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bittybeanie · 6 months ago

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oh boy! time to post a new fic! I can't believe it's been *checks calendar* ....oh. uh. oops. ignore that! it's the fourth and final installment of (this) aspec reigen series, complete with a lite™ version of a couple different kinks and finally getting to touch the peen! this one's real long, folks, clocking in at about 9,500 words, so you might wanna get a nice beverage and settle in.

content notes: thigh riding, themes of consent, drunk almost sex, a discussion about the drunk almost sex in the following scene, praise kink, a very loose (literally) definition of bondage, and so so many pet names. minors please don't interact!

also on ao3!

It takes more than a couple tries for you to get settled on the bed. You’re too close, then too far, and Reigen can’t get comfy, and your hand keeps sliding out from under you, and he can’t decide how he wants your leg angled, and there’s too many clothes, then all at once so few clothes that it feels like too much at once and you hastily agree to put your shirts back on, not wanting to break the already fragile layer of quiet hope.

Finally, finally, everything is perfect.

Awkward, stilted, and a little tense, and you’re not sure how long your leg will let you keep it just barely raised like this before it cramps up, but he’s here, embarrassed but steadfast, breath coming out in shivery gasps, hovering over your thigh, one hair fisted in the back of your hair. If he tips over, there’s no way you’re not going with.

Perfect.

His thighs shake as he holds himself up, deciding which direction he wants to move. You reach for the small of his back to steady him. "Does this count as keeping my hands out of the way?" He nods, so you test the waters by sliding your other hand up his thigh.

"As long you don’t- just no direct touching. Close to is fine, just not… well." He moves a hand back and forth across where he’s hovering over your thigh.

“Keep off the goods. Gotcha."

"The goods? Awful. You're awful, I swear."

You slide your hand up, just barely skimming your fingernails over his hip when you catch the hem of his shirt, and his cock twitches in his boxers.

"The goods don't seem to agree."

"Oi." Despite his protests, the laughter loosens him, and he relaxes enough to lean back into your knee. “Fine, fine, just stop saying goods.”

“Alright.” He raises an eyebrow. You lift both hands in surrender. “I promise! I will never again use ‘the goods’ to refer to your perfect, gorgeous, suckable-”

“I get it! I get it.” He grabs onto your shoulder - maybe in an effort to distract you, or maybe just to keep his balance - as he shifts closer. You can practically feel the heat radiating from his ears. “Here, actually, can you-? Hm.” He presses a hand against the inside of your other leg, thumb digging in as he gives a shove. He slides a knee into the newly free space between your legs, leaning forward to get a better angle. Your hands settle back on his waist.

“Better?”

“Much.” He lets out a little hum as he pushes his hips forward, and you have to stamp down a whimper at the feeling, his dick heavy and warm even through fabric.

“Didn’t mean to just push like that, though. Sorry.”

“S’okay. I’ll survive a little manhandling, as a treat.” You hit the last “t” sound with a click of your tongue, and he falls into your neck with a laugh. You trace patterns on his hips as he moves, tracking the motion as you press your fingers into his skin. “God, how do you get your hips to move that smooth? It’s sorta mesmerizing.”

“Hm? Oh, I don’t know, I’m just- I wasn’t thinking about it. S’just what f- ha, feels good.” His breath fans out across your collarbone, warm and fast.

“Yeah? You like using my thigh, baby? No thoughts other than what feels good? Your own personal toy to get yourself off against?”

“Oi.” His hips stutter once before he falls back into a slower rhythm. His fingers dig into your shoulder as he pulls you closer.

“Too much?”

“That’s not how I think of you.”

You can’t help but laugh, a light chuckle coming out in a breath against his hair. “I know, ‘Taka, I know.” You slide your hands under his shirt, over his stomach and up to his collarbone. “But would it really be so bad to belong to you?”

“I- fuck.” There’s a moment of worry when he shoves you away, but then he’s scrambling for the hem of his shirt and pulling.

“Are you sure?” It’s a formality, uttered even as you’re already reaching to help slide the fabric over his elbows, but it’s one you can’t even imagine going without.

“Very.” He lifts himself off of you to push his boxers down, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he shimmies them all the way off. The mattress shifts and pitches him over, and you hurry to grab his arm.

He crawls back over to straddle your thigh, the tip of his cock tapping lightly against your side before he leans back onto his ankles.

“Do I need to get-?” You chuck his shirt into infinity and gesture vaguely to the bedside drawer. He’s technically never told you that he started keeping lube in there, but he hasn’t made much effort to keep the secret either.

He shakes his head. “I’m close. Won’t matter.”

He tries to go back to rutting against you, anchoring his hands on your waist to tilt his hips this way and that, but something about the new angle is off, and he can’t get any good contact.

“Oh no, now horrible, your dick is just so hard it won’t stay down on its own.”

He clicks his tongue at you as he scoots to sit closer, flush making its way from his ears to the edges of his cheeks.

“That gorgeous curve probably isn’t helping, either. In this case, anyway. Be an absolute treat to have inside me, though.” You press your thumbs in just above his knees, encouraging him to spread his legs more, and he jumps with a squeak, hands flying to grab yours. “Sorry, sorry, di-”

“No, it’s-” He pulls your hands together, just in front of his stomach, and the tip of his cock brushes against you. For a moment, you think he’s going to pull down, but he guides your hands back to his hips, pressing them into his skin as he rolls his hips. “Here.”

He gives up and puts his hand flat over his dick, pinning it down against your leg. He lifts himself to adjust the angle, just his tip dragging along your skin until he bumps into your hip, precum rolling out in a thin line over your thigh. When he pulls back, he grinds down insistently, coating his length and covering what isn’t already marked of your thigh so he can slide more easily. After a few impatient jolts of his hips, he settles back into a rhythm, smooth and fluid, and lets up on the pressure of his hand. He slings his other arm over your shoulder to pull you closer, and he falls forward to bury his face in your neck, whining into your collarbone.

He wasn’t lying when he said he was close, because it only takes a few drags of his cock against you for him to seize up, body tensing before going boneless, cum rolling over his hand and onto your hip as he slumps against you in a mess of pants and sighs. You slide your hands up his back to support his full weight, pressing kisses to his hair as he catches his breath.

“Just… gimme a second, I can cl- get you- god, my legs.” He rolls off of you with none of his usual grace, limbs falling everywhere at once, lightly smacking your arm as he goes limp.

You laugh and push his hair back from his face. You don’t bother to untangle your legs from his, accepting your fate of needing a shower later in exchange for getting to lean down to kiss his cheek.

“Eh, let it dry.”

“I’m starting to think you like it more than tolerate it.”

“If you haven’t gotten the hint by now that I want you to absolutely cov-”

He gives you a shove, rolling his hand so there’s no real force behind it, but you seize the chance to topple with a dramatic moan, one hand falling theatrically across your forehead as your eyes flutter closed.

“Oh, stop it.” He crawls over and props himself up on his elbows. You can feel his breath fanning over your collarbone, stilted like he’s trying not to laugh. You crack one eye open, breaking into giggles when you see his forced serious expression, eyebrows pinched together and one cheek sucked into his mouth to keep the smile off his face. He breaks at your laughter, breathing out through his nose and pressing his forehead to yours. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Oh, you could take me anywhere, handsome.” You waggle your eyebrows suggestively, and he rolls onto his back with an exasperated groan. You laugh again and sit up, pulling a blanket over him so you can settle in without accidentally brushing somewhere he’d rather you didn’t.

“Hey, Arataka?”

“I love you, too.”

“That, too.” You chuckle. “But I have a real question this time.”

“Oh.” He turns his head. “Sure.”

“After you… when you took my hands earlier, were you…?” The fleeting moment of contact between him and your hands floats through your mind. You can’t help but wonder what he was thinking in the moment he hesitated, but it feels weirdly invasive to ask so bluntly. “Sorry, never mind, this is a weird line of thought.”

You lay down beside him, craning your neck to rest your head on his shoulder. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together as his thumb smooths up your wrist.

“Do you mean…” He takes a steadying breath, grip tightening almost imperceptibly. “Do you mean after the clothes came off?”

You nod. For a moment, he stills, not even breathing.

“I was… I wanted so badly to let you touch me. I thought if I didn’t have to say it, if I could just… imply, then I could get around it, but,” he sighs heavily, and he sounds tired when he continues, “I panicked.”

You’re both quiet, long enough that you startle even yourself when you finally break the silence.

“It’s not a bad idea.”

“...Panicking?”

“No, angel. Implying.” He presses his cheek to the top of your head. “Maybe you just have to imply for a little longer.”

“I’m not following.”

“What if you left your hand on top of mine? That way it’s like- it’s the same as when you do it, but it sort of, hm, bridges the gap? All the sexy, none of the surprise.”

For a long moment, you’re not sure if he’s quiet because he’s thinking or because he’s falling asleep.

He hums, shoulder rolling under your head, and he pulls you tighter against his side.

"Okay." You shift nervously, tucking your foot underneath yourself, then deciding against it and unfolding your legs. "Walk me through the zones again."

"I'm not a city planning map." He rolls his eyes, but he takes your hand. You’re not sure which one of you the gesture is supposed to comfort.

You shift back onto your knees.

"Here up, anything goes." He points at the middle of his chest. "But try to stay- so more like, well, from maybe..." He gestures to his collarbone and wags his finger up and down. "Here to here, really."

When he looks back at you, you can tell he's waiting for something. You settle for a small nod.

"Right. A-and then, here to here," he points from his chest to just above his hip, "Hands are fine. Doing... whatever." He steadies himself with another deep breath and rushes through the rest. "Legs, stay still, and anything... direct we'll do the- on the- yeah, got it, that's all."

You let him sit for a moment to make sure there's nothing he forgot. His grip on your hand tightens, and you swear he moves to pull you closer, but he must decide against it at the last second.

"Whose hand is going on top again? Sorry, we've swapped it so many times I can't remember if we decided."

"Oh. Right. Um." He hovers his right hand over his left, then swaps them, then swaps them again. “Yours under mine.”

“Got it.” You reach for him, letting him pull your hand up to his collar. "And you know you can tell me to stop at any time?"

"You tell me that every time."

"It's important every time."

He swallows thickly and traces a circle on the back of your hand with his thumb. "Yeah. I know."

You shift to pull your legs off to the side, then cross them again, then sit back up on your knees. Gently taking the collar of his shirt in your hands, you trail one thumb along the edge of the fabric until you reach the top button. "And can I do this, or would you like to?"

He nods before realizing there were two options in your question, then points at you, then at your hands, then flashes you a thumbs up. "Yeah. Go ahead."

"Well, now hold on, I have manners. I'm not going straight for the goods." He laughs and shimmies to sit up straighter, letting his legs straighten out in front of him. "How about the pants later?"

"Uh, right, that's, I didn't think about that. I mean it would make sense that you're going to be- I mean it's not like-"

"Arataka."

"Yeah." He swallows.

"I'm not going to be offended if you’d like to take off your own pants."

He pauses, staring down at his knee. Eventually, he shakes his head. "I want you to do it."

"And your-?"

"Just do it at the same time."

"Got it." You take a steadying breath of your own. "I won't stay there, but is it okay if I straddle you for a little bit? I wa-"

His hands are pulling at your waist before you can get your legs properly unfolded, and you almost tumble over him. He laughs an apology as you move on top of him, hovering over his legs to avoid making any real contact.

You brush his bangs back from his face, following through with the motion until your fingers tangle in the shorter strands of hair at the back of his head. He tilts to follow your hand, craning his neck to keep you from pulling.

"Ready?"

He nods slightly.

"I’d like a verbal yes for this one, lovely."

He swallows. You watch his Adam's apple bob.

"Yeah, yes.” He nods again. His hand jerks, taking yours with it, and he awkwardly lets your hand fall into his lap. You do your best not to move. “I trust you."

You drag your gaze back up to his face, searching for any last signs of reluctance. A bead of sweat trails down his temple, and you’re certain if you put your hand to his cheek you’d worry he had a fever. Sure enough, when you slide your fingers along his jaw, he’s hot to the touch, and the tips of his ears are turning brighter shades of red by the second.

He clears his throat, pushing his jaw into your palm. “Are you gonna-?”

“In a minute.” You swipe your thumb across his bottom lip. “I’m savoring.”

He scoffs at that, the same scoff he uses when he sees somebody do something stupid in public, and you take the opportunity to catch him by surprise, surging forward to push him down onto the bed. His hands go to your shoulders on instinct but he pulls them back almost immediately, hovering awkwardly in the space between you. Using your grip on his chin, you angle his head so you can lean down and kiss him without knocking your noses together.

Once you’re sure you can support yourself without falling on him, you allow your free hand to trail down, tracing down the muscles in his neck, across his collarbone and back, finally settling on the first button of his shirt. It takes a little effort to get it undone with just one hand, but you manage it, and you allow yourself to dip down as you settle into a rhythm, lips ghosting along Reigen’s skin as you uncover more of it.

He’s shivering, hand shaking where it hovers over yours on the last button of his shirt. When you slide your hand back up along his side, his hand falls back to the bed, pulling at a wrinkle in the sheets.

You kiss along his jaw, savoring the feeling every time his breath catches in his throat under your lips. Your hand trails down along his side, wrapping around him to hold his waist when he arches up into the press of your thumb. He hums, eyelids fluttering, and you dare to slide your hand down, ever so slightly, thumb brushing over his waistband and back onto bare skin.

He grabs for you, grasp tight around your wrist, almost painful before he slowly relaxes and drags your hand back up toward his chest. You push yourself off him, swinging your leg to kneel beside him.

“Here, let’s try this.” You guide him to sit up. Once he’s situated against the headboard, you settle in by his thigh, your knee pressing gently into his hip. One hand traces circles and patterns as you trail down to his stomach. “Still good?”

He hums, but he scrambles for your wrist again, holding on tighter and tighter the closer you get to the button on his pants.

“You’re allowed to change your mind, y’know. I can let you do it.”

“That’s not- mm.” He relaxes his death grip on your arm but keeps his thumb hooked around it. After a few tries to let go completely, his head tips forward into your shoulder. “I thought I would… I’m sorry.”

You shake your head and slowly pull away. “Nothing to apologize for.” You cup his face with both hands and gently turn him, but he doesn’t hold your gaze for long.

“Do you want to keep going? Should I…?”

He opens his mouth, but says nothing. His expression is pinched, tight with something you’re not sure how to label. His fingers press together, thumb and index, thumb and middle, thumb and ring, thumb and pinky, over and over as you lean back, nodding softly.

“Stay in bed?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You swear he flinches, and you clear your throat. “Or move to the couch and watch something?”

“Couch.” He nods once, stiff and harsh, and swallows thickly. “Thanks.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, and slides out of bed, starting to button his shirt back up as he wanders into the other room.

You keep nodding as if in a trance, and you follow him out.

Despite the now faint memory of some friend of a friend forcefully inviting you, there's not a single soul at the party you recognize. With the exception of a few people dancing by the kitchen, closer to the speakers, everyone has settled for taking a seat and awkwardly bobbing their head. You’ve repeated the same three lines of small talk more times than you can count, it's just cold enough that you've had the chills the whole time while still managing to feel overwhelmingly stifled, and the music is so awful you wonder how somebody hasn’t tried to change it yet. But there's alcohol, the good stuff that somebody is clearly very particular about, and lots of it. You can't remember how much you've had, and that fact is enough to tell you it was probably too much, but it doesn't stop you from taking whatever the host is passing out when they wander through.

You think Reigen might be the only person doing worse than you. He looks... woozy. His face is flushed and his eyes are lidded like he might throw up, pass out, or both at any moment. At one point he took a tumble when he tried to sit down, graciously ignored by everyone else, and you had to throw your arm around his waist to keep him from sliding down the front of the couch again. He's leaning on you for support every time he moves, and if there were anything left in his can you’re sure he would be spilling it on you right now.

He's restless at the best of times, you know this, but even through the fog you can tell something is off. Not wrong exactly, but he keeps giving you this sideways glance, digging his fingers into your thigh to steady himself and then yanking his hand away, knocking his head into your shoulder and muttering something you haven't been able to make out.

He laughs - way too loudly at something you're not sure was supposed to be funny - and stands abruptly. Your hand around his waist falls limp on the couch, and he sways without the support.

"I'm going to the re- the ba- I gotta piss."

Nobody but you pays him any attention. He takes a wobbly step forward, knocking his foot into the leg of the coffee table, but he doesn't seem fazed. His knees bend at a weird angle as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, then he straightens back up and whirls around to face you. The momentum sends him tumbling back down, and you manage to catch him before his nose smashes into your jaw.

"I guess you better help me there."

"Yeah." Your voice crackles from dehydration. You have to clear your throat and try again to get a recognizable sound to come out. "Alright." You do a quick mental scan of your legs to make sure they'll support you before you motion for him to get up so you can stand. He does, grabbing your wrist and pulling with the conviction of somebody who does not need help walking.

The gears in your head start to turn.

He drags you along, glancing over his shoulder as he rounds the corner into the hallway, only stumbling once when he has to screech to a halt and back up to yank a door open. He pushes you inside, pulling the door closed behind him after he follows you in.

It's pitch black, and you're not sure if the overwhelming lemon smell is coming from Reigen or something in the room. You reach out to find him, but your fingers brush against something cold and smooth instead, and it's not until it tilts and hits you in the head that you realize it's probably a handle for something. Reigen's hand whacks into your arm and he holds on tight, fingers digging into your shoulder as he pulls you forward.

"I don't think that was the right door."

"Hm? Oh, sure." You can feel the air beside you moving until eventually his other hand finds your face, one finger dragging across your cheek until it hits your nose. "No, I- yeah, I know."

"Then wh-"

He pushes, hard and sudden. You fight to keep your balance as you adjust to the weird backwards lean you find yourself in. Reigen hisses as he pulls his fingers out from between you and the wall.

"Dumb, that was so dumb. Sorry." He fumbles for your waist to guide you backwards, and you feel his hips press against you when he reaches past your head to lean on the wall.

Everything clicks together all at once.

Your hands fly to where his waist should be. Once you find him, you're not sure if you want to shove him away or pull him in closer.

"You're super drunk. I don't know if-"

"Tha's the point." The hand on your face slides around until his thumb catches your bottom lip. He sways, like talking about it has made him remember how much he's had to drink. When he leans against you, he's heavier than normal, like he can’t support his weight anymore. "Liquid courage."

"I’m drunk."

"Mm. Shit." He pulls away, just barely, and he nods. "Do you mind?"

Your mouth drops open uselessly. All your thoughts feel like static, indecipherable noise screaming for you to do something, if only you could figure out what. He's squirming now, like it hurts to stay still. You realize he's whimpering at the same time you realize he's grinding his hips against your leg.

“M’fine.”

He lets out a sigh of relief and drops his hands as he shuffles around. You take the chance to stand back up. When you finally bump into each other again, he wraps his arms around you and squeezes, his breathing coming out in pants against your chest. He hooks one leg around yours, tapping his foot against your heel to bring your leg forward. You make a strangled humming sound when he grinds against your thigh.

"Hey, where's your hand?"

"My...?" You suddenly remember you have hands. You allow yourself a moment of silence for all the time you could have been holding onto him before you push one hand forward. It smacks into what you think is his stomach. "Sorry. Here."

"S'kay. Stay put." You keep your hand pressed against him as he leans backward. You're not sure when he stopped holding onto you, but one of his hands is suddenly over yours, and a loud zip cuts through the sound of you both breathing. He slides his hand down, dragging yours with it. Your fingers glide along his skin, smooth and soft, until you brush against a patch of hair.

A sobering panic cuts through you.

He must realize what he's doing at the same time you do, because you both freeze. His grip tightens. He guides your hand away from him slowly, stopping when he makes contact with your side.

"Stay... stay put."

He turns and scrambles for the door. Something falls beside you when he misses the doorknob, then you're squinting as light floods in from the hallway. You can make out the silhouette of him sprinting into the room diagonal from where you're standing, and then there's the unmistakable sound of vomiting.

Your place is only two blocks away - no more than a ten minute walk.

You call a cab service.

It smells like coffee.

When you try to sit up, the room spins. You end up in a sort of half sit, half lean as you grab onto the side of the mattress, willing everything to stay still. You take stock of the things that are clear enough to look at, slowly making sense of what happened once you got home.

You're laying on top of the covers, still in your clothes from last night. One shoe is in the doorway, and the other is nowhere in sight, probably somewhere closer to the entrance. The coffee smell, growing more enticing by the second, is a good sign Reigen's in the kitchen.

You slide onto the floor beside your bed, not trusting yourself to stand up without falling just yet, to rummage for more comfortable clothes. Once you manage to get changed, you stand up slowly, and make your way to the kitchen.

Reigen must have grabbed a set of pajamas at some point last night, though you can't remember when. His back is turned to you; he's lazily stirring something on the stove. Two steaming cups of coffee sit on the counter beside him. Before you can decide whether you want to say something and risk startling him, he seems to sense you standing there, and he turns around with a weak smile.

"Hey."

"Morning?" It's both a greeting and a question, because you have no idea what time it is.

"Yeah." He lets out a breathy chuckle. "How, um, how you feeling?"

Your head is throbbing so bad your teeth hurt, your legs and back are sore, and you have a looming sense of guilt.

"I think I should be asking you that."

"I'm fine, really." He clicks off the fire and reaches for a bowl. "I told you, I felt basically back to normal after I- well, um, you know. Thanks again, by the way, for car- for carrying me."

You nod softly, feeling a little useless as he hands you what looks and smells like a very delicious soup.

"Reigen, I am so-" "I didn't mean-"

He reaches for a second bowl. "You first." When you start to shake your head, he rolls his wrist in a "go on" motion. "Please. I'm not actually sure how to say mine yet."

"Right." You swallow thickly, fidgeting with your spoon. Deep in thought, you miss Reigen slipping past you. He clears his throat and gestures to the seat across from him. You slide into the chair. Your spoon clanks against the bowl as you set it down. "I, um. Shit, I'm so sorry."

He seems surprised, a spoonful of soup halfway to his lips.

"What for?"

"Wh-" You blink. "Every... thing? I- I know sorry doesn't even cover it, but I-"

"Whoa, hey, okay." He shakes his hand in front of him. "Never mind, I'll go first, because I think you got the wrong idea and I'm not gonna let you apologize for anything that happened."

"But you trusted me, and I-"

"And I still do. That's- that was the whole- look, I-" He sighs. His spoon clanks as he sets it down, abandoned in favor of wringing his hands together. "I set you up."

"You-?"

"I didn't mean to! I thought- It was stupid, and I should have just told you what I was trying to do, I know , but I- I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, and I thought if I could speed up the process, then- I mean, there's only so many times you can put up with almost getting to- if I could- ugh, sorry, hang on."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. You swear your headache is reacting sympathetically, because pain shoots between your temples, dull but persistent. He goes to retrieve the coffees from the kitchen, just cool enough to drink, and you down some as soon as he hands you a mug.

"You've been so patient, and I know you would never do anything I didn't want, but I... I keep overthinking it. And I thought it would be the perfect excuse to... to not have to think about it at all. I mean that's- that's just what people do at parties, right, and- I mean, it was... ugh." He sits back down, his posture unnaturally rigid. He chooses his next words carefully, pausing between words as if he’s testing out different sentences in his head. "I trusted you… to not take it further than I was comfortable with… more than I trusted myself to… not panic over nothing. So, I- I saw the chance and I..." He gestures weakly, hand falling back to the table with a soft thump.

"Liquid courage."

He takes a sip of his coffee and slumps forward, holding his chin with one hand.

"You... got drunk on purpose?"

"Not originally, but, uh."

You nod slowly. Your stomach grumbles, and you realize you haven't actually eaten any of your soup. You take a reluctant spoonful, chewing slowly as you take everything in.

"When you froze up, it- I realized how little I had thought it through. I- it wasn't fair to you. You didn't do anything to- I never should have put you in that position in the first place."

"I... would have appreciated a warning, yeah."

"Sorry." He runs his hand through his hair and leaves it against the back of his neck. "I'm really sorry."

"Apology accepted." Reigen relaxes into his chair. As he stretches his legs out, one of his feet bumps against your ankle, and you laugh softly. "I'm still sorry, too. I should have asked more questions. And I didn't... I think I noticed something was wrong but I didn’t realize it was that frustrating for you. Before, I mean. I never wanted to make you feel like you had to do something like that."

"It's exclusively a me problem, I promise. I thought something would have worked by now. I don't... I don't really know what’s getting in the way." He shakes his head, breathing out sharply through his nose.

“I mean, literally speaking, your hands.” You laugh and take another sip of your coffee. He tilts his head. “Because, you know, y-you always grab my hand before I-?” He stares, unblinking. “Sorry, too soon to joke, probably,” you mutter into your cup, taking another sip just to have something to do.

When he moves again, it’s with a jerky start, sitting up and leaning forward. “My hands.”

“Yeah, I-”

“No, my hands.” He throws his elbows onto the table. The bowls clatter and his coffee sloshes; his chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. His wrists come together in front of you, palms up and fingers curled loosely, as he stares, silent, waiting for a glimpse of recognition to cross your face. It takes a moment, but when he finds it, he grins. “My hands.”

“If you want to stop-”

“Saying so has always been enough.”

You stand, leaning to match his eye level. You consider him, searching for hesitation, but you find none.

You take his hand, and you start pulling.

“This is… mine?” An old black tie lays across Reigen’s palms, the ends hanging loosely over his thighs.

“Yeah, you left it here. A while ago, I guess.” You shrug. “You never really liked it, though, plus you’re here all the time anyway, so I didn’t get around to giving it back, and it’s just been here ever since.”

As you slide the drawer closed, he catches a glimpse of an old t-shirt he left on his first night in your place, folded neatly in the back corner, under a small collection of his dress socks.

There are signs of him everywhere, really, if he looks. His toothbrush in your bathroom, a blanket he bought you for your birthday draped over the back of the couch, his favorite sweater of yours hanging on the handle of the closet, never out of service long enough to make it in with the rest of your clothes.

He’s struck with the realization it’s not just in your things, your home, but in you, the way you gesture with an extra dramatic flourish that wasn’t there before, the unwavering, tight smile that settles on your face when you talk to clients, the softness in your voice when you welcome the kids into the office, quietly clearing a table for them to do homework on, the flashes of movement in the kitchen as you dash back and forth whenever you make recipes he taught you - favorites from when things were harder and uncertain and cooking was his escape, before even the hardest parts of his life were laced with joy.

He’s wearing off on you.

He’s known it for a while, but he’s never put it all together like this, never seen it all so neatly represented in a single black tie, satin and unassuming and full of possibility. You kick your abandoned shoe out of the way, pushing the door shut with a soft click that startles him just enough to draw his attention.

“Still okay?”

He wonders how you’ve worn off on him, which parts of him weren’t there before that he doesn’t notice, can’t notice.

“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m ready.”

He smooths his thumb over the fabric, watching it wrinkle and crease where he applies pressure. It slides across his palms, dragging slowly as you wrap one end around your hand, until he’s left with empty air, hands outstretched between you.

He feels light.

You take his hands in yours, turning them in toward each other, and start to lay the tie across his wrists.

“Oh, wait!” You pull back right away, and he holds up one finger. “Not- we should take my shirt off first.”

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me!” You laugh and settle back onto your knees. “Yes, okay, let’s- yeah.”

Reigen stops halfway up. The fabric stays bunched when he lets go, and he pulls your hands to the exposed patch of skin. He can feel the tie, still wrapped around your palm, pressing against his side, cold and smooth, and he swallows thickly. As you drag your hands up, it slides up with you, and a shiver wracks through him when you finally pull the shirt off his arms.

He cups your face, pulling you into a kiss, fingers coming to press at the back of your neck to keep you against him as he topples backward. You catch yourself on one hand, the end of the tie flipping to rest over his shoulder as you climb to straddle him. He’s insistent, both hands tangling in your hair, little sighs and puffs of breath against your mouth as he refuses to pull away for air.

You press a kiss to his cheek to soothe the loss when you lean back. He drapes his arms over your shoulders, locking his fingers together behind your head.

“We could stay like this? My hands are… close-ish together.”

“I can’t see behind me to tie it, but,” you pull his hands around your head, “I’m sure we can figure it out after that.”

He nods. You turn his hands back toward each other and his fingers curl, knuckles pressing together as he relaxes. You drape the tie around his wrists, trying a few different ways of looping it but not finding anything you’re satisfied with.

“Sorry. I just wanna make sure you can get out if you need.”

“It’s alright. I like the attention.”

You freeze, a wobbly grin taking shape as your face heats up.

“‘Taka, I’m supposed to be the composed one!”

“I’m just trying to be honest!” He flexes his wrists, pressing his knuckles together to crack them.

“Don’t worry,” you press both ends of the tie between his hands and motion for him to hold them still, “I like giving you attention.” You fold the middle of the tie over to make two loops and start twisting them in on themselves. “And I wanna hear about it as much as you can bear.”

“You seem plenty composed to me.” He pinches his thumb between two fingers and squeezes.

“Quick recovery. I learned from the best.” You wink and put your fingers through the loops. “Here, hands in here.”

He flattens his hands to squeeze them through, stopping to let you shimmy the tie the rest of the way over. You hold the ends of the tie and give a quick tug before tying them together.

“There, it’ll have to do.” You slip a finger in each loop, making sure there’s enough room to be comfortable without him being able to slip out without meaning to. “It’s a little loose, so don’t pull too hard, okay?”

“Sure.” He folds his elbows down, letting his hands come to rest on his chest. He jerks one hand up toward his hair, pulling his other hand with it, and the tie snaps taut. He has the courtesy to look sheepish. “I’ll try.”

You roll your eyes, smile still wide.

“Hands above your head, please.”

“Hm?”

“I’d like to get at your neck.” You press up on his elbows, and he unfolds his arms. “Those were in the way.”

“O-oh. Right.”

You lean down, tilting his chin up with one hand, and press a kiss to his throat, savoring the way it moves as he swallows. You trail down until you reach his stomach, dragging your tongue along his skin on the way back up. He exhales sharply, breath moving your hair as you get closer to his face. He forces out a laugh, and he rolls one shoulder.

You glance up. The tie is already starting to come loose, untwisting in the middle, but his hands are clasped together, the tie held in place between his wrists, fingers over the ends.

You kiss him, quick and breathless, and slip your fingers under his waistband. When his breath hitches, you smooth your thumb along the bone there, a reassurance you won’t move yet. You can feel him tense under you, pressing up into your touch, then slowly settling back onto the mattress.

You’re both reluctant to acknowledge the fact that you have to get off of him to take his pants off. You do your best to shimmy them under you, and he lifts his hips to help, but you need both hands to make sure his boxers stay on for now, and you want to make sure he can move his legs, so eventually, begrudgingly, you climb off him.

He takes the opportunity to stretch, his back arching off the bed as you throw his pants off somewhere to worry about later.

“Ooh, pretty. Think you can do that for me again?” You press a thumb to the inside of his thigh, at the edge of where his boxer leg has ridden up, and he jumps, hips rolling against your touch.

“Trickery.” He squirms, a whine that refuses to come out shining through in his voice. “Not fair.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get plenty more chances.” You trail your fingers up his thigh, along the “v” of the bone, up his stomach. He shivers when you trail back down, your fingers catching on the waistband of his boxers to drag it over his skin before letting go, settling your hand lightly over the bulge in the fabric. It’s slightly damp against your skin, and Reigen chokes back a moan when you press down.

You pull, grinding your palm down on his cock as the waistband moves until you can see the base of it, then you slide back up, tracing the outline of him with your fingers. When he whimpers, you’re too slow to hide your grin, and he glares halfheartedly.

“Having fun down there?”

“Oh, lots, thanks.” You slip your thumb below the elastic. “Seems like you are, too.”

“Hm.”

“Sorry, what was that?” You lift your hand with mock alarm, and he scrambles to reach for you, slowly lowering his arms to his chest when he sees your smile.

“Yes.”

“So, just to make sure, you are having fun?” It’s just as sarcastic as it is serious, and he seems to take it in equal measures, because he scoffs at the same time he nods. Both hands are on his hips now, both thumbs in his waistband, and you pull up gently to get him to lift his hips.

“Good boy.”

You’re not sure you would have felt it if you weren’t holding him, but he definitely shudders, trembling where your fingers press into his skin.

“Arataka.”

“Hmm?” He sounds breathless, and his chest heaves with effort, the rest of him as still as he can keep it.

“Should I keep calling you a good boy?”

“Um. If you want.” He jerks his hips up, and you take the hint to slide his boxers off, keeping an eye on his face as you do. You climb between his legs and lean over him, wrapping your hand slowly around his cock, firmly but gently, your thumb over the tip.

He squeaks, and he tenses, but he doesn’t reach for your hands.

“You’re doing so well, ‘Taka.” He swallows, and he shifts his hands, twisting the tie so he can lay his arms closer to his hair. “Such a good boy for me.” Precum oozes out of his slit, and you feel it roll down your hand.

“Mhm.” You lean back on your heels. “How about this? You tell me what feels good, and every time you do,” you pull your thumb down, spreading the precum along his length, “I’ll let you know just how much I appreciate it. Sound good?”

He nods, and you stop moving.

“Can I hear you say it?”

“Yes,” he breathes, pressing his wrists together, “yes, sounds good.”

“Good job.” When you lean to kiss him, grip tightening to keep his dick down against his stomach, his knuckles brush over your hair. “So perfect.”

You start slow, focusing more on touching every inch of him then keeping any sort of rhythm. When you trail up the vein on the underside, he shivers, and he gasps when you squeeze the base, and his hips jerk up when you pass over his slit, one leg coming up to press his ankle against your side. It’s not until you slip your other hand around him, though, arm passing through the space created by the bend of his knee to settle on his outer thigh, that he says anything.

“Fuck, that, more of that. P-please.”

“This hand?” You press your fingers into his thigh. He presses back.

“Yeah. I need… just, hold onto me.”

“Okay. Yeah, of course, sweetheart.” You scoot closer to wrap your hand tighter around his leg, spreading your legs to slip your knee underneath him. Once he relaxes, the full weight of his leg on yours, you press a kiss to his knee. “Good boy.”

“Shit,” he laughs, squirming closer to you. “S’not close enough.”

“Let me try something, then.” You slide backwards, reluctantly letting his leg fall to the bed, and you shimmy onto your stomach. When you pull his leg over your shoulder, he immediately hooks his ankle into your back and lets out a breathy moan. The pressure makes it a little harder to reach back around his thigh, but he relaxes into it easier, and the view is incredible. “There you go, perfect.”

You start up a little faster this time, twisting your wrist as you move up and down, and he bucks up into your hand. You risk a kiss to his thigh and his hands fly to your hair, the ends of the tie flowing down against your cheek.

“Sorry, too much?”

“Not enough.” His voice is scratchy now, and he gives a little tug once he gets a hold of you. “Can you, don’t put it- but, closer?”

“You want me here instead?” You press a kiss to the underside of his cock, flipping the loose ends of the tie out of the way to lay across his hip.

“Y-yes. Yes, fuck.”

“Gladly.” Between words, you pepper kisses along his shaft, following the trail of your hand up and down. “Thank you for letting me do this for you. You look so beautiful like this, feeling so good.”

He starts to make a noise of protest, but it quickly shifts into a stifled groan when you press a kiss to his tip, just barely letting your tongue drag across his slit as you pull away.

He whines and bucks his hips to follow you, and you can’t help but let an incredulous laugh slip out. “Alright, love, I’m gonna give you a choice, okay?”

He swallows thickly, then nods.

“Option one, you can tell me exactly how you want me to make you come. If you want my hand or my mouth or to go faster or slower or anything at all you just have to say the word. But I won’t do anything you don’t tell me, so you’ll have to say exactly what you want.”

His breathing is ragged, and he twitches in your grasp. “And option two?”

You grin and lean over him, propping yourself up on one hand. “I do whatever makes you the loudest, and if you stop making those pretty noises for me, I stop.” He seems to flinch at that, and you brush his hair back. “Just for a little while.”

He takes a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed, and he pulls his arms in and down to drape one across his forehead. The tie was never really secure in the first place, but after quite a bit of pulling and flailing, it’s fully undone by now, nothing but luck and stubborn determination holding the loops in place around Reigen’s wrists.

“Both options, of course, come with all sorts of praise and admiration.” You slip a finger under the fabric and give a light tug. He lifts his hands to let the tie slide free.

When he opens his eyes, a shudder running down his spine, he sees you absent-mindedly tying the tie around your neck, uneven and loose, hanging down between you to brush against his stomach. He’s sure you just needed somewhere to put it, something to do with your hands, but it flips a strangely possessive switch somewhere inside him. Not because he’s seeing you in his clothes - he’s had the privilege of that many times before - but because you’ve taken the thing that was supposed to restrain his ability to fuck up the situation, taken something he left safe for you to keep track of without even realizing he’d done it, taken the symbol of his presence in your space and your time and your life, and you’ve put it on without a second thought. He thinks of his misguided reasoning that got you into this situation, that he trusts you with him more than he trusts himself, and he knows what he wants.

For once, words are failing him, which just makes the choice even easier.

“Second one.”

Your eyebrows raise a little, like you’re surprised at his answer, and he almost takes it all back, but then you’re grinning and leaning down to cup his jaw, kissing him like he’s giving you the only air you could ever breathe, and he moans into your mouth.

You lean away just enough to pull in a gasp of air, fingers sliding to tangle into the base of his hair.

“Just like that, gorgeous.”

He laughs, sucking in a shaky breath as you wrap your hand around him again. It pinches into a sort of strained whimper as he starts to quiet himself and thinks better of it, and you start moving.

“That’s it, good boy, just let me take care of everything.”

For all he got into his head before, breaking the seal of touching him seems to have removed any last bits of hesitation, because he relaxes into your touch almost immediately. Your experimenting earlier left you with a good idea of what will get the best noises out of him, and he doesn’t hold back. You’re silently thankful, not only because you get to hear him, but also because you’re not sure you could have followed through on your threat of stopping. And if he’s exaggerating for your sake, all clipped moans and raspy mumbling and bucking hips, well, you’re not going to complain.

After a particularly tight stroke up his cock and a brush of teeth up the inside of his thigh, he pulls one arm over his mouth, pushing it against his lips with his other hand. You’re still deciding if that counts as muffling his sounds enough to slow down when he bites his wrist and yelps, a loud, desperate, frantic noise that seizes what little of your attention isn’t already on him. His head tips back as he struggles to prop himself up on one elbow, hand flipping to clamp down over his mouth, and you can see the bite mark, lines pressed into the pale skin just below the jut of bone where palm meets wrist. It takes you a minute to realize he’s saying something, your brain struggling to piece his noises together into words.

“Can I have your hand?” You hum, scrambling to extract your hand from his leg. “I just- I need,” he opens and closes his hands, “something.” When you hold your hand up blindly toward him, he takes it quickly and holds on tight, fingers lacing together with yours. He gives a few tugs, and you hurry to sit up.

“Please, I need- I can’t take it anymore.” He looks frantic, eyebrows pinched together and his chest heaving with ragged, shaky breaths. His hips buck wildly, quick and shallow into your curled fingers. You realize you’ve forgotten to keep moving as you were watching him, and you quickly correct your mistake, reveling in the shiver that racks through him as your thumb swipes over his tip.

He’s begging now, your name falling out in pieces between gasps and cries; he’s still tugging at your hand like you can’t get close enough, pressing his lips to your jaw like he can’t quite remember how to leave kisses there. He pitches his hips up and presses against you, knees coming together to press into your sides, pinning your hand against your torso as he lets out a final shuddering whimper.

He comes across your fingers, his whole body tense as he holds himself up, back arched and head rolled to the side. He moves to wrap his arms around you, forgetting that his elbow is supporting him, and he pulls you down with him as he falls the short distance to the mattress.

You do your best to roll off him without letting go of him during the aftershocks, but you’re not exactly paying attention to where you’re still holding, and he yelps again from the overstimulation. You yank your hand away with half an apology, smoothing your hand up his side as you lift yourself up on your other arm.

“Nono, wait, don’t-” He scrambles to grab you wherever he can, and you intercept him before he can smack you across the face.

“It’s okay, ‘Taka, s’okay. I’m not going anywhere. I just didn’t wanna crush you. Let’s sit up so you can get some water, alright? All that noise can really make your throat sore, I know.” You slip your hands under him, one at the small of his back and one between his shoulders, gently lifting him toward the headboard. “That’s it. You’re okay. I gotcha.”

Once he’s upright, a glass of water in two shaky hands, you lean over the side of the bed to fumble for a washcloth. When he doesn’t slow down on his own, you start to reach for the glass, but he pulls away for a big gulp of air before you can.

“How you feelin’?”

He doesn’t answer right away, leaving you to fidget with the cloth, slowly reaching for his thigh. He lets his eyes slide closed as you start to wipe him off, smoothing an apologetic thumb over his hip when he hisses from the sensitivity. You wipe your hand on a mostly clean corner before you chuck it in the general direction of the hamper, silently relieved when it makes it in.

“I think I died.” His hands are still shaking as he goes to set the glass on your nightstand, and you gingerly take it from him, lifting yourself up to set it on the far corner where neither of you can accidentally knock it off later. “I understand you now.”

“You didn’t die, I promise.” You allow yourself a smirk and pull a blanket up from the end of the bed. “That’s high praise, though.”

“You’re high praise.”

“You’re the one that liked it so much.”

He rolls his eyes, too tired to argue. As you pull yourself up the bed to sit beside him, he leans over, one hand sliding behind you to rest on your hip. Now that he doesn’t have the distraction of everything else, you can tell he’s starting to think, because his ears are tinting pink and he’s fidgeting with a string on the edge of the blanket.

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t happy to oblige.”

You scoop his hand into yours, leaving the blanket’s seams to live another day, and examine the bite mark on his wrist.

“I can’t believe I did that.” He scoffs, shaking his head a little as you turn his arm over. “The hell was I thinking?”

“Obviously you weren’t, which is both the point and very hot, so hush.” He turns away stubbornly, but he looks pleased. “You could probably say a spirit did it. Biting seems like an evil ghost thing to do, right?”

“With clearly human teeth?”

“Maybe it… stole them?”

He laughs, pulling away from your grip to get comfortable against your side. Just as you start to drift off, soothed by the sound of his breathing slowing and his weight settling on you as he relaxes, you feel his fingers walking down your hip, making their way to your thigh. You crack one eye open, and he looks away with obviously fake innocence.

“Where you going with that hand, darling?”

He smiles, bright and daring, as his fingers dig in. “Your turn?”

You consider it. You’re not quite capable of fully ignoring how turned on seeing him like this has made you. There’s a bit of nervous energy, buzzing over what’s left of your hangover, excitement, the joy that bubbles up in your chest at seeing him smiling at you like that, everything coming together in an overwhelming, swirling feeling of wanting whatever he will give you. But there’s something else, a calm undercurrent to it all, coating the emotion in quiet and directing it all back to a single point, solid and unwavering and right .

More than anything, you are content.

He sees your expression and laughs, must know what you’re going to say the moment you decide, because he mouths the words along with you as he pulls his hand back up to your hip.

“Maybe next time.”

#reigen arataka x reader #reigen x reader #my writing #it's been so long i forget how i tag things lol #hey bestie you're for sure gonna get a notif for this and i apologize in advance lsjkdfk #thank you so so much to everyone that stayed through the hiatus #i have been reading all the kind comments and asks and even though i don't respond they absolutely make my day #i was trying to avoid the internet as much as possible and it kinda... just stayed that way for a long time #if you're worried about this being the “last” aspec reigen pls don't panic #there's a more detailed ramble on ao3 but basically there will be more of these two goofs in love #(and probably a third goof in love)#but i wanna change some stuff and it'll be easier to do that in a new series #since this wasn't really meant to be a series in the first place weirdly #so basically it may be slow going but this isn't the end #i'm dropping this and then going to bed so i'll see y'all in the morning i hope you enjoy!!#i have.... so much to catch up on.....

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wexhappyxfew · 6 months ago

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shannon hi!! i've been eyeing bessie and thomas for a while, so could i ask for them and the prompt "smiling by instinct when they see the other/breaking into a grin and being unable to stop it" from the subtle otp prompts? thank youu and happy ttpd day!! ;)

BLU!!!! HELLO!!!! the fact it's been such a long-time-coming getting to this prompt, so very sorry for that lol! college finals hit and i was swamped and *NOW* we have some time haha! pleased to say, you are my final prompt from my prompt collection (and we can tell how long ago that was - i happily enjoyed ttpd day more than ANYTHING and i hope you did too!! <3 lets just say ive been looping 'loml' for some reason haha!!) THIS PROMPT!!!! literally for bessie and tommy i was obsessed with and went to town.....and then i went back and added a bunch of stuff because i went this is for BLU!!!! SO, i hope you enjoy these two!!! <3

my bessie marie

(a/n): blu, my #1 bessie x tommy stan, please enjoy this look into the before and after of their lives <3 bessie carlisle is an absolute joy to write - from her good-hearted nature, willingness to be kind and caring to all, her steadfast and natural call to doing what is right and her easy-going humor - by far one of my favorite Silver Bullets girls to write! <3 she just always has such a presence in scenes for me - so please enjoy her and tommy! :D

Bessie Carlisle had always been in love with Tommy McKenzie down the street ever since she was little.

And that was just a fact.

She always lived by the truth, by the facts and by the book.

So usually when things went off the page, in a different direction than intended - that's when life started to go haywire. That's probably why she excelled in school - everything was either fact, truth, or reality. Things were what they were at the end of the day. Attending Barnard College had opened up more opportunities than she could imagine and with Tommy right in Columbia, they'd been able to get closer to one another more often than not in those times, sharing all those secret promises amongst one another before finally admitting their feelings their junior years. And since then, they'd been inseparable, side-by-side, doing everything and anything they could together. And it had all been fact, truth and reality.

Dinner on January 4th, 1942 changed that.

"Bes, honey!" her mom called up the stairs to her, as she slammed her book closed and came to the threshold to her room, hearing the doorbell ring, "Tommy's here, dear - we'll be eating in a bit though, your father's not home yet!"

"Coming!" Bessie called, a smile riding her features as she quickly turned to the little mirror above her dresser and smoothed out her baby blue dress, fixing the small collar and turned to hurry down the stars like she was a 16-year-old lovesick girl again.

Coming to the front door, she pulled open the golden handle and there stood on the other side was her Tommy McKenzie with that beautiful glowing grin on his face. A smile broke out on her own cheeks as she stepped forward and launched her arms around his neck, pulling him into her embrace, relishing the comfort it brought to have his arms wrap right around her at the contact.

"How's my Bessie Marie?" he whispered quietly in her ear, a small laugh leaving her lips as she gave him an extra tight squeeze before pulling back and resting her hands on his arms, meeting those bright blue eyes that never left her mind.

She was never just Bessie to him - always Bessie Marie. And supposedly, from some of his friends, he'd started calling her Bessie Marie at the end of high school, and they had teased him about it for years. And now she got to be his Bessie Marie.

"Happy. Happier now that you're here," she said with a grin, catching her eyes on the book in his hand, "new book?" Tommy grinned at her, before swooping down to press a kiss to her cheeks.

"Billie wanted to give it to you," Tommy said, pulling the book from hands and gently handing it to her with another one of his winning grins that had quite honestly won her over in the first place, "he knows how much you love to learn more about the lay of the land. You should've seen how excited he was to get it to you. He would've been standing here by my side if I didn't tell him I was going over for dinner and not just a hangout." Bessie broke out into laughter as she looked down to the book cover and found it entitled A Deeper Understanding into the Geography of the Appalachians.

Tommy's 13-year-old brother, Billie McKenzie, was by far one of the smartest people she knew and someone she'd become incredibly fond of with family dinners at the McKenzie's, along with library trips. He always had the best books and it always made her heart warm to know he was thinking of her when getting books out.

"Found it and he swore up and down that he had to give it to you," Tommy said, sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, "you mentioned the Appalachians one time and he zeroed in on it." Bessie let out a chuckle and looked back up at Tommy, reaching up a hand to cup his cheek, her thumb delicately brushing against his soft skin, the quietness of his gaze holding that smile on her lips.

"I love it," she whispered softly, "thank you, my Tommy Dean." And yeah, she got to be his Bessie Marie, but he was her Tommy Dean.

That was their thing with each other. And it felt so sacred and special that she would never let it go.

Tommy smiled at her, and God his smile got her heart going in all sorts of directions, before he reached forward, his fingertips delicately resting on her waist, pulling her closer to him, flush against his tall and broad form, that soft smile gracing his lips.

Gently, he pressed his lips onto hers, and she could feel all her worries about school, what was going on across the Atlantic and Pacific, and every other horror that existed in this world drip away.

But, something in her stomach felt off, something about the hold he had on her, that look in his starry-eyes, like it was the last time he'd see her, made her uneasy. She pulled back from the kiss for a moment and looked into his eyes boring into hers. Her smile fell a bit - despite the fact they'd only been together for a year, they'd been friends, the best of friends much longer, and she could pick out anything that was wrong with him in a second.

"You okay, Tommy?" she asked him quietly, her eyes turning sad with the way he was watching her. Something deep down was telling her something was wrong, but she couldn't figure it out.

Tommy was already set for graduation, alongside her in early May - he was going to get involved in his father's business and go for an even higher degree. And they'd talked about it all - their future, staying in New York City or moving to the suburbs - they'd talked about marriage. All of it. Kids, a family, a black cat named Milo. But something was off. Something that made her want to hold Tommy as close to her as she could and tell him whatever was wrong would make things alright again.

"Yeah." Tommy whispered quietly, the corners of his lips struggling into a smile, "Just…." He stared at her a little longer than he normally did, his gaze roaming every inch of her face, like he was trying to memorize each and every aspect of her face from her lips, to the freckles across her cheeks and nose, to that scar on her forehead from the fall she had taken as a kid when playing with the local kids outside.

"Just what?" Bessie asked him quietly, reaching up to brush a piece of his brunette hair behind his ear - she really loved his hair - soft, lush, always beautifully combed and gelled. She loved him.

"Ask me again later." he said quietly, "Your mother's meal smells delicious." He smiled at that and Bessie couldn't help but feel her heart sag. Her gut was still telling her that something was off, something was wrong and she needed to figure it out.

Bessie smiled at him though, and took his arm, shutting the front door behind her as they waded into the family dining room where her mother was setting the giant roast she had cooked up - beef, carrots, onions, celery, potatoes, with a house-made salad and a champagne bottle to top it off along the table.

"Oh, Tommy, how are you, honey." her mother said, coming towards Tommy with open arms, pulling him into her.

Her mother loved Tommy McKenzie with her whole heart - she was always cooking him extra things; just last week, she had baked up strawberry scones, but made an extra blueberry one because she knew it was his favorite. She usually kept old newspapers and cut out different clippings she thought he'd like, along with always setting an extra spot at the table incase he'd be stopping by.

Her father was just as loving towards Tommy as her mother - probably more so. Her father loved having daughters, he always spoke proudly on it, but in a way, it healed that youthful boy part of her father, to have someone who was like a son. They talked politics, baseball, economics - everything. They'd sit outside at night, share a cigar or a cigarette, talking about life. They'd have a laugh and real heartfelt conversations. Her father usually made sure to invite him out when he could, or bring up opportunities that he heard about.

Bessie's little sisters loved Tommy, too. At 17 and 14, Jillian and Krissy Carlisle were always loving on Tommy when they could and if anything, Tommy had taught them the proper way to be loved right back.

"I'm doing well, Mrs. Carlisle, how about yourself?" he said, pulling back and squeezing her mother's arm gently, "Food smells delicious."

"Well, I knew you were coming, dear, and we can never have enough food," she said with laughter that sounded like Bessie's own, "go on, have a seat. Bessie, can you go grab some napkins?"

"Sure, Mom." Bessie said, looking to Tommy with a grin, before she stepped past them and into the kitchen, where she found Jillian and Krissy sitting there and giggling.

"What's got you two all giggly?" Bessie said, coming in and grabbing from the stack of napkins her mother always had in the corner, "Is that Joey Spinelli still coming around knocking, Jill?" Jillian let out a laugh and shook her head.

"Maybe-" Jillian started, but Krissy bounced up.

"He's in love with her! I swear!" Krissy said, "You gotta start asking Tommy what it means when a guy offers to buy your ice cream and not anyone else's - do you think he likes her?" Bessie looked to Jillian and raised a brow, watching as her sister's cheeks turned red.

"He bought only your ice cream, hm?" Bessie said with a smile, leaning back against the sink, "Jillian Cassidy Carlisle, when were you going to tell me this?"

"I didn't think anything of it!!" Jillian swore standing to her feet and waving her arms, "We were in a group, I was near the back, he offered because he was in the group, too. He was just being nice!" Krissy scoffed and crossed her arms.

"Just being nice my ass-"

"Watch your language, Kristen." Bessie said with a look to Krissy who pouted and crossed her arms.

"Ask the romance books, Jilly, you'll see otherwise." Krissy offered back.

"Romance books?" Bessie heard Tommy's voice say as he entered the kitchen, ducking through the entrance a bit because of his height, "Didn't think you'd be reading those yet, Krissy."

"Tommy! Tomo!" Krissy yelled excitedly, forgetting about her previous admonishment with Jillian and racing towards him, and jumping into his arms for a hug, "You won't believe it, Tomo!" her nickname for him, "Joey Spinelli down the street is in love with Jilly and she doesn't believe it!" Tommy let out a chuckle and glanced at Jillian standing there, red in the face and pouting.

"You sure about that?" Tommy asked Krissy who nodded."He bought her ice cream. The only one out of the group." Krissy offered.

"He was just being nice." Jillian surmised and placed her hands on her hips, "That's it." Tommy let out a chuckle, before Krissy let go of him and he looked to Jillian.

"Joey Spinelli, huh?" he asked her and Jillian nodded, "You know, I know his older brother - Luca Spinelli, I could ask hi-"

"Don't you dare, Tommy!" Jillian said, her cheeks turning a deeper red as she reached out and gave his shoulder a shove, "I can't face that." Tommy let out a chuckle as Krissy looked to Jillian with a smart look.

"You know Tommy bought dinner for Bessie that one time-"

"We were already dating, Krissy-"

"It counts!" Krissy said looking to Bessie, "Isn't that right, Tomo?"

"Sure, kiddo." Krissy proudly looked to Jillian.

"Party in the kitchen?" Everyone turned to find her father walking into the kitchen, work bag on his shoulder, suit looking as pristine as ever and a smile on his face.

"Dad!" Krissy called excitedly, as Bessie went over and hugged her father, Tommy shaking his hand and Jillian hugging her father jus as tight.

"How's it going, Mr. Carlisle?" Tommy asked her father as he pulled his work bag off.

"Same old, same old," her father said with another one of his winning smiles that hers looked nearly identical to, "stock market's up." Tommy laughed.

"Always a good day to hear that," he said and Bessie watched her father laugh.

"Alright, dinner is set, everyone bundle in!" her mother called coming into the kitchen, pressing a kiss to her father's cheek. People chattered as they went to settle into chairs and pulled napkins onto laps, Bessie placing the stack of napkins she had pulled from the stack onto the middle of the table, before everyone was settled in. They said prayer, and then everyone sat awaiting when they would be allowed to dig in.

"May I say something real quick?" Tommy asked from beside Bessie, his voice a bit more solid and confident than it had been when she first had opened the door to him. She watched him for a moment, and her parents exchanged glances with each other before encouraging him on.

"Go on, Tommy," her mother said with a smile. Jillian and Krissy looked to Bessie who could only shrug. Tommy cleared his throat.

"I just….I wanted to thank you all for being like a second family to me. More than anything. Feeding me, taking care of me, allowing me to be with your beautiful daughter, Bessie Marie," he said with a smile, before reaching out and taking a grip on Bessie's hand and squeezing it tight, "and I felt it was important to tell you all this now that we're all here. Because it matters to all of you and to me and especially to Bessie." Bessie watched him.

"I enlisted. For the Marines." he said, his voice sounding slightly constrained in his throat as he spoke, "And I ship out for training in a month."

Bessie woke up to knocking on the door. Her head pounded, her mind was scrambled, and her heart ached. Jack Kidd had come and sought her out with a tapping on the door to the women's barracks, where the front door had an interesting poster saying Silver Bullets.

Marianne had gracefully painted the sign one evening until Frank, that pesky orange cat, had gotten the one corner of it and nearly tore it to shreds. Now, it hungry quite lopsided with teeth marks in the side. Judy surmised that is gave it some character. They all went along with that.

Annie had answered the door, looking half like she had fallen out of bed to get to the door and then had shaken Bessie awake at the call. Bessie came hurrying to the door, sticking her crusher cap on her head and attempting her best to get the tie on herself before following after Kidd to the mess hall.

"What's up?" she asked him - the thing with Jack Kidd was, he was firm, to the point and ironed things out into straight lines - but she had been just the same back to him and had earned the capability to not have to therefore, be so formal. Not everyone was like that but Bessie…..let's just say, she'd attended college before with plenty of stuck up pricks with enough money it was coming out of their eyeballs. Jack Kidd wasn't like that, but he seemed to get along with her capability to maintain herself above water with the higher-ups. Therefore, 'what's up' was probably the most pleasant thing she could've said.

"Seems that making me Air Exec was the most recent decision with that new Colonel Harding showing up - West Point guy." Kidd said and Bessie raised a brow.

"Damn, Air Exec, you look thrilled," Bessie said and Kidd sighed and glanced at her.

"Demoted Bucky then?" He nodded and she made a clicking noise with her mouth and nodded.

"So, what's that gotta do with me?" she asked him, stopping him and looking his way with a smile, "There a reason I'm up as the sun's rising, or is this just for fun?"

"Figured you could give us some extra hands in Operations, flight paths and all. You'll still fly in Silver Bullets, but I trust you more right now than some of these other guys with all these variables moving about." he said, "You'd get a new title, too."

"New title, huh? Which is?"

"Lieutenant. Lieutenant Carlisle. 1st that is."

"Intriguing."

"Take it or leave is, Bes, we got work to do."

"Alright, deal." she said, and followed him towards Operations. Opening the door for her, she stepped inside and removed her cap to find a group of the navigators all awake and huddled around the center table, talking quietly with one another and sending each other looks.

"What's this, Jack, a get-together or an intervention?" she murmured to her side and watched as Jack shut his eyes and sighed.

"Gathered all the navigators up. Seems like in coming missions, they want to go deeper into Germany," he said, catching her eye, "wasn't my plan. Not ideal. But it's what's happening." Bessie looked away from him and caught Crosby's eye, who removed himself from the group and came up and over to her.

"Met Harding yet?" he asked her, giving a salute to Jack, "He's been extra curious about your crew."

"Afraid not, Croz, but if he happens to stop in this morning, I'll be sure to shake his hand and butter him up," Bessie said, before giving him a smile and nodding to the rest of the navigators, "Boys. How's it going?"

"Morning, Bes." A few greetings came as she moved in beside Croz and stared down at the map of continental Europe in front of them and the formations of planes scattered about. For about half an hour, the group went over ideas, as well as drawn-out arguments for what the plan was for the next mission. And it wasn't until nearly about lunch time when they were dismissed, did a runner come in from outside, calling her name.

"Lieutenant Carlisle?" Bessie turned from her conversation with Crosby and walked over to the runner, who held out a letter in his hand and smiled at her quickly, "For you, ma'am, seemed urgent." Then he was gone, the letter was in her hand and her heart was racing.

Slowly, she looked at the front and there it was, her name, in his handwriting. She hadn't realized she missed until she had started getting his letters and seen him signing it as Bessie M. Carlisle. She didn't realize she'd been standing there frozen until she was heading outside and peeling open the letter in a rushed frenzy just to read it.

Dear Bessie Marie,

Just staring at those first words, she couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten a letter from him. A few weeks? Nearly a month? He had said the fighting had been bad. She didn't know how bad, he never did tell, probably not to freak her out or get her riled up. He knew that sort of stuff always did her in. He knew her too well sometimes. But just seeing those few words at the top had her breaking out in a wide grin, knowing he'd held that paper, writing to her, in that delicate bit of handwriting, just for her eyes to read. He usually always got that grin she wore right now on her face, even when he wasn't around. Even halfway across the ocean.

Dear Bessie Marie,

I'm sorry it has taken me a bit to find some footing and get to some letter writing. The war out here has been downright horrid and I wouldn't even want to try describing the horrors we have encountered here to you. I have no doubt, telling from your last letter, that you are experiencing the same in your own ways, if not worse in those flying birds. No doubt I must have worried you, and I'm sorry for that. As I sit and write here now, one of our younger guys, Armstrong, is sick with a fever and the shakes - he tells me he's been trying to write to his family, but he can't seem to think straight or hold a pencil long enough to get his thoughts out. I've been helping him the best I can, especially at night and usually the letter writing takes a whole lot of time then. But a lot of the guys just want to get those letters out, just want to make sure their families know they're okay. So, I didn't mean to worry you, Bessie Marie, just know I am safe.

I got a recent promotion; my Senior Officer thought I'd be suited best for moving up in the ranks. You can consider me your Lieutenant Tommy McKenzie now! I still have my guys with me - Armstrong and Godfrey included, those two goons, but I enjoy their presence so. As well as all the others I've been with. I think it's because of how fast we lose guys out here, they can't be switching you all around, up and down, sideways and back. They keep you where you're comfortable for the time being.

I hope you've been doing well though, my Bessie Marie. I know I write it every time, but it is me in my truest form that I can not wait to get back to you in Brooklyn. Just the two of us, in our own home, going about our everyday lives side by side. I wish things were that simply again, back home. I guess as a kid I thought going out and fighting this sort of war was all I ever wanted. But I think what I wanted most was just for things to be normal again. For you and I to have our own place, start a family, finishing out schooling, get comfortable. Dance at night, have dinners together, have our friends over, spend our nights side by side. I wish I hadn't wanted to race into my adulthood as fast as we both seemed to.

I hope your crew is doing well - Annie Bradshaw sounds like she's got herself in order to be leading the plane, especially after what happened to your Birdie. I'm really sorry again for those circumstances, and if I could hug you from this island I'm on, I would. Bradshaw sounds good though - I don't think the Air Force would make the same mistake twice. Tell the other women I said hi, and let Judy know that Godfrey's been enjoying the book she recommended. Little Women I believe? He found it on the shelves out here when he was sent on medical for a little while. Came back raving about the March family, he loved it I must say!

Bessie Marie, please know I count the days until we can be together again. For now, stay safe, write back whenever you possibly can, and know I am thinking of you across this war-torn sea. I love you with all of my heart and there isn't a day that goes by where I don't think of you. Stay safe in flight, my love!

Yours,

Tommy McKenzie

Bessie stared at the letter with an onslaught of wet tears in her eyes, but unable to keep the smile from her face and truly feel those grieving emotions previously. Even if she couldn't look upon him fully, she could still see his face in her mind and that look he always gave her. Tommy McKenzie would always find a way to make her laugh even if she couldn't see it on his face. She smiled, wiping at the emotions crawling down her cheeks and let out a shaky sigh.

"Hey, Carlisle, you okay?" Bessie looked up and found Crosby coming towards her, hands shoved in his pockets, a concerned look on his face as he approached - if anything, Crosby was one of her closest companions outside of the girls and someone who looked out for her on the daily.

"Yeah, yeah," she said quickly, wiping carelessly at her cheeks again and letting out a sigh, "what's up?" Crosby watched her for a moment and then quirked out a grin.

"I asked you first." Bessie stared at him; she rolled his eyes and stepped forward to wrap an arm around his shoulders as they walked back towards the door to the inside of Operations.

"Must it always be how I am, what about you, Croz?" she said, squeezing his shoulders lightly, "Please, enlighten me." Crosby looked over at her and shrugged.

"You were the one outside."

"You were the one that came to find me."

"Key word, Carlisle; I came to find you." Crosby said with a chuckle, before his face dropped, "Seriously what's up." Bessie watched him for a moment as they continued to walk and then sighed.

"Nothing." she surmised, "Just….a letter from Tommy that's all." Crosby caught her gaze.

"Good, I'd assume?" Bessie smiled and nodded.

"Good." she said softly and then felt her smile widen, "Good."

#and if i said bessie and carlisle were fated what about #CAN CONFIRM - there were some tears shed #i just love them so much :')#just everything about them is so pure and sweet and REAL #she's his bessie marie and he's her tommy dean like STOPPPPP YOU TWOOOOO #bessie x tommy #bessie carlisle #thomas mckenzie #jack kidd #also:#harry crosby #hey bestie welcome *back* to the tagging zone #masters of the air #mota #mota writings #silver bullets #TOMMY BELIEVING IN ANNIE BRADSHAW TOOOO - bessie he's a good one keep him <3 #i hope you all enjoyed!!! thank you BLUUUUU!!!! <33333

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