thoughts with a chuckle, “Ah, yes, well, I was thinking about something, Sigewinne.” He would half-heartedly joke, as the nurse gave him an all too unamused look. ‘No shit’, was what he was sure she was telling him in her head, but he only responded with a cool snicker. “Well, the tea you ordered from Liyue arrived at the Fortress and I came wondering if you wanted some,” The offer hung in the air, and Wriothesley knew the nurse would tag on a remark. “But it seems like you may need to talk out some problems.” She wasn’t an expert on human emotions, but she was better than spilling his mind to an inmate, Wriothesley guessed… or maybe even you. A pensive hum left the Duke’s lips as Sigewinne walked over, a hop away from skipping, and settled her tray with tea onto his desk. Promptly, she would nestle herself properly into a chair on the other side of Wriothesley’s desk, hands resting over her stomach and a pleased smile on her face.

“Go on, Wriothesley! I’m open ears.” Chimed the Nurse. Though only playful sarcasm came from the Duke as he poured himself a cup of tea, “Hmm, talking about my emotions? That seems like such a fun topic.” He knew it was needed, if not wanted. Even more so when Sigewinne didn’t seem too pleased with his half-hearted answer; As she pouted her lips and let out an extensive huff; “As the nurse, I care for everyone in the Fortress and that includes you too, Duke! Please, don’t make my job any harder than it needs to be.” There was an earnest tone in her voice, and Wriothesley knew she was getting better in her studies.

Even more so when she shook her head after his moments of silence, “Your eyebrows are frowned and your eyes rest everywhere but me or,” Wriothesley’s eyes drifted to you when Sigewinne pointed you out. You had shifted in your sleep, now laying on your back. You were peaceful; It made his eyes soften. He remembered when you used to have trouble sleeping by yourself, never feeling safe enough… Now you were sleeping like nothing in the world could ever hurt you. Like those fears of the past were nothing but fears. And they were; Wriothesley will make sure of it.

Sigewinne’s eyes had drifted off to you too. She was silent as she surveyed the way you slept and then the way Wriothesley lingered his attention on you. “You’re still debating whether or not to tell her, huh?” “And where did you hear that?” There’s the cheeky Sigewinne that Wriothesley knew. Of course, he knew her more caring side as the Nurse but he had a hunch that she also knew about why he had been so “thoughtful” – to put it colorfully. Though Sigewinne would shake her head and smile, “You’re very obvious sometimes! I think even Miss Clorinde knows!” That wouldn’t be good. Not at all. “Does she now?” But Wriothesley had to remain cool, collected. Now, it wasn’t that Wriothesley was embarrassed for others to know of his crush on you – well, by this point, it’s lasted so long he was sure he could dub it love, but better safe than sorry if you didn’t return his feelings – but he was simply cautious about other inmates knowing. After all, you were still technically one of them, an inmate. Your sentencing had been for about three years, maybe four, but you never left. You had chosen to stay since the first day you came, technically giving you a life sentence on your own will. So, if the other inmates know about the two of you – or well Writoehsley’s feelings – it could put your life in danger. There was a tick of silence again, something Wriothesley was rather fond of sometimes… like in this case. Yet, his eyes did not miss Sigewinne standing up from her chair and striding over to where you rested on the couch. There was a careful, cautious, way she held her hand out as she checked you.

“She’s still asleep,” Sigewinne noted.

And Wriothesley hummed in response, “I couldn’t tell.” Where was Sigewinne going with this, Wriothesley’s eyes narrowed slightly, though they were not harsh.

“Maybe she’s dreaming about you, Duke!”

Wriothesley is a hard man to crack. He was the Duke of the Fortress, a peacekeeper among the convicted, and yet sometimes when he was with you he couldn’t help but be that ever so lenient. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to confess to you after Sigewinne had come skipping into his office late one day while you were in her Medical Bay. It wasn’t uncommon, of course, being in the Fortress there were few people to speak to you with the kindness Sigewinne does; And you two often had conversations, even nights where you would have quote-on-quote sleepovers. Yet, today you went due to a headache. And, no less than an hour later, Sigewinne came skipping into his office like she had won the lottery – and Wriothesley half-entertained such a ridiculous thought. “What’s the good news, Nurse Sigewinne?” Wriothesley played along with her bubbly demeanor; Enjoying the change of pace from his slow, meticulous work which dragged on for hours on end. He swore to himself when he was half way done, he would go check on you, yet he was only a ¼. Luckily, seemingly, the news had been brought to him. “Well, they’re doing a lot better! It only appeared to be a headache due to not drinking enough water, but that tends to be normal.” Sigewinne reported as she came to a halt beside Wriothesley’s desk. “But, she also spoke rather colorfully about you!"

“Oh?” Wriothesley’s curiosity peaked, though a voice also nagged him about respecting your privacy. “Is that a good thing, or perhaps a bad thing, Nurse Sigewinne?” He knew she wouldn’t be able to tell him much, as there still was patient confidentiality, even in the Fortress. But, by the way Sigewinne’s face beamed and the way her hands animatedly rested upon her hip, he was sure she was about to tell him to shoot his shot… once again. He thought it was enough she had gotten the others to bug him about it, while also still placing stickers upon his back, but he couldn’t stay angered, or even annoyed, at them for long. Or at all. “I can’t say much, but I say you have a very good chance of landing her, Mr. Wriothesley!” Sigewinne beamed, and Wriothesley swore her smile went ear to ear.

Wriothesley was a private man, as private as one can get for being the Duke of a prison, yet you can always tell how he felt about a person from his actions. He was, and is, a man of few words … he always had been since you two were teenagers. And you never failed to take notice of it. Especially when he first began to give you some favor.

Of course, it was nothing too big, nor grand, when you were teenagers going onto young adults. It was small gestures that would brighten up your day ever so slightly more, like holding open the door for you or walking closer when a nasty group of inmates sent creepy looks your way. He had even gotten into a fight with one of them after they approached you. Wriothesley had walked away for a second, going to get you both your lunch, when he turned around to see the guy grabbing your arm. Seeing you wriggle and writhe under the man’s disgusting touch was more than enough for Wriothesley to send a nasty blow to the side of the guy’s head, which caused him to crack his head open on the floor below. It had been one of the few complications he had gotten into while at the Fortress, and he never regretted it. At least, that’s what he constantly told you and you had to believe his word. But, that event had been the first time that you felt some sort of pang in your heart regarding the, now, Duke; And it surely wasn’t the last. Especially after you were sure that Wriothesley was sending signals your way constantly by his small actions that always made you feel safer, closer, to him.

Yet, you had always had your own reservations on confessing to the Duke; Mostly having to do with where you came from, why you had left, and who was currently looking for you. You didn’t want Wriothesley, no matter how many times he defended you and said he would punch someone’s lights out if they messed with you, to get hurt because of the people you used to know. So you always waited for him to confess… and then tell him the dangers. But, day by day you compiled more and more reasons as to why Wriothesley might love you, and many more reasons why you loved him back. For one, he was a complete gentleman; To that, while he tended to be a little short and cold, he very much made it apparent that you could tell him anything, or even just lean on him if you needed. When you two walked, sometimes his hand would rest on the small of your back rather than your waist, and he would open the doors for you when you entered a building. Then there was the glares to the inmates who tried to mess with you, which was a little less fun to deal with, but a comfort nonetheless, and the visits to the Medical Bay he’d personally take to check up on your well being. There was, of course, a lot more that Wriothesley did that always made you feel special, more than you could ever count in a lifetime. And you were sure if things were different in your life you would have confessed to him long ago about the feelings that continuously welled in your chest, like a rapid river bashing against a dam begging to be freed yet never feeling such freedom. Man, wasn’t that poetic?

“Hey, we need to talk.” Wriothesley’s voice was like a net, catching your attention and bringing it to shore – bringing you back to the present moment and back to Wriothesley. You had been at lunch, having brought up your meal you bought with coupons up to Wriothesley’s office and was currently toying with it on his floor. You would usually be sitting on the couch, waiting for the Duke to spare some attention to you which he tended to grace you with more than others. (Seriously! You had watched Neuvillette have to sit and wait for about an hour or more to speak with the Duke as he finished up some paperwork. It was slightly painful). But, you decided to not test your luck that day and possibly stain Wriothesley’s couch with… whatever you were eating. Honestly, you were so lost in thought you had forgotten what they had served, and now looking at it, it was too much of a mess for your brain to piece together. “A talk? That’s never good,” The sly comment shortly dropped from your lips, a snicker across your face as you glanced up at the Duke. His arms were crossed in a somehow pensive and relaxed (you weren’t sure how that's feasible, but he made it work) fashion as he leaned back against his chair, having taken his eyes off of his work for the first time in a few hours. Unknown to you, he hadn’t been able to complete some of the papers that flooded his desk because his mind kept drifting back to you. You. God, you were so perfect in his eyes. Even if he logically knew that no one could be quote-on-quote perfect, he sometimes chose to ignore that fact for you. Only you, really.

“Nah, I think you’ll like this one,” Wriothesley continued, a chuckle present upon his lips that gave his stubble some light. When was the last time he shaved? The thought crossed your mind. You didn’t mind it, of course, you always enjoyed his stubble, it made him look more handsome in your eyes. But, even so, his looks weren’t enough to evade your skeptical side glance and the cock of your eyebrow. Even if Wriothesley snickered, knowing you had been checking him out a little; After all, he sometimes purposely lets his stubble grow out for you. Wriothesley was a man of few words, and even sometimes his words tended to fail him. So, there was a brief moment that his eyes lingered onto yours, and yours lingered right back to his. A beat, maybe even longer, before he stood from his desk and strided over to where you sat on the floor, kneeling down to your height. And, being so close, you could almost see all the words that were swirling in his head in his eyes; The regrets yet also momentums that wanted to pour out, yet he kept locked inside, as he reached a hand out and wiped a smug of food from your cheek. To others, his face might have seemed cold or indifferent, but you could tell there was some sort of attentiveness in his eyes that gave him away. It always had. And, just like Wriothesley, your own eyes and body always tended to give you away to him. The way your eyes crinkled ever so more when you laughed at one of his poorly delivered jokes. The way you always entertained the joke of Sigewinne being your shared child, much to her dismay, and the way you always naturally floated to his presence when he was in a room.

“You’re a horrible liar, you know that, right?” Wriothesley would tease, as a crinkle appeared in the corner of his eye. You knew what he was talking about and it made your heart flip. Both in a good way and a bad way. You would feel guilty putting Wriothesley into the fire that you had forged, which burnt down everything you had ever known beforehand. And yet, you were unaware that Wriothesley was equally as revered as confessing to you due to the likeness that the Fortress might become your shared home. He didn’t want that life for you as much as you didn’t want your life for him. And yet, despite that, Wriothesley was shooting his shot, as despite all the uncertainties that clouded both of your minds, there will still always be a shared affection for one another that wouldn’t fade easily, if ever. So, you snorted and confessed, “You’re not much better yourself, Duke.” Despite your mind screaming at you differently.

And, it was strangely peaceful to get that heavy weight off your chest, even if it felt like your heart was being crushed all the same. Though, if you were able to weather your own struggles with anyone, you know it would be with Wriothesley – in turn, Wriothesley knew that if push came to shove, you’ll be there to lend him the extra strength to deal twice the blow. And so it always felt right, in your hearts, for you two to be together. Yet, why did that new found heavyweight only grow heavier?

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prythianpages · 11 months ago

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Lay All Your Love On Me | Cassian x Reader

summary: Cassian is your best friend and best friend’s don’t thirst after one another. Best friends don’t get jealous. Best friends also don’t fall in love with one another. But you did.

warnings: mild angst; smut at the end; basically, mutual jealousy

a/n: this was inspired by ABBA's song. I'm working on a series where I dedicate a song to each of the ACOTAR men and you can find the masterlist here. I feel like this is borderline crack at some points tbh and probably the longest one shot I've ever written. Also, the amount of times I've rewritten this is insane so I hope you like this final version ❤

Adrenaline courses through your veins. The wind becomes your companion, offering a resistance that you always find yourself craving. It caresses your skin, leaving a bittersweet ache. Running is the closest feeling to flying. Though your wings, tucked behind you, remain, they are rendered useless and forever will be. Those sick Illyrian males, paid off by your own brother, made sure of that.

Sometimes, you wish they would’ve just sloughed them off. An Illyrian with no wings is a tragedy but an Illyrian with useless wings is a devastating tragedy. A fate that, unfortunately, all Illyrian females have to endure.

Heated frustration surges within you, spurred on by the luminous blue hues radiating from the siphons encircling your wrists. You shake your head and take deep breaths because you can not let those triggering thoughts win. You can’t let them win. The primal thud of your heart urges you to push forward and–

“Fuck, marry, kill.”

“Cassian,” you nearly hiss, though the flutter in your chest betrays you.

“Come on,” he says, a grin playing on his lips as he matches your pace. “Me, Az, and Rhys. Go!”

You slow down your pace to shoot him a sidelong glance and pivot, turning to run the opposite direction. Heat rises to your cheeks. You blame it on your exercise.

“We played this last night.”

Undeterred, Cassian picks up his pace to stay ahead of you, running backwards with ease. “And you didn’t answer me.”

As you both rounded a corner, someone bumped into you. Your steps faltered slightly before you caught your own balance.

“Oops. Sorry, didn’t–”

The Illyrian male who collided with you didn’t even have time to finish his apology, as insincere as it was. Cassian shoved him, sending the male plummeting to the ground with a growl. You swear you hear him choke on dirt.

“Watch it, asshole.”

When Cassian turns back to you, you arch a brow at him and he gives you a nonchalant shrug. You both know that male intentionally bumped into you. As one of the few Illyrian females who has defied tradition and trained extensively, the disrespect constantly thrown at you is no surprise. Though you’re no longer fazed by it, you can’t say the same for Cassian.

His gaze softens and grin returns, the wind tousling his dark hair as he maintains his backward stride. “Now, where were we?”

“Fine,” you say with a huff.

It’s not in Cassian’s nature to give up. You’ve played this game multiple times, introduced by Mor, with the inner circle on drunken nights. You were always quick with your answers but not this time. Not when your options were three of your close friends and among them, there was one you secretly or maybe not so secretly harbored feelings for. That and the lack of liquid courage you usually have at your side when playing.

“Fuck Azriel.”

Cassian’s steps come to a stop and so do yours, albeit reluctantly. There’s a glint in his hazel eyes as he looks at you. “I’m going to tell him.”

“Go ahead,” you reply because you don’t care if the Shadowsingers knows. He’s the safest choice of them all and he wouldn’t let this stupid game get to his head unlike Cassian. “You know that’d be your answer too.”

Both you and Cassian share a look because you’re not wrong.

Then, you both are turning your heads to find the Shadowsinger. Azriel stands at the far end of the training grounds, engaged in the rhythmic lifting of weights. Shirtless. The distance between you two and him is vast, rendering any audible communication impossible. However, the subtle play of shadows around his ears catches your attention, and as if sensing your gazes, he turns, narrowing his eyes at both you and Cassian with an uncanny perceptiveness.

Caught red-handed, both you and Cassian turn your heads away. He looks at you again. “So,” he starts once more and you bite back the urge to groan. At this moment, you’re almost inclined to reveal that you’d like to do all three to the Illyrian male in front of you.

“Who will you be marrying? Me or Rhys?”

It’s as if he heard his name being called. Rhysand prods gently at the shields of your mind and when you allow him in, you know he relayed the same message to Cassian and Azriel. You both head over to the sparring grounds, where Azriel is already waiting for you. He throws a sword to you and then to Cassian.

Cassian wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively and you slap his arm. He pinches your side in retaliation, a reminder that you’re not going to live this one down. He moves into position and you mirror him.

He lifts his sword, feigning a lunge that you counter with a swift parry. Your movements are both graceful and calculated, a testament to the years of training under his guidance. Meanwhile, Azriel circles around you both, a silent spectator.

Cassian’s strikes intensify, growing more precise every time. Your swords clash, ringing in the air. But despite your skill, Cassian is stronger, more experienced. Seizing an opportune moment, he lunges with a force that sends you stumbling backward. Your sword clatters to the ground as you find yourself seated on the training grounds.

"Did I serve?" Cassian smirks, offering a mock salute, his muscles flexing in a playful display. "Or did I serve?"

He twirls his sword with a flourish, unaware of the glare you shoot his way. With a determined huff, you gather yourself, reaching for your fallen weapon and swiftly rising to your feet. In a strategic move, you deliver a swift kick, sweeping Cassian off his feet and onto his back.

With a triumphant grin, you step forward, placing a boot on his chest to keep him on the ground. You press your weight on him teasingly, knowing that Azriel is not the only one watching you two anymore. Hazel eyes sparkle back at you with a mixture of pride and a subtle undertone, a hint of something more lingering beneath the surface, as your sword hovers just above his neck. It brings forth an unspoken tension between you both and if you hadn’t blinked, you wouldn’t have missed the way Cassian licks his lips as he looks up at you.

"You got served."

Cassian laughs as you drop your sword and lift your boot. You don’t bother to offer him a hand, wanting to bask in your victory as much as possible but much to your dismay, Azriel helps him up.

Thank you for humbling him.

You turn around to see Rhysand. His lips purse, suppressing his amusement. His eyes become unreadable as he dons his High Lord mask. A palpable aura of immense power radiates from him.

Beside him, stands another male, whose presence commands just as much attention as Rhysand. His skin is a rich brown and hair white. You’ve never met him before but you know who he is as Rhysand had informed you of his visit. It’s why you were conveniently training in Windhaven, despite your preference for the training grounds atop the House of Wind.

The three of you greet Rhysand first before bowing your heads in respect to the High Lord of the Summer Court.

“This is Cassian, general commander of my armies. This is y/n, one of our great Illyrian warriors and this is Azriel, my spymaster. They are all well equipped and are looking forward to working with your soldiers for the next two weeks.”

You’ve rarely traveled outside of the Night Court. You weren't a high fae like Mor or Rhysand so you couldn’t winnow and after the clipping of your wings, you couldn’t fly like Cassian or Azriel. So your friends were your main means of transportation and you were looking forward to working with High Lord Nostrus’s soldiers as it was a means for you to get to explore another one of Prythian’s lovely courts.

But now that you’re here, in their training grounds, you’re no longer looking forward to being here for the next two weeks.

Not when one particularly strikingly beautiful female soldier has set her eyes on Cassian and certainly not when there’s an unfamiliar burning resentment in your chest too strong to ignore. It flares every time her gaze or touch lingers too long. By the Cauldron, since when did every woman you see become a potential threat with Cassian? He is your friend.

A reminder that stings as much as the intensity of the burning feeling coursing through you. Though, you’ve never felt this way before, you realize that you’ve been more sensitive in anything Cassian these past couple of months–since starfall. It’s as if he casted a spell on you, one where you can only think about him. He’s your every waking thought and lingers as your final thought before sleep.

The feeling in your chest flares to a blazing fire when you overhear him praise the female soldier and the wooden sword splinters in your grasp, falling to the ground.

This is going to be a long two weeks.

“Are you jealous?” Azriel muses beside you.

“Me?” You say with a huff, kicking the evidence of the broken sword away. Of course it doesn’t go unnoticed by Azriel, the skilled spymaster. The corner of his lips quirk up but you insist. “Jealous? Never.”

You send an amused Azriel a glare before picking up another practice sword. Determined to not let your jealousy get in the way, you engage yourself in training the small group assigned to you. You were here for a reason and you’d give the soldiers under your command your all.

After a full afternoon of training, you were eager to clean the dirt and sweat off your skin. You were also eager to distance yourself as much from Cassian and that female before you did something you’d regret. Your bath worked wonders to ease every tense muscle. If you hadn’t been invited by High Lord Nostrus to dinner, you would’ve basked in the warmth of the water a little longer. The sound of waves crashing soothes you as you make your way to your bed, ruffling your damp hair with a towel.

Nestled adjacent to Cassian's and Azriel's quarters, your room stands vast and breathtaking. It’s also missing an entire wall. In its place, vines adorned with blooming dahlias weave along the room's edges, seamlessly bridging the gap between the interior and the great sea outdoors.

Your attention gravitates towards the bed, adorned in the softest silks, a sanctuary you can’t wait to sink into. Atop it rests a box, concealing an invitation to dinner and an outfit that differs greatly from your Illyrian leathers.

You find a dress. A pale blue masterpiece with a daring plunging neckline and high slits. You’ve never worn anything like it. The fabric is soft and weightless, its wispy texture feels like a gentle sea breeze caressing your skin with every step. You appreciate that it was backless to accommodate your wings.

Sitting down at the vanity, the jewelry that was in the box sparkles back up at you. You're touched by the High Lord’s gesture but you’re also wary of all his gifts. You settle on the most simplest of jewelry–diamond earrings and a sapphire necklace that reminds you of the siphons you wear. You have three in total but the one wrapped around your wrist is the only one you keep with you at all times. You save the other two for when you’re training or fighting to help you control your power.

As you step out of your room, Cassian and Azriel's eyes are drawn to you. You smile at them in greeting. Cassian's gaze lingers, a silent appreciation etched in every curve and contour he not so discreetly takes in. Warmth prickles at your skin, and an inexplicable spark ignites within your chest in response.

Azriel clears his throat, amused eyes dancing between you two. “Shall we?”

Cassian, as if emerging from a trance, regains his composure and grins at you. He extends his arm and you gratefully hook yours through his as he leads the way down the hall. You notice that he also switched his leathers into something more befitting the Summer court’s warmth. He wears dark navy linen pants that match Azriel’s but unlike the dark shirt the Shadowsinger wears, he chose a lighter colored one. The fabric is nearly see through, offering a teasing peek at the tattoos embellishing his chest and the defined muscles that lie beneath.

You feel his gaze on you as you walk beside him that prompts you to look up at him in question. He takes a moment to respond and finally with a sheepish smile says, “you smell nice.”

“Oh, thanks. I used coconut soap that was left in my bathroom,” you respond, a tinge of confusion and subtle disappointment coloring your words. At least it was an actual compliment unlike last starfall when all he said was “you look different.” Yet, it embarrassingly still had the same effect, leaving you blushing.

Azriel, walking behind you, can't help but let out a snort. Idiots, he thinks to himself. His shadows agree.

There’s a wide assortment of delicious food laid out for you all. Your lips quirk up when you catch the way Cassian’s eyes light up at the sight. You take the seat next to him and Azriel the seat across from you. High Lord Nostrus sits at the head of the table, gesturing for you all to dive in. With a snap of his fingers, the golden chalices in front of you fill with a sweet wine.

“I appreciate you all for your efforts in helping strengthen my armies.”

Cassian’s mouth was full of food and Azriel brought his drink to his lips, not keen on the idea of making small talk with the High Lord. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at your male companions, you muster a smile and turn to Nostrus instead.

“I believe we should be the ones thanking you for being such a gracious host. As emissaries of our esteemed High Lord, it is our sincere desire that our efforts not only strengthen your armies but also fortify the bonds of alliance between the courts of Summer and Night.”

“Of course.” Nostrus's turquoise eyes study you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze settling on your wings. The instinct to protectively tuck them in tighter behind you flares, a vulnerable self-consciousness settling in. "From my understanding, it is not common for an Illyrian female to train and fight. Am I right?"

“Yes, you are correct. But I am working closely with my High Lord to rectify that.”

Cassian, sensing your unease, swallows his food, and a reassuring hand finds its place on your thigh, offering a comforting squeeze. You're familiar with Cassian's expressive and caring nature through touch. However, his simple and sweet gestures, such as the way he’s touching your thigh right now, sends your heart racing instead.

"I watched you from afar this afternoon. You took down some of my best soldiers with ease," Nostrus remarks, and a gentle breeze from the nearby sea courses through the open dining room, sending a shudder through your wings. His perceptive eyes catch the movement. "Your wings are different."

The hand on your thigh tightens, mirroring the constriction in your throat.

"High Lord–" Cassian begins, a subtle warning threaded through his otherwise light tone.

Nostrus raises his hand. "I mean no harm. Truly."

His gaze remains fixed on you as he continues, "As you see, we pride ourselves on every soldier, regardless of gender. Anyone who swears loyalty to this court is held in great esteem. I protect them as much as they would protect my court. While I do not know your story, I now know your worth, and if the Night Court is not able to appreciate you, then–"

"The Night Court appreciates her just fine," Cassian interrupts, a protective edge slicing through his words. He hates Nostrus’s accusatory tone and ignores the warning look Azriel sends his way.

You place a hand over Cassian’s but keep your eyes on Nostrus. “You flatter me, High Lord,” you manage to say with a smile. “Though my scars may say otherwise, I can assure you that my High Lord treats me well. In fact, High Lord Rhysand is working on banning the practice of clipping wings so our future generations will not know the horrors enacted under previous rulers…”

Your wings, draped behind you, bear the burden of your trauma–the betrayal of your brother. You hate how sensitive you are at the mere mention of them. You wipe hastily at your eyes. Cassian, who refused to part ways with you at your door, stands silently beside you. Your haunting memories store themselves back into the depths of your mind as his movements catch your attention. It’s strange but comforting, the way he always knows when you don’t want to talk and are in need of a distraction instead.

But your cheeks heat up because you’re unsure if this distraction is a good idea. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Cassian grins at you as he continues stripping himself of his clothes. “I’m going for a swim.”

He winks at you as he kicks his pants off, leaving him in only his boxer briefs that are clinging to him in a way that makes your mouth nearly water. You pull your gaze away, hating the way your mind wants to drift to devious thoughts because you know what lies underneath. You’ve seen him in his full glory far too many times than you’d like to admit–each one of them on accident.

Your heart flutters madly against the fragile cage of your chest and you press a hand against it as if that would do anything to ease your racing heart. Because Cassian is your best friend and best friend’s don’t thirst after one another. Best friends also don’t fall in love with one another.

But you did.

He was your mentor before he became your friend and each passing year since then seemed to usher in a quiet surrender. Almost as if every step was an unspoken agreement with your heart, blurring in between the fine line of friendship and something else. You navigated the staircase of emotions, unaware, until you stood near the bottom. Instead of gracefully reaching the last step, the sudden realization of your feelings felt like a forceful tumble, leaving you to hit the ground and boy did you hit it hard.

The sound of a joyful splash resonates through the air, harmonizing with the playful melody of droplets that dance against your bare legs. You shoot a glare Cassian’s way, even though you didn’t mind, and you can’t bring yourself to care when he flicks a middle finger at you in response. You’re far too used to them to be bothered. Realizing that the water felt nice and warm, you nestle yourself on the edge of the floor. You hike your dress up and then dip your legs into the soothing waters.

Bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight, Cassian floats on his back, allowing his wings to carry him through the soft waves. Your gaze lingers on him, tracing the moonlit contours of his muscles. Another splash pulls you out of your trance and this time, the droplets reach the thin fabric of your dress.

“Come on, bibble!” Cassian exclaims.

Your glare returns, irritation flickering in your eyes. “I told you to stop calling me that!”

His grin widens, undeterred. “Won’t you join me?”

You respond with a swift kick, creating a splash that dances towards him. Regret settles in immediately as his eyes light up in the moonlight, holding mischief, as he swims toward you.

“Bibble’,” he nearly purrs, somehow making the stupid nickname sound downright sinful. He braces his hands on either side of you, the muscles of his arms flexing. His chest brushes against your legs and all you can think about is how nice he feels so close to you. “Why won’t you join me?”

You’re looking anywhere but him. “I don’t feel like it.”

Cassian hums, his thoughtful gaze lingering for a moment longer than you'd expect. You release a breath you didn't realize you were holding when he turns his head. It’s a short lived moment of relief because in a heartbeat, he pulls your legs from underneath you and drags you into the water with him. You’re splashing and writhing and like an idiot, your mouth opens in panic.

Cassian's strong arms swiftly encircle you, pulling you up from the water's depths. As you resurface, you're coughing and sputtering, water droplets cascading down your face. He chuckles while you hit his chest.

"I can't swim, you idiot!"

"Relax," Cassian laughs, his hands holding your hips firmly to keep you afloat with him. His expression, though soft, morphs into something more serious. "I’ve got you. I always will.”

His words unrattle something deep within you and you can’t move, can’t think properly. You can only feel. Your mind goes blank and eyes grow distant as you’re brought back to the night he first said those words. Right after he found you laying in a pool of your own blood. It was the night your wings were clipped. A hand reaches out to caress your face and his fingers rest on your chin, directing your focus to him.

Tears threaten the corners of your eyes. The desire to avert your gaze is strong, but he doesn't permit it. He needs you to answer him. "You know that, right?"

A breath catches in your throat before you finally manage to whisper, "Yeah."

Cassian's lips form a rare, softer smile. He draws you closer until you can feel his breath, sense his warmth. He kisses your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer and when he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. A thumb brushes gently against your cheek. His gaze dips to your lips and absentmindedly, his thumb slowly traces along your bottom lip. There’s a faraway look in his eyes as he’s lost in contemplation.

Your heart is roaring in your ears and there’s something singing madly in your chest because he’s never touched you like this before. Tell him. Your breath is shaky when you speak. "Cas?"

He holds his gaze to your lips, allowing the soft rocking of a wave to push him closer to you. "Yes?"

Suddenly, the night sky bursts into a kaleidoscope of colors. The unexpected spectacle and the resonating boom startles you, and on instinct, you find refuge in the safety of Cassian's embrace. If he weren’t caught up in the heat of the moment, he would’ve teased you for the way you are clinging madly onto him, legs and arms wrapped tightly around him.

"Wow," you exhale, the initial shock giving way to a relaxed sense of awe.

The fireworks continue to bloom overhead, their vibrant hues reflecting in your wonderstruck eyes. You gradually unwrap your legs from around Cassian, and your arms loosen their hold around his neck. Yet, he maintains a firm grip on your hips.

“Beautiful.”

You hum in agreement, and when you turn back to Cassian, you realize his gaze has never wavered from you throughout the entire display. "What were you going to say?"

"What?"

"What were you going to say earlier…"

"Oh, that," you stammer, panic subtly seeping in, eyebrows furrowing slightly. The courage you once possessed to voice your feelings has dissipated in the wake of the unexpected interruption. “Um, can you teach me how to swim?”

His gaze lingers on you. It’s as if he knows those were not the words you were going to say but he doesn’t push you on it. “Sure,” he says instead and clears his throat, looking away. “But maybe another night?”

“Why?”

You regret your question as soon as you ask it, eyes widening when you feel why. There’s something hard poking at your stomach. You freeze up, not knowing what to do, inadvertently making matters worse. Though the night is dark, the moon glows bright enough for you both to notice your peaked nipples as the thin light fabric of your dress is completely see through in the water.

“Stop staring!” You cry out, using one of your hands to splash water onto him. If he weren’t your lifeline, the only thing keeping you afloat in these deep waters, you would’ve shoved him under water.

Cassian snaps out of it with a flinch, blinking away the salty droplets of water that splashed into his eyes. “I was looking respectfully!”

“Respectfully my ass!”

“I mean, I could look at that too.”

You shoot him a glare, hating the way his words have your insides in a frenzy. He doesn’t seem to care about his obvious arousal poking at you and you don’t have it in you to tease him as you’re desperately trying to hide yours, praying that the vast sea surrounding you is enough to mask your scent. Your hands are grasping out for the vines that run along the edge of the tiles as soon as you can reach them, using them to guide you back into the safety of your room.

You pause before you hoist yourself back up, turning to look at a clearly amused Cassian.

“Turn around.”

“Oh, come on,” he chuckles but saves you further embarrassment by doing as you asked. You wait until his back is fully turned to you, wings flaring out behind him and spraying you with sea water on purpose, to hoist yourself up into your room. Once you’re on your feet, you pull at one of the many sheets on your bed, wrapping it snug around your exposed body.

“You can turn back around now.”

“You can look as much as you want, bibble.” He tells you though your gaze remains fixed on the seashell painting on one of your walls. Your mind is racing and if he asked you what colors were on the painting, you would fail miserably in answering him. “Disrespectfully too.”

You can hear his agonizingly slow footsteps as he makes his way to the door, not bothering to pick up the clothes he left sprawled all over your floor. “Get out,” you nearly growl at him, not caring anymore, as you turn around and shove at his back. Because if he doesn’t leave soon, you’re sure you’ll lose your self control.

“Mother’s tits, y/n! I’m going!” He exclaims in protest with a grin evident in his tone.

“Well, go faster!” You huff at him, hands still pressing against his back. “I’m.Tired.”

Tired of holding back your emotions, more like it. As soon as he steps out your door, you’re slamming it shut before he can catch a glimpse of your flustered face.

“Sweet dreams, bibble.”

Leaning against the door, you take a moment to catch your breath as Cassian's deep laughter echoes through the halls. You close your eyes, attempting to rein in the whirlwind of emotions surging within you. It’s not the first time Cassian’s teased you and it won’t be the last and you’re certainly not the only one he flirts with. The female soldier from earlier being a prime example of that.

You know he means no harm by it. Yet, his teasing stings. Because you want it to be real, for him to mean every flirtatious gesture and word. You want him to like you and only you.

Nostrus's attempts to entice you into staying in his court become increasingly overt with each passing day. Every evening unveils a new gown adorned with matching jewelry and shoes. Precisely at the stroke of ten, the night sky ignites in a display of vibrant fireworks dedicated to the three of you but when you commented the red ones were your favorite, you note more shades of reds lighting up the night skies. Each morning, a charming arrangement of summer flowers graces your presence. Even the soldiers in your training group can't help but notice the High Lord's watchful gaze whenever he deigns to join them.

Azriel finds the spectacle amusing, always the silent observer to any unfolding drama. However, Cassian is less entertained. During your nightly debriefs with Rhysand, he consistently raises the issue and you’ve noticed that during training, he sticks closer to you.

None of you bring up the heated moment you shared on your first night in Summer. It’s almost as if it didn’t happen at all and you’re not surprised. While it meant something to you, you know it meant nothing to him.

The female soldier, Olianna, you reluctantly learned her name, is as persistent with him as Nostrus is to you. You’re nearing the end of your first week when the female soldier and a couple of others join your nightly dinner with Nostrus and tonight, in her ruby red dress, she looks devastatingly beautiful. She takes the seat beside Cassian. Your unassigned but assigned spot. You begrudgingly sit beside Azriel instead, who is quick to raise a brow at you.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies and when you kick his leg under the table, there’s the faintest of a coy smile on his lips.

You barely even touch your plate. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth and it’s not from the food. Cassian has barely even looked at you, engrossed in what appears to be a hilarious conversation with Olianna. You’re thankful when Nostrus excuses you all from dinner, quick to rise from your seat.

“Y/N, may I have a word?” Nostrus calls to you with a smile and when Cassian’s head perks up, finally sparing you a second of his attention, he adds: “In private.”

As you make your way back to your room, after a pointless conversation with Nostrus, your steps come abruptly to a halt. Your heart quickens and stomach tightens as you spot Cassian and Olianna down the hall.

Olianna’s hands rest on Cassian’s arms as she looks up at him. Her back is pressed against the wall. He leans down to whisper something that you can’t discern from your distance. It has her giggling and the sound is like a painful stab to your heart. They’re so, so close. That familiar ache settles in your chest, pushing down on you so harshly you can barely breathe.

How desperately you wish to trade places with her and maybe that could’ve been you, if you had given in to his teasing the other night. While he’d give his body to you, you know his heart would not fall so easily such as the way yours did. Cassian is a true heartthrob, a man who effortlessly captivates the hearts of many but never the one to give his. Why would you be an exception?

You try to push away your unease but fail miserably when they walk further down the hall and disappear around a corner. Doubt begins to creep in, seeping into your bones with a terrifying chilling fear. Maybe, just maybe, there is something more between them and you had lost a battle only you were aware of fighting.

Tears burn at your eyes and as you hear the door shut behind him, you feel your heart shatter at the images that flood your mind. Of him kissing her, touching her and–Stop!

You’re running blindly to your room, too caught up in your emotions to realize your mistake. Azriel blinks at your sudden entrance, seated on his bed. However, the distress etched across your face propels him to throw his book aside and jump to his feet. Shadows flit towards you, brushing against your exposed skin and he lets out a small exhale in relief when they report no injuries.

"Should I get Cas?" Azriel offers, eyes widening slightly as concern etches its way onto his features.

Your hand reaches out, stopping him before he can leave the room. "No."

He looks at you helplessly. He’s seen you cry before but Cassian was always there in those moments. Yes, Azriel regards you as a good friend–you’ve trained with him for many years alongside Cassian. He’d happily tend to your physical injuries because it was something he was capable of but the depth of your current pain is something he is unsure how to navigate. Something only Cassian uniquely understands.

"Okay," Azriel says slowly, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "What do you need?"

Frustration colors your attempt to wipe away the tears, and a sniffle escapes you. You’ve never felt so small, so fragile and as Azriel watches you break in front of him, realization dawns on him. Something must’ve happened between you and Cassian and his mouth parts to ask but you beat him to it.

"I need you to teach me how to swim."

The next morning you can’t bring yourself to meet Cassian’s gaze. Images of him with Oliana flood your mind every time you cast a glance in his direction and the ache in your chest resurfaces. It’s irrational, you know. He’s not at fault for your feelings. After all, you’re just a friend to him. You have no claim to his affection, even though every fiber of your being yearns for it.

You are the problem.

When he reaches out, his hand lightly grasping your arm, you muster only a feeble greeting. You hear the concern in his voice as he asks what's wrong.

"Nothing," you reply, forcing a smile. "I'm just tired."

You feel the weight of his gaze burning into you as you head over to your group. He casts a glance toward Azriel in silent questioning but the Shadowsinger simply shakes his head.

The sun bathes Summer’s training grounds in a warm glow and sweat clings to your skin as you show one of your soldiers a delicate maneuver with your sword that Illyrians favor during battle.

As your gaze lifts with your sword, you catch a glimpse of Cassian and Oliana sparring. Your chest tightens when you can’t help but notice their proximity to one another. The sweet sound of her laughter follows shortly after and the tightening in your chest is replaced with a burning fire.

“I don’t think I’m doing it right. Can you teach me again?”

“Of course.”

Cassian's gaze briefly meets yours, and a sudden rush of emotion courses through you. You’re quickly averting your eyes, attempting to feign disinterest. You tell yourself you're no longer watching them, but deep down, your mind is painting vivid pictures, imprinting scenes of Cassian with her.

However, this time, it's not sadness that simmers within. It’s a burning anger and your siphons flare. Cassian is free to do whatever he pleases in his spare time but during training? When you’re working and glaringly right in front of you?

Olianna’s laughter rings out again, the sound mingling with the clash of steel. Another pang of envy stabs through your chest, sharper than the blade in your hand.

“Like this?”

“Yeah, you got it, sweetheart.”

Your blood runs cold, sending shivers down your spine yet, there’s an undeniable blaze burning fiercely within your chest. It’s a possessive fire, a primal instinct screaming “mine” in the depths of your very being. Why does she get a sweet nickname and you a stupid one? Why is he so gentle in training her when he was harsh with you?

“That’s it,” you hiss under your breath, looking back at your group. “I’m going to show you how a fight is won.”

Tightening your grip on your sword, you nearly stomp your way to Cassian. Azriel’s head perks up from where he stands, eyes widening for a fleeting moment as he catches the glow of your siphons. “Y/n, what are–”

“Stay out of it!” You exclaim, pointing your sword at him. The sharp blade teases at his throat and he falters. His shadows whisper to him in warning and he holds his hands up in surrender, catching something flickering in your eyes.

Cassian and Oliana turn their heads at the commotion. She instinctively takes a step behind Cassian and your jaw clenches at the sight. He doesn’t seem to notice it though, attention solely focused on you.

“What’s the matter, bibble?”

You point your sword at him. “You.”

“Me?” He responds, a bewildered expression crossing his face. However, he remains unfazed as your sword points directly at his chest.

“You’ve gone soft, General.” you tell him, inclining your head towards Oliana and you can’t bring yourself to care if your emotions seep out. The envy is coursing through you like an unrelenting fire. “How is she to hone in her skills when she spends most of her training laughing and batting her pretty eyelashes at you?”

Cassian lets out a chuckle. It’s been years since you’ve referred to him by his title. His hazel eyes take you in, sparkling at you with something you can’t discern. He can read the challenge in your eyes and when he finally spares a glance to the female behind him, he turns back to you. His fingers grasp at your blade carefully, lowering your sword so he can take a step forward.

“She’s not ready to be challenged.”

You smirk at him, standing your ground. “A soldier is never fully prepared for battle.”

Cassian takes another step forward and though your sword lowers further, your grip on the hilt tightens. “And a General knows when it’s best for their soldiers to refrain from entering the battlefield.”

You take pleasure in the way Oliana huffs out indignantly from behind him.

You arch an eyebrow at him in challenge. Deep down, you’re aware nothing good is going to come from this but your Illyrian blood craves an outlet for the pent-up emotions that have been brewing for many years.

“You fight me then,” you demand and you can feel the simmering fire between you intensifying. You welcome it, almost seeking the chaos it promises. "And don't you dare go soft on me."

His pupils flare and a sly smirk curls upon his lips. “I don’t think you can handle me.”

“Lay it all on me.”

Two blood rubies, sinister in their crimson glow, glisten back at you, creating a dance of hues that pulse and flicker with an inner fire. One for Cassian. One for you. Your heart sinks to your stomach and you want to cry.

This is all your doing. Your fault.

Cassian, however, does not regard the rubies sent from the Summer Court with the same gravity. "Might as well put these beauties to use. I’m sure it would look stunning on a necklace. Maybe, even a ring,” he quips as he picks his up, hazel eyes sparkling with mirth.

You immediately sense that nothing good is going to come from this–the same way you did before the two of you accidentally destroyed a building. He turns to you and gets down on one knee. There’s a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he looks up at you.

“Marry me?"

A rush of heat floods your face, and your eyes instinctively seek out Rhysand, finding him far from amused. He's fuming with a quiet rage, his gaze icy and piercing. You quickly avert your eyes, shifting your attention back to the Illyrian male now kneeling before you. You nudge his knee with your leg, ignoring the twinge of hurt at the expense of his joke.

"Get up, Cas.”

"Say yes.”

"Get up.”

“You think this is funny??”

You flinch at the sharpness of Rhysand’s tone and Cassian stands with a sigh. His hand brushes against yours but you don’t dare take it. You don’t deserve it. It’s only been hours since your abrupt return from Summer–since your heated fight sent an entire building crumbling into rubble. If Azriel hadn’t used his shadows to return you home immediately after, you’re not sure you’d be alive right now.

“I’m so sorry, Rhys,” you say, lowering your head and Rhysand’s gaze softens at the nervous fidgeting of your hands. “It’s all my fault.”

“No, it’s mine.” Cassian steps forward, hand resting on your waist to gently push you back behind him as he takes full responsibility. “I got caught up in the heat of the moment.”

“Cas, I’m the one who challenged you.”

He ignores you. “It was my blast that sent that building, as weak as it already was, to crumble down.”

Rhysand lets out a deep sigh. He leans back into his seat, fingers rubbing at his forehead at the images Azriel provides. He finds that you both are equally at fault. They’re complete wreck less idiots, Rhysand groans into the Shadowsinger’s mind.

I know. There’s a hint of amusement in Azriel’s response.

Running a hand down his face in exhaustion, Rhysand looks at both you and Cassian.

You stand there, still behind Cassian, anxious as you await your impending punishment and he can literally hear your mind racing without having to intrude. Meanwhile, Cassian, seemingly unfazed, hums a carefree tune to himself, earning an incredulous glance from you.

“Well I can kiss my alliance with the Summer Court goodbye but I will not have a High Lord from another court seeking vengeance on two of my closest friends. You each are going to write your most heartfelt apologies to Nostrus, beg if you must, and let us all pray to the Cauldron that he finds it in his heart to forgive you.”

Parchment, ink and quills appear at the desk before you. With a flick of his wrist, Rhysand uses his magic to bring forth two chairs, gesturing for you and Cassian to sit. “You two are not allowed to leave this room until those letters are finished.”

Rhysand then turns to Azriel. “I need you to watch them. Make sure they don’t destroy any of my buildings.”

A low, almost melodramatic groan escapes Azriel’s lips. “Why do I always have to babysit them?”

“Azriel.”

“Fine.”

Once Rhysand leaves, you slump into one of the chairs with a small sigh of relief. You pick up a quill, dipping it in ink and stare at the blank parchment. Cassian does the same. Azriel picks up a book from one of the shelves. He then seats himself at Rhysand’s chair, right across from you both.

“Please make this quick,” his voice almost pleads, eyes darting between you both.

“You write it for me then.” Cassian rips a piece of paper, crumbling it into a tiny ball before flicking it at his friend. Azriel rolls his eyes, his loyal shadows catching the piece of paper midair and sending it back to Cassian, hitting his forehead with a tiny “whoosh.”

Your eyebrows furrow in an attempt to focus, all the while trying to ignore the distracting bounce of Cassian's leg. Slowly but surely, you’re scribbling words onto the parchment and before you know it, you’re crafting the most sincere apology to High Lord Nostrus.

Cassian picks up on your deep concentration. He leans in closer, warm breath tickling your ear. “Whatcha writing there, bibble?”

“An apology,” you respond dryly, shooting him a sideways glance. You take note that his paper is still blank. “Something you should be doing too if you want us to make it to dinner.”

“I am. I’m just brainstorming,” he retorts in a ‘duh’ tone. “Let me see yours!”

You’re sliding your parchment away from his prying eyes. “No. Use your own brain!”

Ever the persistent one, Cassian leans in even closer, his head now practically resting on your shoulder as your hands hover over your paper, careful not to smear the fresh ink. “Come on, just a peek. I promise not to steal your most heartfelt words.”

With an exasperated sigh, you relent, allowing him a quick glimpse. His eyes are skimming through the words with an appreciative tilt of his head. “I like it. But maybe add a bit more details and drama, you know? Tug at his heartstrings a little more, he seemed to like you a lot.”

“We’re not trying to craft a masterpiece to win an award, Cassian,” you hiss at him, snatching your letter away from him.

“But you are trying to free yourself of a death sentence.” Azriel remarks, peering over his book at you as he reminds you that receiving a blood ruby from the Summer Court is not something to be taken lightly.

“See? Az gets it.” Cassian chuckles.

“Shut up and get to writing.” Azriel snaps at the busybody beside you, a stern edge in his tone.

“Yes, sir!”

Fortunately, the three of you arrive just in time for dinner. Unfortunately, the predominant topic at the table centers around the destruction of the building in the Summer Court. Rhysand, having taken the time to cool down, is noticeably calmer. While he remains upset that you and Cassian veered off course from your assigned mission, there's also a hint of happiness in having his friends back home and safe.

Cassian casually drapes his arm over the back of your chair, and the room is filled with the melody of his laughter in response to something Mor said. Something you should’ve caught as you’re seated right across from her but it’s the rich scent of sandalwood that captivates all your senses, causing your stomach to flutter. You barely manage to swallow your food without choking–a fact not lost on Azriel. He, however, chooses not to comment, sparing you from further embarrassment and grinning into his glass of wine instead.

Rhysand glares at Mor and you get a sense of what had been said when he says: “Please don’t encourage these architects of chaos.”

You groan, leaning back into your seat. The regret is instant as the edge of your wing brushes against Cassian’s arm. It sends a slight shiver down your spine and you’re mustering all your strength to keep it from causing your sensitive wings to twitch. You’re down bad.

“Can we please talk about something else?”

“Sure, but before we do…” Amren begins, a devious smile playing on her lips as she glances at you from across the table. “Can I keep the rubies?”

“Yeah and you can even keep the threat that comes with it too.”

The rest of dinner is, for the most part, uneventful. Rhysand excuses himself early to finish on some paperwork and before he leaves, he lets you and Cassian know that High Lord Nostrus should be receiving your written apologies by tomorrow morning. Amren leaves shortly after, eager to return to the quiet peace of her home. Just in time, too, as she manages to avoid a pointless argument between Cassian and Azriel over who has the best technique in training.

Not wanting to be dragged into it, you rise from your seat, grabbing a hold of the two remaining unopened wine bottles that Rhysand forgot to take back with him. You turn to Mor and you laugh when you don’t even have to say anything. She’s already standing from her seat, gesturing for you to lead the way.

The two of you end up in one of the living rooms and you’re touched when you find that the sentient house has a delicious assortment of desserts waiting for you on the coffee table. You sink into the comfort of the couch, feeling like you’re sitting on a cloud. Mor seats herself beside you, doing the honors of pouring you a glass of wine.

It doesn’t take long before the two of you are immersed into the dirtiest of gossip and catch up with one another. You move to pour yourself another glass only to find the second wine bottle empty, so you set your empty glass down on the coffee table. Leaning back into the comfort of the plush couch, you let out a sigh.

“I don’t know what he’s done to me,” you confess quietly, exhaustion taking over your features. “I’ve known him for years and all of sudden, I’m a possessive jealous mess? It doesn’t make sense to me.”

Mor raises a brow, as if it makes perfect sense to her. She then hums in contemplation, swirling the last drops of wine in her glass. “Maybe we should go out, have some fun, find a little distraction for you.”

“Or you can tell Cassian how you feel.”

The deep voice startles you both, causing Mor to gasp. Her glass falls from her grasps as Azriel emerges from the shadows. She regards the small specks of red tainting the white carpet with a frown before lifting her gaze to scowl at the Shadowsinger while you shoot him a mortified look.

“How dare you give her a reasonable option?” Mor chides him, waving her hands dramatically in the air.

“Stop with that nonsense, Az,” you say, a slight slur to your words. A frown settles onto your face, heart aching as your mind forces you to think of Cassian and Olianna. “He doesn’t feel the same for me as I do for him. I’ll only ruin our friendship if I do.”

Azriel’s eyes travel throughout the room. He takes in the empty bottles of wine, your hazy eyes and Mor’s flushed face. He looks like he wants to tell you something, on the verge of sharing a secret. Yet, whatever words linger on the tip of his tongue remain unspoken. He decides it’s best to turn around and leave, the inked wing on his arm burning further into his skin.

“Fine but don’t call me for help when you destroy another building.”

"Oh, fuck you."

He doesn't bother to turn around as he returns the gesture, a small chuckle escaping from him as he disappears into his shadows.

“So,” you turn back to Mor. “How about that distraction?”

“By the Cauldron, you look absolutely ravishing.” Mor whistles, stepping back to appreciate her work and as you look at your reflection in the mirror, you can’t help but agree.

After asking Rhysand to fly you both down, Mor winnowed you both to the townhouse, where she kept most of her going out clothes as it was a shorter distance to Rita’s. Insisting on glamming you up, she took charge of your hair and makeup, even providing you with a choice from her wardrobe. Considering the wings, your options were limited, but your gaze was drawn to a striking red satin dress. It had an alluring lace-up open back and a daring slit hem.

After scouring the dance floor for an hour from your seat at the bar, you finally find someone who catches your interest and as you approach him, you’re happy to find that he isn't intimidated by the sight of your wings. Despite your determination to keep a low profile in Velaris, it becomes challenging to go unnoticed when your friends all possess such great reputations, especially when Cassian is by your side. Mor wishes you good luck, sending you a wink as you depart from her side.

The male, who is named Felix, slings an arm around your waist, pulling you flush to him as you dance and you find yourself missing the scent of sandalwood immensely. He grins at you, intentions as clear as yours. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, drinking you under the neon lights of Rita’s. He licks his lips and glances over at your wings. “I’ve heard Illyrians can be very sensitive when it comes to their wings. Can I touch?”

Your mind immediately brings an image forward, of your wings being softly caressed, and heat pools down to your stomach. But in your head, it’s not the male in front of you. It’s Cassian’s.

“Don’t you dare fucking touch her!”

By the Cauldron, your mind is playing tricks on you as you can even hear his voice too.

You feel the loss of warmth from the male and you open your eyes just in time to see Felix sent stumbling to the floor. Your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you. Cassian is standing in front of you, chest heaving. The people who had stopped to stare quickly avert their gazes at his heated stare.

Felix gets up to his feet. He doesn’t even spare you a glance or a word as he disappears into the crowd. You’re immediately leaving the dance floor, not bothering to grab your coat before you exit the club with Cassian hot on your heels.

You pivot and Cassian nearly bumps into you. “What the fuck Cassian?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, returning your glare. “What the fuck?”

“Why are you even here?”

“I don’t know. Something didn't feel right." Cassian confesses, placing a hand over his chest as if to settle a pain.

You turn back around, knowing the towering Illyrian male was already planning to follow you. You begin to make your way to your place–a small apartment that Rhysand had gifted you on your first solstice in Velaris. You seldom used it, preferring to stay at either the house of wind or townhouse, but Rhysand insisted you have a place of your own in case you ever need space.

“And that gave you the right to ruin my night?” you huff over your shoulder.

“Ruin your night? I just saved you!”

“From what?” You laugh with sarcasm, grateful that the walk from your apartment and Rita’s was short. Pulling your key out from your bra, you hastily unlock your door. “An orgasm? Gee, thanks. Love you for that,” and then under your breath mutter: “I didn’t stop you from yours in Summer.”

As soon as you step through your door, you turn and shut it behind you. A boot stops you from doing so and Cassian pushes against you and the door, allowing himself in. “What are you talking about?”

“You mean to tell me nothing happened between you and Olianna?”

“Yes, because nothing happened! She asked me to help her with a move after dinner so I did and…” His voice trails off, and then a heavy silence descends as realization washes over him. He looks at you, and you instinctively avert your gaze.

Without bothering to slip off your heels, you dart straight to your room, desperate to put as much distance between the two of you. You’re not ready to have this conversation. Relief mingles with embarrassment, both emotions flooding you and sending blood rushing to your face. But Cassian is determined. He follows after you.

“Were you jealous?”

Arms crossed over your chest, you keep your back to him, wings curled around you. “No.”

Cassian chuckles, and before you know it, he's spinning you around to face him. One hand presses against your lower back, the other at your face. A smirk plays on his lips as he reads the defiant expression on your face. He knows you’re lying.

“You were jealous.”

“So were you,” you manage to say back.

Cassian hums in what can only be agreement. A thumb reaches out to brush your lower lip, the same way he did your first night in Summer, and then he’s replacing his thumb with his lips. The way he wanted to that night. His kiss is anything but gentle. It’s pure heated desire–one that has been simmering for years. You kiss him back, matching his urgency and he groans, allowing both of his hands to cup your face as his lips mold perfectly against yours.

He pulls away, his hands still cradling your face as his gaze burns into yours. “You want to orgasm tonight? I can give it to you.”

A thrill runs down your spine and your wings shudder. You should push him away. Cassian is your friend. A friend… who is offering to give you an orgasm with a very promising look at this very moment. Though your heart tells you not to, that you might end up hurt after this, there’s that singing in your chest again. Give in.

“You sound so confident.”

His eyes darken as his legs push against yours, walking you both to your bed. The back of your knees meet your bed and you give in, allowing yourself to fall onto the soft sheets behind you. You land on your elbows and push yourself even further up on your bed until your back meets your headrest.

“Don’t test me, baby,” he purrs, watching the way your thighs clench in response to the new nickname. It makes his cock harden in his pants. “I can have you screaming all night long.”

“Lay it all on me,” you reply, heart be damned.

Cassian wastes no time in stripping himself of his clothes, lust filled eyes fixated on you. His hard cock springs free and your eyes widen because yes, you’ve seen him before but not like this. Not when he’s hard and leaking and it’s all for you. He pumps himself, licking his lips, as your arousal floods his senses before easing himself onto the bed.

He slips your heels off and discards them. His hands caress their way up your legs and the roughness of his hands, weathered by many battles and challenges, feels heavenly against you. As his hands make their way higher, they begin kneading at the soft flesh of your thighs, dragging your dress up along with his movements. He groans at the thin lace that greets him, pressing his lips against your clothed core.

“You’re so fucking wet.”

“Well, you did catch me in the middle of something promising earlier…”

Cassian growls at your words, a wave of possessiveness taking over him. “Yeah? Well, by the time I’m done with you, it will be my cum dripping out of this pretty pussy.”

He’s tugging at your underwear, hastily dragging it down your legs. With a devious smirk, he grasps your hands and places them over his hair.

It’s the only warning he gives you before diving right in and setting you alight with his mouth. His nose brushes against your clit as he begins to fuck you with his tongue. “Do you know how often I thought of this? Of tasting you.”

You want to tell him you’ve thought of this too but you’re too lost in the pleasure of his mouth. All you can do is moan and it spurs him on, urging him to bring you closer to your release. “I can only imagine how good I’ll feel inside you.”

His words, a promise of what is to come, is your undoing. You’re squirming beneath him, back arching off the bed as you thread your fingers through his hair. A string of curses leaves your lips when he presses multiple kisses to your clit, overwhelming you in such a delightful way.

Cassian pulls away, mouth glistening with your release as he grins and your heart flutters. He crawls his way up your body, replacing his tongue with his fingers, reveling in the way they easily slide in. His lips slot over yours in a sloppy and heated kiss. When he slips another finger into you, you’re moaning into his mouth. His tongue dances with yours, wrestling for dominance that you ardently submit to.

“Please, Cassian,” you’re begging when his lips leave yours and his cock twitches at the pretty sounds that follow after. Another wave of white hot pleasure crashes over you and he groans, loving the way you're clenching so tightly around his fingers. “I need you.”

Cassian slips his fingers out of you, placing his hands at your hips to flip the both of you over. He adjusts you to straddle his lap, gaze burning into you with need. “Show me.”

“But let’s get rid of this first.” His fingers toy with the slit of your dress. “I need to see all of you.”

You nod, fingers reaching behind to undo the laces of your dress. The sound of fabric ripping reaches your ears before you can undo the first knot and cool air caresses against the newly exposed skin.

“Cassian!”

“That’s my name, baby,” he grins at you, expertly unclasping your bra and throwing it behind you along with the torn dress.

“That wasn’t my dre–oh.” Your protest dies at your throat, eyes fluttering shut as he takes your breasts in his hands, kneading the soft flesh and pressing them together. The torn dress you borrowed from Mor is long forgotten, stored away in the back of your mind. The same way you stored away all your reservations. The desire that’s been consuming you is too much for you to think through reasonably so you succumb completely into it, knowing there will be consequences to deal with later.

It’s almost embarrassing how much Cassian has thought about this, especially after the tease you gave him in Summer. His desires had gone beyond wanting to kiss you that night. He wanted to see, feel and taste every part of you. To hear you moaning and screaming just for him. Now, that you’re completely bare before him, he can look, feel and taste all he wants. And he plans to bask in every second of your warmth.

“So fucking beautiful,” he breathes, leaning in to take a breast into his mouth, tongue swirling around your hardening nipple with burning hunger. Your hands find purchase in his hair again as you arch yourself further, grinding against him. Lewd moans escape from both of you when the tip of his cock brushes against your sensitive clit. Cassian dives for your neck next, pressing hot open mouthed kisses everywhere he can.

“Come on, baby girl. Show me how much you need me and ride me.”

Aligning yourself with him, you slowly sink down onto his cock, savoring the burn from the stretch. His fingers run up and down your sides before settling onto your hips. Eyes fluttering shut at the sheer intensity of your warmth, he can’t help but thrust up into you, fully sheathing himself inside you. His head tilts back when you begin to move and he releases a deep groan.

It’s when your thighs start to tremble and wings flare out that he takes over. He hugs you tightly, arm wrapped around your waist while his other hand rubs at your clit. While he pants and groans against your neck, you’re crying and screaming out his name. He plants his feet on the bed and thrusts ruthlessly up into you over and over again until you both reach your high, wings flaring out.

As Cassian stirs in bed, a cool emptiness greets him, replacing the warmth he expected. Blinking his eyes open, he finds the spot beside him empty. You're gone. The lingering trace of your sweet scent is the only evidence of what transpired between you both. Fuck. Apprehension weighs down on his mind in your absence, threatening to sicken his stomach. He needs to talk to you.

After freshening up and slipping into the spare clothes he keeps at your place, his determination to find you takes hold. It's as if he can sense the storm of emotions within you—guilt, anxiety, and fear. There’s an inkling in his mind as to where you are. He knows you so well. A soft smile graces his lips when he spots you on the training grounds of the house of wind, unleashing powerful strikes on a punching bag.

Your hair is gathered into a carefree bun, and today, you've traded your usual leathers for leggings and a sports bra. You’re a vision of strength and beauty and as loose strands of your hair dance in the breeze, Cassian finds himself lost in the realization of just how deeply in love with you he is.

He lands softly, fighting the urge to frown when he notices the immediate tension in your body from his presence. He hesitates, his throat bobbing as he looks at you, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "Can we—"

"No, let me talk first," you interrupt with a deep sigh as you turn to face him.

"But I had something to say first," he insists with a slight shake of his head.

“I have something more important to say."

Cassian crosses his arms, challenging your claim. "My something is more important than your something."

“I love you.”

The words hang in the air and as the weight of your confession sinks in, a wave of fear grips you. You're certain you've just shattered any hopes of a remaining friendship with him. Because after last night, there's no way you can keep going on as a friend when you want to be so much more. The silence becomes maddening, and suddenly, you can't hold it any longer.

“I love you so much it hurts,” you admit with a trembling breath, tears welling in your eyes. “Because I want your every smile, your every laugh, but above all, I want your heart and–and I’m sorry for–”

“Oh, y/n,” Cassian interrupts with a chuckle.

The sound makes you go weak and you’re absolutely mortified. He rarely ever calls you by your name. He’s about to break your heart, the very thing you’ve been fearing since the realization of your feelings. The urge to run away grips you, but your feet remain planted. You lack the strength to escape the moment. Tears flow freely down your face, and your wings sag behind you, unable to bear the weight of vulnerability.

“You’ve had my heart from the start.”

Slowly, you lift your gaze. Hazel eyes bore into yours, the golden flecks glimmering at you. “What?”

He steps closer to you until he's standing right in front of you. His hands cradle your face as he wipes at your tears. “I’ve loved you for years. I thought I made it pretty obvious, especially after last night.”

“Not obvious enough,” you remark with a huff but there’s a playful and affectionate undertone in your voice.

“I could remind you again?”

"Please."

A radiant smile breaks onto Cassian’s face, and the warmth in his eyes washes away any doubt that may have lingered in your heart. Something within you flutters madly against your ribs. All these years…the teasing, the flirting, the lingering touches. They all meant something to him, the same way it did for you. You’ve loved him and he loved you back. So many years wasted, yearning and pining for one another. As you gaze into each other’s eyes, so many unspoken words are said and there’s a shared understanding that you’re not wasting another moment.

Rhysand raises his cup of coffee to his lips, the rich aroma swirling around him as he catches a glimpse of Cassian, carrying you over his shoulder, with an eagerness he’s familiar with. He then glances over the rim of his mug at Azriel, seated across from him at the breakfast table.

"Do you think they know?"

Azriel snorts in response. "Doubt it. I think you should tell them."

“No.” Rhysand's lips curve into a smirk. "Let's see how long it takes them to realize that their mating bond has snapped into place."

“We should probably head out.”

“Good idea,” Rhysand replies with a nod of his head.

In the blink of an eye, the sentient house packs the remnants of their breakfast for them to enjoy elsewhere. Without a moment's delay, they make their way to one of the balconies. Their wings gracefully unfurl behind them, catching the morning sunlight that bathes them in a golden glow.

As they soar away, you and Cassian remain blissfully unaware of the invisible thread that has silently bound your souls together for years.

tagging: @historiaxvanserra

a/n: I always wanted to write a fic where a mating bond has snapped but neither of them have a clue because they already loved each other, might be a bit unrealistic but 🤷‍♀️ I came across this bibble meme while writing this and it reminded me of both reader and Cas in some aspects. Since I couldn't think of an embarrassing nickname, I went with Bibble and so now the cute little character is canon in Prythian in this lol.

if you want more background info on reader and cas: click here

Other things that I included in this part:

This scene from Vampire Diaries.

also, this tiktok.

#cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian imagine #cassian x you #cassian fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x y/n #acotar x you #acotar fanfiction #acotar cassian #cassian smut #acotar smut

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moonlight-prose · 8 days ago

Text

HOPELESSLY DEVOTED TO YOU

a/n: eddie alden has lived in my head rent free for so fucking long. ever since i saw someone like you i was done for. actually in the first five minutes i was done for. this is a labor of love. something i have spent so long writing and editing because i needed to put this somewhere. it's the longest one shot i've ever written and i am so terrified to share it. i hope you love it as much as i do.

summary: being best friends with eddie alden proved a challenge. you knew him at twelve when he'd push you down for fun. you knew him at sixteen when his parents divorced. you knew him at twenty-two fresh out of college and ready to live his life. and you knew him now. yet the version of him that still remained was the one who loved you - hopelessly, endlessly, and entirely devoted to...you.

word count: 26k

pairing: eddie alden x f!reader

warnings: childhood best friends to lovers trope, oblivious reader + obvious eddie, jealousy, possessiveness, arguments, flirting, cussing, teasing, yearning, love confessions, he's in love and it's detrimental to his health, cigarettes & alcohol, p in v sex, masturbation, smutty books, feral eddie, oral (f receiving), cumplay, desperate sex, reverence, hand holding, the nostalgia vibes of a 2000s romcom.

PLAYLIST

New York’s winter left a taste in your mouth that always reminded you of childhood memories you'd never get back. The biting cold stung your nose until it dripped—your fingers numb as you clutched the cigarette between your index and middle, smoke trailing to the cloudy sky.

An ugly brown suitcase that passed from your father, brother, and eventually you sat by your feet. The bottom no doubt soaked through from the puddle of half melted snow. The temptation to get a taxi and meet him there nearly made your choice for you. Seeing as how standing in the fucking outdoors was your only other option. But the argument over the phone left you relenting within seconds—his voice eager and older.

You scrubbed your hands together for some warmth, lips burning on the but of your cigarette, as yet another round of cars passed you by. Soon enough you'd get to chew him out for making you wait. You'd pull out every guilt trip proven to work on him in the past, and get him to agree to some outrageous ask. That's how things went with you and Eddie.

He fucked up in some way or another. Begged for forgiveness with late night food and a soft smile. And like a fool you forgave him...every time.

"C'mon Eddie what the fuck," you muttered, wiping your nose with the end of your sleeve. You were pretty sure you'd freeze to death in another five minutes, and all Eddie would be left with was your corpse proudly presenting a middle finger.

A horn blared beside you bursting your eardrums. Counting down from five under your breath, you eyed the corner of the building, expecting to see a familiar mop of brown hair. When nothing happened you grabbed the handle of your shitty suitcase and began to walk. He'd reluctantly given you the apartment number and address halfway through the call in case something came up.

Something must have come up.

With a huff, you hauled your suitcase up to rest against your hip, the cigarette burned out and crushed beneath the toe of your boot. Waiting felt like a waste of fucking time. When you could instead be inside of his place already, thawing with a steaming mug of the shitty burnt coffee he made with pride.

No matter how many times you offered to teach him—rectify the recipe that shouldn't be ingested by humans—he claimed you drank it. Clearly that meant you loved it. There was no other reason for why you took his coffee with a smile and gulped at it like you'd just paid twelve dollars and all the change in your pocket.

Even after all this time...he still never saw it. The gleam in your eyes as you watched him make it. The ache in your heart that formed when he set it in front of you with a smile. The butterflies you learned to ignore when you thanked him for something so simple. A single slice of the domesticity you would never get with him.

People shoved you to the side as you walked. Doing what you could to refrain from slipping on the icy bits of the sidewalk. Taking a cab was out of the question with what little cash you had stuffed in your wallet. Your boss decided to withhold your paycheck for the second time—claiming you should have come in to collect it.

The temptation to scream at him in person left the second you realized the money wouldn't even cover the rent next month. So like an idiot...you booked a flight to New York (much to Eddie's delight) and packed a bag large enough to stuff two weeks worth of clothes in it. He believed it was his incessant nagging that finally got you here; you didn't have the heart to tell him that you held no other option.

"Watch it," you snapped at a man who's coat probably cost more than your grandmother's gold ring you wore around your neck.

He scoffed, turning back to the conversation he was invested in on his phone. Getting into a fight wasn't exactly a part of the plan. But the anger began to eat away at your heart—gnawing at your patience the longer you were here. Wandering the city streets. Alone.

"Now that's not the Kit I know."

You whipped around, eyes wide and hair upright on the back of your neck as Eddie's broad smile came into view. The leather jacket he wore complimented his tall figure; the once skinny shoulders you remembered now a broad form you certainly didn't expect. Pictures crinkled by the mail didn’t do him justice. Yet the hazel eyes you knew sparkled with a joy that still managed to entrance you in a single glance.

It felt pathetic how quick you turned into a simpering girl in his presence. Still the eleven year old kid he used to push into muddy puddles because it made him laugh. Somehow that made heat spill into your cheeks—a flustered expression flashing across your face.

He squinted, hands on his hips, as he bent down slightly to push his face directly in front of yours. "What'd you do with her? My little kitten?"

"Fuck off Eddie," you scoffed, shoving at his shoulders.

The suitcase slipped from your hands, dropping to the floor. Eddie didn't waste a second before he was scooping up the handle in his large hand, his arm slinging around your shoulder as he dragged you across the traffic infested street. You squeaked at the horns that went off when you sped in front of them; a multitude of cuss words shouted into the cold air.

"I thought I told you to wait at the airport entrance?" The warmth of his body soaked into your frigid form, loosening your limbs slightly. You'd never experienced such bliss.

"You took too long, asshole."

He laughed—loud and boisterous and perfectly Eddie. "Well forgive me for making an effort to try and get you breakfast. The line was so fuckin' long I had to forgo your coffee."

"Shame." Unconsciously you leaned into his hold as you walked down a street covered in barren trees. "Guess you'll have to make me some."

"You always say you hate my coffee Kit."

"I don't hate it."

"You're a fuckin' liar." Yet he still smiled, his face tilting to see the little furrow of your brows as the cold air began to sting your nose.

You rubbed at it, hoping to alleviate the sensation. "It's just always so burnt Eddie. I never got that. Even when I bought you that fancy coffee maker for your twentieth birthday!"

"Hey!" Shoving you closer as a couple walked past, you did what you could to not stumble. "I never said I put coffee making on my resume. So really it's your fault for making assumptions."

"My–" you spluttered. "Oh fuck off Alden!"

He laughed and you felt the sound shoot through your body like the trigger of a gun finally being pulled. Phone conversations did nothing to appease the longing you felt in his absence. There'd been an Eddie shaped hole in your life for years. Now suddenly you were at a loss with what to do once it was filled. You chastised yourself for pining over a man who would never see you as anything but a friend. Yet somehow...he never knew.

Even through highschool and all your blatantly obvious reactions to how he affected you, Eddie Alden remained entirely oblivious to how much you truly loved him. How your heart screamed for him each morning and night. He was the balm to every wound that ailed you—yet you were only gifted with its comfort every few years.

"My place is one block over, but we could grab some food if you're hungry." His voice ripped you from the depths of your mind, shoving you back into the present.

Where you were pressed against his side by an arm that felt stronger than you remembered. You glanced at him, tracing the curve of his side profile before you realized you eventually had to respond. None of this helped the preexisting crush you spent years trying to get rid of.

Whatever feelings you believed to be evicted from your heart came tumbling back with a fury—a vengeance you'd never experienced before.

"Kit?"

You jumped, catching his gaze; to realize you'd been staring at his lips for far too long. "Your place. I'm fucking freezing out here. Could do with some blankets."

His grin deepened. "Blankets I've got. And a bed. Well a separate bed. Had it put in the guest room for when I managed to finally get you here."

Surprise filled your system—eyes wide and mouth parted. "You bought me a bed?" you exclaimed.

"Nah. I bought a bed."

"Right. Sure." He pinched your arm, chuckling at your pained yelp. The hit you landed to his stomach in a feeble attempt at backlash only seemed to make him laugh harder.

Fuck. You missed him.

A horn blared behind you, slicing through your nerves as he weaved the both of you seamlessly through the crowds of people. New York was far louder than you expected it would be. Sure, you'd heard the noises while on the phone with Eddie, but this felt twenty times that. You were surprised that he got any sleep in this place; though knowing him...he rarely slept if the slight dark shadow under his eyes was anything to go by.

He spent days running around at his job, nights chasing the tail of someone pretty, and what time he could spare talking to you. Giving you the dirty details on people he came across, drama with his coworkers. Every little aspect of New York he could shove your way—knowing how much you longed to get away. How your heart ached with the thought of traveling to distant lands.

He bought you the maps hanging on your apartment wall back home; a celebratory graduation gift when you finally managed to accomplish getting your masters. Back then he thought you'd join him out here.

Or perhaps he was merely holding that hope like an oblivious idiot; his mind fixed on the idea of you here for longer than a visit.

Although you could say the same for yourself. The belief that your life would start somewhere other than at Eddie's side began to fester in your heart, becoming a wound you could never heal. Merely a twisted game you played with yourself. The constant push of wanting more when a part of you knew he would never see you that way.

No matter how many times you pushed...he'd never tell you about them. The women that twisted his head around; the ones that brought a familiar flicker of bitter heat to your chest.

Eddie wasn't yours.

You knew this.

You accepted the truth halfway through high school when you stumbled across him with his tongue down a cheerleader's throat. The lingering pain thickened the longer you spent in his warm charismatic presence—like a knife suddenly protruding from your chest. But much to your own detriment...it was your own knife. Not his.

So you swallowed the brief seconds of jealousy, your body leaning into him with a heavy exhale of winter air. If he noticed your split second mental battle, he didn't say anything. You supposed that's what you loved about Eddie. He understood your cues faster than you did—giving you the room to breathe, to garner enough sanity to push through whatever hell you created in your own mind.

He let you anchor yourself to him, willing to drag you out of the well you dropped yourself in whenever you needed a helping hand.

"So I have a proposition," he exclaimed, tugging you across the street to a building that looked eerily familiar.

"I might have an answer."

He snorted, rummaging in his pocket for the jingling keys that were pressed to your side. "There's a bar on the bottom floor of my place that has shitty beer and shittier nachos."

You smiled, wide and stupid and hopelessly head over heels in love with your best friend. This trip would no doubt come back to bite you in the ass eventually. You practically felt the sharp teeth of reality begin to sink into your heart. Ready to rip you open with jaws coated in your own blood.

Really this was your fucking mistake; letting your best friend talk you into this with the claim: 'You're gonna have the best fuckin' time Kit.'

You followed him through the bulky metal door. "I'm listening."

"I know how much you love shitty nachos." The stairwell echoed with your footsteps—a drip from a leaky pipe splashing every few seconds. "It's not much, but I figure it'll get you acquainted with this grand old city."

Saying no to him felt as if you were pulling teeth, but the fatigue from your flight was beginning to weigh heavy on your shoulders. While traversing the city at night with Eddie sounded like a dream come true. You knew that if you didn't get some rest you'd be kicking yourself tomorrow.

"Tomorrow night," you requested, lugging your bag over your shoulder as he fumbled with the door to his apartment. "I'm ready to keel over and die."

He smiled, letting you wander in before him. Eddie trailed after you, watching in rapture as your eyes went wide with awe at the sheer size of his place. Large windows allowed sunlight to spill into the living room, casting a soft yellow glow throughout the kitchen. Ethereal in its simplicity.

You could practically see the spots where he spoke to you on the phone; the echo of him rummaging in his own fridge now put into perspective with the sight of it. How he would smoke on his fire escape during the summer months when the air finally turned crisp with the promise of fall. How he'd lay on his couch, television blaring as you both watched the same channel.

"Ya like it?" he asked, dropping his jacket on the back of the couch.

"Eddie it's..."

"Massive?"

You turned, sunlight forming an angelic silhouette behind your head and Eddie felt the breath get punched from his lungs. Suddenly he wished he wasn't such a shit artist. That dream was discarded long ago in an art class he would later fail. He longed for charcoal, paints, paper, anything to commit your beauty to a canvas. To hang it in his home as a permanent art fixture—a glimpse at what heaven must look like.

"It's beautiful," you gushed, your smile dazzling in the late afternoon sun.

So are you.

He'd never say it out loud, entirely aware of what you'd say—play it off as a joke, pretend he was teasing you—but the fist around his heart squeezed until he couldn't deny the truth. Mentally he cussed out your future lover. Too ashamed to admit that if you kissed him right now, he'd buy a damn wedding ring tomorrow.

"Bathroom is small enough to drive you a bit insane," he said instead, shoving the thoughts in their respective boxes and throwing away the key. "My room. You're always welcome. And this–" He pushed open the guest bedroom. A fancy duvet and collection of pillows was placed neatly on the queen mattress; frames were propped on the empty dresser—images of you and Eddie throughout the years. "Will be your room."

Stepping into the space felt like taking a breath of familiar air—your heart fluttering at the care he took before allowing you here. It reminded you of all the times he put you before anything else in his life. His fierce protective nature that was always placed upon your shoulders. How he claimed you the second he locked eyes on your timid form.

"Homecoming?" You gestured to the largest frame on the nightstand.

Eddie in a red football jersey, his face painted in white streaks, sweat causing his hair to stick to his forehead. He held you beside him—helmet in his hand and a smile big enough to blind half the girls in your school on his face. You could recall that day with vivid clarity. The butterflies you felt at seeing him so happy, so carefree.

Your childhood was filled with memories both good and bad. But Eddie somehow managed to solidify himself in those tinged in warmth and overflowing with a wonder that left you breathless.

"It's a good picture," he replied, running his hand along the back of his neck, cheeks flushed a light rose. "My mom sent it to me a year ago. Said I'd take better care of it."

You smiled, tracing the corner of the brown frame. "Seems like she was right."

"Yeah..." His eyes followed the curve of your hips, pausing briefly on the shape of your ass in jeans he knew you only wore for special occasions.

His favorite jeans if memory served.

The same denim fabric he imagined peeling off you in senior year of college when you showed up with a bottle of wine and the promise of a week spent by the beach. They were in second place, right next to your little red bathing suit that had him fucking his fist for hours in your shared hotel shower. Shame might have burned in his chest at the memory, but Eddie couldn’t help himself when it came to you.

Insatiable, needy. Every fucking synonym in the book would classify how he felt around you.

"So Alden." Your voice dragged him out of his lust addled stupor, heat curling around the base of his spine. He swallowed thickly, forcing it down until he felt comfortable meeting your gaze again.

His eyebrow curved. "Kit?"

"What fun activities do you have planned for me tonight?"

He choked on his spit. "W-What do you mean?"

"Movies? Dinner? Anything?"

"Right."

Trailing to the kitchen with you hot on his heels, he rummaged in the take out drawer full of old menus that needed replacements eventually. Pages were stained, ripped, and crumpled from years of use. You snatched the only pizza place one out of his grasp, eyes flicking through the selections with a grin. Predictable. He could have ordered blindly for you if he'd have known your tastes were the same.

"Lemme guess–"

"Pepperoni–" you began.

"With sausage and jalapeños," he finished.

"Fuck off Eddie."

He smiled, confident enough to have your mind falter on anything except the man before you. How did he do that? Render you a bumbling fool who could barely put the correct words in order to form a complete sentence. One day you might have to ask if that was just his Eddie charm, or if it only worked on you in particular.

"I would. But it's my place kitten." Dialing the number he knew by heart, he left you to wander spots in the apartment that hadn't been on his grand tour.

A corner table held a photo of Eddie's mother, his father nowhere to be seen in the background. You didn't blame him for avoiding the man entirely. After what occurred you were surprised that Eddie hadn't killed him; although he once came close at nineteen. The night his mother spilled the truth over one too many glasses of sherry.

The night Eddie figured out the man he once looked up to had a different family in an entirely different state.

If you trailed your fingers down the back of his neck you'd find the spot where his father slammed him into the banister of their front staircase. The fight bordered on brutal. A viscous act that left what relationship remained tattered and torn to shreds on the floor around them. Both men landed hits with no true aim, teeth bared and seeking blood through the red haze of their anger.

Eddie wanted revenge. His father wanted submission.

They'd always stood on thin ice ready to crack beneath the weight of their baggage. A horrendous cycle of push and pull—each one aware of how to tear the other down with ease. Their bond was built on torment. And to watch the tension explode, drowning them both beneath the glacial waters, left you stuck in a dark chasm of helplessness.

Stupidly you got a scar to match when you threw yourself in front of a near unconscious Eddie, attempting to stop the man from landing a final punch to his son's face. He hit you instead. The scar on your shoulder was small, barely there, but you could still feel Eddie's lips on it when he cleaned the wound. Apologies spilling from his lips until he fell asleep in your bed.

But you supposed that was Eddie. A protector above all else.

The man who would throw himself into the heat of battle before considering the consequences that came with a choice that reckless.

"They'll be here in twenty minutes." He crept up behind you, glancing at the photo of him on his Mom's birthday. "Thinking about that night?"

You jumped, glancing at him over your shoulder. "Yeah."

"Hard not to."

"Has he ever..."

"No." The darkened shadow across his face gave you enough of a response. It was time to move onto a different subject.

"So..." You settled on his couch with a heavy sigh. "Your work."

Dragging the throw blanket his mother knit him over your legs, he clambered onto the empty space beside you. The heater was slowly sputtering to life—radiator giving it all it had to keep the both of you warm. But beside him you felt the heat practically emanate off his body in waves.

What you wouldn't give to curl into his lap and seek it from the source.

"The drama has been exquisite," he stated, draping his arm on the top of the couch behind your head. "You remember me tellin' you about Jane?"

"Goodall?"

"The very one." He settled further into the cushions, legs spread beneath the blanket until he nudged yours. "She and Ray broke up. It's been hell in the office dealing with their confused tension."

"Wait, isn't this the guy who cheated with her?"

He nodded. "Now I'm not saying he's horrible. But you gotta at least break up with the girl before you go with another."

"Ahh you're taking my teachings to heart," you smiled, leaning your head against his arm.

"I have to Kit. Every time I don't I feel like you're gonna pop out and whack me–" Landing a weak hit to his side, he clamped his hand around your wrist, tugging you close with a laugh. "Like that!"

Attempting to free yourself was futile when he outmatched you in strength and speed. Yet you found that you enjoyed being this close to him. Laughing as you once did in the years of your youth. When all that mattered was which movie you were seeing that Friday and what school the team was playing.

Somehow—in the blink of an eye—you were two adults stuck in your own travesties. Forced to forgo the blithe energy of your childhood. You'd jump at the chance to go back; if only to get more time with Eddie. To spend a few more hours in his bedroom watching horror movies that left you both shell shocked and restless.

To cheer him on at every game with the promise of burgers and shakes at the local drive in afterwards. To watch him grow up and move to New York. Only this time...you'd follow him the second he asked.

His eyes softened as your smile slipped from your lips, fingers curling around his fist. Hazel had never been your favorite color until Eddie left. You rarely thought of it when he was home, but as his absence became a reality you could no longer suffer through you began to see the color everywhere. In the trees, in the color of your old blanket you stole off his childhood bed, in the flannel that once belonged to his grandfather.

You found traces of Eddie Alden in every little aspect of your life, except him.

"Kitten," he murmured, a fraction closer than he'd been a minute ago. His eyes dropped to the curve of your lips, how they parted so sweetly at the sound of your pet name.

"Eddie..."

All that remained was the space between your heads—your body practically leaning into him the longer you talked. He could lean in and kiss you. He could finally learn what you tasted like, figure out how you'd sound if his tongue licked along yours. Fuck he'd never wanted something more.

The dazed glint in your eyes made his heart twist, his tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. Your gaze fixed on the movement immediately and Eddie felt his cock twitch in interest. One day he'd explain to you how fucking beautiful you were; how his mind went haywire at the sight of your smile. How he'd destroy himself to get you to look at him like he hung the moon and stars.

One day he'd spill his deepest darkest secrets to you.

Starting with three little words that kept him up at night tossing and turning.

He swallowed thickly. "I..."

The door buzzed loud enough to scare the shit out of you. Leaping back, you felt the breath catch in your throat painfully and like an idiot you began to cough. Eddie's eyes went wide, his hand tapping your back as you waved him off to get the pizza. Leaving you to sit there on his couch and choke...on air.

Dumbass.

"Thanks man," Eddie muttered, handing off what cash he had left in his wallet. "Keep the change."

He rushed back to the couch, pizza in one hand and a glass of water in the other. "Kit, you okay? Here drink this before you die on my fuckin' couch."

"Shut up Eddie," you snipped, eyes burning with a glare. Though the smile on your lips told him something else. "Hand over the pizza before it's you dying."

"Yes ma'am," he muttered, flipping open the box and swiping the remote off the coffee table. Taking his spot by your side back with a grin.

"I can't fucking move," you grumbled, leg splayed on Eddie's lap as the movie credits rolled across the screen.

He scoffed, kneading the flesh of your calf. "That's cause you ate five slices of pizza."

"You're one to talk Alden. You ate the other five." Nudging his leg with your socked foot, you tried to get a rise out of the man who couldn't stop smiling. At one point it would have unnerved you. Given you the impression that he was making fun of you, but then it dawned on you as bright as daybreak.

Eddie Alden was happy.

"It's one a.m. Kit," he groaned, head falling to the back of the couch. "I've gotta get up for work at six."

"That's so early," you sighed.

"Yeah well. Some of us work for a living."

Another nudge to his thigh deepened his smile and your heart notched another mark that began to form his name the day you turned twelve. His lethargic form struck you in the stomach. Sexy in his long sleeve black sweater rolled at the sleeves. Beautiful with that broad smile and twinkling eyes of joy.

Bewitching in every aspect that made him yours.

Though that remained a blatant fantasy in your mind that would never come to fruition. If only you took a peek inside Eddie's mind. If only you looked at him for longer than a few minutes at a time. You would finally see that his heart started beating for you the day he met you; unable to find a rhythm for anyone else because your song kept him alive.

Your heart's song held him on his knees hoping.

"So that means curfew?" you muttered.

He shrugged. "For me. Doesn't have to be for you."

Disappointment flickered in his eyes, masked quick enough to conceal the ache that rang in his chest. But you caught onto it, tugged it towards you to inspect what exactly he wanted from you. Perhaps it was stupid to put all your energy into pleasing a man, but when it came to Eddie you couldn't help it.

Seeing him happy made your entire body sing. It brought you a light you didn't know could exist in a life that remained bleak without him.

"I'm fine going to sleep early."

"Are ya sure?" he pressed, his thumb curling around your ankle—the soft brush teasing chills down your spine.

Biting on the inside of your cheek hard enough to distract from his touch, you nodded. "Just make it up to me tomorrow."

This time…he didn't bother to hide the effect your words had on him. A smirk curling onto his lips, eyes dark enough to shove the breath from your lungs. How could a man look so alluring? Eddie was your siren. A predator who called you out to the depths of the sea with his soothing song of love. A man who never knew how your heart broke each night. He'd never know how you cried yourself to sleep that first night he left, never learn that you struggled to breathe without him.

He would go on as he always did and you would watch with a somber smile.

"C'mon," you sighed, sliding off the couch and effectively breaking his hold on your leg (much to his dismay). "You've got to sleep. I'm not gonna be responsible for you fucking up at your job."

With a snort he followed dutifully, hands grabbing for yours as you walked him to the small corner by his bedroom door. "I fuck up already Kit. And try as I might, I could never quite figure out how to pin it all on you."

His smirk cracked into a full blown smile, laughter echoing in the large apartment when you landed a smack to his chest. Wrestling your wrists into his hands, he turned you swiftly until he leaned against his door, a lazy grin on his lips. That fucking grin. A hazard to your own heart.

"You keep hitting me, kitten. Living up to your name every day."

You glared. "Unless you prefer I bite you."

A jolt went down his spine, body warming the longer you stood there eyeing him with a barely controlled fury. The playful anger that landed him in trouble more than once. Endless nights of wrestling like fiends, challenges won and lost, board games that turned violent too quickly to control. You were each other's kryptonite—the weakness never to be mentioned beyond shared looks and bouts of possession.

You were his to love. His to keep.

If only you knew.

"I'm never opposed to biting," he replied, eyebrows raised.

"Gross."

"It's not gross." Leaning down he pressed a kiss to your cheek, thumb running along your pulse point on your wrist. "It's kinky."

You scoffed, shoving at his chest. "I don't want to know!"

"Oh come on Kit! I've got stories–"

Slipping free, you headed to the guest room. "Go to sleep Eddie."

"You don't want a bedtime story?" He trailed after you, leaning against the doorframe, gaze intently watching you dig through your suitcase for a weathered graphic tee he bought at nineteen from a shitty indie concert. To see you kept it all this time made his heart flutter, his stomach twisting into familiar knots he longed for when you were apart from each other. "I can easily put you to sleep."

"Keep being gross. See how long I stay," you joked, pointedly staring over his shoulder. "Do you mind?"

He settled further, arms crossed at his chest. "Definitely not."

"Get out you freak."

"Now there's no need for name calling–" A pillow hit his face. "Or for violence. I swear you keep wanting to hurt me."

"Well if it works."

He snatched the pillow off the floor, tossing it back onto the bed before he jabbed a finger in your face—even as you smiled up at him with those eyes that catapulted him directly into the damn sun. "Behave kitten."

"Oh bite me Alden."

"See now we're talking!"

A shove against his chest had him stumbling towards the door, your entire body being used like a counterweight to push him out. He fell into the hallway with a grunt, teeth clamping onto his bottom lip to silence the laughter that threatened to echo off the empty walls. This wasn't an unusual position to find yourselves in—fighting like children who each held onto one end of a life altering secret.

Nights spent in the comfort of your home in high school with Eddie forced to sleep on the floor (per your mother's instructions) lead to picking on one another until the other caved. A past time you often ached to get back.

Maybe that's why you couldn't stop smiling at the sight of him trying to cling to the edge of your doorway. Maybe that's why your heart was set to burst when he snuck back in to simply hear you shout his name.

Two humans helplessly gone for one another with nothing to show for it but a lifetime of friendship. Never meant to be more than this.

"Night kitten!" he called from his room, the door shutting with a soft thud as you slipped beneath the thick comforter.

"Goodnight Eddie," you sighed, settled atop the mountain of pillows, your eyes fixed on the frame a few feet away.

The smiling image of younger you mocked the current situation; her haughty demeanor formed a sour pit in your stomach, your body desperate to curl in on itself the longer you stared at the past. You were so naive back then. Ready and willing to jump when Eddie gave you the go ahead. But what's changed? How had you moved away from that young hopeless girl? You still gave into his pleas, you relinquished your strength and handed it over without taking a second to think perhaps you should have considered the fallout.

Eddie said jump.

And suddenly you found yourself in New York.

Still naive. Still hopelessly in love with a man who might never see you as anything other that high school girl. The kitten who trailed after him looking for an owner who might show you some love, who might spare you a second glance.

"Pathetic," you muttered, flipping to your other side in the hopes that sleep would find you.

The creak of your partially shut door is what roused you from a restless and fitful two hours of chasing sleep to no avail. Your eyes cracked open in the pitch black, body rolling to see the kitchen light illuminate a rather tall and shirtless Eddie. He rubbed a hand over his face, eyes bleary with lack of sleep, and wordlessly you pulled the blankets back to the empty side on your right.

A smile curled on his lips, lazy and barely there, but it lit you up from the inside out—his feet softly padding on the cement floor as he stumbled through the room. Unsuccessfully if the whispered cuss word muttered under his breath after hitting his leg was anything to go by. You hid your grin beneath the edge of the comforter, feeling the bed dip when he shuffled to find the comfiest spot.

"'S fucking cold in here," he mumbled, shoving the blanket up to his neck.

"It's your apartment."

"Yeah, yeah. Just c'mere." He sighed, long and bordering on defeat. "I missed you."

He didn't give you the option of backing out, his hands grasping blindly for your waist. Of course, you didn't put up much of a fight either. The bed felt desolate in his absence. As if it'd been waiting for him all this time—hoping he might come to fill the gaps where frigid air seeped through. Somehow Eddie remained your knight in shining armor. Your savior against the horrors no matter how minuscule.

Dark bedrooms and empty beds included.

Silence swept over you in gentle soothing waves. The promise of sleep settled contently in your grasp, allowing you a moment to finally rest for the first time since you got on that plane. But you couldn't find it in you to close your eyes. Instead you let your gaze wander over Eddie's face as he sunk into the depths of sleep—his hand clasped in yours and settled between your bodies.

"Hey Eddie," you whispered.

"Hm?"

"I missed you too."

His lips curled slightly, body shifting close enough for you to feel his breath wash across your face. Warm and minty fresh and so much like Eddie it chipped another piece of your heart off. He didn't know how painful it would be to leave. How you'd cling to memories as tiny as this in the dark of your own bedroom.

He wouldn't understand how you broke sleeping next to the love of your life, yet a chasm deep enough to drown you sat between you. Oh, what you wouldn't give to swim across with ease and find yourself on the shores of his love. You wished for him on every falling star, with each set of birthday candles, and yet the powers of the universe felt compelled to keep you apart.

"Hey Eddie." He hummed, his thumb running across your wrist. "Did you buy this bed for me?"

His laugh was low, a mere breath let loose in the wild for you to intake with your own. Yet you felt his hand tighten around yours and the slight shift of his face as his nose nudged yours.

Where you expected to get a firm no—a repeated response from hours before—Eddie Alden still had a way to surprise you.

"Yeah," he admitted softly, effectively setting your heart on fire.

Sunlight illuminated the open doorway, spilling into the bedroom with its soft glow. You ached to sleep for a few hours more, or at least until you could effectively wean the jet lag from your body. The bed was cold to the touch on Eddie's side—his furnace-like qualities doing nothing to keep you warm in the early afternoon air.

On winter nights he made sleeping with a shitty radiator worth the lack of blankets. But that might have just been because it was him beside you and no one else.

You winced when your bare feet made contact with the frozen floor—the shock to your system forcing you to remain awake. The urge to ask for a rug rose to the forefront of your mind, but Eddie had already spent so much time perfecting the bedroom. Each detail catered to your distinct style and taste. A small offering of home in the middle of an unknown city.

A small basket of your favorite snacks—that certainly hadn't been there last night—sat on the dresser. You chose not to question it, grabbing a cookie out of the pack to quell your stomach. Chocolate and peanut butter, a dangerous combination.

The same cookies you shared on the roof of his house—the echo of his parents shouting about everything and anything muffled in the background. A shitty radio propped by his feet to drown them out and the echo of your voice filling his ears. He never complained, so you kept talking. All the way through high school and college and each late night phone call.

You unknowingly became the salve to Eddie's pain.

The bandage that held up when all the others withered away. You kept him stable through endless fights with his father, on nights he simply couldn't take hearing his mother cry anymore. You held him on days when the grief of being the only thing tying their toxic relationship together became too much. The expectation to maintain a perfect standard ate away at him, until eventually…he didn't care anymore.

Until you made him change his mind; the invisible red string of fate connecting the two of you dragged him out of the darkness. Since then he refused to let go—not that you wanted him to.

"Eddie?" you called, ambling to the kitchen.

Burnt coffee stung your nose, drawing a smile to the surface. But a press of your palm to the half filled cold pot let you know he made it several hours ago. Probably in the hopes that it would rouse you from sleep before he took off for work. You caught sight of a small ripped piece of notebook paper attached to the fridge beneath a overly large magnet of Lady Liberty.

Coffee's for you (since you asked for only the best). I'm at work if you need to reach me, but feel free to grab breakfast at the cafe down the street. On me.

-Eddie

A twenty was stuffed beneath the corner of the magnet, crinkled and folded more times than you could guess. You wondered if he dug it out of his pocket—coat or jacket—and figured it would hold you over until he came home. The gesture simmered low in your stomach, fluttering up in waves of cascading love that longed to drown you. Some other day you would have let it, but today you stood in Eddie's apartment.

Today you got to spend time with your favorite person.

That was reason enough to swim back to the shore and claw your way along wet sand that your hands sunk into.

Dragging your heavy coat up and over your body, you pocketed the spare set of keys Eddie left out on the counter. A set that was always meant for you—not that he told you. Exploring New York on your own was never a part of the plan, but something warm burned bright in your chest at the thought of getting to witness parts of it for yourself. Things that Eddie wouldn't be attached to. Moments stolen for your own safe keeping.

Perhaps one day you'd tell him about this small adventure. Or maybe he'd pry the information out of you tonight over drinks. Either way you felt lighter than you had in years, strolling along the icy sidewalks, your breath forming a cloud with each soft exhale.

People rushed past you, some stuck in a phone call—a briefcase attached to their hand—others weighed down by gift bags meant for the upcoming holiday season. All with somewhere to be.

Clouds of dark gray were scattered across the sky, as if created by a single brush stroke with no real purpose. You longed to have a camera in your hands, to snap photos of your first time in the city. Pictures you would be able to look back on and hold in your hand; time that you'd never get again. At least then you might get to leave with something other than a broken and heavy heart.

The cafe was sparse with a few people sitting at tables, books or notebooks or even a newspaper propped in front of them. Steam rising off their various mugs. Everyone was looking to escape the cold for a bit. For some reason that made you smile.

Fishing the twenty out of your pocket, you barely got two feet into the place before ramming into someone's back. You braced yourself to fall, hands clenched in fists to give your arms the impact, only for someone to grip your forearms and drag you into a proper standing position. People's eyes were fixed on the scene before them. Someone about to make a fool of themselves—a person they would no doubt speak about to their significant others and friends later on today.

"Fuck I'm sorry," you gasped, righting your feet to keep some form of balance.

The first thing you noticed was his laugh.

Dark and raspy and soft enough to fill your body with a flutter that felt unknown to you in the presence of someone else. Your head rose to thank your savior, but brown eyes were all you could see. Warm with honey and amber that lit up with the quirk of his lips. Only once in your life had a man stolen the breath right from your chest, yet there he was. Drawing forth that spark of fleeting want that stirred low in your stomach—filling your head with a haze that felt soothing on your nerves.

"You alright?" he asked, voice a smooth match for his laugh.

Swallowing thickly, you attempted to drag common sense to the forefront of your mind. "I'm…um…okay."

Another laugh left you flustered enough to feel a thrill of panic streak down your spine. "In a rush for coffee?"

"What?"

He glanced at the way your fist was clutched around the twenty dollar bill. "You can go in front of me if it's an emergency."

"Oh. No I'm just wandering," you admitted, a bit breathier than you would have liked. "I'm not from here."

"Ah. Visiting?"

You nodded. "Came to see my friend. Although I guess I'm shit out of luck cause he's at work right now."

"And you came here for coffee?" His laugh was quickly burrowing in your mind, finding space where there's only ever been room for one man. Eddie. "He doesn't have good taste in coffee does he?"

"What's wrong with this place?"

A shrug had him lifting his hands in surrender. "Okay coffee, short lines. Although I guess I can't complain now that you're here."

Oh.

He was flirting with you.

He looked at you with a kindness that melted the armor that encased your heart for one man. The protection you thought was needed to survive loving someone who may never be able to love you back. Countless years of Eddie falling for woman after woman, times that left you broken and bitter simply thinking about the concept of romance in any form. But here stood a man who possibly wanted to get to know you.

Someone with a nice smile and eyes that screamed endless joy.

The grin on your lips came with ease this time around. "Your lucky day."

"Now that you mention it." His brows pulled together in a mock thought. "I did have a pretty good feeling about this place."

"Fate's doing?"

"Could be." Moving his way up to the counter, you quickly took that chance to fix any part of yourself that could be in disarray. "I'll take a latte and whatever she's having."

"That's not–"

The barista clicked the sharpie with an expression screaming of boredom. "Name?"

"Louie."

"Five minutes."

"Thank you ma'am." Snatching a small card placed at the front he scribbled something down and shoved it your way. "For you."

The wary glance didn’t seem to deter him. "The bill?"

He chuckled; you ached to hear that sound as many times as possible before the both of you parted ways. "My number. And name. Figure that might help."

"Louie…Parker."

"That's me."

The both of you huddled near a corner table, his back leaning against the wall and hands shoved into his coat pockets. A part of you dug for faults amidst his perfect smile and sharp nose—any chance for your heart to come to terms with why you should walk away. Useless reasons why you didn't need to stand here entertaining a man you might never see again. Yet nothing sprung to mind.

He was kind. Open and willing to let you pick through his mind—to see that what he wanted wasn’t the opposite of the other man your heart pined for.

Suddenly the name Louie sounded sweet coming off your tongue. The letters mixed with the lyrical melody of a future you didn’t consider before meeting Eddie. A chance to finally grow the way you wanted. You weren’t tied to one single person and to trick yourself into believing that was a disservice to yourself.

His name rang through the small cafe, signaling that your time together was slowly coming to a close. But you found yourself attempting to come up with a way to stay on this page—stopping the story in place.

“Here you go.” He handed over your order with a full blown smile that shone with a nervousness you felt linger in your own stomach.

So this is what you’d been missing all these years.

“I don’t do this much,” he began, tearing open two packs of sugar with a shaky cough. “But if you happen to find yourself free or with loads of time on your hands. I’d be happy to show you around the city.”

You sipped at your drink, biting back the smile that still forced its way onto your lips. “Adventuring with a stranger. Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Well I wouldn’t recommend it,” he huffed. “But cross my heart, boy scout honor, promise that I am normal as they come around here."

“Boy scout?”

His cheeks flushed scarlet; you finally understood the appeal of flirting. “Nothing wrong with being a boy scout.”

“No you’re right I’m sorry,” you giggled.

He straightened and graced you with a smile bright enough to rival the spark of caffeine in your veins. “Call me. If you want of course. But…I hope you do.”

At one point in your life this would have been the exact opposite of everything you dreamed of. The small fantasy created in the mind of an impressionable and naive child slowly began to break apart the older you and Eddie got. Some piece of you still longed for the boy who held you when you cried over small mishaps and boys who called you names. But she was placed on a shelf long ago—she served her purpose, she lived with a smile, and you were thankful to have known her innocence.

They say growing up is the hard part, letting go of childhood comfort. They never spoke about letting go of childhood love, of moving past something you counted on. A future that would never be.

“I’d like that.”

“Really?” You nodded, practically watching the relief wash over his tense shoulders as he fell into step with you, heading for the door. “Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll uh…” He rammed into a woman, nearly spilling his coffee. “Shit sorry miss.”

Latching onto his jacket, you tugged him into you to keep his feet steady—the cuss she offered in response loud enough to follow the both of you outside. Neither of you could discern who laughed first. But the first domino was set into motion, leading to the uncontrollable ache of laughter that burned through your stomach. Your cheeks hurt, the tears were rising to the surface, and Louie fared no better.

The crimson tinge of his skin spread to the tip of his nose with the cold icy chill of the afternoon air. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from his beauty. The both of you were bent over, gasping for a full breath of air, and in the midst of this small joy it hit you. This was the first time you weren’t thinking of Eddie. You weren’t wondering what he was doing, what his days were occupied with.

You were blissfully free from the thought of your true love.

And it felt good.

“I’m going this way,” he gestured behind him, the steam from his cup curling around his face.

“I’m going the other way.”

He nodded. “Exploring?”

“Probably.”

“Well.” He sucked in a breath, reluctance in his stance. But eventually the pages would flip to the final page and even though you both wanted this to go on longer, the understanding of what this was still remained. You didn’t live in New York, he would never hear from you again, and that was the beauty of strangers. “Have a good day.”

You grinned, watching him walk into the throng of people on the street, the head of dark hair melting into the crowd with a sigh. “You too,” you mumbled, heading towards the corner with a lighter heart and weightless mind.

The city sang to you while you walked. A symphony of voices, of car horns and shouts, of people chattering on calls to nowhere and everywhere. You resided in the middle of a civilization that both welcomed and ignored you. Somehow that held a string of familiarity to it. The unconscionable knowing that somewhere in the chaos of New York, you belonged here.

Old sayings came back to your mind as you passed businesses and restaurants. A truth you clung to on the days that Eddie called to relay a week's worth of information from the city that never sleeps. Something awaited you here, a piece of your future yet to come true. Perhaps that’s why you got on the plane and agreed to his constant pleading. Not to appease him, but to find that something.

Your feet hurt after an hour, the cold breaching the thick layer of your jacket, and eventually you found yourself back at Eddie’s place. The pungent scent of fish became easy enough to follow the closer you got. His key felt cold against your palm, the weight of it suddenly looming in the distance now that you crossed paths with Louie. He wanted to get to know you, he wanted to spend time with you.

Eddie left you alone to wander on the first day of your visit.

“Yeah,” you sighed, sliding the key into the lock with ease. “I’ll call him.”

“I don’t understand how you can take so fuckin’ long in here.”

You swatted the imposing hand heading straight for your near perfect eyeliner. “I’m not against biting you Alden.”

The grin he flashed you in the mirror nearly broke the resolve you built up all day—his charm striking your heart with a lethal promise. Two hours of alone time in his place gave you a chance to collect yourself. Louie’s name and number was pressed into the small notebook you kept at all times. You itched to call him, make plans for a date that was long overdue in your life.

That is until Eddie waltzed through the door with the plea for you to get ready for a night out on the town. Some time to finally be the adults who took over for two young and reckless teenagers. Reality shattered clean over your head, reminding you that this trip—this short lived time of fun—was always meant to be spent with Eddie.

He made the plans, he got you here. To spend it with another man felt inherently wrong.

“Again with the biting kitten,” he sighed, sipping his cocktail made messily in the kitchen. “I’m starting to think you like the idea of marking me up.”

Your hand faltered, the mascara wand nearly ramming into your eye. “You’re delusional.”

“Mhm.” He popped the olive in his mouth with a grin, shaking his head at the glare thrown over your shoulder. “You don’t have to be fancy. It’s just a bar.”

“I’m doing this for myself Eddie.”

The slight roll of his eyes didn’t slip past you—his muttered words brushed off with another swipe of lipstick. Rarely did you get the chance to head out at home. Stuffed into cheap back road bars that believed the shitty beer would stop people from commenting on the state of their bathrooms. Forced to listen to nostalgic conversations that always stemmed back to the good old days of high school.

After a year or two of friends dragging you past the thresholds of buildings that’d seen far more than necessary from a string of generations that came before you, it eventually led to the confines of your apartment being your safe space.

Soon…they stopped asking for your presence already knowing the answer that sat urgently on the tip of your tongue.

“Never thought you’d be one to go fancy,” he mused, leaning against the door frame—his looming height throwing you off. “You never used to do it.”

You sighed, bitter and jaded and filled with empty words of irritation. “We had to grow up eventually. Consider this me being grown up.”

“Oh believe me,” he breathed, burning gaze dragging down to how your jeans molded to your hips. “I know.”

Downing the final dregs of his drink, he ripped his eyes from the dark denim with a disgruntled sigh attempting to ignore the ache in his stomach that rapidly spread to the tight confines of his own pants. Discouraging you from putting on pretty things was the last thing he wanted. The exact opposite rang in his mind like a bell without end—a reminder that if he stepped up and opened his fucking mouth this wouldn’t be an issue.

He wanted to reach for you, slide his hands into the pockets that were stretched over your ass and grope the flesh without concern for what it would do to your friendship. He longed for the chance to try and keep you in his apartment, to peel the fabric from your body with enamored words of worship.

The fear held him by the scruff of his neck, sliding down his spine with a vicious promise that this would shatter on impact. The bond stretched tight and thin over years and distance was vulnerable. To tamper with it was a catastrophe waiting to happen. He’d never forgive himself if he became the reason it ripped and frayed.

So he kept his mouth shut and watched as you admired the top that hugged your breasts, adjusting it slightly to pronounce their plushness. The second you puckered your lips, leaning forward to touch up the smudged lipstick Eddie felt his breaking point rush to the surface. With a barely hidden cough, he rushed to the kitchen for a glass of water—desperate to calm the incessant throbbing that stirred his cock to attention.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered, the cold tap water sliding down his throat with a icy burn.

It didn’t help.

“Go the fuck away.” He snarled the words under his breath, gripping the edge of the cold counter until his knuckles paled.

“Are you talking to me?”

With wide eyes, he whirled around at the soft echo of your voice filling the empty space. You with trepidation in your gaze and mouth pulled into a frown. Those pretty lips carved from marble, accentuated in a mauve he wanted smeared over the bare skin of his chest. Shutting his eyes to the sight felt like the only way he could survive tonight, but you were waiting for him to reassure the doubts that spilled into an already hesitant mind.

Worries that overtook your mind at the worst times.

“No,” he blurted out. “Not really talkin’ to anyone. Just uh…needed some water. Sore throat.”

Your brows furrowed, lips curling into a grin. “It’s cause your apartment is fucking cold!”

“Lies,” he retorted, dragging his leather jacket up and over his body. “‘S cause you got me sick.”

“Oh bullshit!” An arm draped over your shoulders, leading you to the heavy metal front door. “I didn’t show up sick. It’s all your own fault for not taking my advice.”

“Advice huh?”

“Get a better radiator or fix it. I’m not getting hypothermia for you.”

Digging his teeth into his lip, he swallowed the smile—eyes gleaming beneath the stairwell lights. “Who says you’re gonna get hypothermia? You’ve got a heater right here.” He gestured down his body with a cocksure smile. “I won’t let you get sick.”

“You have a bedroom of your own.”

“Kicking me out already?” he exclaimed, following you down the steps. “I thought we were bound for life.”

Scoffing, you turned to glance up at his imposing form—the saliva drying in your mouth instantly. “Well…we’re…friends. Not roommates.”

He clutched his heart. “You wound me kitten.”

“Fuck off Eddie,” you laughed.

“I can’t.” He fell into step beside you, guiding you out into the frozen night air. “Unfortunately you’re stuck with me.”

Two bars later and three glasses of beer had you and Eddie stumbling through the doors of his third and possibly final pick of the night. The first wound up being downstairs. A small hole in the wall that served relatively good drinks, yet held no space for two extra people to add to the madness. So he dragged you downtown to a tiny hovel beneath the towering buildings of the city—only to wind up with a shitty pungent aftertaste at the back of your throat.

The space reeked of cigarettes. Butts of smoked joints and Marlboros scattered the floor as people cheered for whatever song came up next. Couples or strangers or first timers danced aimlessly, lost in the alcohol that filled their veins. You wanted to say you fared better, but the days of drinking Eddie under the table were long gone.

A forgotten piece of youth scattered along the back roads of your town.

“I’m gonna grab another beer.” He pressed the words to your ear with cold lips and a tight grip on your hip.

“Sublime,” you drawled, watching him push through the throng of people with a determined gait in his step.

Relenting yourself to the fitful search of an empty table, you nearly rammed your hip into the corner of a booth on your way past a small group of women. A bachelorette party from the veil and flushed cheeks of a soon to be bride celebrating her future. You swallowed the sour tang of jealousy, easing yourself past with a halfhearted grin at the woman who tossed a flawless smile your way.

Marriage was never in the cards for you. Eternally bound, tied by more than the strings of fate.

How could you think of anyone else filling the space Eddie stood in for years? He was the groom in your mind, the man waiting at the end of an extremely long aisle. Replacing him felt wrong. A betrayal that nearly threw you for a loop of dizziness.

Your eyes slid over the groups of people, finding him with ease at the bar—a beer gripped tightly in his hand and a smile on his lips…for the woman on his right. Bile crept up the back of your throat, burning your stomach ruthlessly. This wasn’t jealousy, this surpassed that. What you felt was a possession that settled in your bones the second you looked at him; a part of your mind that screamed he was yours.

But he wasn’t yours.

He was a single man living in New York and you were…his friend.

Swallowing thickly you navigated past another set of tables with your head down to watch the stumble of your feet. Only to feel someone slam into your shoulder, nearly toppling you over. Yelping, you gripped the hands that reached for your shoulders—eyes wide and breath lost at the prospect of getting injured while piss poor drunk. Brown eyes flashed in your vision, a face that echoed with familiarity, and suddenly there you were.

Back in that coffee shop in the arms of a stranger.

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

You blinked rapidly, lips tilting into a grin at the sight of Louie Parker. “But how will I make an impression if we don’t?” you quipped with a breathless laugh.

“Believe me–” He settled you back on your feet, his hands dropping to the small of your back. “–you’ve made an impression.”

“A good one I hope.”

He smiled, still warm, still…different. “A great one.”

Someone shoved past you, landing you right into his chest with a muffled grunt. You longed to get out of this stuffy bar, to find your way back to the spacious yet freezing apartment. But the arrival of Louie kept you rooted to the spot, intrigued to find out what might happen next. His smile drew you in with a serene lull of quiet in this crowded and loud place. The people melted into the background as he kept you close.

A different song came on, people cheered, and yet you found that hanging out with Louie was the best option for the night. You felt bad at the thought you were forgetting Eddie entirely, but he chose to leave you on your own to hit on someone. Why couldn’t you do the same?

“So since this is our second meeting,” he started with a nervous glint in his eyes, cheeks flushed with the alcohol he no doubt drank before this. “I was wondering if you’re free…um…in a few days?”

Sucking in a breath, you felt an unfamiliar flutter echo in your chest—one that solely existed for Eddie. “I’m not here for a long time–”

“Then tomorrow night?”

You froze, eyes wide at the thought of finally getting a chance to live. You owed it to yourself to finally experience this. To give the prospect of love in a different person another chance. So with a smile you placed a hand on his chest and found your footing in an unfamiliar space.

“I’d love to.” Heat spilled across your spine where he touched you; an unexplored path you tried not to be terrified of.

“Really?” His breathless voice echoed with a rasp that had you hanging onto every word. “I can pick you up.”

Nodding, you felt the rapid rate of his heart pump beneath your hand. “Just let me know the place. Easier that way.”

“Well I don’t want you to get lost,” he drawled, eyes half lidded and burning dark with a want that left you jittery. “It is a big city.”

“That it is,” you mumbled, teeth sharply pressing into your bottom lip hard enough to keep you level.

The beer tasted shitty enough to hold him over for another twenty minutes, knuckles rapping on the bar to order an extra for you. Aria slid into the spot beside him, her lips pulled into a knowing smirk that curdled his stomach. She worked at his office, often trading her girl troubles for his. It wasn’t uncommon for him to drink a bit too much and let loose the name of his dream woman—his favorite person.

He swallowed the remainder of his drink as she turned to him, eyebrow raised as silence and the chatter of people filled the space between them. That was the thing about Aria. She refused to let him get away until he spilled his guts. Until the one thing that bugged him fell upon her attuned ears.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

She laughed, taking a sip of the vodka soda pushed her way. “You’re like a dog with a bone, Alden.”

“I don’t know what you’re fuckin’ talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” She glanced over his shoulder, no doubt at the stunning person he’d come to call his best friend. “That her? The soulmate?”

He swallowed down another mouthful. “I didn’t say soulmate.”

With a snort she leaned close. “I believe your exact words were: I met my soulmate at twelve and she doesn’t even know how much I fucking. love. her.”

“I was drunk,” he exclaimed.

“Still said it Eddie.”

Grumbling under his breath, he sipped at the second beer meant for you—eyes fixed on the sticky wooden bar-top that held an infinite amount of rings from glasses set there over the years. It wasn’t the finest establishment, but he found it to be a part of his life here in the city. A piece of the man who learned how to live on his own in a place that nearly throttled him on the first day.

“She’s visiting,” he mumbled into his glass.

Aria hummed. “Sure seems like it’s more than that. Especially with that guy.”

Pain splintered through the tendons in his neck with how fast his head turned, picking you out within seconds. A smile played along your smudged lips, your gaze transfixed on the man whose hands were curled around your hips. The same spot Eddie craved to touch each night, the same body that he longed to love with his teeth and tongue.

Rage simmered at the top of his stomach, his fingers clenching around the glass hard enough to crack it—jaw ticking and teeth grinding at the sight of your carefree laugh directed at someone else.

He never wanted to burn the world more. To ram his fist into the face of a man who might have been astronomically nice.

“Excuse me,” he spit out, getting to his feet with a lungful of air.

Her knowing laugh fell on deaf ears while he shoved past people. He was five seconds from vaulting over the tables to get to you, his heart hammering sharply against his chest. This hostility towards your dating life wasn’t born from malice. Not in any way that was directed at you. He merely hated each man who showed even a partial interest in you.

All through high school he shoved them away with duplicitous words and rueful smiles. Claiming that you were already dating someone, that you weren’t looking for much.

Perhaps it was awful. Maybe he destroyed your love life to sleep easier at night. But he did it because none of them would know your favorite color, or remember the album you played on a constant loop in tenth grade, or envision the home they’d build with you and what color the kitchen would be. They’d never see the depths of your heart even as you blatantly wore it on your sleeve.

He would.

He always had.

Call it selfish, call it insanity, call it hypocritical for bringing you heartache as he slept with half of New York. They all rang with a truth that haunted him—picking him a part with the ruthless edge of a sword he walked daily.

Because he was selfish and insane and a fucking hypocrite. He was everything you’d call him and more the day you found out. And he’d take it with a smile, the taste of you on his tongue as he stole a kiss. He would face the wrath of your anger if it meant you were his.

“How are you liking New York?” The man’s question echoed with a reverence that made the alcohol in Eddie’s stomach churn.

Somehow in such a short time you managed to charm a man before Eddie could gain the courage to tell you the truth. He knew he would be sick the second you guys got back to his place. He’d find himself on the bathroom floor as you pulled and strangled his weeping heart. And he couldn’t even blame you for it. You didn’t know the extent of his feelings, you were completely unaware of how he spent some days thinking of what you were doing—what you were thinking about—and it was all his fault.

“The city is packed–”

Eddie sauntered over with a smile, his hand finding purchase on the small of your back. “Is that why you’ve been trying to get out of visiting me, kitten?”

You froze, expression swirling with the guilt of being caught with your hand in the cookie jar, and Eddie had never felt more pathetic in his life. How could he make you feel bad about this? How could he ruin another prospect that clearly seemed interested in the way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks with each quick blink? Was he truly this inconsiderate?

“Oh!” You glanced at Eddie, your pupils dilating at the sight of his smirk. His ego swelled at the sight. “Eddie there you are.”

“Here I am.” At long last he finally acknowledged the man who clung to you with rapturous awe in his eyes. “And who is this?”

The stranger relented his hold on your hip to extend that same hand towards him. “Louie Parker. You must be the best friend?”

“And oldest friend,” he replied in a snarky tone of reproach, gripping hard enough to see him wince. “Since elementary school. Right Kit?”

“Kit?” Louie grinned at you; Eddie seethed.

You seemed none the wiser of the obvious pissing contest directly in front of you. “Old nickname. Eddie’s mom gave it to me. She used to call me the stray kitten he found next door.”

“It’s cute,” Louie replied. “Kitten.”

Eddie’s fingers curled into fists, eyes burning with enough anger to set the entire bar ablaze. You looked happy with Louie, blissfully so. It dug at the insecure parts of himself he thought he buried in college—the parts that screamed for peace. He didn’t come from a perfect family. He didn’t have the greatest hold of his temper. He wasn’t…the man you deserved. Maybe Louie was and maybe Louie was meant to be your husband—your forever.

That alone left him aching to snuff out the sparks even as they flew above his head. Selfish, greedy, possessive. Eddie was all of that and more, and he refused to be ashamed of things that kept you in his life.

You’d hate him for it later. That he could handle.

As long as you were there to hate him.

“We gotta go,” he announced, hooking a finger into the back belt loop of your jeans to tug you closer. “There’s another spot I wanted to show you.”

Staring at him incredulously made him dizzy with the sight. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Bars don’t close till three kitten.”

The pout on your lips had his heart dropping to his stomach. Fuck what he wouldn’t give to lick the mauve stain off your mouth. He wanted to taste the alcohol off your tongue, to test his theory of it being better off your tastebuds. He wondered what you would do if he were to kiss you right now in front of everyone. Would you push him off? Would you curse at him with vitriol on your lips? Or would you sink into it with the same needy ache that spread down to the tips of his fingers?

He hoped for the former even as he knew the latter was reality.

“But I…” A quick glance at Louie left you floundering for the right answer. Eddie played it up with a ruthless streak of defiance.

Leaning in, he felt you go slack in his hold at the sight of his wide eyes pleading for you to say yes. “Please.”

You sighed, pulling free from Louie’s hold with an apologetic grin. “I’ll call you.”

Pride bloomed in his chest, guilt clinging to the last dregs of beer that sat at the top of his stomach. This vacation wasn’t meant for you to fall in love with someone else. But who was he to make that choice for you? You should have spit at him, cussed at him with the teenage fury handed to him in the past. The girl he longed to see once more.

The one you buried the day he left you behind. A way to escape the pain of his absence.

“This better be good,” you mumbled, hand gripped into the back of his jacket as he led you through the crowd.

His hand itched to slide into the pocket of your pants; instead he sunk his teeth into the flesh of his cheek. “You’ve never seen the city at night.”

“I’m here all week. We could have gone some other day.”

A shrug became his only answer. The opportunity for silence grew easier as you traipsed beside him, the echo of night drumming the chaotic beat he grew to harmonize with. Taxi’s honked their horns, people shouted across small streets. New York in all its glory. A list of spots to take you formed in his head, the bars and cafes still open past midnight. You would loathe most, find no entertainment in others, and so he led you aimlessly—no true destination needed when all he craved was your company.

Much to his surprise you looped your arm around his, soaking in the glow of streetlights and frozen air of an icy winter. Eyes filled with wonder and lips curled into a grin, he knew this was it. The moment he’d think back to after your plane departed, after you finally left him to survive the gaping hole forged in his unsteady heart. You with starlight in your eyes—rapture painted across a face he saw in his dreams.

A haunting angel that saved him long ago.

“You look like you belong here Kit,” he admitted with a whispered reverence.

Your gaze met his—the sparkle bright enough to rival the glow of the moon. “I do huh?”

“A true New Yorker if I’ve ever seen one.”

“High praise coming from you.”

A beat of silence echoed with decades of a future brimming with one single possibility. A life spent here…with you.

“So stay,” he uttered.

The whip of your head sent pain down your neck. “Ha ha Eddie.”

“I’m not joking.”

Your smile faltered. “I can’t stay here Eddie. I don’t…”

“You don’t what?” His brows furrowed—other hand sliding to keep you close.

“I don’t belong here.” With a sigh you ducked your head, the streetlight playing off your hair, forming a halo. “Not like you do. I’d have nothing holding me here, nothing to do.”

His chest twisted, heart stuttering an unknown beat of anguish. “Yes you do.”

“Eddie–”

“You belong here more than you know. With…”

With me.

To wrench the words out of his chest felt impossible. A feat he’d been trying to overcome since highschool. One that grew in size the more years that passed—his secret tucked away from reality, its frail unsure nature reeking with a vulnerability he was too ashamed to reveal. But you knew more than anyone. You knew his quirks, how he dreamt of being a screenwriter, how he broke down crying the night his mother officially signed the divorce papers—splitting his life down the middle.

You’d seen him on his knees begging the world to cease his suffering. And in a way it did. Because with every smile you gave him, all the nights spent laughing until your stomachs flared with that soothing ache, you healed his haphazardly stitched up heart.

A question still burned in his chest, spurting out of his mouth without thought. “What do you think of love Kit?”

The incredulous expression on your face nearly made him take it back. But then…you answered.

“It’s ridiculous.”

He blanched, swallowing back the nausea. “What…”

Truth tumbled from your lips with a spite he’d never seen before—an anger that lay unresolved in your spirit. “It’s all bullshit. The whole romantic true love notion. It doesn’t exist.”

“Kitten–”

“No. You told me a long time ago that the whole true love soulmate shit isn’t real. And I tried to defend it—like really tried—but I think I’ve gotten tired of waiting for the knight in shining armor who doesn’t exist.”

Swallowing thickly, he shut out the piece of his heart perilously close to breaking off. “How do you know he doesn’t exist?” he croaked.

“Because he would have found me by now.” With a weary sigh, you shrugged. “Or maybe he does exist and just doesn’t want me.”

I want you. I want you till the end of time. I want you in this life and the next and each one we wind up in together.

But like a coward…he stayed quiet. “Oh…”

The words damning love—striking it down with a whip of fury—sounded different coming out of your mouth. As if you believed their bitterness. Took it to heart with the vow to escape from the emotions he never knew how to control. Soulmates weren’t bullshit, true love wasn’t fake. He knew that now.

He’d known the second he met you.

If only the stupidity of youth hadn’t dragged him down to a place he could never return.

“It’s freezing Eddie.”

Jolting out of his flurry of thoughts, he watched your eyes wide and shining look at him with hope. A fleeting need that simmered at the base of his stomach. The alcohol was starting to wear off, the lingering effects of a morning doomed with the hangover flaring to life. He sucked in a breath, steadying himself with a needy rush that fortified itself in the back of his head.

Focusing on the sound of your voice became difficult when all he could hear was the pleas to kiss you. His own mind turning against the docile moments of silence meant to swallow his affections.

He was nearing his breaking point. That alone should have terrified him.

“C’mere.” Looping his arms around your back he tucked you into his jacket, his chin finding a spot against your head, hands pressed into the heavy coat that never seemed to be enough.

A perfect placement of two halves unsure of whether or not they fit together.

The puzzle would remain unfinished, disjointed. But that’s how you’d grown to love one another. Perfectly imperfect.

“They sell hot chocolate at a cafe near here.”

You perked up with a smile, chin resting on his chest. “Hot chocolate? With whipped cream?”

“What do I look like? An animal?” he scoffed. “‘Course they got whipped cream.”

“Lead the way Alden.”

Sunlight felt odd when coupled with the frozen air of his living room; a fresh blanket of snow coated his balcony—the tops of buildings layered in what you could only describe as a white winter. The picture perfect background to time spent in New York during the holidays. Only your time was quickly coming to a close, your last two days moving exponentially fast given who you were spending it with. Although you supposed the melancholy of leaving your best friend behind made it worse.

You didn’t want to go home. You didn’t want to spend the holidays in a town scattered with memories of Eddie when he wasn’t around to make new ones.

So you resigned yourself to his couch with a book, a scratchy throw blanket covering your legs and a flattened pillow set behind your back. Both should have made for a time of awful relaxation, but you’d never been more comfortable. Surrounded by Eddie’s scent in his home as he hummed a broken tune in his bedroom. The clack of his keyboard loud enough to drown out the traffic outside—the horn of cars and taxis drifting through the thin glass.

The contrast of the two worlds left you sinking a bit further on his couch, your eyes soaking in the words typed neatly on the page. A love story. Ironic given the conversation the two of you had last night—confusing yet filled with clarity as to what you really believed. What you were unsure of from the start. Yes you believed in love, no you didn’t think true love was about to happen upon you on a random night in the city.

You wondered if Eddie was referring to Louie. The man he couldn’t pull you away from fast enough. Perhaps he saw something in the stranger. A flash of darkness you were too blind to notice.

The game of romance felt brand new, the fear of taking all the wrong steps swelling in your chest the more you strived towards it. Having your heart broken was bound to happen given that you’d never experienced much in love. The past was littered with memories of Eddie, of time spent with him as the only man in your life—the one who should have taught you what to do.

But now you were wading into open waters, desperate to see what lay on that small island of love, the hope in your heart diminishing the more your body ached from swimming.

Louie was nice. You liked him.

That had to be enough.

She cupped his face, lips searching for plush lips and whispers of the next day. The night echoed with the beat of their hearts, a tangled intermingling of souls who searched eternity for the prospect of forever. He kissed her with a husk filled groan, fingers gripping the base of her neck and cock sliding through dripping folds—

“Story must be pretty good to have your nose so far into it.”

You jerked back, eyes wide as Eddie’s broad form filled your eye level. “W-what?”

The sly raise of his eyebrow went unnoticed by your racing mind. “I asked if it was a good story.”

“Oh–” You shut the book on your finger, coughing subtly as your thighs pressed together. “Yeah. Great story.”

The original plan to visit his work was overshadowed by the hangover blinding the both of you into submission. Painkillers were your savior and cheap coffees bought down the street were your resolute salvation. It took two hours of laying in bed as Eddie moaned and grumbled down the hall on the phone in an attempt to snag yet another sick day. Eventually you dragged yourself out to the freezing cold kitchen, wincing as bare skin touched cement and effectively turned to ice.

That was an hour ago. Enough time for you to find the strength to focus your eyes on pages lined with lascivious and vulgar acts that made your heart race. It was a standard bodice ripper, picked up at the airport as a hopeful distraction on the journey here. Only to find that you actually enjoyed the story.

“Wanna tell me what it’s about?”

Heat prickled beneath the cold skin of your cheeks—his gaze unwavering and perceptive. “A love story.”

“Love story,” he mumbled.

“Standard romance. Man likes woman, proceeds to try and woo woman…stuff like that.”

“Ah.” A hand ripped the paperback from your grip quicker than you anticipated, his eyes devouring the page you marked as you sprang to your feet.

“Eddie!”

“He kissed her with a husk filled groan, fingers gripping the base of her neck and cock sliding through dripping folds…” A ruddy scarlet flush bloomed across his face, traveling rapidly to the tips of his ears—his eyes wide and lips parted.

Spit was smeared across crimson lips, his fingers finding a home on her waiting tongue—body curving over her pliant form with a moan. She was spread beneath him, eyes shining in anticipation, a cry tearing from the base of her elongated throat at the first thrust into her drooling cunt.

Eddie couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

“You fucker!” you shouted, yanking the novel back with a sneer. “You don’t have to know everything.”

The sharp edge of your words spilled out onto deafened ears as he regarded you with dark eyes, teeth digging into his bottom lip hard enough to split it open. His cock twitched in his sweatpants, leaking into the boxers he knew he’d have to wash the second your attention was elsewhere.

It’s not that he had no self control—he did. Eddie prided himself on his restraint knowing how many times he could have kissed you, how many nights he watched you sleep and held back from caressing your cheek.

All his life he spent every fucking day keeping himself from begging you to take him, to break and ruin him beyond repair.

But at this very moment he felt another strand of the rope around his throat snap; the invasive feral need to have you—ravish you—pounded through his body. It screamed with intent. Clawed at his mind as images of you trapped in that same scenario began to shove their way to the forefront. You in his bed, lips forming around the letters of his name, the comfortable clothes you wore in a heap on the floor.

You taking his cock like the good fucking girl he knew you were.

The nice sweetheart he belonged to.

“We’re going out,” he said abruptly, biting harshly on the inside of his cheek. The sticky wet sensation in his sweatpants felt unbearable when you were here, his body aching to just let you touch him—to drop to his knees and let you have your way.

Except that felt too forward; that would scare you.

“Where?” you demanded, eyes narrowed at his blank face.

“Lunch.” His tongue swiped along the bitten and swollen bottom lip. “I’m starving.”

The audible click of your swallow seared into the back of his head, gratification pouring out into the open at the thought that you reacted to him. That your now flustered expression was due to him. He swiveled on his heel, bee lining for the bathroom as you stood in shock. Your heart thumping a rapid and unknown beat that spread down between the thigh clench of your thighs. You wanted to hear him rasp those words again. His eyes shadowed by the aching need of a man who hadn’t been laid in days.

Even if you could tell the book was the only thing to rile him up. That look alone would plague your dreams for months on end—your fingers working tirelessly to give you just enough.

You didn’t hear the thump of Eddie’s forehead hit the shower wall—his body humming with anticipation. Nor did you hear the gruff biting moan that bounced off tile, soon drowned out by water the second his hand wrapped around his already leaking and blushing cock. What control he clamped onto flew out of his body at the first pump of his fist, a wet grunt tumbling out of parted lips slick with his spit.

The last time he got off this fast reared in his mind. You prancing up and down a beach in a bikini, tits bouncing and the fat of your thighs rippling with each dash into the water. He came in his hand quick enough to make him go blind, his head fuzzy with the high of imagining you on your knees. Mouth parted to swallow his spend with soft breathy moans.

“Fuck,” he spit, thumb pressing beneath the head of his throbbing length.

Embarrassment should have washed over him by now—that twinge of shame tugging at his gut. But your flustered expression stamped itself behind his shut eyelids, desperation his base state in the confines of the small shower. For a brief second you wanted him. You yearned for him to keep going.

A stuttered moan ricocheted off the walls. No doubt loud enough to spill into the kitchen, but Eddie couldn’t fucking care. He was climbing towards a searing release, his body curling forward and hand pressed against the cold wall. The tremble of his thighs was the telltale sign that it would be over soon, but something shifted. Suddenly he wasn’t just thinking about you on the floor sucking him off to a quick conclusion.

Now he pictured you in the bedroom, bent over his kitchen counter as coffee brewed, on the floor of the living room strewn across a heap of blankets. He imagined you writhing in ecstasy with his name on your lips—your back bowed and head tipped as a cry wrenched from your throat. How his cock would slide into you with ease, slick pouring out to make a filthy mess between your sweaty bodies. He’d have you any way you wanted, but this he took for himself.

His imagination was his only solace in a life spent parted from you.

The stutter of your name ripped from his lips with a whine, the slap of his hand bouncing off the walls as he came with a hiss. Spilling over pale knuckles and washing down the drain with a sigh.

Pathetic wasn’t the word to describe how he felt the second he wrapped the towel around his waist, water dripping across the floor as he wiped down the fogged up mirror. He was the mud beneath a soldier's boots. The grime stuck to old cars left to rot in junkyards. Eddie had turned into a whimpering mess of a man at the mere thought of having you—yet he never tried to make that dream a reality.

“Nice going Alden,” he muttered, glaring at his flushed cheeks. “Fuckin’ up one day at a time huh.”

Jumping at the soft knock on the locked door, he felt his heart flutter at the lilt of your voice. Truly he was losing it—a hopeless case with no chance of being salvaged.

“Can I get in there Eddie?”

His teeth dug into his bottom lip, eyes rolling back at the violent twitch of his still sensitive cock. “Y-Yeah. ‘M done here.”

Wrenching the door open seemed to be a mistake given how close you were. Stumbling forward, your hand found purchase on his wet naked chest to steady yourself—the gasp filling his ears soft and high and everything he imagined. Your eyes dropped to the towel that hung low on his waist, the trail of hair leading beneath it, water dripping along the vein you’d seen before. Somehow up close it felt like more, like an invasion of privacy.

It startled you how much you craved to trace the shape of it with your tongue.

Heat flooded your face, hand falling to your side as he smirked, his arm propped against the door frame beside his head. “Take a picture kitten. You can frame it.”

Your face fell. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Getting to stare at yourself all day.”

“I wouldn’t not like it. Pretty sure I’ve got a camera around here somewhere.”

Shoving him to the side with a groan you set the small toiletries bag on the sink’s edge. “Maybe later. I’ve got to get ready.”

“We’re just going to lunch Kit.”

“Oh I know,” you replied. “But I’ve got a date tonight.”

There were times in his life Eddie wondered what torture felt like. A strange odd thought at the early age of twenty whilst watching a shitty action movie. But there standing two feet from the love of his life, he finally understood.

His heart dropped—stomach churning hard enough for a wave of bile to claw up his throat. He felt surprised he was still up on two feet, his mind reeling with the information you handed over with an air of joy. As if you couldn’t be more excited. Nails dug into his palm as he formed fists tight enough to hurt—the need to slam them into something (or someone) growing by the second.

You were going on a date.

A date.

With a man.

With someone that…wasn’t him.

“Who’s the lucky bastard?” he croaked, anger flaring in his tightening chest.

“Louie,” you said with a bashful smile, eyes bright and beautiful.

Eddie felt the knife slice through his chest, digging beneath the depths of where he could reach. Yet you still smiled without a care in the world. You couldn’t see him bleed before you, could barely notice the wound you inflicted, and he would never blame you for it. Because you were happy. You were overjoyed.

How could he rip that from you?

But even as the question crossed his mind he knew…he’d do it anyway.

The dress cinched your waist tight enough to expel the air from your lungs. Uncomfortable. Irritating. But flawlessly perfect with its velvet fabric that wrapped around you like a second skin—the maroon shade dark enough to match your lipstick. Within two hours you’d be desperate for it off, aching for the large t-shirt swiped from Eddie’s drawer and sweatpants that held enough coffee stains to change their color entirely.

You weren’t used to dressing up, primping and prepping for someone who may never tell you the words that lingered in the back of your mind. The heels dug into the back of your foot, black and awkward and everything you tried to avoid. You rooted around the bottom of your worn makeup bag, the mascara tube scratched and smudged. Even as you swiped it across your lashes you felt the burden of tonight settle heavy and palpable.

A guilt that stemmed from the very person outside this bathroom.

The man who built your idea of romance over the years—the knight in shining armor who might never come to your rescue.

Fidgeting with the hem of your dress, a silhouette cast in shadows appeared in your peripheral. Statuesque and hopeful with his arms crossed and spine stiff. You could feel the discomfort swirl in the air as he peeked his head around the corner for a small glimpse of what you were doing. At this point you couldn’t blame him. An hour and a half was definitely too long to spend in the bathroom.

“I can see you standing there,” you called, fixing the strap on your shoulder with a sigh. “If you needed the bathroom you could have told me.”

Heels clicked on the cement floor and the whisper of you sliding the zipper shut on your bag echoed in the relatively quiet living room. You passed him with a grin, tossing the essentials on the guest bed beside your coat. The color didn’t go with the dress—a disappointment you had no time to rectify—and borrowing one of Eddie's jackets would only send the wrong message.

The thump of his boots trailing behind you filled the space with a solemn farewell he had yet to bid you. He bit his tongue longer than you expected him to. No jesting or teasing. No jokes or shots taken on your behalf. For all intensive purposes Eddie Alden was suddenly at a loss for words—his blank expression and dark eyes throwing you for a loop that felt precarious.

He’d never done this; his mouth always moving faster than his own thoughts. A trait that got him into a fair bit of trouble back home. It’s what you had in common, what you were both known for.

Tonight however your playful Eddie was replaced by a man who watched you in complete and utter silence. A hawk trailing its prey. Which only made the hair stand on the back of your neck.

“For fucks sake,” you muttered, spinning to find him leaning against the door frame. The scrutinizing eyes you were unable to escape trailing down your velvet clad form. “Out with it you bastard.”

“Kit–”

“No. You’ve been tailing me all night since you heard about this date. So let it out, get all the jokes and sly comments out now before I leave. Because after tonight I’m not giving you the chance.”

With a heaving chest and wild eyes, you watched in utter shock as Eddie Alden…cracked a smile.

A fucking grin that stretched from one side of his face to the other. You should have felt peeved by the sheer nerve for him to pick at your temper this way, but the slow steps as he walked closer left your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. Warmth found a home in the base of your already thumping heart—your hands picking at the hem of your dress to distract from his slow gait.

He looked you up and down, sizing up your body with a soft chuckle, before knocking the tips of his boots to the front of your heels.

“You look beautiful tonight kitten.”

Breath felt nonexistent in a space as small as this. You searched for it, clamored for even a morsel of oxygen, but found yourself standing there—mouth parted and eyes wide—with empty hands.

Beautiful.

Eddie called you beautiful.

How could you respond to something so shifting? Life altering, world teetering. You hadn’t felt this hopeless for something to say since he dragged you to prom kicking and screaming with a tux wrapped around his body and a gown around yours. Where you might have laughed—called him out on whatever bullshit he would pull any other night—you instead were left with absolutely nothing in your arsenal of spiteful vernacular.

And he seemed to be thrilled with the speechless flustered woman before him.

“Cat got your tongue sweetheart?”

Sweetheart.

Heat burned right down to your core, the strength in your knees suddenly weak and brittle. As if you didn’t know how to stand on your own.

“W-What?” you managed to choke out, unable to rip your gaze away from his glowing face.

“No response for my compliment?”

“Oh…um…”

He shuffled forward, knocking you back slightly. “I mean I was pretty nice and even if it is the truth don’t I deserve something nice back?”

Sucking in a breath, you felt the edge of the bed hit the back of your thigh. “Nice?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I am your best friend after all.”

Best friend.

Cold water drenched the top of your head, pouring an icy reality check down your spine with enough sense to wrench you out of whatever twisted fantasy your mind was conjuring. He was fucking with you. Pulling this move on purpose to keep you from making it to your date on time. It should have irked you—should have sent you into a state of fury—yet you couldn’t help but wonder if something else was hidden beneath his saccharine words.

You scoffed, shoving at his chest and drank in the satisfaction when he stumbled back with a gaping mouth. “I’m gonna be late.”

“Wait but–” The echo of his footsteps rushing after yours resonated off the window panes. “I’ve got something to say to you.”

“Can’t it wait until later? I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

An audible snort reignited the flare of irritation in your chest. “Who? The joke of a guy from last night? You barely know him and don’t forget you came to New York to see me not to–”

Whirling around you met him with pent up emotions that began to spill over an already full cup. “Not to what? Not to have a good time on my terms? Not to go out with a man I actually like?”

“You don’t know him!”

“But that’s not your decision!” Biting down on the inside of your cheek, you swallowed the wave of hot tears that rushed to the surface. “You always do this to me Eddie. You drag me along in your adventures and yes I go willingly, but you never—not once—allowed me an adventure of my own. Why? Why can’t I choose for once in my life?”

Somehow the silence hurt more than anything he could have said. Any excuse he might have offered as a shitty apology that would never come. He simply stood there, unable to form a decent string of false promises he’d never live up to. And for the first time you welcomed that unnerving sense of clarity with a bitter wave of your hand.

No matter how much you yearned for it to be true, the reality would always remain the same.

Eddie Alden would never love you.

Not in the way you loved him. He’d never feel each piece of his heart fracture as you slowly and yet all at once slipped from his grasp. That was the truth and you accepted it with a resigned sigh of utter heartbreak.

“Stay,” he finally admitted, eyes shining with tears that would eventually dry up and vanish. “With me.”

“Eddie–”

“Stay here and we’ll talk about this. And I’ll order a pizza with jalapeños and make you shitty coffee and let you hit me and yell at me.” Moving swift enough to throw you off guard, he gathered your hands in his. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do to make this right.”

You wished it were enough.

You begged it to be enough.

But you’d taken too many hits from a love life that suddenly felt fictional in comparison to what he offered you tonight.

Pulling away with a sigh, you didn’t see his expression of false joy crack right down the center. “I’ve got to go Eddie.”

“But–”

“Don’t wait up, okay?”

The door shut with a thud that bounced off each wall, settling unevenly against his hammering heart. He felt sick to his stomach. The grief of losing you—of quite possibly fucking up the only good thing in his life—rushed to the surface. Clawing up his already burning esophagus with a hostility that consumed him. His mind screamed to run towards the open door of the bathroom; his body wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment.

But his feet remained glued to the floor. Eyes trained on his now shut door simply waiting for you to come back. To waltz in with a different opinion, to rehash an argument that festered in both your minds for far too long.

He could hear his own heartbeat and the rush of blood in his ears.

He could hear the horns blaring and people shouting as the city took on a new persona as night came calling.

He could hear every breath he took in, every stunted exhale he let out.

But you were nowhere to be found.

The leather jacket was gripped in his hand before he could think it through, keys shoved into his pocket without realizing it. He acted on fear. The terrifying knowledge that this was it. That the moment he’d been waiting for all his life passed by and he fucking blew it. He watched it crash to the floor and made no attempt to save would could have been.

This love was written in the stars long before you met one another. The makeup of your hearts were carved directly into the makeup of the universe, forged by celestial beings and stray comets colliding together. You were more than best friends, more than soul mates. You were split down the center, always meant to find your other half in the touch of one another. If only he could make you see that.

Heavy footfalls echoed off the stairwell as he rushed out onto the busy street and into the icy cold. This wasn’t Eddie Alden the adult fuck up rushing after yet another notch in his belt. This was the boy who held you when you cried. The teenager who walked you home after classes. The high schooler who dragged you to parties you never wanted to go to. The football player who sprinted directly to you when they won each and every time.

The man whose heart was etched in the letters of your name.

Bundling the coat around your neck tight enough to stop the chill from seeping into your skin, you dashed into the open entryway of the restaurant Louie talked about last night. A fancy space filled to the brim with sparkling holiday decor, a tree that towered over you, and waiters dressed fancier than the patrons. You felt out of place the second you crossed the threshold. A fish out of water and dropped into waters that didn’t belong to you.

It shouldn’t have deterred you. A man wishing to take you somewhere magnificent on a first date; something you hoped might happen one day.

“You’re here!”

Louie Parker seemed to blend right into the glamour and opulence in a three piece suit—a golden chain dangling from his waistcoat and wool overcoat folded over one arm. He belonged. A member of a society you may never find yourself in again, but for tonight you met his stunning smile with a sheepish grin and cheeks filled with blossoming warmth.

“Sorry for being late. I couldn’t find the place,” you said, choosing to ignore Eddie’s blatant act of annoyance.

He shrugged, leading you to a coat check stand as if this were second nature—perhaps to him it was. “You’re new to the city. Bound to get lost at times.”

“You’ve got no idea.”

“Our table is safe.” He tossed a grin over his shoulder—effortless enough to throw you off balance. “I ordered a bottle of wine beforehand. Something decadent.”

“Wine’s good.” The words slipped off your tongue awkwardly as you handed off the coat with a soft thank you.

“I promise it is.” How his eyes trailed along the shape of your dress wasn’t lost on you, nor was the shift of his shoulders in his attempt to stand taller. “You’re stunning.”

The word should have made your heart flutter. It should have elicited the exact same response Eddie’s softly spoken beautiful did. Yet all you could offer him was a tight smile layered in a false air of hope diminished and dashed long before you entered this place.

He wasn’t Eddie. He’d never be Eddie. And you loathed that all it took was that simple fact for your heart to grow disinterested before the night truly began.

“I didn’t think I’d get to wear it on this trip,” you admitted, speaking directly to his back as you trailed after him to the table.

He spared you a glance and yet another smile. “I’m glad you did.”

“For your benefit or mine?” The tease felt wrong when directed at him. It felt like a lie.

“Mine I hope.”

Digging your teeth into your bottom lip to swallow the grimace, you shifted in the seat. “Guess you’re lucky.”

“I’m luckier than most.” His words were punctuated with a hand gesturing to the nearest waiter. “I think we’re ready.”

Floundering, you dug through the menu as Louie tossed his already thought out order into the air. There didn’t seem to be any reason for rushing, but there you were. Forced to quickly choose a meal before you even settled fully into your seat. The waiter glanced at you, eyes flashing with a look you’d seen before. A piteous apology he couldn’t say out loud.

You were stuck with a man who couldn’t see how out of place you felt. Someone who didn’t know how to read your pages.

“And for you miss?”

“Um…I’ll take–”

“She’ll have the same. Steak medium rare with an extra glass for champagne at the end.”

With that he signed off on what you were denying the whole way here. You weren’t meant to be sitting here with a man more interested in showing you off than asking what you wanted. But silence was all you could muster, swallowing the bitter wine with a hidden choked sneer of disgust. You longed for jalapeños on pizza and shitty beer and the promise of a good movie on Eddie’s horrible couch.

Oh how you’d rather be holed up in that apartment.

“So do you work?” he asked offhandedly, pouring another glass of wine for you.

“I do,” you replied, nails digging into your palm to stave off snarling at him with a rudeness Eddie would have enjoyed.

“Good. I prefer women who work.”

The meal dragged on the longer he spoke, barely giving you a chance to respond before he started up again. Topics you could barely keep up with, statements that felt one sided and drastically different than what you believed. Until finally you were halfway through chewing with a steak that cost more than your plane ticket and Louie directed his questions to you.

A surprising turn of events given his track record through the whole evening. You were annoyed, the dress dug into your waist, and the heels felt restricting even as you sat still and silent. A doll primed to perfection for a place that would have otherwise tossed you out.

“So you’re in New York with your friend?”

Swallowing the food with a sip of warm water, you nodded. “Yeah my best friend Eddie.”

Louie hummed. “Your best friend is a guy?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Did you two ever date?”

The itch to toss the remainder of your wine in his face grew by the second. “No we haven’t. We’re just friends.”

Another soft hum left his throat—another strike on your tally of shitty responses. “I just wanted to make sure. Don’t want to enter a state of drama in case things went further between us.”

“Further…”

“I have tickets to The Nutcracker in three days.” His hand slid across the table, laying over yours with a warmth that felt wrong. “I was hoping you would go with me.”

“Oh…”

“You could wear this dress again if you want.”

“Louie…”

His grip tightened, smile widening at your hesitancy. “You’ll be the prettiest guest there.”

“I’m not sure…” A flash of a man bursting through the doors caught your eye—a whirlwind of commotion that left you distracted for a moment.

Eddie’s face came into view, slightly red and distraught as the hostess attempted to grab his attention. He stood with his hair ruffled and clothes in disarray, eyes scanning the tables for someone. Until he landed on the one person who watched him with a flicker of need. The world melted away, Louie’s voice now a muffled echo in the background, as Eddie smiled wide enough to outdo all the shining lights in the room.

Any piece of decor paled in comparison when he looked at you as if nothing else of importance mattered. You were here, sitting in a red dress, and Eddie could feel hope surge in his chest.

Louie pulled you back to the present moment before you caught Eddie slipping past the front. Directing his way to the table and dragging a spare chair behind him he set it up at the edge of your table, plopping into the seat with a grin—shedding his jacket with ease. Like he’d been invited all along. You were irritated, angry about the stupid fight from earlier, but a small piece of you that longed to be rescued now rejoiced at his presence.

“Can I help you man?” Louie demanded, fingers tight around your wrist.

“No,” Eddie replied. “Just came to get some extra time with my best friend.”

Louie scoffed. “Alright come on, you can give her one night out without you clinging to her.”

“Am I clinging?” Eddie turned to you with a deep faux frown. “Kitten, you'd tell me if you needed space right?”

“Do us a favor and fuck off,” Louie snapped.

You flinched, pulling away the second his attention was off you. Unfortunately Eddie caught onto it with a grim expression and fists curled against his thighs. Always the protector, the dog with a fucking bone. Some days you relished in his nature to keep you safe, to snarl and bite at anyone who dared to pick on his favorite person. But tonight his otherwise cherished nature suffocated you where you sat.

He drowned you in the waters of his familial love as romance slipped between your fingers like sand.

“I’d watch your fucking tone,” Eddie warned, turning his glare to your date. “There’s a lady present.”

A biting laugh echoed in the still air—Louie finally reaching past the limit of tolerance. “She told me you guys didn’t date, but of course she fucking lied.”

“No I didn’t–” You gaped, sitting upright at his accusatory tone.

“You don’t have to lie for him sweetheart.”

Anger burned hot and painful in your chest, growing the longer you sat there stuffed between two men who couldn’t give a shit if you were hurting. With a sharp intake of breath, you snatched your purse off the floor and headed towards the coat check—leaving them behind to gather some sort of fresh air. Even as Eddie no doubt followed with blatant intent in every step he took.

You couldn’t take this anymore. The push and pull of a best friend who would never let you go. He’d never allow you to find a life that didn’t include him.

He’d never let you move on.

Tears spilled over before you could stop them, your fingers shaking as you tied the coat at your waist. The cold air filled with the stench of gasoline and nicotine became what you latched onto. A way to drag yourself back to the shore; a chance to survive Eddie’s dark waters before you were swallowed whole by them. He called your name while you walked, rushing to catch up with your quick pace—the heels doing nothing but slowing you down.

“Kitten wait!”

The familiar touch of his hand on your arm set off the wave of fury desperate to topple over. You turned with a shout, ripping away from his hold with a curse loud enough to startle him back.

“You are unbelievable!”

“Kit–”

“Do me the favor and shut the fuck up for once! It was a date. A date! That’s it! I get that you can’t handle when the attention isn’t focused on you and when I’m pulled somewhere else, but you had no right to act like an asshole!”

Heaving in a gasping breath, you watched as his pained expression blurred with the wave of fresh tears. “I can’t do this Eddie. I can’t live half a life until you decide to finally give up on our friendship.”

“That’s not why I showed up–”

You laughed, bitter and loud enough to garner looks, but you were past the point of caring. “No? You didn’t show up to embarrass me? You didn’t fuck up the one chance I had at a romantic relationship because you weren’t included in the choice I made?”

“No I didn’t,” he retorted. “And even if I did, why don’t you just admit it? Huh? You weren’t having fun on this fucking date anyways.”

“Why because you said so?” you shouted.

“I know you better than anyone.”

“Oh that’s rich. Just because you’ve known me longer doesn’t make you the final hammer in the nail that is my life. Mine Eddie! My life! Not yours!” Throwing your hands up at the first advancing step in your direction, you turned away from the man who saved you with the intent on ripping you open for an autopsy you never asked for.

A surgery of your still beating heart.

“Let me explain myself, would you?” he called, chasing after you down the sidewalk. “But of course you won’t, because you always run. You’ve run away from me your whole life!”

“Fuck you Alden!”

Down city sidewalks and past groups of people having fun, Eddie followed you every step of the way. Though his words died down, the anger dropping to a slow simmer in your chest, he still remained behind you—his hands tucked into his jacket pockets and eyes trained on the slight wince of your body with each step. The heels were digging sharply into your already raw skin but you refused to give him the satisfaction of helping you.

Not when the apartment was so close. Mentally you formulated a list of things to get done before your flight in a day. Pack your bags, flip Eddie off, cuss him out until the sun came up, and leave him behind as you stewed in your heartache and fury.

He couldn’t fight his way back into your good graces today. Certainly not during this trip.

This didn’t come from nowhere—you were entirely aware of that fact. The anger that spewed out of every word dipped in vitriol and pain stemmed from the deepest parts of your pining heart that screamed for him. A piece of yourself you buried continuously over years of hope. Time that you might never get back. You loved him without end, begged silently on every star that he might one day feel the same way. Only to understand he was stuck in his old ways.

Merely a boy loitering around in the body of a man.

Someone who never found the time to grow up—to become the man you needed.

The stairwell echoed with your footsteps, a melancholy beat to a song that should have ended long ago. Your time was up. The clock had run its course. And all that remained was the final goodbye to a friendship that began to fall apart long before you came to New York.

“Please talk to me.” The soft lilt of his voice nearly made you jump as he shut the door behind him.

“I’m tired Eddie.”

“We’re not done with this.”

Pain felt familiar in this moment, a new push of rage finding its footing in your weary form. “Give it up would you?”

He gripped your arms, turning you with a bruising yank that shoved the breath from your lungs. “I’ll never give up on you Kit. Don’t you get that? Giving up stopped being an option the day I met you.”

“Why?” you yelled, shoving at his chest. “Why can’t you let me go? Why do you have to keep me in this fucked up pattern of friendship? Don’t you get that it hurts Eddie? It hurts to see you chase after women, it hurts to never get a chance to do the same with someone else!”

“Tell me why,” he begged. “Tell me why it hurts. Keep yelling at me. Keep calling me a fucking asshole. Just talk to me. Please.”

“No!” Finally free from his touch, you stumbled back into the counter—your face a mess of tears. “You are an asshole. You’re the reason I can’t move on with my life! You’re stuck in my veins and I can’t get rid of you! The most pathetic childish man who can’t seem to handle his best friend finally getting a life of her own. Well I’m sorry Eddie but things don’t revolve around you.”

What little breath you had dissipated as you heaved between choked sobs. You knew he would leave your life eventually. You knew he’d get bored with the friend he barely saw in person. But this felt like torture—an agony he refused to take accountability for.

“Why?” you sobbed brokenly. “Why do you want to hurt me so much? What did I do to make you so angry that I’m finally moving on?”

“I’m not angry.”

“Then let me go!” You wiped roughly at your cheeks, uncaring that he stepped close enough to touch you. “Why can’t you let me–”

“Because I love you!”

Gaping stupidly at him the words failed to process—silence swallowing you before you could even fight against it. “What?” you whispered.

Chilled hands cupped your cheeks tenderly, his forehead falling to rest on yours—cold nose pressed to your frozen one. “I can’t let you go cause I’m fucking in love with you kitten. I’m yours.”

“Eddie?”

“I’ve been yours since I pushed you in that damn mud.” His sigh was warm, washing across your face and filling you with the wake up call you needed. “Through everything, through all the games you came to and nights on my roof.”

Disbelief colored your world as you gazed up at him, fingers curling around his wrists. “You…love me?”

He nodded, leaning close enough for his lips to brush yours. “Desperately baby.”

“You love me,” you murmured, lashes fluttering as he tilted you closer.

“I do.” Sighing, he pinned you to the counter until you had nowhere to go—no escape from the man who longed to wrap himself around you. “Let me kiss you, yeah? Can I kiss you? I’ve been dreamin’ about it since high school.”

Since high school. Since…

At this point you couldn’t tell if you were standing in the midst of reality or if your mind started to play tricks on you. Even as he said the words they felt misplaced. A way to keep you there instead of explaining himself. But for once you finally divulged in the dream you’d been harboring since childhood. An extraordinary moment of romance—a bliss you might never get again.

Catching him off guard you leaned up and slotted your lips against his with a soft sigh. He met you with a sharp inhale, fingers digging into your jaw as he kissed you back with a fervor that threw you off guard. His lips were chapped with the cold yet warm enough to soothe every ache in your body. Each sliver of pain now a fading memory with the swipe of his tongue along your bottom lip.

You should have pulled away. You should have forced him to talk, to explain everything in great detail. But the feel of his hands sliding down your back knocked every ounce of sense from your mind as need took over the cognitive choice for your actions.

His tongue found yours with a hoarse moan, your fingers twining into his hair still mussed by the weather outside. A sharp tug had him careening forward, his hand slapping against the counter behind you—a wet groan swallowed by the soft whine wrenched from the base of your throat.

You never thought kissing him would feel so exhilarating. You were nothing but a sharp bundle of nerves ready to be set alight with each touch, each lick into your mouth.

“Eddie,” you gasped, his mouth finding purchase at the side of your neck. Teeth scraping the soft skin and hands digging into the plush flesh of your ass.

“Stay with me,” he begged, hips canting against yours as a dizzy side effect of kissing your best friend rose to the surface. “Let me love you.”

“But the argument–”

“Fuck the argument,” he growled, biting down on your bottom lip. “Let me not be an idiot anymore.”

Your lashes fluttered, mouth falling open with the soft touch of his tongue sliding against yours. A heady moan dripped onto his taste buds, needy and wanting as you gripped his hair hard enough to elicit a sharp slice of pain. His cock throbbed in his jeans, mind hazy with the taste of wine off your tongue, but Eddie could feel the hesitancy in your veins. The knowledge that his words left you unsure of his emotions—lost in the sea he dragged you into.

He loved you painfully.

With every fiber of his being that slowly ripped itself to pieces at the thought of you never knowing the truth. You needed to know his heart beat for you. That his entire body screamed in agony at the lack of your touch—the need of more ripping at his chest.

He was yours to do away with.

Yours to toy with.

Yours to love and cherish.

However you wished to have him, he’d do it. Eddie would fall to his knees with the prayer of your name on his lips—begging to drink from your crystalline waters with the parched tongue of a dying man. He was in agony until you looked at him. Offering your own love on a silver platter.

“Can I?” he whispered, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Can you what?” you asked dazedly, lips swollen and slick with saliva. The sight made him voracious for more. For the sight of you coated in his spit.

He grinned, stealing another kiss with a whimpered sigh. “Can I love you how you deserve baby?”

The nod was subtle, a slight shifting of your head as glazed eyes darkened by lust met his searing gaze. But it was all he needed for his lips to find yours again, hands leading you into a stumbling walk to the guest bedroom lined with your things. He dug for the zipper of your dress, tugging it down quickly as you wrapped your arms around his neck—intent on keeping his mouth on yours.

A soft breathy moan emanated from your parted lips when his bare hands touched the skin of your back, sliding the velvet fabric off your body until it pooled in a heap at your feet. Nerves leapt beneath layers of hot flushed skin, your heart a ramming echo in the silence of a room filled only with his breaths.

But you heard him loud and clear.

The soft uttered fuck of a man who acted like he just witnessed a religious miracle. He was doomed the second your eyes finally opened to find his gaze. Pupils dilated and mouth open as he drank in the sight of you.

“You’re…” Sucking in a breath, he slid a hand over your stomach up to where the lace of your bra connected in the center with a jeweled bow. “Perfect.”

Rucking up his t-shirt, you let him kiss the breath out of your lungs. You fell into his hold with ease, because this was your path. Life led you straight to him, holding your hand through the heartache, promising you love at the end of it all. You just never expected his love would burn this way—a needy ache that built and built until you were ready to detonate. A hand curled around your thigh, hitching it over his thigh as he dropped you to the mattress.

His shirt beside your dress and jeans unbuttoned as they hung off his hips. With a shuddered breath you traced the vein along his stomach, smiling at the way his muscles contracted. A shudder running down his spine. He gasped, tongue sliding between your breasts—teeth nipping at the flesh with a growl.

“Wanna taste you.” Grinding his hips down hard enough for his cock to catch on the wet spot of your black cotton panties, he grinned at the soft cry that echoed by his ear.

Dragging him back up with a fist in his hair, you licked along his back teeth—hooking your other leg over his hip. “You already have baby.”

“Oh fuck,” he gasped.

Baby.

You’d never said that before, your voice pitched high and hazy with a hunger that curled at the base of his spine. Devouring you the way he wanted might be too much for you to handle.

He certainly didn’t want to scare you. Not when he’d been dreaming of this moment since his adolescence. But the thought of pounding you into the mattress, your melodious cries bouncing off the walls and the wet squelch of your pussy drove him to the brink of insanity.

“Say it again.” His teeth latched onto your nipple through the lace, sucking with a groan.

“Baby–” The pad of his fingers slid through the slick mess over the soft fabric, circling your clit hard. “Eddie!”

He smiled. “Want to taste you the right way.”

That unfamiliar high began to pull at your insides, spilling into veins and latching onto the base of your spine. He pulled the soaking scrap of cotton to the side, his thumb finding the source of absolute bliss and toying with it mercilessly. As if he wanted you unable to form coherent sentences. Your legs shook, hips meeting the gentle touch of his fingers.

“Look at her.”

The haze in your mind muffled the sound of his voice—his words taking a second to fully register. Until you realized who he was talking about. Or rather what.

“Gorgeous fuckin’ girl,” he muttered, transfixed by the drooling slick that clung to the lips of your cunt. Smearing it down to your fluttering hole, he felt the familiar wash of starvation creep back in.

He licked his teeth like a wild animal, panting at the sight of you so spread open and vulnerable. Your bottom lip was sucked into your mouth to muffle the wanting cries that slipped free anyways. Fuck what he wouldn’t give to keep you here past the point of no return.

“Want you to—ah—” Teeth found the inside of your thigh as his finger slipped in with ease. “Fuck. Y-Yes.”

“Yeah?” Another pressed in tight, his palm sticky as he plunged them in a quick paced rhythm.

Pitched high and cresting at the top of your lungs, his name rang through the room, the hot slide of his tongue through your folds pulsing heat between spaces in your body you didn’t know could exist. He sucked at your clit with a moan, nose buried in your mound and eyes bleary with an overwhelming need. The taste of you drove him feral, the squelch of his fingers as they found that patch along your walls loud enough to drown out anything else.

Eddie knew he’d never get enough once he got a taste. He just never expected it to feel this consuming.

“I’m fuck–” Gripping his hair, you dragged yourself along his tongue, biting back a cry of his name. He fell into it—drowned in your cunt with a hoarse moan. “G-Gonna. Eddie–”

“Please,” he mumbled, sucking at your clit with a sloppy languid kiss. “C’mon give it to me.”

“Wait,” you rushed out. He stilled at your touch, fingers still buried knuckle deep while you dragged the words to the forefront of your mind. “I need…”

Kissing your thigh softly, he nuzzled the skin with a satisfied sigh. “What do you need baby?”

“You.”

“You’ve got me.”

“Up here.” If your mind was in the right state you might have winced at how pathetic you sounded. But Eddie leapt at the softly whispered request, crawling up your body with the drag of his lips against skin—his tongue following, tasting the salt of your sweat.

Finding your mouth with a hum, he let you explore the tang of yourself off his tongue. That burning flame roaring to life at the sight of his chin coated in you. His hazel eyes were swallowed by the darkened pupil. The only time you’d seen him this way was after football games when the adrenaline was high and you were intent on celebrating in shitty burger shops. Which later turned into hole in the wall bars.

He ate your body and soul with one look. A man who lost all sense the second you kissed him in the kitchen. Even if you were still unsure of the verity of his words.

“I want you to fuck me,” you breathed against his lips, hoping the sultry echo of your voice was strung with each syllable.

Eddie fell over your with a harsh groan, fisting the sheets as he buried his head in the crook of your neck. “You—fuck baby.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Wrong?” he chuckled. The flicker of distress clouded your mind, a different kind of sensation pulsing in at the top of your chest. But Eddie caught it before you could open your mouth, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a zeal that shocked you.

This kiss was different. No reverence bled through the sharp bite of his teeth against your lip. This was Eddie pouring gasoline on your shame and burning it with the flick of a match. He sucked the breath out of your mouth, replacing it with his own until you were sure you’d never breathe right again. Pulling away, you felt him chase after your lips with a hoarse growl—his body settling over yours before you could move.

“You can’t say shit like that to me,” he gasped.

“But I thought–”

A bruising grip around your wrist cut off the meek response—the coarse hair at the base of his stomach filling your mouth with saliva. He guided your hand beneath the elastic of the black boxers, the hot sticky head of his cock brushing your palm. Your eyes went wide, mouth falling open as he moaned loud enough to echo towards the kitchen—his brows furrowed and teeth bared.

“Oh…”

He grinned, letting you touch him gently, the soft pads of your hesitant fingers enough to stimulate him close to the edge. “Gonna make me cum in my pants like a fuckin’ teenager.”

Stroking him slowly, you watched with a prideful sense of exhilaration when he crumbled to pieces before your very eyes.

He hissed through his clenched teeth, fucking your clumsy version of a tight fist. Although that didn’t seem to matter to him. All he gave a shit about was that you were the one touching him. You were getting him off with dewy wide eyes and a mouth he dreamed of having around his throbbing cock.

“Shit,” he grunted, leaking over your skin at the soft gasp you uttered. “W-Wait. Hang on.”

Ripping himself free, he sucked in a breath with eyes squeezed shut and body stiff as a board. Somehow his experience didn’t seem to matter when it came down to you. All the years building his stamina vanished at the first pump of your hand, and Eddie held back his quickly rising orgasm by the skin of his fucking teeth.

Trembling above you, he managed to right himself enough to keep going. That still didn’t stop his cock from twitching at the sight of your parted lips—gaze burning into the side of his face.

“You’re dangerous kitten,” he finally said, pushing his jeans down and tugging at your panties before you could offer a response. “I want that off too.”

You nodded, undoing your bra quickly and failing to notice how his eyes immediately dropped to your breasts finally exposed. Eddie was dumbfounded. Mouth open as spit pooled on his tongue and eyes glazed over with the sight of you naked beneath him. You smiled at the blush that crept over his cheeks, spreading down to the top of his chest—his fingers digging harshly into the thin sheet he’d tear eventually.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, swallowing thickly at how your chest bounced with each shift of your body.

The wet heat of his mouth on your nipple surprised you, his hand twisting and tugging the other. Your back arched, nails clawing at his back but that’s not what dragged out another side of you—unmistakable in the flutter of your heart. A part of yourself that buried itself beneath years of pain. It burst forward, snatching what he gave you with a greed you swallowed happily.

His cock sliding through your slick had your head tipping back, hips shifting to catch any pressure on your pulsing clit. Eddie seemed to understand long before you could wrench the words out of your chest. The pad of his thumb found the bud, his mouth a hot cavern against the skin of your breast—other hand shifting to line himself up where you needed him most.

Reality dawn on you then.

The weight of this moment. A dream you held for near a decade.

Cupping his face, he fixed you with the heady glaze of lust that mirrored your own. That untenable feeling flowing from your chest to his—a permanent mark of forever you finally managed to unearth. He sunk in slowly with shallow thrusts and caught your lips in a kiss you felt down to your toes. Love, heartbreak, longing, it all collided at the back of your mind. Shining with a glow that left you breathless.

Doubt begged to rear its ugly head, but Eddie demolished it with a final short thrust—his hips settling atop yours. Sex wasn’t unknown to you. Merely a quick itch to scratch in your years of loneliness. But you’d never experienced being so full.

“That’s it,” he murmured softly, circling your clit to loosen your tight walls. “Let her open up for me.”

“Move,” you gulped. “Need you to–”

Pulling out he shoved his way back in with a harsh bitten out curse against the skin of your throat. The pleasure blinded you. Each thrust short and wet enough to echo in the room. He gripped your hips as he moved, slowly and then all at once. As if he couldn’t fathom the thought of sliding out of you completely—the heat of your cunt drawing him back in before he knew what was happening.

Eddie lost himself in you. He groaned and sunk his teeth into your shoulder and fucked you the best he could. And you cried against his neck, clinging to his back with each roll of his hips into yours. Something wound tight in your stomach, that oh so familiar sensation of bliss and you chased it. You spread your legs wider, your nails digging into his lower back, as the head of his cock brushed right where you needed.

The high whine he ripped from you had his head flying up from your neck—eyes glimmering with a wild haze that should have scared you.

“There it is,” he grinned—grinding down until you sobbed his name. “She’s singin’ for me, kitten.”

Sobbing a string of incoherent pleas, you felt him do it again. Slamming into it with an accuracy that shook you to your core. Come morning an array of red lines would be marked across his back, but the rasping shout of your name told you he liked it.

He soaked in the sharp pricks of pain as his balls began to draw up, heat building on his spine with insistence. But he was greedy and wanton and the thought of you never finishing first drove him off the edge.

Fucking down into you, he witnessed your face crumple with the intensity of it all. Your mouth permanently formed around the broken cry of his now incoherent name. Skin slapped against skin, the wet echo of your cunt sucking him back in spilled into every crevice of his apartment. And Eddie felt himself nearly fly off that tantalizing edge.

“Need you to cum right now,” he snarled, slapping your clit softly.

The air caught in your lungs, thighs trembling as he did it again, splashing your wet slick along his stomach. Yet no matter how hard you reached for that high you couldn’t grasp it in your hands. You longed to tell him—shout what you needed, but the words were lost to your dizzying state of ecstasy.

His lips sealed over yours, fingers pinching your clit. “I love you kitten. Fuck. I love you.”

Your back arched, walls clamping around his cock tight enough to hurt, as you came with a broken sob he swallowed. It poured through you like lava. Burning you alive with a mind numbing bliss you’d never be able to live without—an addiction settling into your veins. He panted into your mouth, crying out like he’d been scorched with the same fire, and followed you off that cliff.

The hum in your ears set in before you could hear the string of mumbled I love you’s he pressed against your tongue, his cum dribbling out and making a mess you could feel between your thighs.

He collapsed with a grunt, face burrowed into your neck as you tried to catch your breath. The thump of your heart finally in sync with his. Sparks trailed down your body where he touched you, fingers kneading soft skin, lips sliding up your throat with the last licks of his hunger. A man starved for the love of his life. He was helpless in your post coital presence, unable to even think straight while his cock softened inside you.

But he knew this would happen. He knew he’d never be able to let you go after this—forever attached to your heart with an invisible string now wound into a knot.

“Stay here with me,” he whispered against your lips.

Stay.

Even with the thick fog that filled your head you couldn’t deny that was what you truly wanted. This was the forever you always longed for. So why couldn’t you accept it without a hint of doubt? Why couldn’t your own mind settle on the words he spoke like a prayer. Something you always dreamed he’d whisper to you in the middle of the night.

You blinked up at him, brows furrowed until he kissed them with a grin. “Okay,” you said, hoping it would click the final piece into place.

The tears are what woke you up. A flood you couldn’t control, wave after wave that poured down your cheeks and stained the pillow beneath you. Though the dream remained a translucent memory right on the fringes of your mind, you knew what it was. A rendition your mind never seemed to let go of.

Eddie saying goodbye on his way to New York. Eddie making the choice of a different life.

Eddie leaving you behind.

His snores filled the room with a gentle echo you sunk into, his arm wrapped around your waist and face buried in the back of your neck. A morning you never thought you’d get. A dream finally come true.

You wanted to smile, to wake him up with another round, but the pain in your heart grew the longer you lay there in silence. The problem wasn’t last night or even what he said. The problem was what came next. You couldn’t just leave your hometown and Eddie would never make the choice to let go of New York. A city that burrowed itself deep in his heart, carving into the space that belonged to you.

This would always be his path.

A man with a future far too big to give it all up for a girl from his past.

You didn’t belong in New York. You knew that now.

Swallowing the harsh sob, you managed to wrangle yourself out of his grip, gathering a fresh pair of clothes to change into. But the sight of him splayed on the bed, sheets around his waist and arm tossed over his head left you breathless. A picturesque painting come to life. He was your muse, your whole heart on display for the world to see. The person embedded in your very DNA.

You would love him until the day you died.

And even after that.

The small suitcase remained packed near the dresser, your dress from last night a forgotten memory that lay strewn on the floor. You left it behind as you shoved on the only jacket you owned, your purse and wallet gathered next. The pulse of your racing heart nearly forced you to sit down somewhere and gather your thoughts. Yet if you did that…you’d never buck up the courage to finally let him go.

This wasn’t fair to him. You knew that.

You knew Eddie would fight you on going, his words lingering like a bruise on your heart. The softly whispered I love you still scratched into your skin. He loved you. He loved you.

He…loved you.

So why couldn’t you accept that? Why were you taking one final glance as the door shut behind you with its familiar thud. Loud enough to echo off the empty stairwell? Though you’d never say aloud, you knew the truth.

Fear.

The type of fear that clung to every breath, choking you from the inside out. You didn’t know how to love someone who finally loved you back. After so long pining, you suddenly felt like you were sailing out into the treacherous open waters of a heart you didn’t actually know. He loved you and yet there you were acting like a coward and running from the promise of more. The hope of a life fully lived.

Eddie jolted awake with the thud of the door, his body catching up with sluggish thoughts that filtered through his mind. Half awake and bleary, he reached for the other side of the bed expecting to find your curled up body on the edge of the mattress. Always pulling away in the middle of the night, always running. He grinned, blinking away the last dregs of sleep, and found an empty room.

“Baby?” he asked, leaning on his hands.

His gaze darted to spaces in the room that once held your things. The suitcase by the dresser, the purse on the desk. The jacket draped over a singular chair. Only to find nothing but the dust outline that remained. Eddie’s heart stuttered, stomach rolling painfully, as he clambered out of the bed and pulled up his jeans still in a heap on the floor.

Beside your dress.

“Baby!” The kitchen was empty, void of any life and Eddie frantically searched the fridge for a note, for that key he gave you.

It was discarded by the coffee machine, sitting in the lonesome shine of the afternoon sun.

“Shit,” he whispered, the burn of tears cresting.

Rushing to grab his things, he didn’t bother to check if the door was locked before sprinting down the stairs. Nearly tripping on his way down. You couldn’t have left him behind after last night. You weren’t capable of that kind of pain—that amount of soul crushing agony. Yet you endured it all through his time in New York. You listened to him ramble about his life here, about the women he never outrightly told you about—the memories that didn’t include you.

He left you behind without a second thought.

How could he think you wouldn’t do the same?

“Taxi!” he shouted, grabbing the nearest one to him with a panicked rushed out order to take him to the nearest airport.

The only place you could have gone.

“Where to miss?”

Sighing, you offered a tight lipped smile and set the worn suitcase by your feet. The chatter of the airport blended together, forming a mad rush of emotions you’d never witnessed before today. People coming home from a flight. Families going out for the holidays. Lives that rushed past you even as you stood still at the counter, explaining the details of how you’d like to move up your flight date.

A chance to get home before any bad weather sets in. Half a life.

“Perfect,” the attendant replied with a grin. “There’s one in twenty minutes. You can head straight to security.”

“Thank you. And happy holidays.”

You were given a curt nod in response, their arm extended to your gate number. The final goodbye to a life half lived.

“Can you hurry up please?” he begged, glancing at the line of traffic that eventually led to the front.

“I’m goin’ as fast as I can buddy.”

Eddie sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Alright yeah. Here’s fine.” He tossed the cash on the passenger seat, swinging the door open before the car stopped. “Thanks! And happy holidays!”

His boots pounded on the pavement lined with melting snow, people moving out of his way as he ran fast enough to nearly bowl them over. Apologies flew out of his mouth left and right, the edge of his jacket catching on stray luggage and shoulders slamming into groups of people. He couldn’t give them a second thought as he sprinted faster. His mind entirely and solely focused on the other half of his heart.

The piece that refused to beat without you there.

Even though he wracked his brain on the drive here he still couldn’t understand why you left. What made you decide to turn tail and run? Until it suddenly hit him hard enough to bruise the inside of his chest.

You never said you loved him.

He repeated the words over and over until his tongue went numb and lips went raw from kissing you. But never—not once—did you say it back. Did you love him? Did you want him? Or were you simply rushed into something without knowing what it was. That alone made him sick with fear. The thought that you didn’t want what happened last night and simply gave into him based on his need alone.

“C’mon kitten where are you,” he muttered, glancing at the lines of people that stretched on for miles.

“It’s just clothes,” you said, heaving it up onto the table. “Nothing unusual.”

“Good,” the man curtly responded, unzipping the suitcase with a sharp tug. Eventually you would have to find a new piece of luggage, but leaving again might not happen for quite some time. At least until you gathered the courage to finally flee your hometown. “Seems like it all checks out.”

You grinned, unable to make it reach your eyes. “Thanks.”

“You can go on to your gate.”

“Excuse me, where can I find this flight?” Eddie frantically asked the attendant at the front desk, his eyes still scanning the never ending crowd.

“Straight to the back. But you’ll need a ticket–”

He was gone before they could finish their sentence, his heart jumping with each step he took. The blaring echo of people everywhere he looked set his teeth on edge, his eyes burning with unshed tears as he searched for you everywhere he was able to see.

Rushing past groups of families and friends bidding their farewells, he finally spotted a familiar worn out brown suitcase gripped tight at the side of the final step in his path.

“KIT!” he shouted, watching with bated breath as you stilled, body going stiff at the sound of his voice.

With a gasping breath, you turned on your heel, catching sight of a ruined and broken version of the man you belonged to. The man who held your heart in his hands. Who could shatter you upon contact if you weren’t careful. He’d be the one to destroy you, but oh how you longed to be ripped apart by him. Oh how you ached to be that broken toy he did his best to fix—the stained glass window he might piece back together.

“Eddie, what are you doing here?”

“Stopping you,” he harshly breathed, striding towards you. “You’re gonna stand there and you’re going to fucking listen this time.”

“I’ve got a flight–”

“Do me a favor a shut the fuck up,” he cut you off, lips curling into a smile that sucked every ounce of willpower out of your limbs.

Your mouth clamped shut, eyes going wide as he finally reached you. His hand wrenching the suitcase out of your grip without even asking. But Eddie was done asking. He was done with appeasing others.

The boy torn to shreds by the hands of a father who never loved him. Only to be put back together by the girl who did.

“I asked you to stay.”

The dip of your head and frown painted across lips he could still taste shattered his strength. “I know Eddie. I just…”

“You just didn’t think I would say I love you?”

Your eyes met his, a fire flickering back to life. “You don’t love me Eddie.”

“Bullshit.”

“Eddie!” you squawked.

“You heard me, kitten. I love you. Of course I love you. How could I not? And you love me too. I know you do.”

“Don’t flatter yourself Alden,” you snapped, fighting against the tears.

“What about homecoming?”

“Homecoming?” you exclaimed. “What about homecoming?”

“You kissed me! And you expect me to forget about that? About the day you killed me?” Before you could argue, he glared at you—his lips still pulled into that fucking grin you adored.

“I have loved you since I was twelve years old and pushed you in the mud baby. I’ve loved you through every rooftop conversation, after every argument with my goddamn father. After every football game and college party. I have loved you through every fucking second in this city, because I don’t know who I am without you kitten. I never have.”

“Oh…Eddie.”

The suitcase dropped to the floor with a thud as he rushed towards you, hands cupping your cheeks stained in fresh tears. “I’ll love you till it’s me in the ground right next to you. Cause that’s where I belong, Kit. At your side. I am hopelessly, undoubtedly fucking in love with you. Forever.”

“I love you,” you admitted, finally letting go of the one secret that kept you going every fucking day of your life. “I always have.”

Smiling, he swooped down and pressed his lips against yours hard enough to hurt. But you welcomed the pain with a choked gasp of his name, burying your fingers in his hair to keep him close. An arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you forward with a breathy chuckle. A sound you burned into your mind as you kissed him back with everything held in your heart.

“Stay with me,” he begged, gripping the back of your neck tenderly. “Live in New York with me. Fuck marry me one day. But stay.”

Sucking in a breath, you searched for that sliver of doubt that always reared its ugly head and found nothing but warmth. The piece finally set in place. Where it belonged.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I’ll stay.”

Maybe you didn’t belong in New York, maybe you weren’t meant for the big city life. But you belonged to Eddie. You were always supposed to be with him, stuck to his side like glue—wrapped tight and safe in the arms of your protector.

He laughed, wrapping you in a hug tight enough to crush your lungs. “Let’s go cancel your fucking flight.”

Grabbing your hand, he dragged you past the people saying goodbye, past the families saying hello. Onto a path you knew well, a future overflowing with the warmth of his love. Eddie Alden loved you. He’d loved you all along. And it was everything you could have wanted. He offered you a life fully lived—a home inscribed in your story—and you took it without a second thought.

His fingers looped with yours, keeping you close, and you smiled at the sight. Leaning into his touch with a contented sigh.

“Hey Eddie?” He glanced to the side with a hum. “Will you make me that coffee now?”

A smile crossed his lips, arm wrapping around your shoulders as his lips found yours. As if he’d been doing it all along.

“You got it, kitten.”

FIN.

note: i still kinda can't believe that it's all over. but to those who let me know how excited they were for this story i want to thank you! i wouldn't have found the drive to finish it without you guys.🖤

#eddie alden x f!reader #eddie alden x reader #eddie alden x you #eddie alden x y/n #eddie alden smut #eddie alden #my writing

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