#so it just piles up and up and up and whenever he manages time to himself outside of work then it just isn't something that fazes him at al

[starwovenkiss]

Sleep Tight, Soldier

The 5 times you and Kyle accidentally fall asleep next to one another + the 1 time it’s on purpose.

content: female reader, explicit smut (18+ MDNI), slowburn romance, childhood friends to lovers, dual pov, fluff, angst, grief of a loved one,light depictions of PTSD/trauma, emotional vulnerability

word count: 15.2k

a/n: this started as a drabble that quickly spiraled out of control. i don’t know what else to say other than if you read this whole thing, ily ♡

also for anyone doing the math: technically, kyle is canonically 24 in MWII (per Activision) and somehow also 34 (per the game). i’ve decided to split the difference and go with his wiki birthday: 1993. trying to make the canon timeline work gave me a literal migraine and age is just a number. i love him either way.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ───

October 11, 1999 - 01:36 A.M.

Kyle looks up from his football just in time to spot two wide, curious eyes peeking over his backyard fence.

The sun beams down on his back, and he’s still getting used to the fact that he can go outside to practice football whenever he pleases. It was so different from the gray skies that seemed to permanently haunt London in the springtime, so when he looked up at the clouds to examine if the sky could really be that blue, he wasn’t expecting to see a girl with messy hair and a bright smile staring straight at him.

He had known that there was a girl his age who lived next door, had caught small glimpses of you while you went on walks with your parents, but had never had the chance to speak to you until now.

“‘Lo,” he mumbles. He hears his father in his head, guiding him to speak louder and stand up straight so he tries to follow the direction. Tries to appear older than he is at six years old.

“Hello!” You giggle, and suddenly, he sees the rest of you, sitting on the edge of the nearly five-foot fence separating the two backyards. He briefly wonders how you managed to get all the way up there, and if American kids had some sort of superpower climbing skill that British kids just aren’t aware of. Before he can test this theory on his own climbing skills, you’ve already done a crawl-shimmy-jump down the fence and landed with a flair that only a six-year-old could when jumping into a pile of dirt.

He takes the time to examine his new neighbor with the flushed skin and polka dot dress and scraped knees (’no doubt from climbing other kid’s fences,’ he thinks). You’re the picture of Americana, down to the melting red, white, and blue Bomb Pop you carry in one hand and a Barbie in the other. Kyle does notice, a little bitterly, that you are a few inches taller than him.

“What’s your name?” you ask, a toothy smile on display, and Kyle begins to shuffle his feet when he sees your bright grin up close. He fights the urge to turn away, feeling a similar way to when he looks at the sun for too long.

“Kyle. What’s yours?”

You tell him your name, and Kyle smiles. It fits, all sunshine and bubbly, the way you seem to be. Kyle’s about to ask if you want to play when you pause from eating your popsicle to stick a hand on your hip like you’re sizing him up — and Kyle has no idea what you’re looking for.

“You talk weird,” That’s …. not what Kyle was expecting, and is a little ironic. Yes, he does have an accent, but you do whistle while you speak on account of your two missing front teeth.

“No, I don’t,” he argues back.

“Yes, you do,” you determine with that huge smile, seemingly unaware that your insistence is causing his brow to furrow and his fists to clench.

“I do not!” he huffs. He almost stomps his foot, but quickly remembers that he is supposed to be acting more …. grown up in this situation.

You shrug and turn around, taking this as a cue to examine his backyard. You carelessly toss your Barbie next to the side of the fence you landed on, taking in the green grass and tall pine trees that surround the yard.

As you continue to skip around the perimeter of the yard, Kyle takes the time to examine you. He’s never seen someone his age be so sure of themselves, so certain of how everything should be in the world.

“Do you play soccer?” you ask, and it takes Kyle a beat to register what you’re saying, so lost in his thoughts.

“Soccer?” he questions and you point to the ball at his feet like he might be a little stupid.

“You mean, football?” he clarifies, and you laugh, running over to hand him your sticky, melting popsicle.

“See, you do talk weird!” you grin and move to kick the ball from his feet.

Kyle hesitates, heading to the trash to toss the mess you gave him. He shakes his head as he goes. He talks like Mum and Dad, and they don’t sound weird to him. So why would he?

To his amazement, when he turns around, you’re carelessly kicking his football around, chasing after the ball, and sometimes pausing to cartwheel in between as if you’ve forgotten what you’re doing. He’s never seen anyone play so…. wildly.

“What are you doing?” he asks, watching as you skip after the ball.

“Playing soccer!” you smile, and Kyle fights the urge to shake his head again.

“That’s not how you play soccer! You clearly don’t even know what you’re doing,” he says like he’s some expert, so confused by the way you’re running that he doesn’t even notice that he calls it the American name.

“That’s not true. I play on a team with my friends and I was voted best player.” For the first time since meeting you, you don’t have a smile on your face. Your brow furrows and you look at him disappointed. Kyle doesn’t really believe the best player story, but he can sense that he’s on the verge of hurting your feelings so he changes the subject.

“What if we play something else?” he suggests. That seems to appease you and you brighten again, back to the smiley joy he didn’t realize he was already used to.

“Sure! I have my favorite Barbie doll with me, but I don’t know where I put it!” Your brow furrows again as you turn wildly to find where you tossed your Barbie.

It’s at that moment when Kyle steps back to give you some space, he hears a crack that sounds suspiciously like a Mattel doll being fractured in two. Kyle freezes, hoping that if he doesn’t move any further, you won’t notice the fractured Barbie underneath his right cleat.

You turn to him with a glare in your eye.

‘Oh no,’ Kyle thinks to himself.

♡ ♡ ♡

When you open your eyes, Kyle’s nose is about two inches away from yours, and his chest rises and falls slowly and steadily. You cross your eyes to count 35 freckles scattered across his cheeks and chin. Most annoyingly, he is currently cuddled up with your teddy bear that you insisted on bringing to this sleepover.

After a very dramatic Barbie funeral, you reluctantly accepted that Kyle wouldn’t be going back to London (it took stealing your brother’s encyclopedia and two very long conversations with your Mom to understand that you can’t just deport a six-year-old for Barbie homicide - no matter how justified it feels.) So you’ve decided to try and befriend him, mostly because your mother says you have to.

It hasn’t been going well.

Kyle warmed up to you quicker than anyone expected, and somewhere between April and October, the polite British boy you first met was replaced by a full-blown menace.

Every time you try to play house in the backyard, he chases you with frogs. You give him daisy-chain flower crowns; he shoves mud pies into your hands. You want to pick sunflowers, and he’s more interested in running wild with your older brothers and playing “football” as he calls it.

As far as you can tell, Kyle has little to no interest in being your friend, and frankly, you’d be okay if he stayed on his side of the backyard forever.

Which leads you to this predicament.

You two, at another kid’s sleepover, are stuck sharing a sleeping bag, and he is hogging both the blankets.

When one of the other kids forgot their sleeping bag, everyone figured that since you and Kyle were being raised like siblings at this point (and fought like it too), there was really no issue with you two sharing.

You actually had fun for most of the night, painting ghosts and smiley faces on your pumpkin, sneaking extra candy, and laughing with the other kids — until one jumped out from around the corner and tossed a rubber spider on you.

The weirdest part of all is how Kyle had been acting. You had expected him to laugh along with the others when you screamed at the spider, but he pushed the kids aside, mumbling “It’s really not that funny.” before pulling you with him.

After that, he was weirdly nice the rest of the night — he even snuck you the last sugar cookie, even though it was his and you’d already had one.

Despite his kindness earlier, Kyle doesn’t really understand the concept of sharing— at least, not when it comes to sleeping bags — and you watch irritably as he gets more and more comfortable under the blankets as the room gets chillier.

You tug, and he tugs back. And you’re seconds away from losing your mind before he begins to blink, slowly coming to.

“What are you doing?” Kyle asks, rubbing his eyes blearily, and for a moment, you see Kyle as his real age. You know he tries to act older and more mature, a product of his father's upbringing and all, but it’s rare to see him so childish unless he’s tormenting you. You secretly wish he would act more like a kid, even if it means it’s at your expense.

“You kept stealing the blankets,” Both of you aren’t whispering, not really understanding how to be quiet, but you do see another kid turn over and quickly put a hand over Kyle’s mouth.

Kyle looks at you bewildered, and you fight the urge to laugh. When the other kid finally settles, you remove your hand as both of you break out into silent giggles.

He seems to finally notice that he has taken over the entire sleeping bag, and shuffles to give you some more blanket space. His skin burns slightly red as he wordlessly hands you your teddy as well.

”I’m sorry,” You’re not entirely sure what he’s apologizing for, since they’re just blankets and you’re almost 90% sure you probably kicked him in your sleep, but it seems important to Kyle, so you decide to hand him back your teddy bear.

He smiles as he gets comfortable, and soon, his breathing evens out next to you, falling back into those slow and steady rises, and you let yourself relax too.

It wouldn’t kill you to be nice to Kyle for a night, either.

So, you simply pat his shoulder and turn to the other side.

Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind Kyle sticking around for a while.

♡ ♡ ♡

July 28, 2005 - 11:42 P.M.

“Kyle.”

That can’t be right. Kyle’s solving an equation he can’t quite remember the formula for. That’s not what confuses him, though. It’s you, sitting next to him like you belong there. He doesn’t understand why since you have language arts when he’s in maths, but there you are, staring at him urgently. He wants to respond and ask why you’re here, but instead, he focuses back on the algebra problem in front of him.

“Kyle!” Your whisper comes across more urgently and he whips his head to you, trying to figure out what it is that you could possibly want. You sound annoyed, which is common in conversations with him, but there’s something more. He feels a slight breeze and wonders why you’re leaning towards him before a blunt punch in the arm jerks him awake.

“Ow,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing at his arm, already sure there’s a bruise here.

“You sleep like the dead,” you respond matter-of-factly, upside down over his head as he wakes up. Kyle knuckles his eyes slightly, trying to adjust to his surroundings, quickly realizing that he’s not actually in his year six maths class, but still at the summer camp your parents shipped you both to every year since you were seven.

“_____,” he hisses, sitting up to look around him. “You’re not even meant to be in here.”

The rest of his cabin mates seem to be asleep, unaware of the girl standing at the edge of his bed in a strictly boys-only cabin, and for a moment he worries that his counselor will walk in and catch you two.

He stands up, ready to walk you out the door until he really looks at you.

Your eyes are glassy, tears streaking your cheeks in the moonlight, and Kyle forgets about getting caught. You’re crying, and that makes his stomach twist worse than any trouble could. He knows that camp had been rough for you this year — your braces are just the latest thing. Every week, Cassidy Shelton finds something new to pick apart.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“You’ll laugh at me.”

“I’d never laugh at you.”

“Even when I fell down during the pep rally?” You raise a brow at him, and even though he tries to stop it, he does snicker at the memory. You laugh quietly as well, before rubbing at your cheeks to wipe your tears away, and Kyle’s heart sinks even further.

“C’mon, let’s go for a walk,” He suggests, already grabbing his jacket. He notices you’re holding his blanket, and grabs it to tug you slightly towards him.

“We can’t leave. That’s against the rules,” You hiss, eyes wide with terror. He holds back a laugh, knowing that the two of you are already pushing it with the amount of noise you’re making and someone is bound to wake up soon for a midnight pee or something. Only you would break into a boy’s cabin, breaking the biggest rule of all, but be terrified by a midnight walk.

“No worse than you sneaking into the boys' cabin, is it?” He shrugs, already headed to the door. If it wasn’t for the midnight quiet, he would’ve missed the barely audible whisper of ‘I just wanted to talk to you.’

The darkness in front of you seems to stretch for miles only illuminated by the tiny sliver of the moon above. The earth is slightly damp beneath your feet as you follow Kyle further through the campsite.

You don’t know where Kyle’s taking you, but you trust him — just like you trusted him enough to climb through the window of Cabin B in the first place.

He’s been a constant in your life for the past six years, and you’re unsure where the shift from childhood neighbors turned into tween best friends. You’ve never had to wonder where you stood with Kyle — he just showed up.

Lately, you’ve needed that loyalty more than you’d like to admit.

Cassidy’s been relentless all summer, never far away with a comment or a look. She made fun of your swimsuit during pool day, made a joke about your retainer when the boys were around, and “accidentally” left you out of the cabin photo.

But today, she made sure to taunt you in front of the entire cabin, everyone crowded in the bathroom to get ready for bed.

“The braces help, seriously” she says, brushing out her hair in long, perfect strokes. “At least now you have a feature people will notice before your nose.”

You tense, trying to rush through brushing your teeth so you can crawl into your bunk where she can’t bother you.

“I mean,” she sighs wistfully, like she’s offering life-changing advice. You know better, know that what comes next is nothing but the punchline to one of her cruel jokes. “You’re just so lucky you’re funny. Some guys like that more than looks.”

A few girls snickered, and that had been the final straw. You felt the need for comfort, missing home more than usual and your feet found there way to Kyle like they always did.

There’s a slight breeze that tickles the ends of your hair, and the crickets slowly fade into a melody in the background as you realize that Kyle is leading you toward the lake. You cross your arms at the chill in the air, and Kyle turns to frown down at you. He’s gotten so tall since the beginning of the summer, and you know deep down that he’s happy he no longer has to look up at you anymore.

He stops in front of you, shaking you out of your thoughts as you almost run into him. He sets his blanket down next to the canoe racks, and you smile. The first summer you spent here, you and Kyle had accidentally capsized a canoe after arguing over the correct way to steer. The next day, the counselors made you both sit out, and you spent the whole hour just talking. It’s become one of your favorite spots to hang out at between activities since.

He sits down and looks up at you, eyes searching yours. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head, already feeling kinda childish and guilty that you had dragged Kyle out of bed to comfort you. He has always seemed so mature, and even now, you feel unsophisticated as you clumsily move to sit down next to him. Where you had been teased and picked on this summer, Kyle seemed to blossom over the past few weeks, breaking records for the fastest time in rock climbing and always being first to be picked in dodgeball.

Everyone wanted to talk to him, and no one seemed to understand why he was always so content to just hang out with you.

Kyle’s silent, and you wish for a second that you could know what’s going on inside his head. You turn to look at him but find that he’s already staring at you, and you both quickly look away.

”Look, you can see Orion tonight.” You look over at him and follow where’s he pointing to the brightest constellation in the sky. He lies down on his back, and you follow his lead, both of you gazing up toward the night sky. “And there’s Andromeda.”

You try to look up to where he’s pointing, but can’t make out the shape. Your hand brushes his as you point upward.

”Where?” you ask, and he grabs your hand, tracing the outline of the shape in the stars. You pause, taking in the fact that you’ve never seen so many at once, before quickly realizing that Kyle is still holding your outstretched hand, and both of your faces burn as he quickly drops it.

”How do you know all this?” Kyle shrugs the best he can while still lying down to your question.

”We learned about it in science class a few months ago, and I thought it was interesting. I read some books from the library, too. They all have these crazy stories behind them. Like Andromeda. She was like…brave or something. And Orion’s a hunter.”

Kyle begins to get excited as he starts to ramble, and you smile. Not only is he great at sports, but he’s also one of the smartest people in your grade, and loves to show off whenever he can.

”That’s Ursa Major, and there’s Ursa Minor. They’re both the bears. And that one’s…. well, I forgot the name, but it’s the prettiest one. And it’s always right there. Like you.” Kyle stops talking so fast it knocks the breath out of you. Your head spins.

You’re not sure what you expected him to say, another fact, maybe a joke, but definitely not that.

You feel Kyle squirm next to you, clearly mortified, and you’re certain that if you turned to him, his face would be flushed from the heat of his unexpected confession - if you could even call it that.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him trying very hard to keep his gaze fixed on the stars, like maybe if he doesn’t look at you, the words won’t count.

And somehow, that makes you smile.

You’ve never even thought of Kyle that way— sticking to daydreaming about boyband members and teen actors, so you don’t know why your pulse keeps stuttering at his revelation. It’s Kyle, and you know the girls in your grade are already starting to become interested in him, have already started whispering about who he might ask to the seventh-grade dance next year and how they hope it’s them.

You wonder how Cassidy would react if Kyle accidentally compared her to the prettiest constellation in the galaxy.

”You shouldn’t let what they say get to you,” he whispers, and you find that he’s looking at you this time.

”Who?”

”Cassidy and them. I don’t know why you care what they think. You’re way cooler than them.” He stares at you intently, and now it’s you who has to look away, who focuses intently on the constellations above instead of the boy next to you.

”Thanks, Kyle,” you sigh, moving to get more comfortable. All of a sudden, you feel exhausted—the day finally catching up to you. Kyle grabs his jacket, draping it over you.

“You’re way cooler than them too,” you mumble, and from the corner of your eye, you see Kyle smile.

The rippling of the water and the cricket sounds slowly lure the both of you to sleep until the next morning when your counselors find you hidden after spending the past hour freaking out over two missing campers.

You both get dish duty for a week. But at least you’re together.

♡ ♡ ♡

April 7, 2010 - 12:57 A.M.

Kyle feels like his black bow tie is choking him, and for what feels like the thousandth time that night, he tugs at the collar of his tux. He’s not sure if it’s the collar that’s making it hard to breathe, or if it’s just you.

Sweat beads lightly on his forehead as he forces another bright smile under the camera flashes.

”One more! Do not make that face, Kyle! It’s only one more picture. I just can’t believe how big the both of you have gotten,” his mother coos, sentences trailing over one another in her excitement. You’re applying a fresh coat of lip gloss as your mum fixes your gown, and Kyle can’t stop looking.

It’s the night of your senior prom, and Kyle originally had no plans on going. But after your date stood you up, he grabbed the black suit from the back of his closet to accompany you on the night you had been looking forward to for the past year.

And Kyle had always known you were beautiful.

He just didn’t know it could make his chest ache the way it does now.

Up until now, Kyle thought he’d seen you in every outfit imaginable. But the blush pink gown wraps around you like a whisper, like you might break if the wrong hands touch you. His throat dries as your glossy lips catch the light as you press them together to smooth everything out. You seem to glow, an outright supernova that somehow made its way to Earth, a divine cosmic intervention that Kyle could only count himself as lucky to experience.

He knows he’s being dramatic, but when you look over at him, eyes bright and smile wide, he feels like he could write a sonnet about you just like he learned in English.

He makes himself keep his eyes on yours, even as the slit of your gown sways closer with every step. He thinks the lights are making him delirious because he swears you float to him in a cloud of tulle and shimmer.

”Okay, one more, and that will be the last one, Beth,” your mother chides, guiding you to stand next to Kyle. He looks down at you, at how you now barely reach his chin, even in your strappy high heels.

”How much do you want to bet this isn’t the last one?” You mutter under a beaming white smile, and for a second, Kyle sees the same six-year-old who once crawled over his backyard fence.

He shakes his head, pulling you closer to him. It takes everything in him not to breathe you in and hold you tighter.

Kyle hasn’t left your side all night.

Which is normal for Kyle. You two won “Class Inseparables” for a reason, but what isn’t normal is just how clingy he’s being.

Kyle had spent the year making it extremely clear that he didn’t want to go to prom, and while he didn’t outright say it, you know that with the recent death of his father, he’d much rather stay at home and do…… whatever it is that Kyle wants to do.

You had struggled to be there, as he shut you out more and more while dealing with his grief. You blamed yourself for not knowing the right things to say, what to do, and most of all, feeling like nothing you did was ever enough to show him he wasn’t alone. It was just something he had to work through on his own, and you made sure to always be a shoulder for him when he called.

So when your mother found out that your date canceled on you last minute, she spoke to Kyle’s mother, and the both of them decided that it would be good for the two of you to go together — one last adolescent celebration before you two fully entered adulthood.

And although you hate to admit it, they were both right. You couldn’t have imagined spending the night any other way, dragging Kyle through all the cliches of photobooth pictures and slowly dancing to pop songs. His laugh infectious as he clumsily dips you to the floor, almost dropping you in the process.

So when the two of you made it to an afterparty, you were surprised to not see him next to you as you exited the living room barefoot to the backyard deck. Already buzzed on a few drinks, your head pounds to the bass of the song blaring and you welcome the muffled quiet you get as you shut the door behind you, heading to the railing to look up to the sky.

Only a few moments later, you hear the sliding glass door open, and without looking, you know Kyle has found his way back to you.

“I can’t believe this is it,” you whisper, eagerly welcoming the bottle of water Kyle slides your way. He takes a sip from his own, and as you dazedly watch him swallow, you notice that he ditched his bow tie somewhere between the limo and the shot of Smirnoff you took with your friends. The first few buttons of his dress shirt are unbuttoned, and he looks more relaxed than you’ve seen him in a long time.

“What’s it?” He questions, and you smile at his accent creeping through. In addition to class inseparables, Kyle also won the senior superlative for best accent (a category you’re almost certain they created just for him), and to this day, you don’t know how he maintained it despite living in America for most of his life. A part of you thinks it’s due to the yearly trips to England he takes with his family, and another part thinks that it’s just the way it’s meant to be because he wouldn’t be Kyle without it.

“I mean, we’re done. No more high school,” you sigh wistfully. The big decision of ‘what’s next’ seems to loom over everyone’s head as graduation creeps even closer. You had already committed to a college for the fall, but Kyle had kept unusually silent about his decision on what to do next. You tried not to pry, knowing that he was already dealing with more grief than anyone your age ever should, but it worried you that he didn’t have a plan, and a tiny voice in the back of your head won’t stop whispering he’s keeping something from you.

“I thought you, more than anyone, would be glad to be done,” he laughs, taking another sip of his water.

You suppose that’s true, school had never really been your favorite. But the thought of leaving Kyle to go out of state? You’re not sure how to feel about it. He’s always been a fence away, and your hands begin to twitch as you’re suddenly overcome with a weird urge to hold his hand.

You don’t know what to call your feelings for Kyle. If anyone ever insinuates that there could be anything more between you two, you almost immediately deny it. Tell everyone and anyone who can hear that “he’s just a friend, more like one of my brothers than anything else,” but late at night, in the wee hours when you feel the darkness can hide any thought you’re too scared to say aloud, you entertain the idea of ‘what if?’

You had tried - once in ninth grade because everyone said that’s what two people with “chemistry” like yours were supposed to do, but Kyle had too much of a crush on an upperclassman girl to focus on you properly and you had always felt like your “dates” felt too much like hanging out as friends to ever take it seriously.

But now at the cusp of adulthood, you’re beginning to see Kyle as something more, and it terrifies you slightly.

“Of course, I’m happy to be done. But I don’t know what I’m going to do without you next year,” you admit, softly, the truth coming out before you can bottle it back down. “I mean, you’re my best friend, Ky. Promise you’ll come visit me next year?”

Kyle doesn’t look at you, letting out a heavy sigh.

”Of course, I’ll visit. It’s just-” He stops himself, running a heavy hand through his hair, and looking up towards the sky. Your heart begins to beat faster, trying to anticipate what he’s not saying, and for once, you wished Kyle spoke as carelessly as you did instead of watching every word to make sure he never said the wrong thing.

“What is it, Kyle?”

He takes another drink of water, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt before turning to you with his full attention, staring you deep into your eyes.

”I’m moving back to London at the end of the summer. I’m going to enlist in the military.”

You recoil at that bombshell. You know you shouldn’t be that surprised; Kyle’s dad was in the military himself, and with everything that’s happened, it makes sense that he’d want to follow in his footsteps.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You hate how selfish you sound, knowing that it’s not about you, and the edges of the room start to blur as you try to catch your breath.

”It was just never the right time, and I couldn’t figure out how. Plus, you were so stressed about college applications that I didn’t want to add that on to everything else you were dealing with.”

You try to see how that logic would make sense to him, but as the timeline catches up to you, you start to realize that you have a little over 100 days until Kyle is almost 4,500 miles away from you.

Your heart begins to beat even faster.

You want to be happy for him — proud, even. Because of course, Kyle would do something so brave and selfless. But your stomach churns as you think about everything he’s still carrying and whether running towards something like this will really let him outrun his grief.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” You murmur, eyes burning as you slide down the railing to sit on the deck.

”Don’t do that, love. You’re going to get your pretty dress all dirty.” You fight the urge to roll your eyes because only Kyle could be focused on the state of your appearance while you’re on the verge of falling apart. “C’mon, let's go inside.”

He leads you through the crowded living room, ignoring the whistles and cheers as he takes you down the hall to find an unoccupied spare bedroom.

As soon as the lock clicks, you lay face down on a scratchy pillow, a violent sob racking your body.

You feel the bed dip as Kyle sits beside you, gently stroking your back until your tears quiet. You wonder if he thinks you’re being melodramatic about this situation, if his leaving is as big a deal to him as it is to you. You count down every moment you two have spent together, and wonder if he’s done the same since he’s decided to enlist, if he’ll cling on to the same memories that you will a year from now.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” you whisper. You don’t want to say it, not wanting to ruin this momentous decision with your own emotions, but you feel him slipping away, and selfishly, you want to hold on as tight as you can without letting go.

“I know this can’t be easy for you either… but I just — God, I don’t know how I’m going to do this without you,” you sniffle slightly.

”I’m going to miss you more, darling,” he whispers back, moving to lay beside you. He cuddles up behind you, holding you tightly, and the comfort of having him near you is enough to calm you down. You lay in silence for a few moments, letting the sounds of the party outside drown out every fear you’re not ready to name.

“Y’know, when we were six, I wanted you to move back to London,” you laugh, and he snorts too.

”Did you? Why was that?” his embrace softens, and you begin to feel quite tired as the heat from his body envelopes you.

”You broke my Barbie and made fun of my ‘football’ skills,” he laughs at the exaggerated posh accent you put on before you continue- ”As far as I was concerned, you were enemy number one.”

“How lucky am I,” he drags, sarcastically. “that I changed your mind to keep me here.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” you murmur, your voice small now. “Because now I don’t want you to go.”

He stiffens slightly before relaxing into you more.

And just like that on a borrowed bed in your formal wear, you reckon with the fact that this is the last night of your childhood.

You grab Kyle’s hand and drift off to sleep.

♡ ♡ ♡

November 28, 2014 - 3:19 A.M.

Kyle hasn’t seen you in two years, and yet here you are, sitting in front of him in the tiniest black dress he’s ever seen in his entire life.

Both of you are crammed into a booth in a dark, sticky club, and he tells himself it’s the bass of whatever EDM track is rattling the walls that’s making his head spin — not the way your chest presses together when you lean over to grab your drink.

He takes another sip of his own. You’re spending the summer interning at a finance firm in London, and Kyle secretly hopes they’ll offer you a job after graduation — just so you’ll have a reason to stay. Which is how you found yourself out with him and his friends to celebrate their first deployment going so successfully.

They’d started the night at a proper pub; pints, darts, and all — much to your confusion when you showed up like you were headed to a rooftop in Miami.

“What are you wearing?” He asks, eyes scanning over the smokey makeup and sky-high heels that stood outside of the door of his flat. “You do realize we’re going to a pub, yeah? Why the dress?”

“You said we were going to a bar.” You push him to the side since clearly he wasn’t going to move to let you in, and toss the oversized leather jacket you were wearing onto his couch without a second glance. “This is what you wear to bars.”

Kyle’s almost positive he didn’t say that, any American slang, wiped from his vocabulary since moving back to the U.K., and despite growing up together, he still isn’t sure how the two of you manage to miscommunicate.

You turned to him then, lips already pouted, eyes bright with mischief as you looked him up and down.

“What, you don’t like it?”

The problem is Kyle likes what you’re wearing a little too much which is how he found himself in a basement club in central London. You had gotten along well enough with a few friends he made while away, gleefully sharing embarrassing stories with his new military friends (“Kyle, mate, why didn’t you tell us you used to do ballet?” “Piss off, I was like seven.”). So, when you light up at the suggestion of going dancing, staring at him pleading when his friend, Elliott, mentions a club nearby, he grabs his jacket instead of heading home like he wanted, where he’s found himself spending way too much money on drinks and watching how your skin seems to glow under the flickering strobe lights.

You giggle at something Elliott whispers, no doubt a joke at Kyle’s expense, with the way you flash him a wicked grin afterward, and Kyle’s jaw clenches. He takes another sip of his drink as you lick a drop from your lips.

Kyle knows that he needs to stop watching. That soon you’re going to catch on that he’s looking at you in a not-so-friendly way.

But whatever it is, he can’t stop watching the way you move. Can’t stop imagining what it would feel like to pull that dress up around your hips and slide his hands over the skin he’s been dying to touch since you walked through the door.

He tells himself to stop looking and keep his thoughts chaste as you unintentionally pout your lips as you look at him to see why he’s so quiet.

But, fuck, he can’t stop the way he feels.

Like a live wire pulled too tight, every look tossed his way hitting him in his chest. In his gut. Lower.

You were always beautiful, but this — this is different.

Grown. Self-possessed.

Devastating.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom, both men watching as your hips slightly sway as you try to find your balance.

“Jesus, mate. You never said you had a girl like that waiting on you.” Kyle watches Elliott for a moment too long. Watches the way he’s already looking at you like a challenge that he could win you over. He’s seen that same look in almost every guy at this club when they look at you tonight, and his fists clench.

“She’s not my girl. We’re just friends.” A sour taste forms in his mouth as if he’s swallowed something acidic, and he watches Elliott light up at the info.

“Really? Is she seeing anyone? Or keen to be?” Kyle almost chokes at the waggle of Elliott’s brow at the last part. He doesn’t understand why he’s feeling this way, you’ve both dated other people before so this is nothing new, but the thought of you going home with anyone other than him makes his chest hurt.

“Dunno. You’d have to ask her.” Kyle shrugs, but it comes out too sharp, too fast. He swallows hard. It’s not a joke to him anymore. He takes a proper look, assessing the man sitting in front of him. It would never work between you and Elliott, would it? He’s military, too determined, too focused — too much like Kyle. And if you were going to be with somebody — why couldn’t it be Kyle?

“Gonna check on her, yeah?” he murmurs, rising before he thinks better of it. The rest of the drink burns on the way down, but it barely registers. Not over the heat crawling up his spine.

Admittedly, you got a little lost on the way to the bathroom, the three drinks catching up to you all at once. The club pulses and spins around you, lights strobing as the bass vibrates within your bones.

What was supposed to be a quick trip becomes a full lap of the dance floor, and you’re flushed and slightly dizzy when you walk up to the bar to order another Sex on the Beach. You’re halfway leaning over the counter to pass your card when someone drops theirs ahead of you.

The scent hits you before anything else: sharp, clean, with that rich warmth you’d know anywhere. Tom Ford. Kyle’s favorite.

You go still. Heart thudding.

You don’t turn around to look at him yet, suddenly, feeling too warm, too aware of the way your dress clings to your skin, the way your breath stutters in your chest. You tell yourself it’s just Kyle.

But it’s not the same Kyle, is it?

The one standing at the bar is taller now, sharper around the edges, all quiet confidence and serious demeanor. His gaze tracks you like he’s hunting, like he’s already read your next move and is deciding what to do with it.

And then there’s his body.

He’s broader now, chest and shoulders stretching the sleeves of his shirt, arms thick with the kind of strength that isn’t just there for decoration, but for utility and purpose.

Sun-kissed skin, dark mustache, and a lean athletic figure that has enough stamina to go for hours, whether that’s on the battlefield or —.

But the thing you find yourself staring at the most are his hands. What were once smooth are adorned with callouses, each one holding a war story that he’s yet to share. Like they’ve seen battle and want to learn softness now. Like they could leave bruises shaped like constellations on your hips if you asked nicely.

You take a large gulp of your drink like it might drown the thoughts clawing their way through your head. The alcohol burns, but it’s not nearly enough to dull the way your body thrums when Kyle gets even closer.

You turn around, and there he is — smiling dangerously like he’s hyper-aware of what path your thoughts have taken. His voice is a whisper in your ear, low enough to curl straight down your spine.

“Thought you were looking for the bathroom?” he murmurs, and you hate that your first instinct is to lean in like two opposite ends of a magnet.

“Got a little lost,” you say, breathier than you mean to, and take the straw into your mouth again slowly this time, just to see if his eyes drop to your lips again.

They do.

“What are you drinking?” he asks, and you push your cup toward him without thinking.

“Try it,” you say, soft. “It’s all juice and sugar. You probably won’t like it.”

You expect him to grab the cup and tip far from his mouth like he always used to when you were kids, but instead, his fingers skim your jaw, and he catches a drop from the corner of your mouth. You freeze.

Then he brings it to his lips.

“It’s sweet,” he says, slow and deliberate, still watching your mouth. “I like it.”

Your heart punches against your ribs, wild and frantic, and you barely stop yourself from chasing the taste on his lips. You fumble your drink with a clatter, cheeks hot as if you could be any less smooth.

He grins, cocky and all too pleased with himself, and slides in closer, setting the cup aside like nothing else matters.

The scent of him hits you — cologne and sweat and something deeper — and suddenly it’s like your entire body is one raw nerve. Your thoughts scatter. Your pulse stutters. You want to touch him. You want to climb into his lap. You want him to grab you by the hips and ruin every thread of self-control you’ve ever had.

He’s your best friend.

Somehow, you don’t care.

You try to collect yourself. Breathe in. Out. Focus on your heartbeat. On anything other than the way your skin is still buzzing from where he’s touched you.

But when you glance up, Kyle’s already looking at you half-lidded, pupils blown so wide that you almost have to squint to make out the thin ring of gold surrounding them.

You don’t even realize you’re moving closer to him until your hand brushes his, chest mere inches as you drink in Kyle in front of you. He takes your hand, fingers tracing the inside of your wrist. Your pulse skips a beat.

His doesn’t.

He opens his mouth, whether to speak or kiss you, you’ll never know as two of his friends come barreling in, ripping him away with slurred words and half-assed apologies.

“Oi, Kyle, some tosser thinks I’m flirting with his bird. Tell him he’s having a laugh, yeah?”

And just like that, the moment shatters. The lights, the music, the crowd pressing in — it all rushes back at once.

You even register the annoyed looks from people trying to squeeze past the two of you.

How long had the two of you been standing there?

“Can’t leave you guys alone for two seconds,” He mutters, catching his breath. His hand lingers on your wrist as mouths ‘be right back.’

You reach for your drink, spinning the liquid as if it’ll hypnotize you to keep your thoughts from spinning too.

“He’s pretty good, right?” Elliot slides in next to you, watching Kyle make his way through the crowd. “He was always the most level-headed in basic training. He probably broke up more fights than he was in them.”

You smile at that — of course, Kyle would gain the reputation of being the strategist, the fixer, always thinking things through.

“—- told him in training to go after what he wants, but it seems like he still hasn’t listened,”

You tune back in at the end of his sentence, narrowing your eyes at Elliott.

“I’m sorry?”

Elliott just grins.“Lemme buy you a drink, yeah?”

You should say yes- he’s cute, really fucking cute, and obviously interested by the way he’s been flirting with you all night.

But as you shift you weight from one foot to another, deliberating, your gaze slides to the other side of the club where Kyle is already watching.

You swear his jaw clenches when Elliott moves in closer to you.

“Oh,” Elliott laughs, catching the look. “You’re both a little fucked then.”

You blink. “What?”

He shakes his head, something almost kind about his expression. “Better that I’m not the one to tell you, right? But -“

He stops himself like he shouldn’t be saying something before shrugging his shoulders and tossing back the rest of his drink.

“Plenty of the lads at basic had birds back home. None of them ever talked about their girls the way Kyle talked about you.”

Your stomach twists at Elliott’s words, but you’re not sure if it’s from the implication or the confirmation. You’ve known Kyle was acting different tonight — the stares, the softness, the tension that always seemed just shy of crossing a line. You want to ask what Kyle said, how he said it, when he said it, take every sentence and dissect it syllable by syllable. But you don’t get the chance.

Because Kyle is back.

And he looks… different. Not just under the strobe lights, not just with his shirt rumpled and curls damp at the nape of his neck. He looks like someone who has made a decision.

His eyes skim over Elliott, land on you, and stay there.

You barely register Elliott muttering something about giving you two a moment before disappearing into the crowd. Kyle doesn’t say anything — not at first. He just stares at you like he’s trying to memorize every feature on your face like this is the last time he’ll see them.

“What did he say to you?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because if you open your mouth, you might admit that you’re shaking. That something about this — him, you, tonight — has shifted past the point of pretending. You don’t know how to flirt with Kyle because it never felt like you had to. But right now, standing in front of him with your heart in your throat, you want to be brave. You want to try.

So you just say, “You already know.”

Kyle blinks. His jaw twitches. Then he grabs your hand.

He pulls you into the crowd, the bass drowning out every thought except the feel of his fingers tangled in yours, the way his body moves ahead of you like he’s cutting a path through the world just to get you somewhere quieter, darker, closer.

Your skin sparks under his touch. Your blood hums with electricity.

And you don’t even realize you’ve stopped moving until you’re suddenly chest to chest, breath to breath, the rest of the world nothing more than sound and color. Hidden in some back hallway away from any interruptions or prying eyes. He stares down at you like you’re something divine. Like if he blinks, you’ll disappear.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he says like it’s a confession pulled from his ribs.

His palm slides against your lower back, anchoring you to him as if any distance will push you away. You smile, ready to make a joke, to tease him, to play into this push-and-pull you’ve somehow found yourself in.

But the look on his face punches the air out of your lungs.

Any ounce of self-control has fled from his body, replaced by a primal desire that seems to bleed from him. His hand trails up your spine, every hair on your body standing on end as you come to the complete and utter realization:

Kyle is going to kiss me.

And before you can even process what that means for your friendship, his mouth is on yours.

Suddenly you can’t think, all thoughts flooding straight from your brain as they’re replaced by one single, repetitive thought: ‘Holy shit, Kyle is a really good kisser.’

His hands find your waist, then your hips, then your ass, like he doesn’t know where to hold you because he wants to touch you everywhere. His tongue sweeps inside your mouth, tasting like gum and pints of lager, and a hint of the cigarette he bummed earlier, and that combo would be so disgusting on anyone else, but of course, it works for him, and you hear yourself gasping into him.

Your fingers fist into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groans deep and low like the sound is being pulled straight out of his chest.

“Fuck,” he mutters, lips moving against yours. “Why do you taste so fucking good?”

He kisses you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else, and you think it’s working. You will never be able to kiss anyone again without thinking about the way Kyle took you apart, thread by thread, with just his mouth. You pull him in closer, feeling slightly depraved and insane. You want to crawl into his skin, get under him, inside him, anywhere where he can hold on to you like this forever.

You shift, and your thighs brush against him, forcing you to feel him — thick and hard through his jeans and pressing right against your hip. You moan before you can stop yourself, and he grips you even tighter, pulling you flush against him.

“You’re driving me insane, sweetheart,” he rasps in your ear, dragging his mouth down your jaw. You drag his face back to yours, and he kisses you again —deeper, messier, needier— but it’s still not enough. You want more, need more, need to know what it feels like for him to be inside you, fingers buried in his hair as you fall apart for him over and over again.

But for now, you just let him devour you. Kissing you with a promise of what’s to come, like he’s starved and you’re the first taste he’s allowed himself in years.

You break away first, barely breathing hard as you take in Kyle’s swollen lips and chest heaving as if he just ran across the country.

His hand is still gripping your waist like he’ll fall if he lets go, and he rests his forehead against yours. For a second, you think he might kiss you again until he exhales hard, coming to terms with the situation that just happened.

”Fuck, we — we weren’t supposed to do that, sweetheart.”

His voice is wrecked like he’s ashamed of how badly he wanted it. Of how badly he still wants it.

You don’t move. Your fingers are still twisted in his shirt, and your neck still tingles from where he dragged his lips across it. You finally open your eyes to look at him.

And when your eyes meet his, he looks absolutely ruined.

“Stop looking at me like that, love.” His hand twitches like he might pull away, but he doesn’t. Just takes a deep inhale. “We’re friends, right?”

The words don’t match the way he’s staring at you, with lips parted, pupils blown, and you still feel the weight of him fully pressed up against you. And whatever line you two were pretending existed has already shattered.

So, you look up at him, bold and tipsy, and braver than you have any right to be, and whisper in his ear: “I don’t want to be just your friend tonight, Kyle.”

Something settles in between you two, the words impossible to take back, so Kyle just gives a deep nod before calling a cab.

You slide into the cab first, and Kyle follows, close enough that your legs touch, close enough for him to smell the sweet sting of your perfume and whatever’s left of the drink on your lips.

The door shuts, and for the first time all night, it’s too quiet — he hears his heartbeat in his ears, and his nerves continue to dial themselves higher and higher.

You shift, and his gaze drops down to where your dress rides a little higher from the movement. He can’t help himself, his hand settles heavy over your knee, thumb dragging slow, deliberate circles on your bare skin. It feels delicate, pretty, soft and he wonders if you’d feel that way all over.

Your skin warms instantly, and he can feel the heat coming off you in waves. You glance up at him, eyes silently begging for him to move again, for him to kiss and touch and worship you like he craves.

And God does he want to.

Kyle leans in closer, mouth brushing just behind your ear, making sure to keep his voice low enough that only you can hear,

“If we weren’t in a fucking cab right now…”

You still.

“My hand wouldn’t just be on your thigh.” He makes sure to draw a deliberate line up the inside of your leg, stopping just short of where your dress ends, hiding where he wants to see you the most. “It’d be under that fucking dress, halfway to making you come again.”

Your breath hitches. The driver coughs once, and Kyle forces himself back,hand still on your leg, grip just tight enough to remind you that he’s still here, just as wanting as you.

You don’t say a word for the rest of the ride.

Neither does he.

The car slows to a stop, and before Kyle can stop himself, he tosses a large tip to the driver before taking your hand like a man possessed and dragging you into his flat.

The second the door clicks shut, Kyle’s mouth is back on yours.

He barely registers kicking the door shut before he’s got you pinned to it, hands firmly gripping your waist to anchor himself to this moment. He wants to take his time, to memorize how you feel under his hands, how you sound when he kisses your neck, commit this to memory in case he never gets the chance to again, but desperation takes over, and all he can think about is how badly he wants more. How badly he wants you.

Your purse hits the floor, but he doesn’t really care. You let out another gasp into him, and he’s never been angrier at himself. For pretending, for years, that this was inevitable.

He drags his teeth against your bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to suck and bite until it’s flushed red.

Instead, his hands move free of his control, down your thighs, under your dress, until he’s rubbing the front of the thong you have on, and he moans slightly into your mouth.

You’ve completely ruined yourself, underwear drenched, and your hips jerk as he presses a light circle to your covered clit.

He smiles, using his other hand to pin you to the door, and he feels you shaking like you might detonate against him as he continues to draw light circles around your covered heat.

“Kyle,” you whine, and it feels like a livewire has been cut deep inside him as he moves your panties to the side, and slides two fingers inside of you.

And all he can think to say is, “Fucking finally.”

God, you’re tight, warm, and just fucking perfect. Your hips jerk against where his hand is moving, like you’ve been shocked and he feels his breath stutter against the high-pitched moans you make, raw and startled like you didn’t know you could want him this much.

Kyle presses his forehead against yours, cursing when you gasp at the curl of his fingers. And he feels the confession bubbling up, tries to push it back down where it’s supposed to remain hidden and locked away, but you sound so sweet when you whine his name that he just starts … rambling.

“I’ve thought about this,” he rasps, voice wrecked and low. “I tried not to, sweetheart, I really did, but you were always there in my mind at night. What you’d sound like, what you’d look like coming undone, what you’d feel like when you finally let me touch you.”

Surprisingly, you don’t jerk away from his confession, call him a creep, or tell him that he’s supposed to be just a friend. Instead, you clench tightly around his fingers, moaning a little bit louder throughout his admission, and adoration begins to fill your eyes.

It only takes a few more pumps of his fingers, before you fall apart, and Kyle holds you through it, hand steady, mouth skimming your jaw as he tries to brand the shape of your body to his memory.

You’re still trembling in his arms when he pulls back, and he watches you blink, dazed and flushed and impossibly beautiful. He’s never been so hard before, and you reach for his belt, his body slumping forward as you brush a delicate hand across the rough outline of his cock.

He wants you so badly it hurts. But it can’t be like this. Not the first time.

“Baby,” he rasps and you whine at that, grasping the print of him a little harder and he grabs your hand to still you.

“I want you so badly right now.” He cups your face, brushes against your cheek, and whispers against your lips, “But our first time will not be against a bloody door.”

He pulls you in again, lips pressing as he drags his tongue against your mouth, hands drifting down to take a firm grip of your ass.

And just like that it shifts.

Kyle picks you up like it’s nothing, and cradles you close, as he carries you through his flat to his bedroom like you weigh nothing at all. Lays you down so softly like you’re made of glass.

And then you kiss again, softer, slower, as if he’s truly taking his time to learn who you are. He reaches down, pulling your dress off of you, and the look in his eyes makes your breath catch.

He looks as if he’s seen a divine being, wanting nothing more than to lay you down at the altar and worship you until you bless him.

So, he does.

He takes his time, kissing down your chest, your ribs, your hips, like he’s tracing down a map to something sacred. He removes the last barrier you have, the last of your clothes, and you open your legs for him. His eyes darken, the edges lazy with want, and he sucks a deep, bruising kiss at the apex of your thigh.

And then his mouth is on you. If you could even describe something as monumental as simple as that. As if you could describe the starburst that floods your vision with such a crass term as “eating pussy.”

Kyle lays everything out with the broad strokes he licks into you, groaning as if he can’t imagine anywhere else as perfect as in between your thighs.

You cry out, one hand flying to the wall, the other buried in his hair, as he traces soft circles into you.

You hear yourself call out his name, all your senses locked into the way he smiles against you. ”Been dreaming about the way you’d say my name.”

He sucks at you like he wants your legs to shake, like he won’t be satisfied until you come completely and utterly undone for him.

So when you come for the second time, it’s no surprise that it’s with a broken cry that leaves him shuddering.

You think he might stop there. Takes the time to let you recover as he strips himself. But he’s above you again, and you take the time to run your hands across broad shoulders that lead down to a tapered waist adorned with a perfect set of abs.

He hangs hot and heavy between your legs, and you sigh as he takes you in for another kiss, briefly tasting yourself on him before he pulls back,

“Is this still okay?” He whispers, eyes looking for any doubt.

You nod. “More than”

And he sinks into you with a groan that’s been clawed from his chest.

His pace is unhurried and measured, forehead against yours as you clench around him when he presses a kiss against your forehead. His pace falters before picking back up as he mutters “fuck, love, you feel like heaven.”

You lock your ankles around his waist as he laces your fingers together. His mouth catches yours mid-moan and refuses to let go. You wish it felt wrong like this is a dark and dirty secret that will never be touched, but as you come for the third time, you know that you’ll never be able to live peacefully knowing what it looks like to have Kyle fall apart above you, mouth on your neck as his whole body trembles into yours.

He slowly pulls out of you, lying next to you before pulling you close to his chest, and pressing a familiar kiss to the top of your head.

You’ve never felt so serene, so calm, so at ease, and you want to say something to break the moment. To bring you both back down to the level you normally operate at, with friendly jokes and ribbing and teasing.

Deep down, you feel that coil snap, that something’s changed between the two of you. You wonder if he feels that too, but when you look at him, the only thing you see is the same devotion he had a few moments earlier.

So you shove all your thoughts away and close your eyes

You wake up missing the familiar weight of Kyle next to you. The bed is cold, the sheets pulled into a precise military fold, and the only sign he was ever there is the dent in the pillow next to you.

You grab something discarded from the pile of clothes on the floor, Kyle’s shirt, and tug it on before padding out barefoot to the kitchen.

“Morning,” you whisper, voice still scratchy with sleep.

He startles just slightly at the sound of your voice and straightens before turning around.

There’s a small smile on his face, but it doesn’t quite meet and doesn’t feel as genuine as it should be.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, standing on the other side of the island. He nudges your cup towards you, tea prepared the way you’ve always preferred and you hold the burning cup in your hands, lines forming between your brows.

“I’m fine. How do you feel?” you ask, guarded.

Kyle looks exhausted, not the face of someone satisfied after a night of good sex, and you start to second-guess yourself. You’ve seen Kyle with ex-girlfriends, and he’s the picture of romance - flowers, kisses, constantly holding hands and all over them.

For a moment last night, you thought you saw that Kyle when he was with you, but you don’t recognize the man in front of you- guarded, drawn back.

Off-kilter, you take a sip of the tea you’ve been holding, dropping the mug when it burns your tongue. The clatter echoes through the quiet flat, and you immediately bend down to grab the mug, muttering apologies as you check for chips in the ceramics. ”Shit — sorry, I didn’t mean to —”

“It’s fine,” Kyle says quickly, already kneeling to help. His hand grazes yours, and you both freeze.

You look at him, and his eyes stay firmly trained on the mug. The silence stretches across the apartment until becomes unbearable.

“I just — I wasn’t expecting you to be gone,” you say, voice childishly quiet. “When I woke up.”

Kyle runs a hand through his hair, already mussed from sleep, and still refuses to look at you. ”Didn’t want to wake you.” He sounds just as young as you just did, and your heart does an unusual pitter-patter.

“That’s it?” you ask. “After everything?”

His face falls, and the expression tells you everything you need to know. He’s already halfway gone, leaving you again like he did when you were both 17.

You don’t want to ask. You don’t want to know.

“Do you regret,” you pause, struggling to get the words out. “what we did last night?

Kyle’s head whips to you, eyes panicked. “No,” he says. “It was… Fuck, it was—” He swallows hard like something is lodged in his throat. “This just isn’t something I can do right now.”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

His eyes meet yours like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time all morning. “I leave in six weeks.”

“And?”

“And I’ve watched what happens when people try to wait,” he says. “What it does to them. I’ve seen it ruin people and wreck lives. And I care too much about you to let that happen to us. To you.”

Us.

Your chest caves a little at that.

“So you thought it’d be better to fuck me first?” You laugh sardonically. The words come out sharper than intended, and you see the hit land.

Kyle flinches. “That’s not — don’t make it like that. It wasn’t like that.”

You hug yourself, pressing your lips together to hide the wobble in your voice. “Then what was it?”

He doesn’t say anything, sits across from you in silence, and you understand. That knowing the truth would hurt too much. That Kyle is still trying to protect you from all the things that could hurt you in this world.

Only this time it’s from himself.

You nod once, jaw tight. “Got it.”

You turn to leave, and this time, he doesn’t stop you.

♡ ♡ ♡

December 24, 2022 - 10:24 P.M.

Kyle listens to the fire crackle, as cousins, aunts, and uncles trickle into his grandfather’s house. The first Christmas he’s spent with his family in years is a big one, and he briefly wonders how they’re all going to cram into the tiny sitting area.

He pulls the tartan blanket over his cousin sleeping next to him before moving to sit next to his mother. In 29 years, he’s never seen his mother look so tired, so weathered, so worried. He knows that it’s because of him, that it must be impossible to sleep at night, knowing that there’s no guarantee that your son will return to you safely. The chime of laughter coming from the kitchen brings him down from where he feels he’s floating a million miles away. He takes his mother’s hand and runs his thumb gently across her knuckles, grounding himself there.

”How are you doing, mum?” he asks, softly, and she turns to him with bright eyes. Kyle’s mind wanders to what if his dad were still here. Would he still have joined the military? Entered the SAS? Met the 141? Maybe he would have ended up here anyway. But the look on his mother’s face says otherwise.

”I’m just so happy to see you here, Kyle.” Her eyes water up, and Kyle knows instantly what’s not being said. He tries not to think about that day too much, the bullets ricocheting off the helicopter, as the only thing keeping him alive is a fraying rope. It’s become a bit of a legend amongst new recruits.

“Can you believe the sergeant fell out of a helicopter and survived? I heard he took out 5 men while dangling from a rope. No, it was six.”

A ringing starts to fill his ears, and he focuses back in on his mom who’s looking at him with concern again.

”I’m happy to be here, Mum.” He mumbles, and suddenly, he feels exhausted. Being tired isn’t a new feeling - he hasn’t had a real night's sleep since before he joined the military, but this exhaustion feels deeper, like it’s carved into his bones. He’s so used to waking up at six a.m. and running 5 km that the stillness of a peaceful night is almost foreign to him.

“He would’ve been proud of you, y’know?” Kyle jerks up at that, turning to his mom. She doesn’t often talk about his father, doing the small things to keep the memory alive on his birthday and the anniversary of his death, but the pain always seemed too much to bear. “He would always say when you were younger, ‘My boy, he’s going to accomplish great things.’ He just would’ve been so proud.” Her voice wobbles a little before she catches herself.

”I know, Mum,” and the funny thing is he believes that. He knows that he’s accomplished everything his father had dreamt for him, grown into the man his father started molding the second he was born. Yet he still feels like something’s missing.

Kyle hears the door open, and close, wondering who the late addition could be. At this point, every family member has arrived.

“Darling, you mustn’t be upset, but she has no family out here. We’ve had her over every year since she’s moved,” His mother rushes out, worry quickly replacing the melancholy that lined her voice.

Before he can even process what that means, who he could possibly be upset about seeing, he hears a voice he hasn’t heard in over 8 years—

Yours.

A part of you thinks it’s weird that you spend every Christmas with Kyle’s family despite not speaking to him for 8 years.

Your job had brought you to London a few years back, and you were more than happy to spend the day eating Chinese takeout and rewatching old Christmas movies. But your mother found out and gave a call to Kyle’s mother and well, “Family doesn’t let family spend the holidays alone, do they?”

Which is how you find yourself at their Christmas Eve dinner every year.

Kyle never shows up, always on duty or leave, but you find yourself holding your breath every year hoping he’ll walk in.

And you’re disappointed every single time.

You shouldn’t be, you don’t even want to be and you don’t know why you anticipate him being there as if he wasn’t the one who said you two were better off as friends and then slowly stopped responding to your texts and calls.

Your friends all tell you that you’re better off, that Kyle fucked up and doesn’t know what he’s missing. And you try and pretend that you don’t look for him in every guy you see, looking for brown eyes and a protective heart in every Bumble date and one-night stand you meet.

So when Kyle turns around, your breath hitches, shallow and fast, like your body’s bracing for impact.

You thought of this moment for years, the moment where you can yell at him, scream and curse, and cry for breaking your heart. Inflict a fraction of the pain he caused you back onto him, make him feel all the nights that you spent crying, mourning the loss of your best friend.

But what stops you in your tracks is how absolutely exhausted Kyle looks.

He’s still Kyle, but his whiskey-colored eyes are rimmed with dark circles and wrinkle a little more when he smiles. His beard has grown a little more, a rarity for Kyle who has liked to be as clean-shaven as possible since the moment he started growing facial hair.

You had heard about the accident, how he barely survived — and his mom had begged you to give him a call. But every time you reached for the phone, something stopped you.

What do you say to someone when there’s so much that’s been left unsaid?

The door creaks shut behind you, breaking the awkward showdown you’ve found yourself in.

“Darling!” His mother is the first to react, walking over to where you awkwardly hesitate in the door, one step away from bolting. She brings you into a warm embrace, running a comforting hand through your hair.

”I’m so happy you could make it. He won’t say it, but I know he misses you. Still puts up the ornaments you two made in primary school,” she whispers in your ear. Your eyes catch Kyle’s across the at this, and you press your lips together in a firm line. You don’t want to be bitter but if he really did miss you as much as she said, why is he still there — still putting distance between the two of you?

She lets go of you, helping you out of your winter coat, and then a few of Kyle’s younger cousins are dragging you to the kitchen, wanting to gossip about all the things you normally do when you come over, and you forget that once again, Kyle is watching you walk away.

And despite his presence being so loud in the middle of this party, you’re able to continue like you normally do. You laugh and eat roast and mince pies, and even participate in Secret Santa, where you receive an absolutely horrid sweater that will never see the light of day. And it all feels so normal that your heart swells, that if you keep your focus on certain parts of the room, it’s like Kyle isn’t even there.

But whenever your eyes meet, Kyle goes completely still — like something has knocked the breath out of him. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just stares like he’s seeing a ghost he thought would never come back to haunt him.

Your stomach churns — it was a bad idea to stay. You should’ve feigned an illness as soon as you saw him there because unhealed wounds are starting to bleed the longer his wide-eyed gaze follows you around the room.

So, you begin to pack up. Walking around from family member to family member to say goodbye, accepting all the kisses on the cheeks and leftovers to eat for the next few days. It’s not until you’re standing by the coat rack to put your jacket on that you shiver from the feeling of a large figure behind you, your body remembering him before your brain can catch up. He’s silent on his feet in a way that can only come from years of military training. He had never been so quiet before.

“Are you leaving already?” he rasps, and your knees almost buckle from hearing his voice for the first time. Your stomach flips like it’s trying to turn yourself inside out.

“Yeah, I need to start driving back now before it gets too late,” you whisper, not wanting to speak too loud as if he’s an apparition that’ll disappear with any quick movements.

“What’s this about you driving home,” Kyle’s mother interrupts, eyes narrowed. You didn’t even realize that she was standing there, but from her crossed arms, you knew that you fucked up.

“It’s only a short drive, Ms. Garrick. Swear, I’ll be home in twenty minutes,” you promise, hoping she won’t beg you to spend the night. Tonight had already been heavy. You spare a glance at Kyle, but his gaze is solely focused on his mom, listening intently to what she’s going to say next.

“But it’s already so late. Why don’t you just spend the night here? You can stay with Kyle, it’ll be just like when you two were kids again,” she beams, and you don’t have the heart to say no.

“Mum,” Kyle protests, already beginning to form an argument but his mother silences him with a wave.

“Really, Kyle? You’re going to make her drive home alone in the dark. I would’ve thought I raised you better than that. Besides it’s just one night,” she dismisses the two of you with such finality you have no choice but to follow Kyle upstairs as he shows you which room he’s staying in.

“I can sleep on the floor- or the couch, give you some space,” and for a moment, you’re tempted to take him up on his offer. But the way he’s slumped, you knew it would be awful to subject him to subpar sleep because of an 8-year grudge.

“It’s fine, Kyle. I’m the one intruding. You take the bed,” you say, and are already grabbing your pillow to head to the door to go back to the couch.

For a moment, it’s just you and Kyle and the ghosts of a hundred sleepovers past — whispered secrets under shared blankets, the safety of knowing he’d always be there

But now there’s an invisible line between you, drawn sharp and painful, and neither of you know how to cross it.

Kyle shifts closer, hesitant, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too fast.

You pause in the doorway, pillow clutched awkwardly to your chest. Kyle shifts on his feet, the floorboards creaking beneath him.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low and rough from exhaustion. And suddenly it’s just the two of you, standing in a too-small room with eight years of distance stretching between you.

“Why don’t we just share? My mum would kill me if she found out I made you sleep on the couch.”

“Okay,” you whisper, following Kyle back to the bed, shakily pulling the covers back one by one if anything to delay sleeping next to him again.

He follows your lead, slowly crawling under the bed, back towards where you’d be sleeping. You sigh softly, before following suit, back facing his.

You don’t know how you’re going to sleep tonight, feeling overwhelmed by every shift and movement Kyle makes, the heat of his body next to yours, the careful distance he keeps between the two of you to make sure you don’t touch.

You wait, counting as the seconds turn to minutes in your head. Waiting for him to say something, anything to acknowledge that he has his back turned to what was once the closest person in his life.

It’s all too much, and your throat begins to burn. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself not to cry.

Then you feel it.

The lightest brush of Kyle’s fingers against your hand, hesitant and trembling, as if asking for permission.

You freeze.

He doesn’t grab, doesn’t force. He just …. waits. His pinky hooked barely against yours, a question hanging between you.

For a second, you want to pull away. You should pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you shift your hand just a little, letting your pinky catch his.

You wait, wondering if his graze was accidental or if he’s going to acknowledge where you two are linked. You feel your stomach twist, and you watch the trees gently sway under the moonlight. You try to calm yourself down and inhale as quietly as possible before exhaling when you just barely hear it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and you get hit with a familiar feeling. Of you two sharing a bed before and him whispering those same words.

You feel as if you should turn, and face him to see what he says next, but you are still frozen, petrified that any moment, you’ll wake up to find you’re still in your apartment and Kyle is still a million miles away from you.

“I don’t know why I didn’t call you or talk to you. I - I was 21, and you were the most important person in my life. I, I just couldn’t lose you.” his voice cracks at the end, and he sounds absolutely wrecked at the idea.

“And then I did.” he continues “It was stupid, but I didn’t know how to be your friend after knowing what it’s like to kiss you, to hold you, to be with you. And it fucking killed me, it - it haunted me. And every day we didn’t talk, I didn’t know how to reach out to you. And then you were gone completely.”

You’ve gone completely still. Of all the things, you expected him to say, you didn’t think that would be it.

“Please, just say something, love. Anything.” he pleads, and releases a bone-rattling sigh.

“Kyle,” and you hear your voice tremble. “I was in love with you. And you- you left me.”

As soon as you say the word love, you hear Kyle shift over, and turn to face you, and you know you should follow suit. Turn to face him and brace this reconciliation, but the thought of dealing with his rejection again keeps you in place.

He shifts, moving to grab your hand but pausing. The burning pressure behind your eyes is throbbing, and you have no doubt that you’re fully crying at this point. You feel Kyle’s stare at your back, and you crawl into yourself more, leaving only your hand outstretched for him to still anchor onto.

"That day," Kyle starts, voice cracking a little, "the one where I fell out of the helicopter..." He swallows hard. "The first thing I thought of was you.”

You suck in a shaky breath, clutching the blanket tighter.

"I thought about—" His voice catches. He scrubs a hand over his face like he's trying to pull the words out by force. "I thought about how if this was it, if I was gonna die, you'd think... you'd think I didn’t love you.”

You’re certain that the entire house could hear the sob you let out at that. Without even realizing it, you’ve turned over to him, and Kyle looks just as devastated as you do.

Kyle’s eyes are red-rimmed, his mouth pressed tight like he’s holding back everything at once. He starts to reach for you, then pulls back, and fists the sheets instead.

"I wanted to call you," he says hoarsely. "A thousand times. I just—" He laughs once, brokenly. "I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know what to say to make it better."

You stare at him, blinking hard, heart hammering against your ribs.

"I just..." His voice goes nearly silent. "I missed you so much, love."

He lets the silence stretch between you. A lifetime of things unsaid crowding the room.

"I'm sorry," he says again, almost inaudible. "For all of it."

You don’t say anything, close your eyes for just a moment to process what was just said to you. Kyle continues to breathe shakily, closing his eyes as well.

He’s thrown out his lifeline, laid every card on the table, and you feel your heart break — for all the words unsaid, for all the time missed.

You tentatively grab his hand, intertwining your fingers together fully.

Kyle chokes on a sob, shifting closer so your foreheads touch, closing his eyes to breathe you in, holding tight to the fact that you’re just there, close and in his arms once again.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, and you two stay like that, fingers intertwined as you fall asleep.

♡ ♡ ♡

October 12, 2024 -  1:28 A.M.

Kyle mentally runs through the wedding planner’s checklist to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid, like tripping on an untied shoelace and face-planting down the aisle.

He glances down at the daisy chain wrapped around his wrist, something you had woven for him the day before, tucking it into his palm with a kiss to the cheek before vanishing behind closed doors until today.

It took time to get here. To rebuild the foundation, and Kyle wishes he could say it was easy. That things simply slid back into the place the way they used to when you were kids.

He took the time to learn you again, the woman you’d become in those eight years, no longer just the girl who climbed over his fence or the teenager who spun with him under disco lights.

And the more he found, the more he fell.

Nobody was surprised when you finally announced that the two of you were dating. Both your mums claimed they knew all along. Kyle suspects they did.

Then the violins start.

Everyone stands.

And Kyle has to remind himself how to breathe.

Your silhouette appears at the end of the aisle, and his heart pulls so tight it aches. You glow, so soft and radiant in white, and walking arm in arm with your father. And suddenly he’s seven years old again, dressed in his favorite Easter outfit, as a circle of stuffed animals bear witness to your first “wedding.”

The memory clings to him now, tugging at his ribs like a second heartbeat.

You catch his eye, and he smiles widely.

You smile back even brighter.

You take your time crossing the aisle, careful with every step, the train of your dress sweeping heavy behind you.

After Christmas Eve, everything shifted. Kyle called every day, texted when he could, and reached out in whatever way to let you know he was thinking of you. And you, despite everything, met him there, refusing to run and instead letting him show up.

After what feels like an hour, you finally make it to the front of the alter, your father kissing your cheek before handing you off and you step in front of Kyle.

“Hi,” he whispers. His cheeks flush pink, and suddenly you see the six-year-old boy you met all those years ago, with red skin and scraped knees, and honeycomb-colored eyes that you secretly hope your kids get.

“Hi,” you whisper back, sounding so giddy to your own ears. If anyone were to look at you, you’re sure you're glowing with love as you look at the man who is about to be yours forever.

You hate to admit it, but the ceremony blurs by you until it’s time for your vows, and Kyle is shakily unfolding a piece of paper.

“The day we met, I remember I was so amazed that I could be in a place so bright compared to rainy London.” The audience laughs lightly at that, as the rain drums steadily against the chapel roof above, like London itself is blessing your vow.

“And then you came along, somehow making everything brighter. I didn’t know it then, but that was the moment everything changed.

You’ve been in my life so long, I don’t remember a version of myself without you in it. You’ve seen me through every season —every good bit, every broken bit — and you never stopped showing up. So today, I’m promising to do the same. To show up. To love you properly.

You’ve always been my home. And I’m so bloody lucky I get to spend the rest of my life coming back to you.”

You can’t hide your tears if you try, and you hope that the officiant finally says you can kiss the bride by the time you lunge toward Kyle and pull him towards you. Luckily, Kyle is just as eager and he kisses you like he’s waited half his life for this moment, the audience laughing as Kyle flips off Johnny’s suggestive coughing.

The hotel is quiet, the kind of quiet that only comes after hours of laughter and champagne and dancing until your feet ache. You’re still in your dress, the zipper half-undone, your lipstick mostly gone, when Kyle carries you through the doorway of your honeymoon suite.

It’s calm, the way you know he is, arms around your waist, forehead pressed to yours, fists balling the fabric of your dress like he can’t bear to let go. Like he might go another decade without you again.

He sets you down gently on the bed, and for a long moment, neither of you moves. You stare at one another, drinking each other in. You know every line of his face, could sketch a portrait blindfolded and backwards, but tonight he looks new. Lit from within.

In love.

“Come here,” you whisper, voice breathless with happiness, and Kyle follows the sound like a prayer. His lip finds yours, and he kisses you slow, deep, and steady. Taking his time to permanently cement this moment.

He unzips your dress like he’s unwrapping something sacred, fingertips dragging over your skin like he’s trying to memorize it all over again. You tug at his shirt with clumsy hands, and he chuckles in disbelief into your mouth, letting you pull it over his head.

“What?” You ask, smiling a little breathlessly at him, and he runs his thumb across your cheek.

“I just can’t believe it’s you,” he says, awe in his eyes and in his voice. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, moving down to your shoulder, your ribs.

You don’t have a clever reply. All you can do is kiss him, slow and deep, like saying me too without words. Your hands cup his jaw, your thumb brushing over the slight curve of his smile, and you think about how you’ll always get to kiss him like this.

When he finally moves between your legs, it’s patient, worshipful. His hands fit perfectly against your hips, like he was made to hold them, and you wrap your legs around him instinctively, already breathless from the weight of him against you.

“Sill okay?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“Always,” you whisper back, and he slides into you with a groan so soft and reverent it nearly breaks your heart.

“I love you,” he whispers against your mouth, pulling you in for a deep kiss.

There’s no rush, no teasing, just him rocking into you slow and sweet. His hands lace yours again like he did all those years ago, and he kisses you like he’s trying to tell you something he can’t put into words. Like saying I love you isn’t enough so he has to show it with his body.

You cry a little when you come. It’s embarrassing and messy and overwhelming and Kyle just holds you tighter, kisses your cheeks, tells you how good you’re doing, how beautiful you are. He follows soon after, soft curses pressed to your throat, hips stuttering as he falls apart with you.

You stay like that for a long time, just holding one another. Breathing each other in.

“I love you,” you whisper, tracing a light thumb over his cheek as he smiles at you.

“Forever and always,” he whispers back and kisses the inside of your wrist.

You smile against him as sleep pulls you both under.

Like gravity.

Like home.

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

a/n: reread this and realized how much i missed these two </3

summary: natasha romanoff x married!reader; nat and you used to be in love. now, years later, you're married to a wealthy man and have a daughter with him. will running into natasha change everything?

warnings: cheating, mentions of alcohol

word count: 7.9k

…part 2, part 3, part 4…

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— A FAMILY DIVIDE —

It's no secret that your in-laws don't like you.

You're not entirely sure why — you've never done anything to sour their opinion of you. You've always stayed respectful, friendly, always did your best to fit right into this social circle of privilege and wealth they've created. You're supportive of Ethan, but not in a way that makes them think you're hogging him for yourself. You're a good, hands-on mother to Nina, you regularly send them pictures of her, you visit at least every few months.

Still, they can't seem to get over the fact that you're apparently undeserving of Ethan. You suspect that it's because of your background, which is rather modest compared to theirs. Nurses instead of surgeons, cashiers instead of insurance agents, librarians instead of lawyers.

They don't know the struggle of sitting in front of a pile of bills, scattered across the dining table, your father's head in his hands as he stares down at them. They can't imagine wearing the same outfit twice in the same week, let alone two days in a row. They think that anyone can be rich like them — as long as they're willing to put the work into it.

You can't deny that your upbringing, so different from Ethan's, sets you apart a little. It's only natural, since you're not used to the kind of life they lead. Even now, over five years after getting married to him, you still don't know how to act sometimes.

How do you host a dinner party? How do you decide what art to hang in your home? How many seasonal homes does one family actually need?

They're questions you don't dare ask. They swim around in your head whenever you spend time with the Baileys, making you feel increasingly uncomfortable and outcast. Even if it's something as simple as brunch together, they'll manage to make a bunch of question marks appear in your head.

But despite it all, they're still Ethan's family, which technically makes them your family, too. They're Nina's grandparents, her aunts and uncles and cousins, and you can't imagine keeping her away from them just because you struggle to feel at home with them.

As every year, her great grandmother's birthday is the reason the entire family (including you, of course) gathers in their antebellum-style home in South Carolina.

Manicured gardens, featuring rose bushes, hedges and a large koi pond. A grand fountain, with a marble statue of a woman pouring water out of an urn, right next to the driveway. You keep Nina cradled in your arms as you take it all in, feeling the cold feeling of dread wash over you.

Ethan shuts the door of the car before walking up to you. He puts his hands in the pockets of his slacks as he gazes up at the house appreciatively.

"I missed this place", he says. "So much nicer than New York."

"It is beautiful", you agree, not able to resist the charm of the estate. It's ridiculously huge and almost too perfect, with its towering columns and black iron gate. Even though it's gorgeous, it's short of a certain sense of warmth and individuality. Not a home, just a house.

"Granny Bee!", Nina squeals, squirming. You put her down on the floor as Ethan's mother approaches, her lips curling into a small smile. She gives Nina a hug, her manicured fingers swiftly adjusting the little girl's jacket.

"My, my, did you grow!" Beatrice cups Nina's face before looking at you, her smile turning just a tad less warm. Not unfriendly, but lacking familiarity. "Y/N, hello. Ethan, my dear, I haven't seen you in so long. Let me see you! Oh, handsome as always."

"Hey, mom", he says, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Where's dad? Inside?"

"You know how he is. The cold weather makes him grumpy. He misses golf", she says, her voice turning a bit quieter as she tells him that. "With the knee injury..."

Nina pads back to your side, her hand swiftly grabbing yours. You exchange a smile with your daughter, not noticing that Beatrice has shifted her attention back to you. Her eyes scrutinize your outfit — simple jeans and a sweater, elegant but not as polished as the rest of the family, apparently.

"You look lovely, Y/N. Still keeping things simple, I see", she says and you look up. "It's refreshing, really — many of us overdo it, don't we?"

"I wouldn't know about that", you say politely, plastering on a smile. A kiss on each cheek, her hands briefly squeezing your free one. "We aren't late, are we?"

"No, right on time. Come on, everyone else wants to see the child", she urges you, starting to lead you into the house.

You step onto the marble floor of the grand entrance, still holding your daughter's hand. You circle the double staircase and make your way to the hallway that leads to the living area. Inside, you're welcomed by about a handful of people — seems like most of the guests won't arrive until tomorrow.

You shake hands with Dean, Ethan's brother, hug his wife, say hi to all the kids that are present. Then you look at Margaret, the matriarch of the family — 90 years old, but still as elegant and witty as ever. She's the only one in this family you truly like, even if her sense of tradition and proprietary is as strong as everyone else's.

"Say hi to Grandma Maggie", you tell Nina. She nods, making a beeline for the oldest family member. Margaret welcomes her with open arms, her face softening with genuine affection as the girl clambers onto her lap.

"There you are! Aren't you adorable. Did you draw anything for me?"

Nina smiles and starts chattering, her hands clumsily brushing strands of hair away from her face as she does so. Having ensured that your daughter is comfortable, you finally allow yourself to relax a little.

You mostly sit quietly and observe as the conversations start to flow. Ethan blends in seamlessly, of course, laughing at something his father said or cracking jokes with his brother. His parents are constantly fussing over the children of the family — seven of them in total, which makes it all the more odd that the atmosphere is still somewhat quiet and collected. Seems like the Baileys have everything under control.

. . .

One of Ethan's hands is on your lower back, the other is holding Nina's.

The birthday party is in full swing. Guests are roaming the parlor, chatting amongst each other and sipping ridiculously expensive champagne from just as ridiculously expensive flutes. Waitstaff weave through the room with silver trays of hors d'oeuvres. Elaborate arrangements of ivory roses, china patterned with intricate floral designs, the white centerpiece cake multi-tiered with gold accents.

A gleaming backdrop, one that makes you feel like you're sticking out like a sore thumb. You shift in place, smiling politely as some of his relatives approach you.

"Aunt Vivian", Ethan says, not being too delighted but hiding it well. "What a beautiful dress. Where's uncle Andrew?"

"He's over there, talking to your mother." Her gaze trails from Ethan to you and then to your daughter. "You have a lovely family. Such a cute thing, a Bailey through and through — and you're Y/N, right?"

Of course, you think, forcing a smile and shaking her hand. It's not like you've met me about a dozen times before, you old shrew.

"Yes, that's me. Nice to see you again, Vivian."

"Still a little housewife?", she asks, her smile saccharine. The words land like darts, making your grip on Nina's hand tighten. "Must be such a blessing, having all that free time. How do you keep yourself busy? I mean, I would just lose my mind. I get bored so easily!"

"Oh, I manage well", you reply simply, glancing at Nina. "She still needs quite a bit of attention."

"No nanny?"

"No", Ethan says, pulling away from you as his eyes dart to another person in the room. He quickly adjusts his tie. "Y/N insisted on handling it herself. Said she wanted to be hands-on or something. Would you excuse me?"

Off he goes, approaching one of his uncles. You sigh, looking at Nina as Vivian leaves as well.

"What does 'hands-on' mean?", she asks, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"It means I want to be there for you", you reply, trying to make it graspable for the little girl.

You start navigating the room, still holding onto her hand to make sure she doesn't get away. Not necessarily because you're worried you'd lose her — it's a big house, but she's used to it by now —, but rather because she's the only person bridging the gap between you and Ethan's family at the moment. It feels pathetic, to be relying on your daughter like this, but she's still young enough to not mind that at all.

"Nina! Oh my, look at you."

You turn around rapidly as you hear Beatrice's voice behind you. She appeared out of seemingly nowhere, her coifed bob looking as flawless as always. She swoops in and picks Nina up, not bothering to ask either of you.

"Let grandma fix this mess", she says, fussing over her dress and hair. She briefly turns to some woman who can't be much older than you, yet her makeup and outfit make her look at least 50. "Children need a bit more refinement, don't they? Especially at this young age."

"Thank you", you say, trying not to let your frustration show. This isn't unusual behavior for Beatrice, but it still manages to grate on your nerves. "Didn't even notice."

"Of course not, dear. It can be hard looking after a child all by yourself. I don't know how Clara does it, with her three little ones — however, she does have a nanny."

"Good thing I only have Nina", you say curtly, grasping your daughter's hand again and leading her away. She follows without complaining, but she glances at her grandma over her shoulder.

"Mommy, are you mad?"

"Not at you, honey."

"At granny Bee?", she probes, making you smile faintly.

"I'm not mad", you lie, squeezing her hand. "Just a bit tired."

"I'm not tired. Can I go play?", she asks, subtly sneaking a peak at her cousins.

Stifling a sigh, you nod. You don't blame her for wanting to escape the attention of the adults. You wish you could escape, too. Escape to a place — a person — that's too far away for your liking.

"Of course, sweetheart." You gently nudge her forward and she runs off, quickly finding her way to her favorite cousin.

You watch her for a few seconds, then turn around and grab a glass of wine. You've estimated how many hours you have left before you can retreat to the guest suite without coming across as rude, and the result is chastening. If you're going to be stuck here for the next four hours, you'll need at least a bit of alcohol in your system.

You keep fiddling with your necklace, playing with your wedding ring, checking your phone for new messages. Every time you glance at the screen, you secretly hope you'll spot Natasha's name on it. You haven't stopped thinking about her since that day at the park, and not being around her is killing you.

If only she was here. She always knew how to spot your 'tell' — that nervous little gesture you did whenever you were uncomfortable, the one that signaled her to get you away from wherever you are. You know that if you were here with her, she'd have pulled you outside into the gardens about a half hour ago already.

But nope. You keep suffering.

You find yourself standing with a group of people — Ethan's uncle, brother, a few distant relatives. You nod politely as you sip your drink, trying to stay engaged with a conversation about the estate's history. The Bailey family takes pride in their legacy, which is something you don't fully understand.

Again, you feel isolated. It's not their fault, at least that's what you keep telling yourself. They shouldn't have to adjust their topic of conversation just because one person can't relate, should they?

"It's just interesting, isn't it?", Vivian remarks, her gaze idly sweeping across the room. "How many generations have lived here. And so many more to come."

"This, right here — it's our family's legacy. Every single inch of this house, of the property outside. It's been in the family for more than a hundred years", Dean says, his arm wrapped around his wife's waist. She smiles, leaning into his side. Must be nice — Ethan ditched you two hours ago and you haven't spoken to him since. "It'll be ours one day."

"Your brother's first in line. Him and his family", their uncle Andrew remarks, slowly turning his head to look at you. There it is again: that look of genuine curiosity, mixed with a hint of condescension. "You're married into the family now, so it's yours at well."

Please shut up.

"Oh, well..." You smile stiffly, glancing at your almost empty glass of wine. "It's not my priority."

"No? Well, it must be such a change for you. Quite different from what you're accustomed to."

You bite the inside of your cheeks before answering, briefly holding your breath to avoid snapping at the man. His temper definitely surpasses yours — if your patience snaps now, it'll end in a fight.

"I've had time to adjust", you say, sounding clipped.

"It has been quite a few years, yes", Vivian says, nodding. "Ethan is such a good boy. You should've seen him when he was a kid — smart and cheeky. There's this story...I'm not sure if you've heard it, it happened when he was in middle school. He tricked his teacher, his science teacher. He should tell it himself." She looks around, not seeing him anywhere. "Where is he, anyway?"

You feel a light flush rise to your cheeks. "I'm not sure, actually."

The woman gives you a disapproving look. "You're not sure? He's your husband. Come on, he has to be somewhere-"

"Yes, he's my husband", you cut her off, a faint glare on your face. You've officially had enough of these subtle jabs, these microaggressions that are being thrown your way. "Which doesn't mean I need to know where he is at all times. Now, if you'd excuse me for a moment."

You put your glass down with a little more force than necessary, then you spin on your heel and make your way out to the porch. A few people are standing outside, quietly talking in the afternoon sun. You keep walking until you reach an empty corner, one where you're alone, and lean against the railing.

Your mind is spinning, you feel sick to your stomach, you can feel a headache slowly starting to announce itself. Every part of your being wishes you were somewhere else, somewhere you'd feel less isolated.

Red hair appears at the front of your mind, accompanied by green eyes. A little arrow, combat boots. Laughter, low and private, drawing you in instead of pushing you away. Kisses that felt searing, still burned into your mind.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing those thoughts to go away.

It's not right. None of it is.

Your hand clenches around the railing in frustration, the chilly November air feeling like ice on your skin. You didn't remember to put on a jacket, but you're too exhausted to go back inside. Plus, you'd most likely be confronted by Vivian or Beatrice. If that happened, it'd probably result in you slapping someone.

"Y/N?"

Startled but not surprised, you look over your shoulder — Ethan. The smile on his face is tight, his expression cold. The way he's looking at you isn't too different from how his family does.

"Yes?", you ask, doing your best to mask how irritated you are.

"What are you doing out here? Everyone's asking where you are."

"Oh, really?" You turn around again, staring into the distance. Wide landscapes and bare trees, hedges and stretches of farmland. The sunlight feels thinner and softer now, promising an early dusk. "I didn't realize talking to your family was a full-time job."

He blinks, his neutral expression shifting to one of slight disbelief and irritation. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously!" You look at him, not hiding your feelings this time. You've been considerate enough. "I'm tired of it. I've been explaining and defending myself the entire fucking day, but it's useless."

"It's not 'useless'", he begins, stepping closer. "It just takes some effort, Y/N. And you hiding from them makes me look bad."

"I've been making an effort — which you would've known if you hadn't ditched me as soon as the damn party started!" You go silent, then mutter: "And I really don't care how it makes you look."

He pauses, taken aback. Running a hand through his hair, he sighs. "Look, can't- can't you just try? For Nina's sake?"

The mention of your daughter is enough to quiet your retort, but not the anger curling in your chest. All you expected was at least a bit of comfort from Ethan — a few reassuring words, maybe a promise that he'll stay by your side for the rest of the party.

What did he do, though?

He started scolding you like a child.

"I've tried enough", you finally say, stepping away from the railing. "I'm done here."

He frowns. "What?"

"I'm done. I'm leaving. I'll pack my stuff and leave", you say, your mind made up.

"You're being ridiculous", he snaps, crossing his arms. "What are you going to do, huh? Storm off and leave Nina here? That's mature."

"Yes", you say bluntly. You feel a tangled mix of frustration, exhaustion, deep-seated bitterness — you're fed up. "Exactly that. It's not like it'll make much of a difference, anyway."

"'Not much of a difference'?", he echoes, his sharp voice reflecting his bruised ego. "You think this is all about you?"

"Maybe, maybe not! I don't care!"

"Fine! Run, leave! Let Nina wonder why her mother can't even stick it out for her own family!"

His use of Nina as a weapon stings. Your face is pale but set, your jaw tight, as you stare at him. "I'll be sure to let her know her father had more time for his little art project than her", you say coldly, a deliberate steadiness in your tone. You can't allow yourself to crumble.

You turn around and leave, weaving your way through the party and hurrying upstairs. You grab your suitcase and start throwing your stuff into it. Usually, you'd make sure the clothes are neatly folded, but now you don't care. All you want is to disappear from this place.

Downstairs, you look for Nina. You find her with Ethan, holding his hand as they talk to one of his uncles.

"Nina", you say, making her turn. She smiles widely and runs up to you, instantly forgetting about everyone else. You scoop her into your arms and press a kiss to her cheek.

Nina looks at the suitcase next to you, her eyebrows raised in confusion. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going home a bit early", you explain, brushing some hair out of her face. "I'm not feeling well, baby. You'll be okay here, with daddy and granny?"

The girl frowns. "Are you sick, mommy?", she asks, her voice soft with concern. "I can take care of you. I make you tea!"

You smile and shake your head, the ache in your chest growing worse. God, you hate leaving her here — but you don't want to make matters worse.

"That's so sweet of you, honey, but I'll be okay. I just need to rest at home for a bit. You'll have so much fun here, okay? Daddy and granny Bee love you so much."

She pouts, her little hands touching and playing with your necklace. "I want to go home, too."

"Nina", you say quietly, trying to sound reassuring. "You'll go home soon. In two days. I promise."

She looks at you, her head tilted. "Two days?"

"Yes, two days."

She hesitates again, chewing on her lip. "Can you call me?", she then adds.

"I'll call you. Pinky promise", you say, holding out your pinky. She interlocks it with hers and you squeeze it gently.

"Pinky promise", she whispers. "I love you, mommy."

"I love you too, sweetheart. Come on", you say, putting her down.

Ethan immediately steps forward, briefly kissing your cheek and mumbling something along the lines of "get well soon." Pure formality, that much is clear — he's still pissed, but he can't let his family know. They have a certain image of your marriage that he needs to uphold, after all.

They watch you leave as you get into the taxi, standing in the doorway. Nina waves at you, still chewing on her lip nervously. You wave back until you can't see them anymore, then you sigh and slump into the seat. The muffled hum of the car engine seems to amplify the silence, pressing in on you.

Your eyes flicker to the window, but the scenery — a blur of autumn foliage and elegant driveways — fails to register. Your mind is elsewhere.

You instinctively reach for your bag, your hand brushing against your phone. For a split second, Natasha's face flashes in your mind, unbidden but undeniably clear.

Why Natasha?, you think, but the answer comes easily.

Natasha's steady. She's dependable in ways Ethan could never be. She doesn't push, she doesn't judge. Somehow, she always seems to know what you need. She's the only person you can think of who will understand without needing a full explanation, who will listen without offering hollow reassurances.

With her, it was simple. You loved her, she loved you.

Doubt creeps in as your fingers hover over the screen. You can't decide whether this is selfish, whether you'll just end up bothering her.

But the alternative — being alone with your spiraling thoughts — feels unbearable.

You unlock your phone, scrolling to Natasha's name. Before you can second-guess yourself, you press the call button and lift the phone to your ear. It rings once, twice, three times. Your heart thunders as you worry that she won't pick up.

But then, Natasha's voice — steady and familiar — cuts through.

"Y/N?"

"Natasha", you say, something inside you loosening. A shaky breath escapes you. "Are you busy?"

. . .

— SOMETHING LIKE HOME —

Shopping carts clink, checkout registers beep, plastic bags rustle.

You push your cart through the aisles of the grocery store, eyeing fresh produce and holiday-themed items. Natasha's next to you, one hand on the handle of the shopping cart.

This was Natasha's idea. She sensed how emotionally drained and uncertain you were when she picked you up from the airport, so she offered a way for you to unwind and take your mind off whatever you're thinking about. A run to the grocery store seemed perfect: a mundane task, detached from the drama of the day.

"Anything in particular you're craving?", she asks, an underlying current of concern audible.

"No", you say absently, scanning the shelves. You grab a box of cereal, showing it to her. "You think Nina would like this?"

Natasha inspects the box. Frosted Flakes with a cartoon character on it, its unmoving mouth grinning at her. "It is pretty sugary", she says, looking at you. "But kids seem to love that."

You nod and toss the box into the shopping cart. Normally, you don't let Nina have too much sugar — but after you basically abandoned her, you want to make up for what happened. A special sweet treat sounds like the perfect way to do that.

"You could also get this", Natasha says, grabbing a jar of peanut butter. "Go the full indulgence route, you know? Really spoil her."

You see through her with ease. She's trying to keep things lighthearted, which you're immensely grateful for.

"For you or for her?", you ask teasingly, reaching for the jar. Your fingers brush against hers, lingering.

She gives you a sly grin. "Both?"

"You're impossible", you say, but put the jar into the shopping cart anyway.

"I'm just saying —", she says, taking over the shopping cart, "if I ever need to bribe her to stay on my side, I've got the perfect plan."

"I don't think that's necessary. You've already got her wrapped around your finger."

"Well, I do have my charm."

"Yeah", you agree softly. You're all too familiar with her 'charm'. It's always had a hold on you, whether you wanted it to or not. No matter how many times you tried to fight it or push it aside, Natasha always seemed to slip into your mind at the most unexpected times.

You watch her as she puts more items into the shopping cart — a jar of pasta sauce, some pasta, lettuce. She looks so perfectly at ease in that moment, effortlessly casual, as if she's right where she belongs. It's not always been that easy for her. You know that better than anyone else.

A part of you, a part that's always adored Natasha, even when it was impractical to do so, starts to soften again. Just being with her like this makes it feel like you're stepping into an old, familiar rhythm, one that you don't know how to escape from.

"How does cheesecake sound?", you ask, grabbing one from the fridge. "For dessert."

"Love cheesecake", she mumbles, reading the ingredients of a salad dressing. She looks up to briefly catch your eye, then continues looking at the label on the back of the bottle. "You seem calmer", she says, a softness beneath her voice. "More like yourself again."

"Being around you helps", you admit quietly. "You've always had this ability of making everything feel less...heavy. Even just standing there like that. It's almost unfair."

Natasha raises her eyebrows, lowering the salad dressing. "I don't think I've ever been accused of making anything less heavy", she says with a small smirk that quickly mellows into a smile. "But I'm glad it's different with you."

You smile, then clear your throat. Her reaction makes you feel both heavier and lighter at the same time. A sense of safety and relief — feelings you haven't experienced in a while — floods you.

"We're getting sentimental again", you joke, hoping to maintain some sense of distance — even if it's futile. There's that pull again, subtle but undeniable, making you yearn for something you can't quite grasp.

You're not even sure what you want, or how much you're allowed to want.

You probably want more than what's appropriate, and that thought makes you take a step back.

Natasha gives you a curious look as you she notices you creating some distance. She decides not to comment on it and instead continues pushing the shopping cart, her fingers absentmindedly drumming against the handle.

You fall into step beside each other again, the silence between you heavy, but not entirely uncomfortable. You pick up a few more things as you go — chocolate-coated raspberries, some pretzels. Natasha nudges you, the brief touch feeling like an electric shock.

"What's next on the list?"

You reach for your phone to check the list. "Uh...wine?"

Natasha raises an eyebrow, the lighter expression on her face pulling you both back to safer ground. "Now we're talking."

The moment allows you to forget about the tension for now, but just because it's unspoken doesn't mean it goes anywhere — it simmers beneath the surface, lingering, waiting for the right moment rise again.

. . .

The lighting in Natasha's apartment is softer, its only source a lamp in the corner. The remnants of your late dinner sit on the coffee table, forgotten in favor of the wine you now sip. Quietude, rare and delicate, lingers in the air.

"Cozy here", you comment, your legs crossed and your posture much more relaxed than it's been all day. Your eyes lazily take in the space around you — clean, minimalistic, yet without a doubt Natasha's. There's a part of her in every nook, every detail, and it's making you feel warm and fuzzy.

"You think so?", she asks, the corners of her lips lifting into a small, amused smile. "Cozy enough for you?"

You give an almost imperceptible shrug, not bothering to make a big show of it. "I like it. It's just so...you", you say, your words simple but honest. You quietly wonder if you could ever feel at home in a place like this, and you find you could. A thought you won't voice out loud, but one that seems like a weight on your chest. It's too unattainable.

Natasha hums, the sound getting lost in the noise from the city outside. She swirls her wineglass in her fingers, watching the bordeaux liquid slosh around.

"I've been told it's the perfect mix of 'comfortable' and 'pretentious'."

You laugh softly, watching Natasha settle deeper into the couch as her finger traces the rim of her glass. "Well, I could get used to it."

"You've always been good at finding your place", she says after a few seconds of silence, setting the glass down. Just like that, the ease of the moment is gone, vanishing like smoke. It fades with your smile, making Natasha frown.

"I'm not so sure about that anymore", you say, chuckling weakly.

A small silence stretches between you. Natasha watches you for a moment, and the weight of her gaze makes you fidget slightly. You tap the side of your glass, shifting on the couch.

"You okay?", she eventually asks, her voice losing all of its usual sharpness.

"I don't know", you respond honestly, putting your wineglass aside. "I've been...feeling out of place, lately."

Natasha doesn't press. Instead, she leans back, her silence encouraging you to go on.

"It just feels like I'm stuck", you continue, looking at your hands in your lap. "Stuck between two worlds. I don't know what I want anymore. It's all very confusing."

"Sounds heavy."

You wave your hand dismissively, not wanting her to worry too much. Ethan's tendency to nurture this picture-perfect image everyone's supposed to have of your family seems to have rubbed off on you.

"It'll pass, just like everything else", you say, trying to convince both her and yourself. "Just a phase, right?"

"Y/N..."

"I mean", you continue, glancing at her, "things have been difficult, sure. It's hard to feel like I'm going down the right path sometimes. But there has to be a reason why I'm here, right? In this...life."

Natasha can't bring herself to say anything. Your words, heartfelt and sincere but also so damn vulnerable, hit her right in the chest. She's always felt protective over you, even though she knows she shouldn't. Hearing you like this — all confused and frustrated — makes her entire body ache.

"You're not alone", she finally says. You look at her, a lump forming in your throat. "Maybe it feels like you are, but you're not."

You nod, inspecting your fingernails. Not perfectly manicured, with the nail polish chipping off and the cuticles pushed back unevenly.

Why do you always feel the need to distract yourself instead of focusing on what's in front of you?

"It's why I called you", you admit, daring to meet her eye again. She smiles faintly, softening her sharp features in a way that makes your heart stumble.

"I figured", she says gently. "But I'm glad to hear you say it."

"Is it?" You let out a quiet laugh and avert your eyes. "I don't know. It feels like I'm unloading on you."

"You're not unloading", Natasha says quickly, leaning forward slightly with her elbows resting on her knees. Your eyes meet, momentarily making the guilt in your chest fade away. "You're reaching out. There's a difference."

Her words wrap around you, reassuring you in a way you didn't know you needed. But you did need it. You craved it, sought it out, all whilst never receiving it from the one person who promised he'd be there forever.

You feel foolish. You married someone who could never fill the spaces in your heart, someone who was maybe never interested in those spaces in the first place. You deliberately ignored the fact that you already had someone who was willing to follow you to the ends of the universe.

"You make it sound so easy", you say quietly.

"It's not", Natasha admits. "But it's worth it."

Your breath catches as you look up, meeting those impossibly green eyes that always seem to look right through you. There's no pretense, no agenda in Natasha's gaze — just honesty and that familiar kind of adoration.

"Natasha..." Your voice falters.

"Don't overthink it", she says. "You don't need to have all the solutions. Just let yourself be here."

"Here", you mumble, feeling yourself lean into the moment — into her warm presence, into the comfort of her home — and suddenly, your world feels a little less heavy. You grab your wineglass and take a small, steadying sip. "I don't even know what 'here' means anymore."

She smiles faintly. "It can mean whatever you need it to. Right now, it just means...this."

You look up, caught by the simplicity of her words. "This?"

"You and me, sitting here. No expectations, no pressure." Natasha tilts her head. "Us."

"You make it sound so easy", you repeat — but this time, there's no trace of doubt in your voice. You set the wineglass down with a soft 'clink', Natasha's eyes tracing your movements. She leans back, her own glass forgotten.

"It can be", she says in a way that makes your pulse quicken.

You swallow, hesitating for a short moment. The ring on your finger suddenly feels impossibly heavy, like a weight dragging you down. You decide to ignore it.

"It should be", you say softly, and it's all the permission Natasha needs.

She leans in, giving you the space to pull away. But you meet her halfway, feeling her hand on your cheek, her breath on your face.

Her lips brush over yours, feather-light and tentative, testing the waters. You lean in more as you allow her to deepen the kiss, feeling her mouth press against yours with a little more urgency.

First soft and gentle, now more desperate and hungry. You try to satiate the need you're feeling, but it seems impossible. Your hands grasp at Natasha's sides, feeling the heat of her skin through her shirt. Her thumbs press into your cheeks, keeping your face close and your lips locked with hers.

You can barely breathe at this point and you're not sure why. All you know is that the lack of oxygen is making you feel lightheaded and that the knot in your chest has loosened, allowing you to melt into her.

Her hand slides to the back of your neck, gently toying with the soft hairs at your nape. You make a soft noise and pull away, your breathing as ragged as hers.

"Dammit", you curse quietly, your body slumping into the pillows behind you. Your face is flushed, just like hers, and your breath is coming in quick pants.

"Y/N", she starts softly, despite the ache she's feeling deep in her soul. "Talk to me."

You shake your head and run a shaking hand through your hair. There's a glimmer in your eyes — of fear, regret, something you aren't quite ready to name.

"I shouldn't have-" You take a deep, unsteady breath. "I need a minute", you mutter, pushing yourself off the couch and taking a few steps away. Natasha stays where she is, her eyes following you.

"Take your time", she says quietly, her hands balled into fists — holding herself back is an effort.

You pace a few steps, fingers twisting the hem of your shirt. You stare at the far wall, your mind racing in circles. Ethan, Nina, your marriage, your carefully constructed life that seems like it's been falling apart — and now Natasha, and the kiss, only further solidifying your belief that what you have won't last long.

"I just- I-" You shake your head and look at her again. Your voice is laced with frustration. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I came here to...I don't even know anymore."

"You came here because you needed someone", Natasha says simply. Her green eyes are unwavering, as steady as you've known them to be. "And I'm glad you did."

Your lips part as if to argue, but no words come. Your chest is falling and rising unevenly as your gaze flits to the floor and then back to Natasha. "It's not fair", you say quietly.

"What isn't?", she asks, frowning slightly.

Your movements are tight, almost defensive, as you gesture between the two of you. "This. You. Us. The way it makes me question everything."

"Y/N", she says slowly as she gets up from the couch, her movements hesitant. "You're allowed to question things. You can't always figure everything out immediately."

"No", you snap, your entire body tense. "I chose this mess. I made my bed, and now-"

"And now you're allowed to get up", Natasha cuts you off, her voice firm but not unkind. "You don't have to be stuck in it forever."

"It's not that easy", you say weakly. "I don't know how to do it. I don't know what to do."

Natasha steps closer, her hand hovering above your arm for a moment. Then she pulls back, her gaze finding yours.

"You'll figure it out", she says softly. "You always do."

The kiss was a release of emotions you've been bottling up for way too long, but it also made your need to be close to her even more apparent. You crave the safety she provides, the passion, the knowledge that she — unlike Ethan — will always care.

Being with her soothes something raw inside you. It's something you've been feeling more and more lately, and you're tired of holding back.

Without another word, your hands fist the front of her shirt. Her lips meet yours in yet another kiss, one that's messy yet grounding.

There's no hesitation, no holding back this time. Natasha wraps her arms around you and pulls you close, drawing out the kiss until you're both breathless. You pull away and rest your forehead against hers, breathing heavily.

"Still need a minute?", Natasha murmurs, smiling faintly.

"Yeah", you mumble back, an amused, halfhearted huff escaping you. Your hands smooth down the front of her shirt, straightening away the small creases. "I should go home", you say, your tone somewhere between apologetic and guilt-ridden.

Natasha just nods, her thumbs rubbing your sides soothingly. "Take your time", she repeats, this time a bit more sincerely. "Take a few days off, now that you've got the house to yourself."

"I will." You slide your hands up to her face, cupping it, and then give her a quick goodnight-kiss.

When you leave, it doesn't feel like a goodbye. Not this time.

. . .

— THE QUIET BEFORE —

There's a reason why Nina spends most of her time with you.

He's never been paternal, or nurturing, or great with kids. They're cute, he has to admit that, and he likes the idea of having a descendant. He's awkward in moments where Nina needs reassurance or comfort, he doesn't know how to talk to her without feeling like he's downplaying his own intelligence, and the lack of emotional connection is apparent.

He lets you handle basically everything child-related — and it shows.

It's only been a few hours of Ethan being alone with his daughter, and he's already about to lose his mind. The girl was chatting nonstop during the flight already, and now, sitting in the back of the car, she still won't stop. It's like she's got an endless reservoir of words she needs to use up as quickly as possible.

He's not used to this chatterbox of a child. He knows she can talk, but damn it, she sounds like a broken record. It's so bad his head has started to pound. Not even work stresses him out like this, despite it being fast paced and demanding.

"Okay, honey", he interrupts her, glancing at her through the rearview mirror, "we gotta make a quick stop at my office, yeah? I need to grab some stuff."

Nina nods, her hands toying with the tiny sweater her teddy bear is wearing. It's one her other grandma — your mom — knitted for the stuffie.

"Are we going home to mommy?", she then pipes up.

"Yes, yes, we're going home soon. I just need to check something."

Ethan pulls into the parking lot behind the office building and parks the car. He briefly registers the presence of a few other cars — not surprising —, but what really makes him pause is the unfamiliar Jeep parked across from him.

After a few seconds of just staring at it, he decides he's being paranoid. He turns around to face Nina, his hand on the side of the passenger seat.

"I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't leave the-"

"Mommy's friend!"

He frowns as he's cut off by a suddenly ecstatic Nina. "What?"

She keeps bouncing in her seat, eagerly waving at someone outside. The girl clearly has no idea she might be getting Natasha, or you, into trouble — she's just happy to see the nice lady again.

Ethan turns his head and follows her gaze, spotting a red haired woman as she makes her way towards the Jeep. A black blazer and a matching skirt, her hand loosely clasping a file.

I knew I haven't seen that car before, he thinks.

"That's mommy's friend", Nina repeats excitedly. "She was at the gallery. And we played in the park."

"Oh yeah?", Ethan says, his mind starting to race. He knows you haven't expanded your close circle of friends during the past few months; surely, you would've informed him in some way. Finding out that this unknown woman has met Nina twice doesn't sit right with him, for some reason.

But then again, it's not like he's too involved in your or your daughter's life — he's a busy man, after all, working overtime and constantly on the run. Even when he's at home, he's working on things.

He debates confronting you about it, but ultimately decides against it. If this stranger is connected to you, it could mean trouble — trouble he doesn't want to call attention to. He tries telling himself it's no big deal, that it's probably just a big coincidence.

Despite his best efforts to convince himself that everything will be alright, he feels his paranoia grow as the Jeep pulls out of the parking lot.

"Daddy?", Nina interrupts his train of thoughts. He turns around with a slight start. "I want to go home."

"In a minute."

. . .

"Hey, baby!"

You smile as Nina runs straight into your arms. It's only been a few days, but you missed your daughter more than anything.

You pick her up with ease, her entire body slumping into your embrace.

"I missed you", she says sincerely, her warm breath sweet like apple juice.

"I missed you too", you reply, rubbing her back. Your eyes flit back to Ethan, who's carrying two suitcases into the house. Oddly enough, it seems like he isn't mad at you for leaving anymore. He actually seems pretty unruffled, which is a surprise — after what happened, you'd expected him to be more than just pissed. "You okay?"

"I'm good", he says, glancing at you. He smiles faintly. "Kid missed you. Guess there's a reason why she prefers you."

"No kidding", you say, cracking a smile, and follow him into the house. He puts his suitcase next to the staircase. "You're not taking that upstairs?"

"No, actually", he says as he makes his way to his office. "There's a work trip coming up. I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

You pause, taken aback. Of course, work trips aren't anything unusual in his line of work. He frequently travels to other cities or countries to meet clients, attend networking events, pitch new investment opportunities — this, however, seems abrupt.

"Oh", you say slowly, gently putting Nina down. "Okay."

"I'll replace a few of the clothes I packed. Care to grab me that one gray suit? The one from Italy."

"Yeah, yeah, sure." You nod absentmindedly and follow him upstairs. He disappears into his office, shutting the door behind him, and you round the corner and enter your bedroom.

You step into the walk-in closet and rummage through his collection of suits until you find the one he asked for. Then, just to be nice and make it easier on him, you open the drawer with his shirts. As you start to organize a few, your fingers brush against a folder of documents hidden underneath the clothes. It's barely visible — clearly, he tried to hide it, but not well enough.

For a moment, you consider letting it be. Spare yourself the trouble, forget about it, pretend it doesn't exist. But your curiosity gets the better of you, so you gently pull the folder out from underneath the shirts.

You open it and scan the first document.

A financial statement, outlining a series of transactions from an unnamed offshore account to Durant Enterprises. Ethan's name — Consultation Fee: Ethan Bailey — appears in the memo line of one transaction for $50,000.

What confuses you the most is the handwritten note, in neat, feminine script, underneath:

"All set for the Zurich project — talk soon.

- Isabelle."

Your shaky fingers struggle to push the document aside and reveal the next one.

A partial draft of a business agreement between Ethan and Durant Enterprises; the text is mostly filled with jargon, but it hints at a high-risk, high-reward investment opportunity that would require discretion.

At the bottom?

Ethan's signature, right next to Isabelle's.

Then, an email.

Subject Line: "Zurich Timeline Adjustment"

From: isabelledurant@durantenterprises.com

To: ethanb@nycinvestments.com

Hi Ethan,

As discussed, the timeline for Zurich needs to move up for next month. I've already made the necessary arrangements on my end, but I need confirmation from you that everything is good to go.

Let me know if you'd like to discuss this further — dinner next week, maybe? Same place, same time? I'll make the reservation.

- Isabelle.

It's the final nail in the coffin. Your unease shifts into something sharper, almost unbearable. Your eyes start to burn, but no tears seem to come. But why cry, anyway?

It's not like you've been faithful, either. But for some reason, what you did feels different.

Stop — you've kissed Natasha, you've wanted Natasha. If he's guilty, then so are you. You can't ignore the paralleles between what you did and what you suspect Ethan might be doing.

'Suspect' being the keyword here. You have no clear evidence yet. All of these documents point in the same direction, but none of them confirm any of your suspicions. As far as you know, Isabelle Durant could be a business partner.

You barely manage to tuck the folder back under his clothes when you hear someone enter the bedroom. You look to your right with a start, then relax once you see it's Nina. It's a relief to see her instead of Ethan. She won't ask questions as to why you're digging through his stuff.

"Mommy? Can we go play?", she asks, clumsily running her hand over her messy hair.

You smile and crouch down, gently pulling her closer.

"In a minute", you promise, kissing her cheek. "I just have to help daddy pack."

"Okay", she says, giggling at the kiss. She frees herself from your loose hug and rushes off, her tiny feet pattering down the hall. She leaves you in the quiet of the room, the weight of the documents still pulling at your thoughts.

Finally, you straighten up.

You'll have time for this later. For now, you'll focus on your daughter.

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @scarletsstarlets

[seumyo]

when you don’t say “i love you” back to bakugou.

Bakugou says, “I love you,” every time he’s about to leave the house without you. It’s something that he got from his father, and to put it simply, he got influenced.

He’s about to finish putting on his hero gear. His gauntlets were already in place, his boots laced, and his mask pushing his hair away from his face—kind of like how he wore it during high school whenever it wasn’t necessary to wear it properly.

And there you were, sitting cross-legged on the floor without a care in the world.

Books were scattered around you in piles, organized by some system only you seemed to understand. You were focused as you murmured to yourself quietly, comparing sizes, genres, and authors, completely absorbed in your task of organizing the living room’s bookshelf.

“I’m heading out.”

“Mmhm,” you replied absentmindedly, holding up two books and tilting your head as if the slight angle would help you decide which belonged on the top shelf.

Bakugou frowned, his brow twitching. “Oi, did you hear me?”

“Yes, yes,” you said, still not looking at him. “Be careful, Katsuki.”

He let out a huff, running a hand through his hair. He was used to you getting lost in your little projects, but this felt different (were you playing a prank on him?). He stepped closer, crouching down beside you to meet your eye level. “Don’t overwork yourself while I’m gone,” he said, softer this time.

“I won’t.”

Still not looking at him. Unbelievable.

To Bakugou, it felt like being thrown through a building and back—and he wasn’t even exaggerating because it actually happened to him once! And he could definitely conclude that the feeling’s similar when you’re ignoring (not paying that much attention to) him.

Bakugou watched you for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing slightly before he sighed. “I love you,” he murmured, his tone quieter.

“Uh-huh. Have a good day at work.”

Just as Bakugou was about to stand back up, he blinked, the words sinking in slowly. His brow furrowed as the realization hit him—he’s so confused.

You didn’t say it back.

“What the hell?” he muttered, more to himself than to you—because you didn’t even hear him.

He huffed, taking the book you were inspecting as he let your hands fall on his arms instead.

“Hey.”

“Hm?” you glanced at him, your expression innocent as if nothing unusual had happened.

“You didn’t say it back,” he said, his tone sharp, though there was a hint of disbelief beneath the irritation.

The audacity you had. After almost always saying “I love you” to him to the point where Bakugou realized he couldn’t go on his day without hearing it, you decide to not say it now?

What’s next? You’re going to tell him you want a divorce? He’s overreacting, he thinks.

“Say what back?”

He clenched his jaw, his cheeks flushing faintly. “I said I love you, dumbass.”

Realization dawned on your face, followed by a sheepish smile. That smile—the one that managed to win him over—it’s so infectious it might as well be a cause of an epidemic.

“Oh! Katsuki, I’m sorry. I was distracted.”

“Tch,” he muttered, looking away from you. “Yeah, I noticed.”

You leaned closer to where he was crouching, squeezing his forearm softly, your touch light and apologetic. “You know I love you too, right?”

He side-eyed you, his scowl deepening, though it was clear his annoyance was fading.

“Doesn’t count if I gotta remind you,” Bakugou grumbled—almost pouting.

Your laughter bubbled out, so familiar that Bakugou was reminded where his home is, as you then held his face gently—then squishing his cheeks so that his lips are puckered. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice warm and teasing. “I’ll make sure to say it next time, promise.”

“Better keep thath promish,” he muffled out.

“I will,” you assured him, loosening your hold as you gave him a soft kiss on the lips. Strawberry-flavored chapstick, one of Bakugou’s favorites whenever you kiss him.

“I love you, Katsuki.”

He tried to maintain his frown, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward as you kissed him once more. “You better.”

“Now go save the day, my hero.”

With a sigh, Bakugou leaned away from you, his posture reluctant to even leave you. He made his way to the door, pausing to glance over his shoulder one last time. You were looking at him, blowing him lots of kisses with the emphasized “mwah!”

“Don’t get so caught up in your books that you forget I exist,” he tells you.

You smiled, nodding along. “Never.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too! Text me when you get to your agency; love you lots!” That’s better.

As he closed the door behind him, Bakugou shook his head, muttering to himself, “Ignored for some damn books. Unbelievable.”

Still, despite his grumbling, the faint smile on his face said he wasn’t really mad.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[amaranthinespirit]

roommate!simon riley when your vibrator dies before you can finish, and he offers to relieve that tension

your feverish body splayed across the bed, covers thrown into a heaved pile surrounding you as a thin layer of sweat coats your skin and dampens the sheets under you. pathetic gasps of desperacy slip past your lips despite the thin walls as you pressed the vibrator against your sensitive clit.

you could feel the buildup in the bottom of your tummy, the heat of release that pooled slowly rising and threatening to spill over. your legs bucked, your whole body trembling in desperation as your other hand squeezed your breast. strings of muttered pleases escaping your pouty lips.

it was right there, you were about to wash over—to drown in the sweet snap of that taut knot in your body. you pressed the tiny, bullet vibrator harder against your abused clit, hoping it would give you the release you so desperately chased after.

until it died. it wasn't a gradual slow down to let you know it was on its last moments—it just stopped.

you whined in frustration, feeling the orgasm about to wash over you all too quickly drain—after it had taken you all this time to build it up.

you were panting, body still trembling as another groan escaped your throat. you tossed the vibrator carelessly across the room, hearing it thud against the wall as your hands came up to cover your flushed face.

in the next room over, simon had heard the little whines and gasps you had let slip by, smirking whenever his name would reach his ears. he had heard you for months—the walls were thin—but he had never decided to act on anything.

it wasn't like he wasn't into you—because he was and he was in his room, fucking his heavy cock in his right hand pretending it was yours. it never worked—his hands were far too roughed and calloused compared to your soft, delicate skin.

but he never had the opportunity to approach you about it—until now.

when he heard that noise of frustration fall from your lips, the light thud against the wall, a knowing smirk teased the corners of his lips.

he pushed himself from, adjusting his sweatpants as he did so before he landed in front of your door.

he knocked—he had some decency after all—but he didn't want long for an answer before pushing his way in. he didn't know what he was going to find—well, he had an idea—but boy, you surprised him.

a choked gasp flew from your lips at the knock, not even getting the chance to at least cover up by the time he was standing in your—now open—doorway.

you had sat up so fast, it was dizzying, but you brushed it off as you tried to tug the covers over your bare body, but it didn't help they were half falling off the bed and slightly heavy.

his gaze traveled appreciatively over you, shamelessly staring at your slick covered thighs and glistening pussy, a damp spot on the sheets below you.

you yelped as you noticed his staring, clamping your legs shut as you attempted again to cover yourself—each tug at the blanket was like a fight for an ounce of dignity. you weren't sure you had any now.

your chest still heaved, body flushed and slightly pink with reddened skin over your left breast. you swallowed thickly, stumbling over your words as you avoided his gaze, "what...do you...you need something?" you finally managed out.

his brow quirked up at your question, humming as he examined—analyzed—your movements. movement made of embarrassment and shame to be caught like this.

"dunno, luv," his voice was dangerously low, and gruff. he cleared his throat, slowly stepping towards the side of the bed, "looks like y'might need sumthin', hm?"

he stalked towards you like a predator, his eyes dark and half-lidded in a way that made shivers run down your spine and your pussy wetter.

he chuckled as you shook your head. he could feel the embarrassment radiating off of you as he stood right beside the bed, the side you didn't occupy.

the bed dipped with the weight of his knee, his body heavy against the springs as he bent over, a hand coming to your bare hip. he watched the goosebumps ripple from the touch of his calloused hand.

his other hand landed on your knee, slowly prying them apart as he hummed lowly in appreciation of the sight of your soaking cunt, glistening under the low light of your room.

his hand slid your knee, down your thighs until he rubbed two fingers down the center of your pussy. the slick collected on his fingers as they glided through the folds with ease because of your arousal.

"hm, you sure about that, luv?" he teased as he heard the pathetic moan that you tried to stifle slip past your chapped lips.

he brought his thumb down against your clit, swirling over the oversensitive bud before pinching it between his fingers. he huffed out a chuckle at the mewl you let out.

he teased your slit, barely dipping his fingers against your walls before pulling them away to slide through your folds while he continued to tease and bully your poor clit.

he watched the way you became a mess under his hand, no doubt getting wetter by his hand than with the vibrator he spotted thrown by the side of the wall. he nearly laughed at the sight of the small thing, his finger practically the size of it.

don't worry, you were better off being taken care of in his hands, by his fingers as he brings you to release by just toying with your clit.

and he'll give you more if you let him.

[bcksbarnes]

silver lining

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: for someone who was once frozen in time, bucky barnes never had to worry about aging, until he finds his first gray hair.

word count: 2.3K

mornings spent wrapped in bucky’s arms were your favorite ways to start your weekends, especially after such a long week. you were barely awake yet but you could feel the way he held you close his chest, both of your bodies intertwined as the two of you slept. 

work was kicking your ass, not physically, but with the way your to-do list piled up.

work was kicking bucky’s ass, but actually physically.

he had been away for the week, only getting home late last night as you were finishing up dinner. he loved his job, loved getting to help people and save the world, but coming home to the apartment the two of you shared was the most rewarding part of it all. it was as if he could fully unwind and forget about the cruelty that seeped into this world; bucky had his fair share of contributing to that many years ago, but now he was doing his best to pay back all he had done.

and now, as you stirred softly from your sleep, all you could think about was how excited you were to be with him on this glorious saturday morning. the sun was shining in from the tops of your blinds, the bedroom you shared still mostly filled with darkness - per bucky’s request to get black out curtains, it helped him sleep better. a groan leaves his lips as soon as he feels you stir, his hand on your back pulling you in closer.

“morning.” you whisper, your eyes opening, blinking away the blurriness. 

“morning.” he mumbles back, but it’s almost incoherent as he sucks in a deep breath and starts to move. “i was very peaceful, you know.”

“i’m so sorry.” you say to him, a smile on your face as your hand moves up his chest and to the side of his neck, pulling him in for a quick kiss. he hums against your lips as he runs his fingers up and down your spine, your shirt riding up as he does so. 

“apology accepted,” he mutters softly, causing both of you to break into a smile. bucky finally opens his eyes; those baby blues that you had fallen in love with had always managed to make your heart flutter, and this time was no exception. it didn’t matter how long the two of you were together (3 years, but who’s counting), there was always a spark that hit the both of you whenever your gazes connected, it was exhilarating. 

without even thinking about it, you bring your hand up to his face, cupping his cheek softly as your thumb rubbed against his coarse skin, his early morning stubble was one of your favorite things about waking up with him.

the two of you finally pull back, only far enough so that you can see each other's faces. you weren’t exactly sure how you landed such a wonderful man in your life, for all the bad things that bucky had seen about himself, they were just overshadowed by how truly incredible he was. a man who saw himself as cold, guarded and unemotional, was deep down really just the kindest, most gentle and well rounded person you had ever met. you were so very lucky.

“what’s the plan for today?” he asks, clearing his throat a bit to get out the morning vocal fry he usually had. 

“i was thinking maybe we can go grab breakfast at that new diner we’ve been wanting to try?” you ask and can hear him hum in response, the best way to bucky’s heart was definitely through his stomach. after years on the run and in control by someone else, good food was always a comfort he could appreciate.

“and then afterwards we can head to the store? i need to pick up a few things for the week.” youwere already dreading thinking about the next week of work, but that was just life, mundane and full of running errands and doing chores. though when the two of you did it together, it never really felt so bad.

bucky sighs as he rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling as he uses his hand that’s not resting on your back to run down his face, getting out one last yawn before he had to get up for the day. you knew the days after missions were tough for him, a mix of needing to catch up on sleep and wanting to make the most of your time together, he always opted for the latter. he’ll sleep when he’s dead.

his hand lightly taps your back signaling the two of you to move and start getting out of bed. both of you stretched your limbs, stealing one more quick kiss before going your separate ways; bucky on his way to take a shower while you move to the kitchen to get the coffee pot going, if it was one thing about you and bucky, it’s that you both needed at least two cups before you could get your day going. 

while he’s in the shower you keep yourself busy; folding blankets the two of you left out in the living room, picking up shoes from the hallway, putting dishes in the dishwasher and getting dressed so that all you had to do was wash your face and brush your teeth when he got out - all the same mundane things every couples did.

it’s about twenty minutes later when you start to get concerned, the shower is still running but bucky doesn’t usually take that long, he’s more of a man that showers because he hated the idea of being dirty rather than a man looking to relax. when you step closer to the door you press your ear against it, hoping to hear at least some sign of movement, when you don’t your stomach drops.

“buck?” you call out, your fist knocking on the wood door. “are you okay in there?” 

suddenly it feels like time had slowed down and all you can think of were the bad things that could have happened. you didn’t hear him collapse - bucky was a big man, you would have heard that - and you didn’t hear him yell in pain or anything, but the thought doesn’t leave your mind as you start rapidly knocking again.

your hand reaches for the doorknob but before you can even grasp it you hear the water from the shower shut and footsteps approaching the door. taking a step back to give him some space, you watch as the door slowly opens and bucky stands in front of you. he’s standing in his boxers, it looks like hadn’t made it into the shower yet, and there’s a look on his face that’s hard to read. the steam from the room is slowly entering the hallway as he meets your gaze, his hair is all messed up. as quickly as relief filled your body that he was okay, the look on his face made your concern return.

“are you okay?” you ask, reaching your hand out to him. “i got worried.”

“sorry,” he mumbles. he’s suddenly feeling very shy, not wanting to have worried you. sometimes bucky can tend to revert back to those days of keeping everything inside, not wanting to share his emotions or feelings. it feels like a complete turn around from this morning and the way the two of you were wrapped up in each other. 

in the beginning of your relationship it was hard to coax these talks out of him, bucky would shut down and shut himself out. with time, patience and trust you two were able to get to a place where this didn’t happen very often, but sometimes it still did and it always blindsided you. you tried to never show it on your features, you knew that if he had any inkling that this was surprising that he’d shut down even more. open, patient and receptive is what you had to be and this time was no different. 

“no, no, don’t apologize.” your voice is soft as you take a step closer, your hand resting on his shoulder. “i just wanted to make sure you were okay. i didn’t want to have to break the door down.”

this gets him to smile, well not really a smile but the edge of his mouth curls up a bit.

“yeah, like you’re capable of that.”

there's no malice in his joke, but there is an air of nervousness from him as if he’s contemplating what he wants to say, your thumb is drawing small comforting circles on his skin as you wait to see if you need to push him to talk or give him some space. you see him open his mouth to speak, your eyes watching his every move.

“i found …” he mumbles the last words so you don’t quite catch them.

“sorry, what?” 

“i found …” he says it again, this time even more mumbled than the last.

“buck, babe, i can’t hear what you’re saying.”

a sigh leaves his lips as he closes his eyes, he’s struggling with saying this out loud for some reason. it’s not that big of a deal, it happened to everyone, but bucky never thought he’d see the day it’d happened to him.

“i found a gray hair.” his voice is still sort of muttered, but you can finally hear him. 

the words hit you square in the chest and your emotions are immediately conflicted. you are so happy that bucky has lived to see the day that he has gotten to age properly, that he’s been able to live a new life that is so fulfilled and full of love. but, you know the flip side of this coin, which is that bucky is a person from another time and that this process should have started decades ago for him. 

“oh, buck,” a whisper comes from your lips as you take another step closer to him, the steam from the bathroom still flooding the hallway.

“i’m just having … a moment.” he explains softly, his hand moving to the small of your back as he pulls you in, needing the close proximity for comfort. “i never thought this would happen, you know? it’s hard to imagine myself getting …” he takes a deep breath before continuing, “older. i guess.”

you listen intently as you know it’s the right thing to do, all bucky ever asked for was for someone to take his feelings seriously and you always tried your best to do so. 

“and? how do you feel about it?” 

“good, bad, a mix of both.” he says honestly as his hand slips under your shirt, the warm flesh rubbing against your skin as if to ground himself. “it’s nice that it’s finally happening, that my life is moving forward, but it should have happened a long time ago.”

“i know.” you whisper softly.

you move both of your arms to wrap around his neck, keeping him close to you. his shoulders relax and you can feel the tension leaving his body almost immediately. bucky was an adult man, there was no doubt about it, but moments like these gave you an inside look as to what he would have been like all those decades ago - a boyish look in his eyes in the moments he felt really small.

when he opens his eyes again to look at you his thoughts are racing. he wished he never went through what he did, of course he did, but in some sick twist of fate if his life had never worked out the way it actually did he would never have met you. bucky, for all its worth, thinks that alone is worth the years of his life missed.

he’s smiling at you now and you can see the sparkle in his eyes return again as you both stand there for a beat. in these moments he’s happy he gave his heart up to someone all good and all kind.

“do you see it?” he brings his metal hand up to his hair, grabbing a few strands from the front of his head and flattening them so you can get a better look. “see? right there.”

there’s still a massive amount of dark hair, but between the strands you see it - the one gray hair that stands out from the rest. it really is only one.

“i see it. you want me to rip it out?” you offer.

“no.” he says quickly, his hand on your back playfully smacking your behind as he smirks at you. “that’s actually why i haven’t taken a shower yet. i’ve been contemplating for the last 20 minutes if i should rip it out of my head or not. is it a mid-life crisis if you’re over 100?”

you can’t help but laugh softly at his joke, bringing one of your hands up to fix his hair; you can tell he was definitely digging to see if there were more.

“oh definitely not, you’re way past mid-life crisis. maybe more like a geriatric spiral instead?” you feel him smack your behind again and both of you start laughing softly, the bucky you knew and loved slowly returning to you. “now you and your gray hair better shower quickly because i’m hungry. if we end up getting to the diner and there’s a line i won’t be very happy.”

“oh well, we can’t have that happening, now can we?” 

bucky presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before he pulls away from your embrace, giving you one last look over before he closes the bathroom door to shower. he turns towards the sink once the door is closed, his hands on either side of the counter as he gives himself one last look over in the mirror, the gray hair standing out from the rest. he meets his own eyes and gives himself a nod. everything would be okay.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Something that has been on my mind.

Taskforce 141 with a smol reader who can sleep anywhere because she just fits into all the small spaces around the base and everyday it's a game between the taskforce on where they find the reader dozing off on the base! 🙈

Hope you have a good day! 😽

The Great Task Force 141 Hide-and-Seek Champion

Pairing: Poly!Task Force 141 x Tiny!Reader

Warnings: Mild language, ridiculous amounts of fluff, protective 141, jealousy, cuddling

Author's Note: i tried making this poly. You might be able to see it if you squint so… yeah :)

Summary: You have an uncanny ability to sleep anywhere. Thanks to your small size, you manage to squeeze into places no one expects, turning the base into your personal nap zone. At first, it was a game—finding you before Price lost his patience. But slowly, things change. Now, the boys aren’t just looking for you—they’re making sure you’re safe, warm, and taken care of. And maybe… just maybe… they’re realizing they don’t just want to find you. They want to keep you.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Day 1: The Supply Closet

"Where the hell is Mouse?"

Price’s voice echoed through the barracks, already laced with exasperation. It had only been an hour since they'd last seen you. An hour. And you’d already vanished.

Gaz, standing casually by the doorway, sipped his tea. “Check the supply closet.”

Soap narrowed his eyes. “Why the hell would she be in the—”

Ghost, moving like a man far too used to this, didn’t wait for the debate. He walked straight to the supply closet, gripped the handle, and pulled it open.

There you were.

Curled up on one of the metal shelves, wedged between a stack of MREs and a pile of folded tarps. Your cheek was pressed against a plastic-wrapped ration pack, arms tucked under your head like a damn cat.

Soap stared. “Yer kiddin’.”

Price sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "How the hell do you find this comfortable?"

You stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent before sleepily muttering, “Warm.”

Gaz snorted. “Comfortable, Mouse?”

A small nod. “Mm.”

Ghost studied you in silence, then turned and walked away.

Soap gawked. "We’re just leaving her here?"

Ghost shrugged. “She’ll wake up eventually.”

Price sighed. He wasn’t paid enough for this.

——

Day 5: The First Shift in the Game

It started small.

The first time Soap found you tucked into an abandoned supply box, he huffed out a laugh, shook his head—and left his jacket over you.

The next time, Gaz found you curled up under a desk and quietly slid his extra hoodie beneath your head.

Price, despite all his grumbling, was the one leaving snacks.

And Ghost? He never woke you. Never disturbed you. But he stood guard.

The others didn’t notice at first. But after a few days, Soap started eyeing him.

"Y’know, mate," he smirked, "fer someone who acts like he don’t care, you sure stand ‘round a lot whenever Tiny’s sleepin’."

Ghost didn’t react. Didn’t even blink.

But the next morning, when you woke up in your favorite nap spot, there was a blanket over you.

——

Day 12: The Wrong Soldier Found You First

This was not part of the game.

Normally, it was them who found you. Normally, you’d wake up to soft teasing, grumbling, or just being carried away in Soap’s arms.

But today?

Today, some random soldier found you first.

It was innocent at first.

The guy had walked into the break room, noticed your small form curled up in the corner, and let out a snicker.

"Christ, does she ever actually work?"

The temperature dropped.

The conversation across the room stopped.

The soldier barely had time to react before four very dangerous men turned to look at him.

Ghost’s voice was low. Cold. "What did you just say?"

Soap moved first, stepping closer—a little too close. "Say it again, mate."

Gaz threw an arm around your shoulders, very pointedly shifting you away from the guy.

And Price? Price just gave the final nail in the coffin.

“She’s with us.”

The soldier left.

Quickly.

——

Day 20: The Final Nap

At this point, Price was done.

"Alright," he sighed, rubbing his temples. "Where the hell is she now?"

Soap groaned. "We've checked the barracks, the mess hall, the damn armory—"

Gaz cut in. "—and all the lockers."

Ghost, silent as ever, merely looked up.

The team followed his gaze.

And there, sticking out of an open vent, were a pair of very familiar boots.

Soap wheezed. “Oh, no bloody way!”

Gaz just stared. “I don’t even wanna know how she got up there.”

Price turned on his heel and walked away.

“I don’t care anymore,” he announced. “If she falls, she falls.”

Ghost crossed his arms. “She’ll come down eventually.”

Soap grinned. “God, I love this game.”

——

Day 27: The End of the Game

They weren’t expecting to find you here.

Ghost stopped in the doorway first.

Soap nearly bumped into him before looking past and freezing.

Gaz, coming up behind them, just blinked. “Well… shit.”

There you were.

Curled up in Ghost’s bed.

And not just curled up—wrapped in his blanket, half-buried under the heavy black comforter, nuzzled into his damn pillow.

Ghost just stared.

Soap broke first. He grinned. “Oh, this is rich.”

Price, arriving last, sighed. "At this point, she’s not hiding anymore. She’s just making a statement."

Ghost finally moved forward, stepping to the edge of the bed. He tugged at the blanket.

Nothing.

You made a soft, grumpy noise, burrowing deeper.

Soap snorted. “Mate, she just claimed yer bed.”

Gaz smirked. "Might as well get in."

Ghost glared.

Price, done with all of them, turned to leave. “You deal with it.”

Ghost exhaled through his nose before sitting on the bed.

The shift in weight made you stir, eyes cracking open.

"...Ghost?"

He hummed.

You blinked sleepily at him before mumbling, "...Warm."

Soap grinned. "Y’know, mate, if ye just let her sleep with ye, we wouldn’t ‘ave to find her all the time."

Ghost stared.

And, to everyone’s surprise…

He laid down.

Didn’t move you. Didn’t wake you. Just shifted so you weren’t alone.

Soap gawked. “No bloody way.”

Gaz smirked. “I think she wins.”

Ghost just closed his eyes.

Fine.

She wins.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[timmydraker]

I made myself sad thinking about Tim being alone at his home when growing up and only having someone to talk to when he went to school and so I decided to make him a cat but because it’s Tim it’s not going to be that simple:

Instead:

Imagine Tim who accidently gets a witches familiar.

It starts when he’s six and his parents flight was delayed so he decides to use the extra time to go find some wild flowers in the backyard forest to bring them. He doesn’t know the space very well but he knows enough to make sure he can always see the manner he lives in and keeps a torch and a few snacks with him just in case.

When he first sees the shadow like figure in the corner of his eye the little boy freaks out but manages to calm down enough to take the dozen flowers he had and start heading back. He feels something watching him all the way home and that night when he looks out his window Dow he swears he see more movement.

He swears to leave it be because lords knows he’s too young to be dealing with ghost and monsters.

But there’s one problem that will never change in regards to Tim Drake: he’s too curious.

Once his parents leave again Tim is back on the border of the forest and calls out a cautious ‘hello?’ Into the small kingdom of trees.

Nothing happens and so the next time he brings an offering in the form of a pile of nuts, a pair of his mums earrings she had thrown in the bin because they were apparently unsightly after the turn of the century, as well as a marshmallow from his very secret and special stash.

The next day he found a four holed button the colour of one of the Aster flowers he had given his parents when he first felt the presence.

He made it into a bracelet and wore it proudly for the next few days before his dad made him take it off before a gala.

Luckily the thing in the forest didn’t seem to take offence and instead he found the charm he had left on his desk safely hanging from his window sill without his input.

Tim brought several gifts for his new mysterious friend, mainly marshmallows and bits of his mums jewlery she was didn’t wear anymore.

Whenever he left nuts or any other kind of food it was never moved, even other sweets and treats stayed where he left them.

It’s a year after this little tradition starts that Tim actually sees the presence that he had been calling ‘Curious’.

It’s from a distance as he’s going through photos of Batman on his window sill, legs tucked up and back pressed against the wooden frame that brackets the window. He looks up periodically to the small pile of marshmallows he’s left on a plate just where the woods start, waiting for them to suddenly vanish before he goes to bed, when he looks up and sees it.

It’s tall, as tall as the trees and cloaked in shadows and darkness, so much so it’d be impossible to miss even if the light of his room wasn’t shining out towards it.

Tim gasps silently but doesn’t look away or feel fear, because something in him just knows that this is his friend. This is Curious.

Instead he finds himself smiling, possibly beaming at the animated dark before him.

Curious doesn’t smile back or wave or anything and yet Tim can feel a relief and happiness that’s second to his own and yet feels like it’s his.

When Tim blinks the shadows have reached out to lift the marshmallows into its veil like form, long fingers that seem twice the amount of a humans curl like spider legs around the surgery sweets and then they are lost in the dark of its form.

Tim goes to sleep that night with excitement and hope in his heart, a burning curiosity in his heart as hundreds of questions and theories rattle his brain, but it’s all unimportant compared to the fact that he has a friend at home.

He has someone to, in a way, live with.

The next morning he wakes to his alarm and a heavy weight on his chest.

Tim opens his eyes to see a fluffy monstrosity of a cat, big golden eyes hidden in light brown and grey fur staring at him with so much knowing and understanding. It’s more than even Ives shows him when Tim brushes off questions about his parents.

He knows just as he did the night before that this is Curious.

His Curious.

He cautiously reached a hand to pat the fur and watches his hand disappear into the soft fur like its quicksand. When a loud purr, slightly echoing like its not quite real, rumbles through the little body Tim beams again and squeezes the feline shape as close as he can.

Curious doesn’t leave Tim’s side very often, only when Tim goes bathroom does he give him space. When Tim starts training to be Robin Curious shifts his body into Tim’s shadow so he can follow without having to deal with Batman’s security rules.

Curious follows Tim when he goes to train with Shiva, when he goes to space with his team, when he goes on his trip around the world to save Bruce, but it’s painful for the little familiar because Tim isn’t actually a witch.

Which means there is no power for Curious to draw from and so it’s unable to help at all.

It can change its form but the only physical contact it can make is with its master, it can’t fight with Tim or defend him when he needs it.

And yet Tim doesn’t mind.

While Curious feels like a failure for being unable to do anything for his master, Tim rewards it all the time. Constantly is he giving it new necklaces for its cat shape and marshmallows when they stay guard all night while he sleeps.

In the face of such powerlessness, Curious vows to find ways to help its Tim.

So, it’s a sentry of a sort. No one can sneak up on Tim Drake or Red Robin, because he will always just know that someone is there. No one ever suspects that it’s his weirdly attached cat or his own shadow alerting him with a soul like connection.

Everyone in the family knows that Tim has a cat, because one time Damian got all mopey at dinner and complained that the stray cat he found around the manner lawns wasn’t being his friend no matter what he did.

He ranted about how he brought it food and water and toys but the unnaturally fluffy cat would just stare at him before running off.

When Tim realises that he means Curious he snorts, making Damian glare at him and demand to know what he finds so funny.

Tim simply makes a ‘sst’ like sound twice and suddenly the big cat his waltzing out from under the table and into Tim’s lap.

Damian is furious but mostly embarrassed, acting like he’s upset that Tim didn’t tell him he had a cat when instead he’s upset that he befriended a cat Damian couldn’t.

Tim explains that Curious has been his cat for years and doesn’t like anyone else, so not to take it personally, and when they ask what the gender is Tim reply’s cryptically, “it doesn’t like gender.”

No one knows what to say to that as Tim leaves the room with the cat in his arms, but they all witness the cat lean over his shoulder and lick a long black tendril over his own face.

Bruce nearly sprains something with how quickly he stands up.

[eddiesghxst]

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACCIÓN - AN EDDIE MUNSON X READER AU

credit for cute lil cut off divider: @cafekitsune

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: eddie munson x pornstar!reader

summary: eddie is short on rent this month and needs quick cash, luckily he stumbles upon an ad for casting in an adult film and finds himself shooting a porno with you

contains: strangers to lovers trope, drug and alcohol use, mentions of smoking, awkward situations, oral (f and m receiving), p in v (unprotected — be safe pls), mentions of people being judgemental of readers line of work, mentions of anal, slightly exhibitionism, lots of smut, a sliver of mechanic!eddie, and eddie being the charming loser he's always been <3

word count: 13.5k (i am so fucking sorry omg)

-masterlist-

Eddie might be way in over his head.

Eddie’s been naked in front of groups of people before (the high school boy's locker room is a scary place to be, honestly), but never in those awful days of forced physical education was Eddie’s dick the center of everyone’s attention.

It’s weird, no doubt about it, standing at the front of a conference room with a table full of producers and writers and whatnot just… ogling Eddie’s naked frame.

“Can you lift your dick, please? So we can see your balls.”

Yeah. This is definitely going at the top of Eddie’s ‘weird things I’ve done for money’ list.

Still, Eddie reaches down and presses his dick up against his lower stomach to give his audience an unrestricted view of his balls.

Jesus.

“Okay, you can put your clothes back on.”

Honestly, Eddie wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for Robert, the manager at Eddie’s job— well, old job. 

Robert had some kind of weird fucking vengeance out for Eddie. Maybe it was because Eddie came back high from, like, most of his lunch breaks, but should that really matter if Eddie still got the job done? How coherent do you have to be to organize music records by name? Not very fuckin’ much.

Robert disagreed, though, so he fired Eddie.

Robert was an asshole, though, and whenever Eddie would nicely warn him, ‘Hey, Rob, I’m gonna be out of town next Saturday,’ Robert would still fucking schedule him to close on that exact day! 

Good riddance.

Except now, Eddie’s short on rent for the month, which is why he’s found himself standing fully naked in a room full of adult filmmakers.

Eddie’s almost dropped out of this deal ten times by now. He wasn’t sure if he was keen on the idea of his bare, naked body being out for the entire world and future generations to see. But then Eddie thought about it, and, well, he’s got a pretty decent cock. It’s an average size, and it’s not weird looking or anything, and his balls don’t sag— and, like, isn’t his dick primarily the star of the show? Eddie Jr. could pass for a star, Eddie thinks, and so do the people looking at it right now. 

And he also really fucking needs the money, so. Porn it is.

Whatever.

Eddie could deal with it as long as he gets enough money to keep a roof over his head. Which reminds him— “Hey, uh, how much will I be getting paid, by the way?”

Eddie’s now fully clothed, car keys in hand, and ready to go now that he’s been dismissed, and he’s scratching the back of his neck as he waits for an answer.

One of the men at the table (Eddie thinks his name is Brian, but he’s not 100% sure) glances up at Eddie from the pile of papers he’d been sorting through, “Eight hundred for the booking and ten percent from the sales.”

Which, yeah, that covers Eddie’s rent. It also leaves a little bit of change in Eddie’s pocket, so “Sweet.” Eddie nods.

So, Eddie follows one of the assistants to her office, where she hands Eddie a file with the word SCRIPT written in bold and red letters, “Read over it, practice the lines a few times, do whatever you need to do to prepare for Friday.” She kindly smiles.

She’s sweet. Short, stout, and pretty, and she has these cute glasses that remind Eddie of a ladybug. Eddie takes the manila folder, bowing his head with a cheesy smile, “Thank you, Emily.” 

“So, will I be getting a costume? Do pornos still have those dramatic plots with, like, pirates and shit?” Eddie rambles as he cracks the folder open to take a gander.

Emily snorts, “Sure, but unfortunately, you’re not a pirate for this one,” Eddie glances at her and dramatically pouts, “You will be taking on the role of a neighbor. Pretty simple and easy, not much setup needed, but I’m sure you’ll see that when you read over the script.”

Eddie looked over the script as soon as he got in his van, and Emily was right: there’s not much setup at all. There’s a few cheesy lines, cliche porno shit that definitely gets skipped over, and then they go straight to fucking. Eddie tries to run his lines a few times, but then he fails miserably, so he ends up tossing the script in his passenger seat and making a mental note to look at it later.

How hard can it be?

Apparently pretty fucking hard.

It’s Friday, and Eddie’s a chaotic mess as he walks in through the doors of the film studio. He’d just spent the last 30 minutes in his van trying to practice his lines, but Eddie was never the greatest theater kid, and the lines wouldn’t stick, so he ended up smoking a joint to ease his nerves.

People are bustling around the room, calling out orders and setting up lights, mics, furniture— the whole mile. It’s an entire ordeal that Eddie has walked into, and for a second, Eddie forgets that he’s one of the actual stars when someone walks up to him and says, “You're the new talent?”

“Huh?”

“New talent. Are you the guy we’re filming today?”

Eddie glances around and catches a glimpse of a half-naked girl eyeing him from across the room as a lady fixes her hair for the cameraman. She’s pretty. Gorgeous, actually. Nice body and soft-looking skin that Eddie would like to sink his teeth into and leave pretty little marks.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m Eddie.”

“Good. You’re late.”

Shit. Eddie must’ve lost track of time while practically hacking up a lung in his hotboxed van.

The person drags Eddie to a vanity and nudges him toward the high chair, “You’ll get your hair and makeup done, then we should be rolling in about half an hour.” 

It’s jarring, really, seeing the amount of work that goes into the shitty raunchy films Eddie jacks off to, but it’s captivating nonetheless. Eddie can see the movement behind him through the vanity mirror, but he’s more focused on the pretty girl still posing for the camera. If that’s the girl Eddie will be working with, then this will be way easier than Eddie thought it would be because he’s already getting hard. Some might call it pathetic, but oh well.

“Hiya, hon! You the new talent?” A chirpy girl walks up behind Eddie, pearly white teeth and glossed lips working in tandem as she chews her gum and blows a quick bubble. She doesn’t wait for Eddie’s response as she digs her fingers into Eddie’s curly strands, tossing and gently pulling them about to see what she’s working with. 

Her name is Nicki. She’s friendly and very talkative; Eddie comes to learn, because for the majority of the time that she’s working on Eddie’s hair, her mouth is running nonstop. Eddie doesn’t mind, though; honestly, it helps to take his mind off of whatever the fuck he’s gotten himself into.

Emily, the assistant from earlier, walks up to the vanity, her cute ladybug glasses slipping down her nose as she steps into Eddie’s view— and Eddie is happy to see a familiar and kind face. “Will you be needing a fluffer?”

Eddie blinks, eyes fluttering when the hairstylist dusts his bangs over his lashes, “Uh— a what now?”

Nicki loudly pops her gum as she shakes a can of hairspray, “A fluffer, honey. Someone to jack you off and get you ready for the scene.” 

Eddie’s eyes widened for a split second, and he made the mistake of glancing over at the girl who was still modeling across the room. Her tits are out now, and they’re perfect, and she catches Eddie’s eyes for the second time, and it makes his already stiffened cock stir within his pants.

Eddie shakes his head as he looks back at Emily, his voice higher when he responds, “No, I uh… I think I’m good.”

Which, duh. Eddie's dick is practically breaking the seams of his jeans because of the pretty girl, and it’s only getting worse because now she’s walking toward him dressed in a white robe. “You must be Eddie.”

Eddie’s surprised you know his name, but then he figures, obviously, you must know his name given the fact that you’re about to let him swing his dick near you. “That’s me,” Eddie smiles, “You must be… I’m sorry nobody’s told me anything.” He awkwardly laughs.

You nod with a shrug and tell him your name, “Is this your first time filming?” You ask.

Eddie nods, “Is it that obvious?” He nervously asks. You shrug, “Most guys in the industry need more than a pair of tits to get that hard.” You nod towards Eddie’s crotch— and oh god. How embarrassing! She knows you were checking her out!

“No need to be embarrassed though, Eddie. Pretty soon, you’ll be shoving your cock down my throat, so.”

Eddie’s cock may have gotten harder from those words alone.

“A rookie? Seriously, Don?”

Your makeup is being done, so you don’t see how your manager rolls her eyes at you. “When I said I wanted someone fresh, I didn’t mean never-been-under-the-camera fresh.” 

The makeup artist finishes with your touch-ups, and you take the opportunity to turn to Don and glare at her, “He doesn’t know what he’s doing, Don.”

The older lady waves a dismissive hand, “He’ll do just fine, babe,” she deadpans. You shake your head, turning to look at the man of the hour. He’s attractive; you’ll give him that. Tall, pretty curly hair, sweet brown eyes, a panty-dropping voice. Sure, he’s attractive, okay. But he’s got no clue how to do this type of thing. Clearly— I mean, you’re literally watching him gaze down at the dildos that have been lined up for you as if he’s never seen one in his life— which you doubt. If he knew how to find an adult filmmaking studio, then he’s definitely seen some fucking dildos.

You suppress a laugh when he accidentally drops a glass dildo, turning back to your manager as you ignore his chorus of apologies to the staff, “My case in point.”

Don fails to hold back a laugh, “So he’s a little off the walls,” she shrugs, “He’s cute though. And his dick is nice. Trust me.”

And, well, she’s not wrong.

Don’s never been one to lie without reason, so unfortunately, Eddie’s cock is nice. Pretty, even. Which is weird because after some time being in this industry, the thrill of a nice-looking cock has gotten lost on you because they practically all look the same— just different shades of colors, really.

But Eddie’s cock is nice in the sense that it’s real. He’s not shot up with steroids to make it overly veiny and big or cleanly shaved or any of that superficial camera-ready shit. No, Eddie is natural. He’s got neatly trimmed curly hairs across his pelvis that smell like his body wash when you nuzzle your nose against it, and he’s big enough to wrap your hand around, but you know the second he pushes inside of you, it will be a nice stretch. He’s cut, and he has a slight curve to the left, and he’s so sensitive his cock jumps when you tap the pearly white drop that leaks from his tip. You giggle, shuffling forward on your knees as you stroke him.

You’re already done with the opening scene, finally. Eddie couldn’t remember any of his lines, so it took a lot longer than it should’ve, but you think it was worth it either way because the way Eddie moans when you finally wrap your lips around his tip is the prettiest sound you think you’ve ever heard.

“F-fuck,” He quietly curses, hips shifting as you swallow more of him. He sinks a slightly shaking hand into your hair, gently cupping your head as you work your mouth over him. Your eyes flutter to gaze up at him, and your stomach flutters at the cocky grin he gives you. “You’ve got such a good little mouth on you, sweetheart. Gonna let me fuck it?”

You hum and nod as best as you can with his cock in your mouth, and he hums, “Open up for me, baby.”

You shift on your knees, finding a comfortable position for the action before blinking up at Eddie, indicating you’re ready. Eddie’s hands are steady and certain as he cups both sides of your head, holding you still as he draws his cock out once before slowly thrusting in until your throat tightens around his tip.

He fills your mouth so perfectly, just enough to where you won’t get bored, but you also won’t get an overly aching jaw, and you can’t wait to feel him inside you. Can’t wait to feel how his cock twitches when he first nestles deep in your walls or how much better the sounds he makes will be.

It’s a nice feeling, having Eddie fuck your mouth, and you usually don’t care much for shots like this because most of the time, it’s either underwhelming or overwhelming, but Eddie fucks your throat in a sense that’s dirty yet so caring. He’s spewing out filthy praises, and you're drooling onto his balls, but he’s looking at you with these soft brown eyes and caressing you so gently you might quiver. Fuck, you really wanted to hate him.

Behind the camera, the director makes a motion for you to cut to the next action, but since your back is to them, Eddie is the one that sees it and gently coaxes you off from his cock, cooing when you let out the smallest whine that only he can hear. He smiles, thumb running beneath your swollen lip to catch the strings of spit and cum, “What? You liked having me down your throat, sweet girl?”

You mewl, pressing your chin into his palm as you nod.

"Yeah. Want it, please?" You whisper. God, you didn’t expect to be fucked out within the first scene. "Aw, maybe next time, princess. You can keep me warm as long as you'd like."

It’s almost embarrassing, how much you like the sound of that and how it makes your tummy flip, but you don’t have much time to think about it because Eddie’s ushering you up from the floor to climb onto the couch and straddle his lap. 

You’re both bare now, and when Eddie had first taken his shirt off, you wanted nothing more than to run your hands down his graffitied chest, but you were too busy sinking to your knees. But now you have the chance, and boy, do you fucking take it.

You marvel as you coast your hands across Eddie’s body, fingertips gliding through fields of inked stories and vast skin. His breath hitches when you graze over his nipples, and his hips shift beneath you, wet cock slipping against your sticky folds. You whimper, grinding down onto him, and he curses as he grabs ahold of your hips. “Y’like them?” He sweetly asks, referring to his tattoos.

"Yeah," you nod, grinding down harder to have his cock nestled between your folds, his ruddy tip nudging your clit. “I can tell you all about them if you want.”

You giggle at his timing, but before you can respond, a director speaks up from the side, “Less talking, please.”

Eddie glances over your shoulder and salutes the man, “Roger that, sir.”

You can’t help but snort at his actions, but you’re quickly hushed when Eddie reaches down to paint his cock between your folds before lining himself up, “Go ahead and sit on it, baby.” He whispers.

You listen, nuzzling your face against his shoulder as you wriggle yourself down the length of his cock.

And god, you love being fucking right. The stretch is so good, better than you had imagined it to be, and you can’t help the high-pitched moan that slips from your lips when Eddie thrusts up into you. 

"O-oh. Oh fuck," You whimper. You’re practically boneless as Eddie fucks you, your entire body just draped over him as his hands dig into your ass to help bounce you on his cock. “Jesus fucking— you feel so good,” He pants, and you mewl, cunt clenching around his cock as he drills up into you. “You gonna cum for me, hm? Be my best girl and cum for me. I know you’ll sound so pretty.” He whispers.

Before you know it, you’re moaning out and writhing in Eddie’s hold, juices dripping down his cock and forming a sticky mess in the patch of curls at his base as you cum.

“Let’s have a shot from the back.” 

Your body feels weightless as you and Eddie change positions so you’re on all fours. You’re blinking through a hazy fog, and it feels so good. Eddie’s hands send chills up your spine as they grip your waist and tug you towards him. 

“Oh, baby, you’re shaking,” Eddie hums, running his hands over the fat of your ass, thumbs digging into the skin to spread you open. You’re so wet you can hear the sticky noise of your folds parting, and Eddie groans as he watches your pussy clench around nothing. “You open up so well for me, sweet girl.” 

Jesus.

You don’t get much of a warning before you feel Eddie lapping and sucking at your cunt, devouring you until you’re nothing but a mess of moans and quivering limbs.

Jesus Christ, that wasn’t in the fucking script. Half of the shit Eddie’s doing isn’t in the fucking script, and it's making your head spin.

God, who is this man?

You whimper his name, reaching a shaky hand back to grapple at his hair, and Eddie nuzzles his face deeper into your cunt, nose nudging your ass in a way that makes your toes curl. He’s good. He’s really good, you’ll give him that.

You and Eddie go at it for about an hour, switching positions and pausing every now and then to get a good shot of your cunt wrapped around Eddie’s cock, or Eddie’s tongue lapping over your clit or tits.

And it's fun doing this with Eddie.

Eddie is like a breath of fresh air. Most guys in this industry are stuck up and make things annoyingly serious, and most girls are either bitchy or just want to get it over with, which you don’t blame them for. 

But Eddie makes things feel so normal— like you’re just two best friends getting filmed having sex— because he keeps whispering tiny jokes to make you giggle. He tells you how pretty you sound and look, and he’s so incredibly clueless because he keeps leaning in and asking things like, “Is this, like, a good angle for the camera?” and “Should I maybe kiss you more?” and “Is it okay if I stop fucking you for a second? Because I’m about to blow.”

And all you can do is breathlessly moan and nod because he’s plunging himself so deep into you that it almost hurts, but it’s so good.

You’re so fucked out you barely even register Eddie’s words when he tells you he’s about to cum, but your body immediately reacts when he pats your hip, indicating for you to get ready.

You scramble down from the couch, limbs weighted from pleasure as you settle on your knees, batting your lashes up at Eddie as he towers over you, stroking his wet cock. Eddie rests a hand on your head, fingers grasping your hair to keep you still as he gazes down at you. You’re impatient, so you can’t help but let yourself sneakily lick the tip of his cock, and he grins, “It’s coming, precious girl. Stick your tongue out for me.”

You shuffle closer, sticking your tongue out as you eagerly await the taste of Eddie on your tongue— and when you get it, god, you never want it to stop. Everything about it is perfect: the way his face twists up, the way he tastes, the pretty moans he lets out. You want it on repeat.

You might buy this film just to relive it.

You take every last drop Eddie has to give you with a happy hum; a little bit catches your lip, and Eddie swipes it with his thumb before bringing it to his mouth and suckling. You whine, frowning and causing Eddie to laugh, “You got most of it, sweetheart. Can’t be too greedy, can you?”

It’s like you’re both in your own world. Only talking to each other and enjoying each other's bodies because Eddie just… it’s weird, but he makes the room go away. He makes things feel less performative— and maybe it’s just your hazy, blissed-out state of mind, but you think you might like Eddie.

You’re snapped from your trance when the director yells cut, and then everyone’s springing into action to tear down the set because another crew will be using it next. Eddie helps you stand on your wobbly legs, “You alright?”

You nod, “Great. You did good, by the way.”

Eddie leans forward and grabs your robe that had been pushed to the side. He smiles as he holds it open for you, “Thank you. You did pretty awesome yourself.” He responds as you slink your arms through the sleeves.

You turn to Eddie as you close your robe and tie it shut. Your assistant, Emily, hands Eddie a robe for himself, and he thanks her, curtly bowing his head as he grabs the plush article. “So,” Eddie starts as he slips on the robe. You both start walking towards the dressing rooms as he speaks, “Think I could make a career for myself here?” He asks. 

You halt at that, turning to Eddie with a confused look, “Is that… is that not why you’re here?” You ask.

Eddie shakes his head as he ties his robe, “Nah, I got fired from my job. Needed some cash for rent this month.” He explains.

Is it selfish to say you’re disappointed to hear this? If Eddie had been wanting to join this industry, you would’ve had the opportunity to work with him again. But maybe it’s more selfish to say you’re happy he isn’t joining this industry. Eddie becoming an adult film star would mean half of the time, he’d be fucking other people, and unfortunately, that idea alone makes your gut twist with jealousy.

You nod, pursing your lips as you fiddle with your fingers, “Well… would you be interested in this type of thing?” You try your best to sound casual about it, and you think it works because Eddie only shrugs again with a short hum, “I don’t know. Wouldn’t be opposed to it, I guess.”

Before you can respond, Emily calls your name, “Don needs to speak with you in the other room about your next shoot.”

You turn back to Eddie and try to commit his pretty brown eyes to memory, “I guess I’ll see you around, Eddie.” You smile. Eddie smiles back and does somewhat of a dramatic bow, and you snort as you walk off.

You glance over your shoulder as you walk with Emily.

“Could you do me a favor?” You ask her. Emily nods, and you take one last glance at Eddie before he disappears into the dressing room. 

“Get his number for me. And leave it in my purse, please.”

A couple of weeks have passed since Eddie made his big debut in the film world.

Eddie made a pretty penny from that film, enough to pay his rent and have some play money on the side. Thankfully, Eddie doesn’t have to scramble for cash this month again because he got a job at the mechanic shop downtown. It’s a lot of labor and a lot of hours, but the pay is good, and nobody gives a shit if Eddie comes back from lunch smelling like a dispensary, so.

Suck that, Robert.

However, Eddie’s still thoroughly surprised to see you sitting in the shop office when he returns from a quick smoke break. “Woah, funny seeing you here. Car problems?” He questions. Eddie tries not to think about the fact that he’s seen you completely bare before. Tries not to think of how he’d spent over an hour in your guts last month or how you swallowed his load like it was nothing. Eddie fails miserably.

You shake your head as you stand up from the leather couch in the office, grabbing your purse as Eddie walks closer to you, “No, actually, Lola’s doing great.”

Eddie cocks his head, “Lola?”

You nod, “My car.” You gesture out towards the window where your car is parked. Eddie makes an understanding noise as he nods. 

“I was actually hoping to talk to you.” 

Eddie pauses at that, confusion settling over his body as he looks at you. You’re beautiful, kind, soft eyes with soft, pretty lips that Eddie thinks about kissing when he goes to bed. Eddie points to himself with raised eyebrows, “Me?”

You nod again, “Yeah, about like… my job and stuff.”

Oh.

Ohhhh.

“Oh, shit, yeah, um,” Eddie glances around the office and nods, “Yeah, we can step out and talk, like, in my van, maybe?” He offers. Not because he’s, like, ashamed to talk about porn or something, most people watch it! But a few of the guys that work here are downright dipshits, and Eddie won’t hesitate to punch one of them if they say some sly shit about you or your job. And, well, Eddie would like to keep his job, so.

You don’t take offense to it, though; you just nod with your pretty smile and tell Eddie to lead the way.

Eddie’s van smells like weed, cologne, and a hint of whatever he had for lunch.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles as he clears off the passenger seat that’s filled with bottles of different drinks, rolling papers, food wrappers, and things of the like. “She’s seen better days.” 

You smile nonetheless, thanking him when he steps away and holds the door open for you. You hop into the seat, glancing around as Eddie shuts your door and jogs to the driver's seat.

He gets in with a heavy sigh, hair unruly from the wind, brown eyes wide and excited when he looks at you. “Hey.” He huffs with a smile, and there’s a piece of hair in Eddie’s bangs that’s sticking straight up. “Hey.” You giggle, reaching out to fix the rebellious strand. Eddie softly thanks you, and you swear you see a hint of pink dust across his cheeks.

He shifts in his seat, rubbing his hands against his thighs as he sighs again, “So… what’s up?”

God, he’s so cute. So incredibly weird and awkward and cute. He looks handsome in his navy blue coveralls, grease stains smeared across his torso, and some sneaky smudges on his neck. “You’re very hard to get ahold of, you know?” You tease.

Eddie’s face twists in confusion, “Huh?”

You shrug, distracting yourself by poking around at his dashboard, sifting through the CDs and tapes he has lying about. Eddie doesn’t stop you; he only watches, and you give him a cheeky smile. “My assistant got your number, right? But then you, like, never answered my calls.” You shrug as you flip through more of his things. You hear Eddie mumble something about needing a new cord for his home phone before he asks louder, " So, how’d you find me?”

God, he must think you’re a stalker or something. You didn’t really think that through, honestly.

You hum, “Just asked around a bit. You’re a bit of a hot commodity around here, by the way. Heard you started a cult? What’s that about?” 

Eddie’s eyes widen at your words, and you laugh, “Oh god. Jesus, no, I didn’t start a cult. I just,” he groans as he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I was just weird in high school.”

“You’re still weird.”

Eddie’s face falters at your words, but you smile as you add, “I like it.”

Eddie blushes again, but he turns to look away this time, and you think he’s the cutest thing you’ve ever set your eyes upon. He turns back to you with a shy grin, “Did you come here just to flirt with me?” He teases, wrapping a strand of his hair around his finger to twirl in a shy manner. “Maybe… but I also have a question.” You respond.

Eddie nods, “Shoot.”

You take a deep breath as you shift in your seat, “Well, uh, I wanted to ask if you maybe…” You glance at Eddie, who's expectantly awaiting your question, and your stomach twists with nerves. Why are you so nervous to ask Eddie for something you’ve already done before?

“Well, I’m doing a shoot tomorrow,” you finally begin, “And I just found out the guy they paired me with is, like, a total asshole— I’ve worked with him before, he’s just… awful,” You explain. “So, I was just… I don’t know; I was just wondering— hoping— you’d be up for it, maybe? To take the guy's place, I mean.”

You finish rambling and glance at Eddie as his eyes widen, “Oh, um. Like— like, film with you again?”

Eddie could leap for joy right now.

Not only are you, like, the cutest, prettiest, kindest fucking human being to ever grace this earth, but you’re sitting in Eddie’s van, chewing on your lip and asking Eddie to fuck you for the cameras again.

Eddie must’ve done something incredibly right in his past life.

“Oh!” Eddie starts, “ Um… yeah, I’d love to!” What? Weird, take that back. “No, I mean, like, not in a weird way. I just— I’d rather not let the asshole do it if I can do it.”

God, could Eddie sound any more pathetic?

Still, despite how dumb Eddie sounds, you smile and clasp your hands together, “Oh, are you sure? I know it’s last minute, and it’s not really the ideal task—” 

“Woah, wait. What do you mean not the ideal task?” 

Because literally, what do you mean? How could that not be the ideal task? And who made you think that fucking you isn’t the ideal task? If it’s that asshole you were supposed to work with, then Eddie has a few colorful things to say about and to him.

You shrug, fiddling with your fingers in your lap, “Nothing, I just know my job isn’t… you know, traditional or whatever. And you had only done it that one time because you needed it, so I get it if you’re, like, not in the mood to fuck on camera for a bunch of random people.” You ramble. Which, uh, no. You could not be further from the truth. Eddie would love to fuck you on camera for a bunch of random people. Hell, Eddie would love to fuck you under any consensual circumstance, if he’s being honest, so. Yeah, he’s pretty excited.

“No,” Eddie shakes his head, “No, I— I want to, really, I do.” Eddie nods.

Your unsure frown spreads into the prettiest smile before you reach across the center console to pull Eddie into the most bone-crushing, you-scented, chest-warming hug Eddie’s ever been given as you spew out a chorus of thank yous.

“I brought a copy of the script for you to look over so you’re not totally confused,” Eddie watches as you pull back to reach into your bag and pull out a manilla folder. “I usually like to color coordinate my scripts, so I did it for you too. The pink is me, and the red is you, and the specific actions they want us to do are in blue.” You point out. And Eddie thinks he might kiss you right now— you’re so fucking cute!

“Wow, thanks, um… I wish I were, like… good with these types of things, but I think you saw how majestic I am with scripts.” Eddie huffs out a laugh as he scratches the back of his neck. You smile, “I can help you— if you’d like.”

Oh, you’re trying to kill Eddie at this rate.

Eddie nods either way, even though he’s six feet underground and knocking at the fiery gates. “I would love that, actually. I finish work in about three hours if you’re free.”

Eddie definitely broke a handful of laws while driving home.

Since you offered to help Eddie with his lines, you both decided to meet at Eddie’s place. He gave you his address, told you how to get into the complex, and said see you later. Now, Eddie is ecstatic to see you, obviously, but Eddie can’t remember if his home looked normal or like a Walmart clearance aisle after black Friday, so he ran through multiple stop signs and red lights to get home before you showed up so he could clear things up.

He’s hustling through his apartment like a madman, picking up strewn clothes and cat toys before speeding through the few dishes he had in his sink. Honestly, Eddie’s apartment has seen worse days, so there’s not much cleaning he has to do, but he’s still stressed when he hears a knock on the door. 

Eddie doesn’t even like candles, but he lit one just in case there’s a smell he’s grown used to lingering about. Eddie just doesn’t want you to think he’s a slob. Because he isn’t. He just has an orchestrated chaotic lifestyle.

Eddie couldn’t be happier when he opened his door because there you were, beaming with a smile and a bag of takeout, and Eddie thought it wasn’t normal to be this soft for someone you’d basically just met.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Eddie dramatically bows with an extended hand to show the entrance of his small, homey apartment. You smile as you walk in, taking in your surroundings.

It’s nothing extraordinary, honestly. Eddie’s home is really just vomit of everything Eddie likes: favorite colors, favorite movies, favorite game characters, etc. It’s like Eddie’s brain exploded and painted itself all over the place. Eddie had a girlfriend many moons ago, and she changed things around to become more coordinated, so now it’s less of a shit show and more of an abstract museum sort of thing.

Whatever. Doesn’t matter anyway because you’re gasping and picking up the little roommate Eddie has. 

“Who’s this?” You coo at the little creature. You’re looking down at the furball as you scratch behind her ear, “That,” Eddie sighs, “Is the reason why I didn’t get your calls.”

You look up at Eddie, confusion written across your face. Eddie points across the room to the wall where his home phone hangs, except the wire is broken. “Little asshole chewed through the wire, and I’ve been slow to replace it. Her name is Banshee.”

The cat meows at the mention of her name, wide eyes blinking up at Eddie as you coddle her. She’s a fluffy cat with a black coat decorated with two white spots: one on her back and the other just behind her ear.

You hum, “So technically,” You drag, “It’s your fault.” You tease. You coo as you press your cheek to the tiny kitten, gazing up at Eddie with these soft eyes, “I don’t think you can blame this cutie for your laziness.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, wills away whatever power he has to not kiss you, and gently takes the takeout bag from your hands so you have less to carry. “Fine then. Ask her what happened to the laces of my work shoes, too, since she’s so innocent.”

Eddie’s home is so… Eddie.

He’s got music and horror movie posters framed along his walls, cute little scary figurines randomly placed within his bookshelves, and there’s an overall smell of Eddie’s musk and the sandalwood candle he has burning. It’s cozy, a nice space for one person who enjoys their alone time, and he let you choose a record to play from his extensive collection, and he has the world's cutest little cat, so it’s safe to say you could spend an eternity in Eddie’s world.

“Shit, that wasn’t my line,” Eddie stresses. You smile as Eddie tosses the packet onto his coffee table and falls back onto the couch, “We’re wasting our time here, princess. I dropped out of theater for a reason.” He grumbles.

You sigh, tilting your head against the couch cushion as you gaze at Eddie, “You’re thinking too hard about it.” You say. “It’s a porno, not a Grammy-nominated film.” You point out.

Eddie snorts before giving a short shrug, “For the record, I think you could land a Grammy, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, right. You don’t need to suck up to me, Eddie, you’re already gonna fuck me tomorrow.” You jokingly say.

Eddie waves you off and shifts into a more comfortable position. “So,” He starts, “What’s the asshole guy's deal?” 

Banshee has hopped onto the couch and made her way into your lap, tiny paws kneading the material of your jeans as she settles. You gently pet her as you glance at Eddie and shrug, “Not sure, he’s just a total dick,” You grumble. “I worked with him once last year, and he, like, told me I wasn’t the best or whatever— which, okay, I can totally understand,” You ramble, “I don’t think I’m, like, some sex god. I don’t expect to be everyone or anyone’s best fuck, but still! It just… it didn’t make me feel good, the way he said it.” You windedly explain. You distract yourself with the cute animal in your lap as you finish your explanation, “So, I asked my manager never to pair us again, but—” You shrug.

Next to you, Eddie shifts once more and scoffs. “He’s a fucking shitfaced liar, princess.”

You snort, playfully rolling your eyes, “Eddie—” “No, I’m serious. He’s a liar. Anybody who even gets the chance to touch you is a lucky fucker, okay? If anything, he probably begged your manager to let him work with you again.”

“You’re just saying that. I don’t need you to try and make me feel better, and it was so long ago anyway.” “Yeah, but that’s the thing, I’m not.”

You frown as you gaze over at Eddie, watching as he sits straight and looks at you with a serious gaze in his eyes. “I don’t know what’s up with that guy, maybe he was dropped as a baby too many times, but anybody with common sense and a properly functioning dick knows just how fucking amazing you are. End of discussion.”

And well, it’s pathetic how your chest warms at his words, but it does. And as Eddie goes on to ramble about his hectic week at work, you can’t help but let your mind spin with Eddie’s kind words until nothing is in your mind but the echoes of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Not many times has Eddie woken up with a girl in his home. Well, at least not a girl that he’s actually liked for more than a one-night stand or a shortly-lived fling.

After running the script for the last time, Eddie suggested putting on a movie and digging into the takeout you’d brought. The meal was delicious, and the movie you’d landed on was hilarious, but it’s hard to keep your eyes open on a full stomach, so when Eddie felt your head drop onto his shoulder, he couldn’t help but let his body sink into the couch and fall asleep too.

You’d woken up about an hour later and tried to make your escape quietly, but Eddie insisted you shouldn’t drive in such a sleepy state, so he let you make yourself comfy in his bed. Banshee, the little traitor, trotted right behind you and left Eddie on the couch to snuggle up beside you for the night.

You’re cute in the morning, Eddie thinks. You have an adorable little pout, and you yawn about 80 times until you’ve had a sip of coffee. 

It takes nearly a lifetime to drag you away from Banshee so you and Eddie can head to the studio because you adore the little asshole, and Banshee loves anything that’ll give her the time of day. You make Eddie promise to let you see her again, though, so you sadly say goodbye with a soft peck to the fluffy area between her eyes and let Eddie drag you to his van.

The car ride is nice; Eddie lets you mess around with the contents of his van and go through the stack of CDs he’s compiled over the years. You land on one of Eddie’s favorites, an old mixtape Wayne made in college that Eddie spent most of his high school blaring loud enough to blow out a speaker.

Today, you’re shooting in a house— a nice one that Eddie could only conjure up in his dreams—but he doesn’t have much time to dwell on it because he’s being dragged over to makeup and hair as soon as he steps in.

“You thinking of joining the industry?” Nicki asks as she works a nice-smelling mousse into Eddie’s hair.

Eddie had been busy watching you talk to one of the producers, but he finds the strength to tear his eyes away and gaze at Nicki through the vanity mirror. “No, not exactly. Just… doing a favor for a friend, I guess.”

Nicki raises an eyebrow, “A friend? Don’t act like I didn’t see you two come in together.”

Eddie’s face warms at that, the tips of his ears turning red as he stutters, “Huh?” 

Nicki looks at Eddie with a ‘Don’t bullshit me’ look.

“I mean, like, yeah, we had breakfast together–” “Mhm.”

Eddie huffs out a gentle laugh, “No, really, we’re friends.”

“Friends that fuck on camera and look at each other the way you two do? Sure.”

Eddie doesn’t ask what Nicki means by that because— well, he knows what Nicki means by that. He’s caught himself looking at you like you put the stars in the sky one too many times, and it’s almost embarrassing. Almost.

But can you blame Eddie? Can you really blame him when you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, the softest smile, the greatest laugh, and the sweetest personality? It’s not Eddie’s fault that you’re perfect.

Eddie just thinks you’re neat. 

He thinks you’re amazing, actually, and it’s hard to remember his fucking lines when you’re standing under a steaming shower, wet body glistening and pebbled nipples practically begging for his mouth.

He’s butchering the script, that’s for sure, but he figures it’s not too bad since nobody’s corrected him. 

The scene starts with you taking a shower and Eddie being a peeping tom, which ultimately leads to Eddie sinking to his knees and licking into you until you’re a quivering, sticky mess on his tongue. Eddie would spend forever on his knees, between your legs, if he could because you taste heavenly and sound better than any song Eddie’s ever listened to, and that says something.

Your fingers thread through the wet strands of Eddie’s hair, and Eddie rapidly blinks when he gazes up at you, only to get an eyeful of his wispy bangs. You smile, petting back his bangs so he can see, and he hums, nudging his face further against you, his tongue teasing more, fingers curling deeper.

It doesn’t take long to make you cum, and the second you do, Eddie is standing up, shutting off the shower, and ushering you out into the expansive main bathroom. It’s almost as if it’s just Eddie and you in the room. No cameras, no directors or producers, or that weird pervy lighting guy that compliments you way too fucking much for Eddie’s liking. It’s just you and Eddie.

“Let’s do an over-the-counter shot next.”

Fuck. It’s not just you two, actually.

What a buzz kill.

Either way, Eddie finds himself pressing your wet, naked waist down against the sink, smiling when you squeal at the cold marble touching your skin. “Stick your ass out, baby, let me see that gorgeous ass.” 

You mewl as you follow Eddie’s instructions, tipping your hips back to present yourself to him and the cameras. You’re dripping. Swollen and wet and throbbing, and Eddie— god, Eddie feels like a fucking animal.

“Got such a pretty pussy, honey. All wet and ready for me, hm?” He teases, gently running his fingers through the sticky arousal between your legs. You shakily breathe as you nod your head, “Yeah. All for you. Please.”

Eddie steps forward, grabbing his cock and painting it between your swollen lips as he hooks his other arm across your shoulders, pulling you back to press against his chest. He presses a wet kiss to the skin of your cheek in front of your ear, voice dry and needy as he whispers in your ear, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” His eyes catch yours in the mirror as you keen. “Ask me to fuck you.”

You whimper out loud, wriggling your hips back into his as your hands grip the counter, “P-please fuck me. Please. Need it so bad, want your cock so bad I— o-oh.”

The slide to home base is fucking otherworldly. It was life-changing the first time, and it’s life-changing now, and if Eddie ever gets the chance to fuck you again, he knows it’ll be life-changing then.

You’re so warm, and you're sucking Eddie’s cock in so nicely, so sinfully, that Eddie almost makes a deal with the devil right then and there. Your chest is heaving by the time Eddie’s pelvis presses to your bum, his cock nestled deep into your pulsing cunt. Eddie leans forward, pressing his chest against your back as he loops an arm around your shoulders, holding you tight to him as he gives one slow thrust. He coos when your eyes flutter shut, and your jaw drops, a shaky hand reaching up to sink your nails into Eddie’s forearm.

“S-so deep,” You slur, wriggling your hips back against Eddie.

Eddie grunts, “Fuck. You feel so good, baby. Always so warm and ready for me, hm?” Eddie’s lips are wet against your jaw as he whispers into your ear, and you nod with a mewl.

Eddie works up the pace relatively fast in favor of the cameras, and at some point, he reaches down to grip the thick of your thigh and haul your leg up to rest on the counter so you’re spread open even more. The angle makes it easier for him to catch your spot, and it’s better for the camera to capture the sight of your soaking pussy wrapped around Eddie’s cock, dribbling onto both of your thighs and creating a sticky ring of arousal at the base of Eddie’s dick.

Eddie’s hand is wrapped around your throat when you begin twitching around him, mumbling promises of your climax, and Eddie doesn’t waste time in sinking his hand between your legs to help you reach the edge quicker. Your moans fall silent, eyes squeezed shut, and jaw dropped wide open as Eddie fucks you through your orgasm— and fuck, you feel so good. Squeezing and pulsing and dripping around Eddie’s thighs, throat vibrating beneath his palm when air comes back to you.

“There we go, baby. Get it all out, push it out, honey.” Eddie encourages you.

You’re shaking, trembling like a leaf in Eddie’s arms, and Eddie wants to spend forever tucked into your pussy, warm skin sticky against him, pretty little whines and mewls coating his brain in this cutesy pink fog that makes him want to fucking marry you.

Get you a home, give you his babies, maybe even get you a fucking dog and just live happily goddamn ever.

Jesus, Eddie’s a goner.

“F-fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

Eddie pulls out last second, jerking himself off between your cute ass cheeks until he’s spurting white ropes of cum up your back.

Eddie, ever the considerate man he is, pushes your hair out of the way to avoid getting any of his sticky release in it. You’re breathing heavily, pretty eyes glazed over as you glance back at Eddie, a shy glint in your eyes at the sight of your skin painted in his cum.

Eddie’s obsessed with you now, no doubt.

His ringed fingers slide through the sticky mess on your skin as he grips your ass cheeks, gently spreading them apart and humming when you arch your back, proudly swaying your ass in front of him. The sight makes Eddie dizzy; pools of cum dripping down your back to slink its way through your ass and over your sticky folds. “You’ve got such a cute little hole, baby.” Eddie compliments, taking his thumb and smearing his cum over the puckered muscle, softly laughing when you whine. 

He lightly slaps your ass then, reaching forward to gently grasp your face with his messy hands and pull you back to press a firm kiss over your lips. His thumb, the one that had smeared his cum over your tight hole, sinks between your moving lips, pushing into your mouth and onto your tongue as he whispers a small command to taste it, and you mewl.

“So good, princess—”

“Cut!”

You both jolt at the booming voice, getting rudely snapped out of the daze you’d fallen into. 

These fucking cameras.

You smile, dropping your cheek onto your shoulder as you bat your eyelashes up at Eddie from over your shoulder, “You’re a natural, Eddie, you know that?”

Eddie huffs a laugh, thanking the assistant when they bring you towels and robes.

“Well,” He breathes as he slinks the robe over his shoulders, watching as you do the same, “I’ve got the best coach.” He winks.

Now that you and Eddie have done two films together and basically had a sleepover, you’re practically inseparable.

It’s funny, really. Eddie thought maybe the fact that you’ve seen each other bare and had sex on camera might hinder the aspect of any friendly connection because, well, Eddie’s never done this before! He’s not a pornstar, so he’s not sure how the friendship/relationship aspect of it works, but luckily, it’s easier than most normal friendships Eddie’s had before.

You talk almost every night over the phone (Eddie finally fixed the wire), going over one another’s day and laughing at embarrassing or funny moments. You go on for hours until either one of you falls asleep, and it’s usually you since Eddie has the sleep schedule of a newborn baby who doesn’t know the difference between night and day. All the better for him, though, because he gets to poke fun at you the next day and tease you about how you sometimes snore.

And Eddie loves listening to you talk— could spend hours cuddled up with Banshee as he listens to you ramble on about whatever new show you’re watching or the latest gossip at work. It’s Eddie’s favorite part of his day, talking to you, so he kicks himself when he realizes he forgot to call you last night.

He’s getting ready for bed when he remembers, and he practically sprints to his phone on his nightstand and dials your number in less than thirty seconds. It takes you three rings to answer, and Eddie smiles at the sound of your voice, “Hello?”

“Hi, princess,” Eddie responds.

You gasp, “Eddie, hi! Oh, I was just about to call you! Where have you been?” You ask. Eddie groans, dropping back onto his mattress with spread arms. “Working. I’m so sorry I forgot to call. I just started a new schedule at the shop, and the hours are awful.”

Eddie can hear your frown when you respond, “Bummer. I’ve got a way to cheer you up, though.”

Eddie’s eyes are closed, and sleep is so heavy in his bones he feels like he’s sinking through the mattress, but he smiles as if it’s second nature when he responds, “Hit me.”

You cheer, and Eddie hears the rustling of grocery bags on your end as you speak, “My manager gave me a shit ton of holiday chocolates she had left over, and well, I was wondering if you’d like to drown yourself in sugar with me?” 

Eddie softly laughs, folding his arm to rest his hand on his tummy as he nods, forgetting you can’t see. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

The drive from your flat to Eddie’s is typically around twenty minutes, but with the benefit of it being nearly midnight and most normal people being in bed by now, you’re knocking on Eddie’s door in just a little under twelve minutes. 

Eddie opens the door to let you in and immediately just wants to kiss you. You’re dressed in an oversized sweatshirt, loose pajama pants with cute little ducks printed on them, and fluffy house slippers. You grin up at Eddie as you lift a bag full of candy, “I come bearing gifts!”

Eddie had been exhausted all day, but now that he’s had two handfuls of sugary treats, he’s ready to run a fucking marathon.

He’s sucking on a sour apple jawbreaker and watching some shitty romcom with Banshee curled in his lap when he feels your head softly drop onto his shoulder. He glances down at you and sees the soft flutter of your eyes, “Are you tired? You can take my bed.” He offers.

You tilt your head to blink up at him tiredly, “Will you come with me?”

And well, Eddie was originally going to take the couch, but you’re looking up at him with these cute, bleary eyes, and Eddie can’t even imagine saying no. So, he shuts his TV off, makes a mental note to clean up the candy wrappers sometime tomorrow, and lets you drag him off to his room.

Banshee decided to take advantage of the new space on the couch and sprawl out, so Eddie doesn’t have to worry about asking if you’re okay with her cuddling up on his bed like she usually does. 

Eddie doesn’t do this very often— sleep with other people in his bed, he means. And sure, he’s had partners before that would stay the night here and there, but he hasn’t had that in over a year now, so it’s safe to say that Eddie’s a little bit nervous.

He doesn’t know if you want to be close, but considering how cuddly you are on a daily basis, he’s not surprised when you press yourself into his side with a content sigh, snuggling deeper into the warm covers. He turns, shifting to wrap his arms around your frame, trying his best to ignore the fast beating of his heart in his chest— but that’s not the main issue. The bigger problem is— “Eddie? Are you hard?”

Shit.

God, this is awful. Nothing even remotely sexual happened, and Eddie’s popping a boner and practically stabbing your stomach. Fuck, you probably think he’s a perv now. Nice going.

“No.”

It falls silent for a moment, and Eddie can feel the quiver of your body as you giggle into his shoulder. He smiles, an embarrassed blush rising over her cheeks as he lifts a hand to palm at his eye, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You turn in Eddie’s arm, pressing a hand to Eddie’s shoulder to lay him on his back. You stay lying by his side, body pressed to him, head resting on his shoulder. You nose at the curly strands of hair on Eddie’s neck, and your hand runs down his torso, fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of his sweats. “O-oh. No, you don’t need to, princess.” Eddie says, yet his voice is shaky and holds anticipation as you drag your nails through the coarse hair leading to his cock. 

“I want to. Please?” You ask. And you’re so good, so obedient, not touching Eddie’s cock until he swallows and nods his head yes. You wriggle, like a happy pup that got a treat, and your hand sinks lower, wrapping around the thick of Eddie’s cock.

Eddie’s breath hitches, sinking into the feeling of your warm hand stroking up his cock, your thumb running over his leaking tip. Eddie curses, hips twitching up into your hold, and you press a kiss to his jaw, and Eddie nearly bursts into stars.

You press another kiss to his jaw, soft and sweet, and Eddie slinks an arm around you, sinking his hands into your hair and shakily breathing. “You keep kissing me like that, and I’m gonna— fuck.”

And it’s so pathetic; you’ve only had your hand down his pants for less than five minutes, and Eddie’s quivering like a virgin having their first time. God, this is so embarrassing.

You kiss Eddie once more, “Wait, wait. Not yet.”

And then you shuffle away from Eddie, and he’s frowning because he feels cold without you snuggled against him. But then you’re sinking underneath the covers, and Eddie’s cursing, “W-what are you doing, honey?”

He lifts the covers just as you wriggle your way between his legs and hook your fingers over the band of his sweats. You peel his sweats away, mouth opening like a hungry lion when Eddie’s cock pops out. You push the front band of his sweats to catch just below his balls, and Eddie’s hips squirm from the pressure making you giggle when his cock twitches.

You loop your fingers around his cock, twisting up on a long stroke, “Did I ever tell you how pretty your cock is, Eddie?”

Jesus Christ.

Eddie breathes shakily through his nose, tummy quivering as your gaze flickers; he shakes his head no. Eddie sinks a hand to pet your hair back, smiling when you nuzzle into his touch, letting your lips brush against his tip, “You think it’s pretty, baby?” He asks.

You nod, letting your tongue loll out of your mouth to catch the pearl of pre-cum dripping from his tip. You don’t say anything else as you lean forward and wrap your mouth around him, languidly taking him as far as you want and sucking him for all he’s worth.

Eddie’s head drops back then, his entire body just losing strength to do anything as you slowly fuck your mouth over him. The blanket falls over you then, and Eddie curses, scrambling to push it back over your head so you don’t, like, suffocate on his cock.

And Eddie was already close before, so it doesn’t take long for him to start cursing and warning you that he’s gonna cum. Before he knows it, he’s emptying himself into the warm cavern of your mouth, soft mixes of curses and your name tumbling from his mouth as you happily take every last drop.

You pull off of him with a small pop, licking up the small remnants of cum that drool down his cock. Eddie feels weightless now; the effects of sugar are long gone now that you practically sucked his soul through his dick. You tuck Eddie back into his pants, and as if you couldn’t get any cuter, any sweeter, you press a gentle kiss to Eddie’s tummy right where the waistband sits.

Eddie’s got a loopy grin on his face when you crawl back up to snuggle back into his side, mumbling something about how you love licking his cock. Eddie nearly dies, by the way.

He thinks he’s in love with you, maybe.

You breathe in deep, draping an arm across Eddie’s tummy and slinking your leg between his, and you sigh all sleepy and cute as you say, “G’night, Eddie.”

Yeah. Eddie’s definitely in love with you.

Weeks go by as you and Eddie become thick as thieves.

You carry on with your nightly calls, obviously, but now there’s a healthy mix of one of you going to the other's home and crashing there for the night, then that bleeds into the next day where you just spend hours with each other doing fuck all.

Eddie just likes being around you. You don’t have to be doing anything particularly fun or sexual; no, Eddie just enjoys your company. And most times, you and Eddie will be doing your separate little activities— you reading or watching a movie while Eddie writes up new campaign ideas for Dustin— and you will reach out to twirl a strand of Eddie’s hair around your knuckle and gently tug or poke your finger into his cheek where his dimples reside and Eddie just melts.

Most of the time, you’re only doing it for your peace of mind (Eddie knows because you told him when he asked), but something tells him maybe you actually have something to say when you poke Eddie’s cheek for the third time.

He turns to you, brows raised and hiding beneath his bangs that so badly need a trim, “Yes, doll?”

You smile now that his attention is on you, and you shift, careful not to wake Banshee in your lap from your movements. Eddie thinks Banshee might like you more than she likes him, which is just downright traitorous, considering Eddie’s the one who feeds her and keeps a roof over her head. He doesn’t really blame the cat, though. 

“What are you doing on Saturday?” You ask.

Eddie hums, closing his notebook and leaning back into his couch, “This Saturday?”

You nod, and Eddie shrugs, lips pouting as he speaks, “Nothing, I’m pretty sure. Why?”

You sigh heavily, sinking into the couch as you gently pet Banshee behind her ear, “We have an event for work, and I was just wondering if you would maybe wanna tag along?”

Eddie’s head tips in interest, “Sure. Is it, like, fancy dress shit?” He asks. Eddie thinks he has a tux somewhere deep in the trenches of his closet. Probably the one he wore to Wayne's wedding two years ago; he hopes he still fits.

You shrug, “Eh, nothing too fancy schmancy. Slacks and a nice shirt will do,” You mindlessly watch the television, gently rubbing Banshee’s ear between your fingers. “That I can do, princess. But uh,” Eddie pauses, “You don’t seem too ecstatic about this.” He points out.

You shrug, glancing over at Eddie, and Eddie wants to kiss your pouty lips because you look adorable swallowed up in a throw blanket with sleepy eyes blinking up at him. “S’cause I’m not,” You huff, “I hate those ignorant assholes— don’t get me wrong, some of them are good friends of mine! But most of them are just…” You make a face and roll your eyes, and Eddie softly laughs. You let your head lazily turn to gaze at him, “Don says I have to go, though. So I figured I may as well drag someone I actually enjoy being around.” You softly smile.

Eddie’s heart flutters and grows three times the size of his body.

Saturday night comes quicker than most, and Eddie spends nearly an hour digging through his closet. By the time Eddie finds a nice enough shirt to pair with his neatly ironed (to Eddie’s standard, which is probably not very high) slacks, he’s running behind and starts to stress that he won’t pick you up on time, and he’s just totally made an ass of himself.

It’s five o’clock when Eddie gets to your flat, and when he knocks on your door, he’s out of breath because he smokes more than a godman grill, and he skipped every other step on the staircase to get there quicker. He’s thinking of a million ways to apologize for being late, and he thinks he has it right when you open the door, but then— “Oh. Hey Eds! You’re early!”

Eddie huffs, nearly doubling over in exhaustion because he seriously needs to quit smoking, “Wha– early?”

You hold the door open for Eddie to step in and nod. You’re in a white fluffy robe with house boots on, and your hair is tied back, so you have a clear canvas to work with for your makeup. “Yeah, it starts at seven.” 

And, oh, what the fuck? Here Eddie was stressing and thinking he’d completely ruined his chances with you because he decided to be an asshat and lose track of time on his video games, but in reality, he’s nearly two hours early?!

“Oh, but now you can help me pick a dress. Come on.”

No, Eddie has zero complaints, actually. He’s grateful that he’s timely challenged, he thinks as you drag him toward your room.

Eddie spends the next thirty minutes or so seated at the foot of your bed, judging whichever dresses you surprise him with from out of your closet.

It isn’t easy to give a solid answer because, well, you look good in all of them. And Eddie’s not even being biased because he’s got a sickening crush on you— no, you genuinely look amazing in every dress.

“Eddie, you’ve said yes to all of them.” You huff. “Because they all look good!” Eddie exclaims.

You frown, resting your hands on your hips and tilting your head at him. Eddie shrugs, “I don’t know why you’re upset with me when it’s technically your fault.” He points out, to which you roll your eyes and jokingly throw a dress at his face.

It takes a while for you to decide; by the time you’ve figured it out, there’s about forty minutes until the event begins.

The dress you landed on is evil, to say the least.

It’s a black puffy babydoll-style dress, except instead of a poofy top half, it’s tight fitting and pushes your chest up to sit nice and pretty, and the straps are thin, and Eddie thinks about the sound you’d make if he just reached out and teasingly snapped it against your skin. Wants to coo when you squirm and mewl and press yourself into him.

And the dress is so short, long enough to cover everything, but you wouldn’t have to bend over very far to flash a lucky person, and the sight of your thighs makes Eddie’s head spin.

He doesn’t know where the courage comes from because Eddie is anything but bold when it comes to people he has ridiculous crushes on, but Eddie couldn’t help himself, watching you bent over the sink as you do your last touch-ups to your makeup, the way your silky thighs rub against one another when you shift to get closer to the mirror— Eddie didn’t stand a chance.

He’s behind you before he knows it, and you’re smiling at him through the mirror, “Almost done, promise.” You say.

Eddie lets his hand slink around your waist, dropping his head to nuzzle into your neck, brown eyes fluttering up to hold your gaze through the glass as he kisses your skin before playfully nipping at you. You squeal, curling away from him, and he smiles as you push at him. “You’re cute,” Eddie softly says, and he grins, teeth digging into his bottom lip when you shy away from his gaze, “So pretty.” He adds.

Eddie turns you to face him as he presses you against the bathroom sink. He seeks your lips, but you pout and shake your head, “My lipgloss.” 

Eddie huffs out a laugh, shaking his head before pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, careful not to catch any of the sticky application before sinking to his knees, hands gentle and greedy as they caress your thighs.

Eddie leans forward to kiss the inside of your knee, “Gonna let me taste you, honey?” He hums, leaning in the press a kiss further up the inside of your thigh. Your breath hitches, legs subconsciously spreading wider to accommodate Eddie. Your nails dig into the countertop as you shakily breathe, “W-we’re gonna be late,” You weakly say as Eddie lets his tongue draw shapes in your skin. Eddie hums, sucking the fat of your thigh into his mouth before leaving with a pop, lips brushing against your hot skin as he says, “I’ll be quick. Promise.”

He doesn’t wait for your response as he coasts his hands up your thighs to loop his fingers around the band of your panties, dragging them down your legs and helping you step out of them. 

Eddie doesn’t waste time then; he kisses a sloppy wet trail up the inside of your thigh, fingers digging into the fat of your skin and helping you spread open for him so he can nuzzle his head beneath the fluffy tulle of your dress and begin his task of devouring you. You’re wet, dripping, and throbbing for Eddie’s tongue, and this is the third time that Eddie has found himself licking into you, and god, it never gets fucking old.

The sounds you make, the way you writhe, the tiny gasps you give, and then the way your cunt pulses around his tongue— it’s the pinnacle of Eddie’s night, he already knows. 

“E-Eddie— oh,” Your breathy whine makes Eddie stuff his face further into your pussy, nose brushing against your clit as he thrusts his tongue into you, your hands scrambling down to sink into Eddie’s hair and tug.

And it took Eddie longer than he’d like to admit to get his hair slicked into the neat bun he’s sporting, but with his tongue plunged deep inside of you and your pretty moans filling his ears, Eddie can’t seem to care that you’re definitely messing up his hard work.

Eddie could spend eternity here, down on his knees, under the dress of your skirt, lapping at your pussy like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. And sure, Eddie makes this conclusion, like, every single time he finds himself between your legs, but can you blame him? You’re the sweetest thing he’s ever had the pleasure of dealing with.

You lift a leg to hook over Eddie’s shoulder, the heel of your foot pressing into his shoulder blade and pushing a moan from the depths of Eddie’s chest as he snuggles deeper into you, licking and sucking and nipping. 

“S-so close…” You whimper, thighs beginning to quiver on each side of Eddie’s head. He fixes his grip on your hips because Eddie wouldn’t dream of letting you fall in his presence, and you’re standing on your tiptoes when you fumble over the edge, crying out for Eddie as you soak his tongue.

Eddie’s moaning into you, fingers massaging and caressing the thick parts of your hips and thighs as he continues working you through your orgasm. You’re twitching and heavily breathing when Eddie parts his mouth from your slick folds, strings of arousal and spit snapping and falling to his chin. God, it makes Eddie ache in his pants.

He presses sweet and sticky kisses to the insides of your thighs, savoring every moment he has here, breathing you in, tasting you, feeling you, hearing you. He doesn’t doubt for a moment that he looks like a madman when he brings his head out from under your dress, and you giggle, pressing your hand to your lips.

Eddie wants to hear that noise on repeat. Put his headphones on and, like, clean his house or something. Let your giggles play on a constant loop until they’re engrained into the grooves of his brain so he never has to go a second without hearing them.

“What?” Eddie smiles, hands still under your dress and soothingly squeezing the shaky muscles of your thighs. Your eyes are glazed from pleasure, and you look warm as you speak, “I– your hair,” You laugh. You press the wispy curls of Eddie’s bangs back, “I’m so sorry. It looked so nice, and I messed it up.” You happily frown.

Eddie huffs out a laugh, pressing a kiss to your knee and shaking his head, “That’s okay,” He responds, reaching over for your panties to help you slip them back on. “It was for a good cause.” He winks.

Eddie doesn’t frequent fancy parties.

The fanciest event Eddie’s ever been to was a masquerade-themed dinner that he and Jeff snuck into because there were rumors of a big hit producer being there, which, big fucking shocker, they never found him since everyone was in a fucking mask. It was a waste of time, but at least they ate like kings that night.

Besides that, Eddie doesn’t go to fancy places— it’s just not his kind of scene. And it’s not like the event you’ve brought him to tonight is, like, Buckingham Palace tier, but everyone here looks like a million bucks and up, and Eddie’s not quite sure he’s up to that standard.

He would be more worried if you weren’t clinging to him like a koala bear and keeping him in light conversation.

You introduced Eddie to a few of your industry friends, and one or two of them even remembered Eddie from the films he’d done with you, which, Eddie doesn’t know why, but his head grew three times bigger in size from that. And for the most part, you keep to Eddie’s side, pointing out different people from across the room and telling him the lore behind them and whatnot as you share a plate of snacks.

And you love grapes, apparently, because Eddie’s had to get up and refill on them about three times now. “Do you want more?” Eddie asks when he realizes you’re almost done. You glance at him with a small smile as you nod, “I’ll get it this time, though. I want to try some of the cheese.”

So, Eddie nods and keeps an eye on you until the crowd obstructs his view. He busies himself with watching the room, tries to see if he can pick out anyone from any pornos he’s watched before he realizes that’s fucking weird and cringes at himself for being a perv. He finishes his glass of champagne, which Eddie isn’t a champagne guy, but it was either that or whiskey, and Eddie would rather not get shitfaced tonight.

And what’s taking you so long? You’ve been gone for a while now, and Eddie had first thought you maybe made a quick stop at the restrooms, but it’s been more than enough time, and he misses you (as fucking sappy as that is), so he gets up and makes his way to the food bar.

He’s got his empty flute in one hand and the other in his pocket, brown eyes softly scanning the room as he walks. And then he spots you, near the food where you said you’d be, with some guy talking to you, but something isn’t right. 

Eddie’s spent enough time with you now to be able to tell when you’re feeling uneasy just by the way you anxiously drag your nail against the length of your thumb, the way your eyes dart around, or the tense pull of your shoulders.

Your gaze lands on Eddie, and your eyes soften, and Eddie doesn’t even have to think twice before he walks over.

The man's back is facing Eddie, so he doesn’t see the curly-headed boy until he steps around and slinks an arm around your waist, pulling you close with a soft smile, “Been looking for you, sweets.” He presses a kiss to your forehead as you sink into him.

“Mm, just catching up with..a friend.” 

Eddie doesn’t miss the pause. He looks over to the man you’d been talking to, and you take a breath, “Eddie, this is Chris, a coworker.” You introduce the man. And Eddie remembers that name; he thinks he remembers seeing it on the script of the last film you and Eddie did together— the one where you’d asked Eddie to take over because the other guy was an asshole.

Chris reaches out a hand, “Chris. You must be a good friend of hers?”

Eddie doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like that he doesn’t refer to you by your name, or the smug grin on his face, or the sly tone in his voice when he says it. 

And Eddie doesn’t know why he does it, okay. He doesn’t know why the words fly out of his mouth or why he didn’t, like, think it through, but suddenly, Eddie’s introducing himself as your boyfriend. Which, Eddie is not your boyfriend. And you’re not his girlfriend.

Eddie would love to be your boyfriend, and he’d love for you to be his girlfriend, but— but you’re not. So, Eddie doesn’t know why he does it, but he does, and god, it’s comedic how the guy's face falls. Eddie can feel your gaze on him, and he panics a little because what if Eddie just crossed the line big time?

Chris’s gaze flickers to you, and his brows raise as you look at him, “So, I take it this is why you’re only doing solo content now?”

Which, fucking gross. That’s definitely none of this meathead guy's business! So what if you’re making solo content only? And why does he know, and why does he care? God, this guy’s a creep.

But also… why are you only doing solo content? Eddie can’t help but wonder. Did something happen? Was it this asshole's fault? Eddie will kill him if he has anything to do with it. You and Eddie have become so close; you tell each other everything about everything, so why didn’t you tell him about this? It’s not a big deal or whatever, but—

“Does it matter?” Shit, Eddie didn’t mean to say that out loud.

You’re both looking at Eddie in shock, and Eddie just blinks and waits for an answer.

You take in a deep breath, arm squeezing around Eddie’s as you answer— since this guy can’t take a fucking hint, “Yeah, actually, it is. Just didn’t feel right.” You shrug.

The guy nods, pursing his lips together, “Fair enough. Well, if that ever changes, you know where to find me.” He winks before turning around and leaving. Eddie cringes, and he almost steps forward to say something, to tell him to fuck off somewhere, but your grip tightens around his arms, and Eddie understands that you just want the conversation to be over.

Eddie’s quickly turning his attention to you, though, when you press yourself into his side, “Thank you.” You sweetly say.

Eddie nods, a warm hand reaching up to squeeze your hand that's resting over his bicep, “Don’t sweat it, princess. That guy’s a douche.” And you huff, nodding your head, “Yeah. You definitely scared him, though. It was pretty hot.”

Eddie tries not to let that get to his head. 

He fails.

The rest of the night goes well with fewer dickhead run-ins and more grapes, and Eddie is more than Elated when you say it’s time to go.

The ride home is pleasant, and you’ve been extra cuddly all night, so Eddie’s heart is practically the size of Texas when you bring his hand into your lap and slink your fingers together. You’re spending the night, so Eddie’s kind of excited to get in bed and snuggle until you both pass out— but then Eddie’s thrown in for a loop when you both get under his covers.

Banshee is busy in her bakery down at the foot of the bed, kneading little biscuits in preparation for her sleep, and you’re fresh-faced and wrapped in one of Eddie’s shirts when you look over at him with a teasing look, “So,” you start, “You’re my boyfriend.”

Eddie blinks at you, wishing the bed would just let him sink in and become one with the mattress. “Oh god,” He groans, pressing his hands to his face, “I’m sorry, it just came out! That guy was being a dick, and it was the first thing that I thought of, and— god, I’m sorry.” He drags his hands over his face and shoots you an empathetic look. “You can totally, like, kick me in the nuts.”

And Eddie kind of braces himself for you to chew him out or something; tell him he’s a weirdo, and he’ll never in a million years get to call himself your boyfriend because you’re way out of his league. But then you giggle. 

And it’s not the teasing ‘get a load of this loser’ giggle— no, it’s your sweet, kind, and adoring giggle.

“No, no. I was… I was wondering when you would ask, actually.”

Eddie’s never turned his head so fast. He thinks he imagined you saying it, like, maybe he drank too much champagne even though he literally only had less than two full glasses the entire night. “Huh? I– w-what do you mean?” Eddie gapes. “Like… like, ask you to be my girlfriend?”

And you’re so cute as you shyly nod, glancing at Eddie with this expectant gaze.

“Shit, well uh, I-I wanted to ask you in like a bigger way. Like flowers and shit because I… well, I really like you, and it’s what you deserve and—”

You cut Eddie off with a laugh and scoot closer to him, and if Eddie’s heart beats any faster, he might die. “Eddie,” You lowly and softly say, holding his gaze. Eddie nods, eyes darting down to your lips as he holds his breath. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

Shit, Eddie’s never said yes so quickly in his life.

————

a/n: HELLOOO! if you have made it to the end of this awfully long baby i am so thankful and appreciative of you, these two are my babies so I hope you enjoyed them as much as I've enjoyed my time with them <3 as always, thank u for reading and being here, i love and appreciate any feedback, ILYSM MWAH <3

————

cutie teeny taglist: @vol2eddie @paleidiot @hideoutside

[salem-s]

CONFESSIONS UNDER SHEETS THAT SMELL OF YOU ── RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT

── SYNOPSIS you’re drunk. Rafe’s drunk. after spending the entire night stealing glances across the room whilst the other isn’t looking, it’s time to go to bed. and you simply can’t say no when he, your best friend, asks you to stay the night. ── WARNINGS language, fluff, suggestive content but no actual smut. ── WORD COUNT 5.2k. ── NOTES hope you enjoy. another jock!rafe au bc i can. ── SONG OF THE CHAPTER goodnight n go by ariana grande

Rafe's tongue burns once again after a tequila shot, his fifth? Eighth? He's lost count.

But who cares? Certainly not him.

All that matters is that he's finally letting loose, having fun, forgetting his troubles for just one night so he can spend quality time with his friends.

Well, all of his friends plus you.

(His favorite person, no doubt.)

Granted, he's been trying to go up to you all night and sling his signature arm over your shoulder as normal, but he tends to be the life of the party on every occasion and alcohol seems to make him a social butterfly.

Rafe's the guy all the girls want to linger on, who latch a talon around his bicep and make their indented mark on his smooth skin. He's the guy that's always down for a round of shots, or the guy who's eager to participate in drinking games (and the guy who wins them all, for some reason that the other people cannot fathom, especially you, who refuses to play against him in beer pong anymore after you kept betting away your Saturdays to accompany him for whatever event he wanted you at that day).

Sure, each drink he consumes piles onto his list of problems he's going to have to deal with tomorrow, but the wavy feel of the rhythmic bass, the moody lights hovering over him and sweaty bodies cheering and singing quite poorly, Rafe can't help but say fuck it and keep going. 

Life at university has been quite the trip for him. Luckily, all of his friends managed to snag a spot at the same college, all majoring in separate topics and studying concepts that run circles in his head, but he could care less about how much he understands their fields of study and rather focuses on the fact that all of them are here. With him.

Especially you.

Because if you had gone somewhere far?

Well, Rafe would've had to follow you. Just to keep a close eye on you. 

So, with his closest people by his side, every night is a goddamned trip. Especially whenever they all congregate in his apartment almost all the time, which seems to be the ultimate magnet for parties. Not that he or his roommate, John B, mind that much. 

With a drink in hand, Rafe roams the confinements of his living room, making small talk with his basketball friends, with girls eyeing him from across the room, hoping to be the one who ends up with him at the end of the night.

Yet, contrary to popular belief, Rafe isn't into hookups that much anymore.

Hookups with anybody that aren't you, that is. 

You. The pretty girl with cherry chapstick stained lips who's smiling so bright at something Kiara said in the kitchen, a sight he wishes he was close enough to really see. But it's a smile that makes Rafe fall in love with you all over again, the kind of smile that's reserved for your close friends only, (and a smile that often comes out when you're piss drunk, because despite the reserved and mysterious persona you put on is nearly a facade for your incredible sarcasm and sense of humor, and frequent blithe personality).

Rafe doesn't understand how he didn't fall for you sooner, especially when you dress straight out of one of his dreams.

You. You. You.

You who could genuinely wear anything and it would have him utterly speechless regardless. You who love to peer up at him with those doting eyes of yours whenever you're trying to get something from him, whether it be another coffee or the mug on the top shelf or to binge another show he could care less about but will indulge in as long as he can make you happy. You who are the only thing on his mind nearly all the time, easing in and out of his consciousness like a fog he can see and feel but can't quite catch.

There's nothing to prohibit his feelings. He's tried so damn hard to forget you, to try and ignore the pull you have on him without even realizing, to accept the fact that you'll only ever be friends.

Even when you always find each other by the end of the night after stealing glances through the kaleidoscope of fog the party lights provide. Even when your hand slips into his as if it's molded to fit. Even when his heart thumps exceptionally loud whenever you're near, or when he smells your signature perfume before he even sees you.

Even when he's been wondering what it'd be like to be yours for years upon end.

Rafe pines from across the room, blinking out of his trance to see which girl wants a selfie with him this time.

Being a star basketball player and all has it's perks (who's he kidding? He's on the club team, but he likes to think he's a celebrity at times). He grins widely in his well known charming-persona, and knows to expect his face over a few Snapchat stories that he'll find in the morning (or afternoon, given how much more he drinks from here on out). 

All these girls pining over him and the only person he wants is uninterested. Truly a shame. Rafe-0, Universe-a million and counting.

Though he lets it slide because having you as a friend is better than having you as nothing.

He values your relationship for what it is and it would hurt like hell if Rafe somehow managed to ruin that. Knowing his abysmal track record of infinite fuck ups, he wouldn't be surprised if he ended up doing something to jeopardize you.

Despite being a relatively smart person, Rafe can be pretty dumb when it comes to other people's feelings. He's the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, and he's never had a problem with confronting people about his feelings (i.e. letting girls down easy, standing up to his father when he lashes out at his sisters, that sort of thing), but for some reason he bites his tongue when it comes to you. 

Who cares about Rafe's sulky feelings when there's a party to host?

He shakes his head at himself, getting back into the zone of the room and taking a generous swig from his solo cup, the liquor burning his throat and coating his eyes with water, and nonetheless he grins and shouts to the music.

Rafe spares another glance at you, taking in all your pretty before downing the rest of his drink.

You watch Rafe from across the room, thanking the higher beings that Kiara's gotten drunk enough to not see straight, so she can't relentlessly bully you into oblivion. 

The two of you are in the kitchen along with a few other classmates who make pretty good small talk that even you join in, surprising people that you're actually pretty friendly behind the stoic expression you normally wear around strangers. You manage to laugh and tell a few anecdotes and let people see slivers of the real you, although you can't help that your gaze flickers to the six foot something life of the party who lingers on the opposite corner of the apartment.

His smile is so fucking pretty that it hurts to not be on the receiving end of it.

You really try to pay attention to your friend's story. By the way the rest of the group is laughing, you're sure it's comical enough to be worth listening to.

But the only consistent thing in the back of your mind is Rafe in that fucking black t-shirt with his hair falling over his forehead in messy nonchalance, contrasting his normal pristine look. 

You force yourself to look away.

You also decide that whatever is in your drink needs to be stronger, because the sight of Rafe taking selfies with girls and genuinely enjoying it just sets a fiery pit in your stomach, which you know is abhorrently irrational given that:

A. You aren't even dating, for starters.

B. Rafe's friendliness never dies down, even if it's to people he doesn't know all that well.

Annoyingly, you can't blame him for paying attention to girls and giving them the time of day. Rafe deserves the attention. He does, truly. You just wish some of that attention could be for you, and only you. 

Oh well, you think pitifully. It'll never happen so might as well drink even more than planned. 

It seems that whenever Rafe's looking at you, you're not paying attention.

And when you're looking at Rafe, Rafe is off talking or doing something else. 

Sarah's nearly going to kick everyone out, push you two in a room and lock you in.

This absurdity has been going on for years and it's honestly exhausting watching you dance around each other so timidly. Everyone in the group knows it, hell, everyone in the goddamned world knows it, except for the two of you.

If stupid and oblivious were people, it would be you and Rafe, rightfully so. 

For Christ sake, the two of you fall asleep next to each other every single movie night, heads leaning on the other, and other times it'll be your head on Rafe's lap or vice versa. Sarah can't count how many times you've ended up with limbs entangled on numerous couches, chairs meant for one person, or even once a beanbag.

You sometimes walk into the apartment just to take a nap in Rafe's bed, regardless if he's home or not, and if Rafe is home he just lets it happen. Sometimes he joins you.

Most nights, Rafe and you will spontaneously leave in the middle of the night to take a stroll around campus or get 24 hour cookies from the bakery on the other side of campus. You stay up late in Rafe's room watching WWE Smackdown every Monday night while eating popcorn and commentating like you're literally twelve years old. Sometimes you reenact fight sequences that almost always end up with you pinned to the ground.

One time Rafe planned a whole day to take you to the museum and dinner after you mentioned you wanted to see a specific piece of art once. You bought 37 packages of beef jerky for Rafe after he talked about a crave for it once. 

As if it means nothing.

Like Sarah says: Idiots. 

With John B's arm hanging over her shoulder, she darts her gaze between the two of you standing at opposite sides of the apartment, noticing Rafe's warm gaze on you that immediately gets interrupted by someone wanting to talk to him, and then cue you sneaking a glance at him with almost pitiful eyes.

She rolls hers, knowing your pining is based on hidden feelings while Rafe's is based on uncertainty. Sarah genuinely wants to smack both of you silly. You're so goddamned stupid.

"So do you think tonight's the night?" says John B quite loudly even though the music's too blaring for anyone to hear. Her ear tickles from his hot breath. 

Sarah sighs, watching her brother talk to his basketball friends. "I fucking hope so. Twenty bucks it happens tonight."

John B scoffs playfully. "I doubt that's gonna happen. You're on."

Rafe is almost upset that he's such a heavy weight because it takes drink after drink after drink for him to feel buzzed. It's a blessing and a curse at the same time.

It's a blessing for times when he wants to have fun and remember the night, or when he has serious shit to do the next day but still wants to get drunk. Sometimes he likes to sugar coat it so you'll tend to him in the mornings, although you've always been the one person to always see through his bullshit and call him out.

(You still dote on him, anyway.)

It's a curse for times where Rafe's in his feels and just wants to be drunk enough for forget his own name. Or your name, since you're the pinnacle for his mopey personality.

Tonight, he's grateful for being a heavy weight, especially since he has to write an important paper tomorrow. The fact that he's already heavily buzzed which means he's on the right track. 

After two in the morning people gradually weed themselves out of the apartment. Of course, the core group pledges to stay behind and emotionally support Rafe and John B tomorrow morning when they elect themselves to clean up the mess they made the night before. You usually end up making breakfast while everyone is scrubbing counters or cleaning sticky alcohol off the floor. One time, the group let JJ attempt the cooking and the house smelt like burnt toast for days, so now it’s solely you who take the reins in the kitchen.

It’s typical for everyone to crash at John B and Rafe’s apartment after a hangout, so it’s nothing out of the ordinary when Kiara or you or JJ crash in Rafe's room, sometimes all four of you are squished in his queen bed. It's a tight squeeze but comfortable, nonetheless. 

Soon enough, it's just the core group with the exception of a hand full of friends on the couch, and it's finally become that time of night where the upbeat EDM is replaced with something softer, slower, more intimate that’s reserved just for them. Kiara's passed out on the carpet while Pope props her on her side to make sure she doesn't throw up (if she ever were to, Kie's held the record for longest amount of time without puking). Cleo and JJ have been drunkenly debating the semantics of Hobbit feet for the past hour. John B and Sarah are snuggled on the couch, the girl forcing her boyfriend to massage the knots in her shoulders.

However, the only two people not in the huddle of friends in the living room are you and Rafe, leaning a little too closely together against the counter, watching the scene in front of you with lingering smiles.

You're slightly swaying, humming to the song while Rafe just dreamily stares at your friends, and then drops his head on your shoulder while he gazes. 

"I missed you tonight, Snaps," Rafe murmurs softly, compassionately, genuinely heart felt.

Despite the lurch in your heart at the nickname he's been using for years (you choke on a ginger snap one time), you manage a small laugh. "I've been here the whole time?"

He doesn't take that for an answer. "Didn't talk to you, though."

"Talking to you now, actually."

All Rafe does is hum in response, feeling warm in his embrace and caged in but in the best way. His cologne has probably imprinted on your scent at this point, given how your life always seems to smell like him, even when he's not around.

There's a moment where you think he's going to say something else, something deeper, based on the way his breath evens and how his hand that has been tracing the fabric of the end of your shirt slows down, as if in calculation.

Your breath hitches.

But he lets out a drunken laugh. "Re-remember when Sarah tripped in the parking lot yesterday and-and-and John B's drink went flying because he screamed so loud?"

You match his drunken laugh, shoulders slightly bouncing from it to mask the thumping of your heart. "And then we nearly pissed ourselves laughing while Kie complained she couldn't picture it herself because she wasn't looking."

As if it's second nature, you find his hand and trace your fingertips over his calloused knuckles, mapping the ridges and grooves you've grown to memorize. At this point, you could create a constellation map based on the markings on his body alone.

Rafe snorts, taking the last swig of his drink before throwing it over his shoulder, the cup landed hazardously in the trash-warzone of a kitchen.

"That was a good day, Snaps. Good...good day."

Rafe's lean is a little too strong to the point where you have to steady yourself just to keep the both of you upright, your hands stabilizing him on his chest and lower back. You take this as the normal cue that he's ready to start getting ready for bed, or else he goes on a drinking rampage until dawn or goes missing.

(That happened once and it wasn't very fun for anyone, except for Rafe who had the time of his life at the 24 hour karaoke machine at Jimmy's down the road). 

"Alright, Rafe," you say with a knowing smile, "you're done for the night." And before he can whine and protest, you add, "You have your engineering paper tomorrow and it's Jen's birthday, so you can't be too hungover or missing."

Rafe slumps in your grasp, gutting his lower lip to emphasize his reluctance even though his eyelids are all of a sudden growing heavier and heavier-

"Fine. But you have to come with me."

"That was the plan."

You shoot Sarah a look, gesturing to her brother (who's nearly asleep and limp in your grasp) and she nods back at you, but not without a wink and a thumbs up from John B.

Thank god it's dark in the room or else you'd never hear the end of the heat that you feel rising to your face, no doubt flushing your features.

Despite your hot cheeks and slightly fogged vision, you lead Rafe to his room, the last door on the left at the end of the hallway.

His room has scattered clothes and school supplies (???) all over the floor and you feel like Indiana Jones trying to avoid them as if they're boobie traps. You don't have time to admire the movie and TV show posters coating Rafe's walls, especially the wall of photos of the people who are important to him.

You always felt flattered that your picture is up there more than once. More than that, maybe try almost all of them. But you're just friends.

Good friends.

You gently let Rafe down on the bed and his bleary eyes nearly make you melt on the spot, and it takes a lot of self restraint to not kiss him right then and there. His blue eyes are dull and dilated when he looks up at you, but also warm and inviting. It doesn't help that his grin is sleepy and charming at the same time, or that he's waiting for you to curl up right next to him in your designated spot. 

You slip off Rafe’s sneakers and socks before stripping your own shoes, socks, and jeans (not before snagging a pair of his boxers) before turning on his LED lights, the automatic setting set to the color red.

Great.

You ignore the mood behind the color and climb over Rafe to get in your designated spot, making sure there's nothing under the sheets like his laptop or a chicken wing (which you found once, and nearly yelled his ear off about how disgusting it was. Rafe, who was drunk, ended up crying and you had no choice but to hug him and tell him it was okay, even though it was really gross). 

Settling into your spot on the bed, it feels more spacious without Kiara or JJ squeezing in next to you, resulting in you and Rafe being smushed together almost every time, not that either of you essentially minded.

But now there's more room and it feels almost empty without so many people in it.

Oh, how you wish Rafe would move closer to you, perhaps lay his head on your chest or-

Rafe says your name quietly, eyes trained on the ceiling.

"Rafe."

"I have a question for you," he slurs.

Your heart skips a beat, but nonetheless respond quietly with an: "Okay."

Rafe turns to face you and you now realize that the bed isn't that spacious after all, and your faces are mere inches away from each other. His blue eyes look grey in the red light and the shadow casted upon his face nearly sends electricity through your veins, but perhaps that's just the alcohol buzzing through you or the few hits of a joint you had earlier. Either way, you don’t want to admit that you’re feeling so anxious because of six stupid words that can lead to anything.

What if he asks you about your feelings? What would you say, and what is Rafe going to remember the next morning? Just so many uncertainties with-

"Do you think Mongo has feelings?"

Wh- Mongo? John B’s cat?

You nearly burst out laughing right in his face, but take note of the serious undertones of his gaze, blue eyes slightly etched in something teetering before curiosity and worry, as if this question is the deciding factor of his mood for the rest of the night — or morning, that is.

Furrowing your brow, you can’t help but answer with a slanted smile.

"I think he does. I mean, he gets happy when you pet him and sad when you don't feel him at exactly five in the afternoon," you explain, voice hoarse from all the singing and yelling.

Listening to yourself in such a quieter environment is almost shocking, even though you can feel the vibrations of the music from down the hall.

Despite your inner turmoil, Rafe almost looks relieved, sighing. "Oh good. I was worrying about that."

“For how long?”

“Like, three hours,” he answers quietly, intently. “At least. It was really bothering me.”

Now you can’t help but laugh.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ask, refraining from brushing away the hair on his forehead. “You could’ve saved yourself all the anxiety if you just asked.”

Rafe only shrugs as much as his horizontal position will allow him, his gaze returning to the ceiling in sudden seriousness.

“I have a lot of things I wanna ask but can’t.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, how casually they roll off his tongue as if they don’t carry such a tumultuous backbone to it.

He’s drunk, you think.

And you are too. Nothing can be taken to heart right now.

You push the implications down and manage a small smile. “Well, it’s funny you say that because I’m the all-knowing higher god trapped in a woman’s body for the next, er, ten minutes.”

Rafe lulls his head to the side to look at you, a smirk ghosting his lips. “Only ten minutes?”

“Yeah, so ask away.”

And then he pauses. "So, twenty questions, you and me?”

"I thought it was twenty one questions?"

"What? I mean, if you want to know more about my life, Snaps, then you should've just said so. No shame in wanting to know all about the Rafe Cameron experience."

"Okay, I’m taking it all back."

Rafe laughs drunkenly and you drunkenly grin. The soft R&B echos through the hallway and causes a low bass thrum in your eardrum. Yet all you can really focus on is him.

"Okay, okay," he says, adjusting himself so he can fully face you, hiccuping twice. "You start."

“Wh— I’m the all-knowing one here. You’re supposed to be the one asking the questions.”

“Well, what if I want a higher being trapped in my body, too?”

With an eye roll, you decide to indulge and mimic his movements, facing him the exact same way, wondering if the heat in your cheeks is from your close proximity or the alcohol buzzing through your body.

You want to believe the latter but it's utterly obvious that that's not the case. You can't help it - Rafe’s hot, especially when he looks like this: dazed and unguarded and almost in love.

"Alright," you start, "uh, would you rather live only in the sky or only in the ocean?"

"Yes. Are you into anyone?"

Your eyes widen and so do Rafe’s, you both not really expecting those words to come out just like that, so blatantly.

He places a hand over his mouth to suppress his nervous laughter or more drunken words that'll get him in more trouble, while you stupidly blink back at him, hoping both your inebriated natures will be able to mask the truth in the morning.

Fuck it, you’re both going to lose memory of the night anyway, so why not add fuel to the fire? You aren’t very logical, but you’ve got the spirit. 

"Just one guy, in particular," you respond slowly, watching his unchanging expression. 

Rafe removes his hand from his mouth and curses. "It's that tool from your chemistry lab, isn't it?”

Wh—?

You go to respond, to dispute that obscene theory, but he continues.

“I mean, I don't blame you, the guy's hot, but he won't shave that godforsaken-"

Blinking stupidly at him, all you can do is tune out his conjectures and stare at him as if he suddenly started speaking a different language. Does he really have no idea? No postulate? Are you really that subtle in the way you love on him?

"-Not that it should matter, but I guess it makes sense that-"

You roll your eyes at his rambling and don’t think twice before pushing yourself forward and pressing his lips to his.

It immediately halts his words and stupid conspiracies, and after a moment of holy shit is this happening, Rafe finally understands and kisses you back, a little hesitantly, but still passionate. 

But the kiss comes and goes when you pull away and slowly open your eyes to see a very, very shocked and confused Rafe Cameron ogling back at you as if you've grown three heads.

Can't take it back now, you think.

"I'll understand if you don't feel the same way, and I won't mention it ever again and we can go back to normal," you assure with a small smile even though every bit of you is shattering inside. "But I just... I had to."

You start to think about what therapy ice cream to purchase this time, and how much to indulge yourself in to pretend to get rid of the crippling depression of getting rejected by the guy you've been pining over for several years now. Based on the befuddled look on his face that hasn't gone away, he's either trying to come up with how to let you down gently or still computing the past minute of his life.

All he does is blink, darting his gaze between your eyes and back down to your slightly puffed lips, offering no words or confirmation after your declaration.

Thank god for tequila so you can blame your lack of inhibitions in the morning when this blows up.

"Say something," you urge quietly.

Eventually, after another agonizing moment, he does.

"Wait," says Rafe, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion and looking like someone just told him the most complicated math equation to exist, "you like me?"

You roll your eyes. "You're so fucking stupid, Rafe."

"I'm the guy you're into?"

"Yes."

Rafe immediately brightens, grinning so wide that his cheeks make those dimples that you love and so wide until it physically hurts for him to stretch even further. Despite the lighting, he feels a massive blush coating his cheeks and a warmth in his heart that is reserved for the pretty girl laying right here with him. 

"Holy shit," he exhales breathlessly. "This is the best day of my life."

You roll your eyes at how he states that like it's a fucking fact.

"Oh, shut up."

"No, I'm not kidding." Rafe can't stop grinning. "Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for this?"

Your stomach flips at the thought of him wanting you, too. Too. Mutual.

"You have?" Your voice is smaller than you would like, tentative, unsure if he's just saying this to indulge you or if he's actually telling the truth.

But Rafe gives you no indication that he's messing around, instead peering at you with such certainty that it makes your head spin.

"I have since freshman year. I thought everyone knew that."

Your mouth drops. "Wh- You- I didn't know that. You mean this could've been done sooner?"

Rafe contemplates that for a moment, understanding that he could've been with you much much much earlier than right now, but then shrugs, concluding that it's important you found each other in the end despite all those years of what felt like useless pining. He likes to think everything happens for a reason, and maybe all this time has just been a sign to further progress your feelings. 

"It's being done now," he murmurs, bringing his hand to your soft cheek and gently soothing your cheekbone, "that's what matters."

This time, Rafe's the one who leans in to kiss you, a soft and reassuring kiss that doesn't last very long but still means so much to you.

Your hand meets Rafe's warm skin, pulling his waist just slightly closer to yourself (to which he reciprocates). He pulls away because he can't stop grinning into your lips, which doesn't really help when he's trying to kiss you, still not over the fact that you literally confessed and made the first move after Rafe had been so adamant that you weren't into him like that.

"So, are you my girlfriend now or what?" he asks quietly, breath fanning over yours.

You tilt your head to the side as if Rafe just said something absolutely ludicrous. "Uhm, maybe —stop grinning — take me out to dinner first and we'll see about that."

"Baby, I'll get you anything in the world if I get to call you mine."

The saccharine words automatically make your eyes roll, a teasing smile hinting your lips at you pull back, watching him lean forward to essentially chase them.

You almost laugh at the way he nearly pouts, but it dies in your throat when you feel his hand smoothing over the cool skin of your waist and eventually snaking over the bare skin of your spine. You're no stranger to his touches, but now it implies a deeper meaning, a possessive one, that has you nearly losing your breath.

He's so close. You can make out the beauty marks on his skin and the faint scar on his lip from when he busted it as a kid. His eyes never leave yours, shamelessly staring and taking in your features as if he hasn't done it a thousand times before.

It feels like eons before Rafe moves, leaning in slowly to test out the waters and see if you'll tease and pull back again. But you don't. You lie still, ready for him and blinking at him with your doting eyes, and he doesn't waste another second before he's kissing you once more, pulling you impossibly taut to his body as if it was molded to be there.

Your hands brace themselves on his toned chest, gingerly feeling the ridges and grooves of his body as you'd feel the topography of a map, nearly sighing into his mouth when his other hand comes up to cradle your jaw.

In an instant, his lips move to your neck and one of your hands nestles in his hair, stomach flipping at the sensation of him sucking and kissing the soft skin, no doubt hard enough to leave a mark. Not that you really mind, anyway.

You let out a quiet sigh and Rafe groans against your neck.

"You can't- Don't make that noise."

You snort.

He hums. "Yeah, that one's fine. Make that one."

"Rafe."

He continues sucking and peppering kisses on your skin, offering another low hum of nonchalance, as if he has all the time in the world to be right here, to do what he's doing, to be unbridled to your beck and call.

And you stay like that for a while.

After a few more kisses and conversations of disbelief about how this hasn't been done sooner, Rafe passes out in your arms, sleeping soundly and deeply with a permanent hint of a smile ghosting his (swollen) lips. His arm is tightly wound across your stomach with his head on your chest, the lull of your heart beat dragging him to sleep. 

You hold him more tightly than other nights, because you did it, you're finally his person after years of dreaming of this.

Sure, you've held Rafe plenty of other nights, but those nights haunted by the fog of fear instilled in your head about the fact that it could be just platonic to him. It could mean nothing.

And now it's...you're sure that he feels the same, even though he's drunk, you just know. Sarah's wink makes sense, John B's thumbs up makes sense. All the hand holding and late night adventures make sense.

Everything Rafe's done for you, it makes sense.

He claims he doesn't care about your dating life but will make you text him once an hour as a proof of life. He massages your back and shoulders without you asking him to after you've had a long day sitting in front of your computer. He'll randomly drop by with your favorite snack or flowers or craft because he was simply in the area. Once he stayed up all night with you so you didn't have to binge the last season of your favorite show alone.

Selfless. Careful. Doting.

You sleep soundly, entangled within a mess of Rafe and not even bothering to set an alarm, to let yourself enjoy the moment for as long as you can. Because you normally rise before him anyway. You usually leave the room whenever you sleep in the same bed just to avoid the early morning pillow talk that you really aren't a fan of.

But now you don't need to worry about that. None of it.

Because you know you'll wake up and still be his.

"They're not up yet, do you think they're dead?"

"John B, they're not dead just probably asleep."

"Or worse. Someone's ass will be in the air."

"Kiara!"

"I'm not judging. They're both freaks anyw-"

"I- Oh fuck it, I'm opening the door. Shut up."

Sarah gently twists the knob of Rafe's door open, all three eagerly peeping their heads in to get a good look at what's happening and if she really owes John B (another) twenty bucks. She's been losing a lot of money because of her brother, but this morning is already raising alarm bells because you aren't up yet making breakfast for everyone as you normally do.

And as she peers in, she understands why: you're still in bed with Rafe, both sound asleep and tangled in each other.

The sight is so natural these days, so it barely fazes any of them. Usually where Rafe is sleeping, you're there with him. Usually where either of you are missing in any scenario, the other is accompanying. You're like yin and yang. Rum and coke. Plant and dirt. Hard to coexist without the other.

That's why your friends don't think twice about your otherwise compromising position.

"Typical," Kiara mutters.

"Should we wake her?" John B says quietly, darting his gaze between you and his girlfriend eagerly. "I'm starving."

Sarah rolls her eyes and slaps his chest with the back of her hand. "C'mon, let her sleep. This is probably the latest she's slept in in months."

"It's barely ten?"

"John B, make your own damn food if you're that hungry."

He goes to plead again, but Sarah scoffs at his selfishness, nearly ready to slam his head in the door to get him to shut up.

"Zip it," she says. "We'll give them thirty minutes, and if they're not up yet, then you can wake her up, okay?"

That seems to relatively satisfy him, as John B begrudgingly nods (not that he was ever going to win that debacle, anyway).

Sarah hums in contentment, slowly starting to shut the door and takes one last fleeting glance at you and her brother, sleeping soundly. "So, now we just-"

Her words immediately halt notices something that makes her heart drop.

"Is that a hickey?"

John B's eyes widen. "What?" he whisper shouts eagerly, eyes rapidly searching and pushing the door open more. "Where?"

Sarah breaks out in a mile long grin, eyes wide as she finally wins her twenty bucks back. She faces her boyfriend triumphantly and he groans silently, tipping his head back as he shoves a hand in his pocket and hands over a crumpled up twenty dollar bill.

He shakes his head and takes another fleeting look at his two friends. "I'd say I'm upset to be out of my fast food money, but holy shit, what'd that take, three years?"

"Four, more like."

"Goddamn," he mutters under his breath, then sighs in relief. "I almost don't want to wake them now-"

"I do," Kiara deadpans. Then, she screams. "HEY!"

Practically immediately, Rafe springs awake, nearly falling out of bed with a yelp. His eyes are wide yet bleary and coated with sleep while you just peek your eyes open, turning towards the noise and rubbing your eyes calmly.

Once you regain your vision, you see your three friends eagerly watching you in the doorway and can't help but suppress a grin as Rafe gets his shit together, trying to calm down from the abrupt wake up call.

"Good morning," you say nonchalantly, yawning and reaching your arms to stretch, almost cat-like. "Is it time for me to make breakfast?"

"Fuck," Rafe whines, rubbing his temples while completely draped over your body. "Fuck, Kie, you're a terrible alarm clock."

John B is about to answer your question with enthusiasm (because he is very hungry) but Sarah jabs him in the ribs and puts on a smile for you two.

"As much as we love your cooking, I think we'll go out this morning." She ignores her boyfriend's frown and looks to you. "You have your makeup here, right?"

Confused, you nod. "Yeah, why?"

Sarah's gaze flickers to something below your eyes. "Good. I'd use it in case you want to leave the house at all today."

Rafe grimaces at his headache but also tilts his head in confusion, while your eyes widen just slightly before your cheeks burn, gingerly brushing your fingers over your neck, remembering the events of last night.

You can't find your voice, instead offering a tight lipped smile and shrinking into the mattress as much as you can.

"By the way," Sarah jabs with a whisper, "I totally called it. Okay, bye."

Sarah closes the door with a knowing smile, while you can hear John B's protest of your lack of cooking while Kiara just ponders all the obscenities aloud, listing potential positions you could've been in and making lewd comments that shamefully reach your ears.

All you and Rafe can do is laugh. 

Last night hadn't been a mistake or some drunken mishap, but rather a renaissance of feelings that can finally be told.

Rafe settles back in bed next to you, feeling almost shy (and irritated at his pounding headache, god), but that feeling almost instantly goes away when you brush some of his hair out of his face gingerly, a small smile lingering on his lips as your eyes don't leave his. 

"Hi," you whisper, barely audible.

"Hi."

Rafe melts into your touch, feeling himself lure his mind back to sleep (as it seems pretty early, to which you can confirm since his friends are normally early risers), and he hums softly and shuts his eyes in content, loving the way your hands were always warm but not hot, welcoming but not sweaty.

Everything is just right and he cannot be bothered to do anything else with his day besides this. 

“Jus’ wanna stay here,” he mumbles, his baritone voice giving you goosebumps. “C’mere.”

You chuckle sweetly. “I’m already here.”

Rafe utters something incoherent, eyes already threatening to flutter shut. For a moment, you believe he’s fallen back asleep given his prolonged stillness. But there’s a flicker of hope, his fingers twitching against the hem of your top.

You’re about to say something else, but Rafe’s palm butterfly splays against your spine and pulls you practically on top of him.

You oomf against his chest, bracing your hands on his tummy and shoulder to reposition yourself to something resembling comfort. But there’s not much moving you can do because his hand holds you down, pressing you impossibly closer to him. Eventually, you cave and lay limp, burying your face in the crook of his neck and shamelessly inhaling his scent.

His chest jerks when he snorts. “Baby, d’you just smell me?”

“I have to breathe through my nose sometimes, too.”

“You totally just sniffed me.”

You — very gently — playfully bite the vocal cord on his neck, nearly smirking when he tenses underneath you.

“And now I just bit you.”

His cool hand feels like ice against your hot spine, especially how his fingers are feather light, almost ghosting your skin, teasing up so achingly slow.

“Easy, Snaps,” he says low, voice still gravely with sleep but more drawled out, almost in warning. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

You grin. “I plan on finishing. I’d like to. That really depends on you.”

The laugh that Rafe lets out is nothing nice. It teeters between disbelief and offense.

“How’s three sound?” His other hand ventures low, well beneath your spine, groping what’s rightfully his now. “Fuck you right back to sleep, yeah?”

You — somehow — press yourself closer to him, letting one of your hands trail gently on his shoulder, down his bicep, and soon lacing your fingers sweetly with his.

“As long as you’ll stay,” you say gently.

He squeezes back, once, twice, three times, then brings the back of your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss against the soft skin of your knuckle. You find the courage to tilt your head up to look at him, his grin lazy and his eyes soft, peering down at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. Really seeing you.

Not as a friend. Not as his best friend.

Something beyond that.

“Always,” he mumbles against your hand. “Never leaving your side, actually.”

“That so?”

“Mhm. ‘M obsessed with you.”

“Are you now?”

Rafe hums again, eyes flickering down to your lips. “Been for a while, believe it or not.”

Your breath hitches at the intensity of his gaze, especially at the way he looks so sure of himself, of his words, of his intentions, as if they’re set in stone regardless of any shroud of doubt you may still have lingering in the back of your mind.

There are so many things you want to say right now to him, wishing you have an ounce of the ferocity you had last night when you let confessions spill under sheets that smell of him, but with the anticipation of his touch roaming all over your body, it’s almost impossible to form a coherent thought right now.

You figure your questions, qualms, and curiosities can wait.

“Let me show you, yeah?”

Yeah, they can wait.

© salem-s do not copy or replicate work without permission. mdni.

notes writing loverboy!rafe is actually so much fun because it's the furthest thing from canon and it's awesome. also thank you for 700 followers????? that's actually insane????

[woollypoison]

Bedroom warfare: part 1

Itzy Yuna x m reader A/N: Angst, smut is for the next part! Word count: 2,434 words.

You’re looking forward to this. A rare night off, some drinks, catching up with your best friend, and finally meeting the girl who has him acting like she hung the very stars in the sky. He talks about her constantly, non-stop bragging. How she’s different, how she keeps him on his toes. You can’t remember the last time he was this into someone, so yeah, needless to say you were curious.

The roads are getting bad, snow already piling along the curbs. You should’ve come earlier, but fuck it, you made it.

You step up to the door, stomp the snow off of your boots and knock twice before letting yourself in. The second you touch the handle, time stops. The cold hits you, but it's a different kind of cold from the snow. A voice in your head screams that opening this door will certainly lead to doom.

The feeling is so sharp, so visceral, you freeze.

A warning.

You ignore it. This is ridiculous. Staying outside any longer might actually make you freeze. You push the door open.

And then you see her. The voice was right.

Yuna. 

She’s curled up on the couch, leaning casually into the cushions like she’s not a demon wearing human skin. Like she hasn’t detonated a nuclear bomb just by existing in this room. There’s no flicker of shock on her face, no moment of hesitation. Just a perfectly practiced smile as she glances up at you, eyes alight with smug confidence and feigned warmness. She was prepared.

“Hey, man!” Your friend’s voice cuts through your brain’s searching for an escape route as he claps a hand on your shoulder. “Glad you made it. Roads are getting bad out there.”

“Yeah,” you manage.

Your friend smiles that big, dumb smile of his, completely oblivious to the way Yuna’s gaze hooks into yours like a knife. “Come in, man. Get comfortable.”

You step forward on autopilot, hanging your coat by the door like you’ve done hundreds of times. Yuna watches without a single crack in her facade, her body language relaxed, deliberate. As if she’s making sure you understand—play along. Do not fuck this up.

“This is Yuna,” your friend continues, gesturing proudly. “Babe, this is my best friend. The one I told you about.”

The one she already knew. The one whose hands were once all over her, whose voice whispered filth into her ear, whose name she moaned as he took each hole of hers as his, whose life she set on fire and walked away from without looking back.

Yuna smiles, tilting her head just slightly. “Nice to finally meet you.”

The fucking nerve on her.

Emotions swell inside you, a festering wound ripping open, but your face doesn’t betray it. You match her smile with an empty one of your own. “Yeah. Likewise.”

You sit across from them, forcing yourself to ignore the way she’s curled into his side, the way his hand rests on her thigh like a claim. It’s all too much.

Your friend, completely unaware of the hurricane tearing through the room sweeping up only you and Yuna, leans back with a content sigh. “She’s incredible, man. Like, seriously. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like her.”

Yuna meets your gaze, and you’d have died if looks could kill, then smiles at your friend. “You exaggerate too much.”

“Not even,” he laughs. “I told him you were different. I mean, look at you.”

You do. She stares back at you. Right at you. Like she’s daring you to say something.

You force a smirk. “Yeah. I’m happy for you.”

The night stretches on, a slow suffocation wrapped in forced pleasantries and underlying malice.

Yuna brushes past you as she walks to the kitchen, her nails grazing your wrist just enough to feel like a scratch. It’s intentional, a silent reminder that she can still reach beneath your skin whenever she wants.

You let your expression remain neutral, but when she returns and settles beside your friend, you decide to push back. You swirl your drink in hand, voice casual but with deadly precision. “You ever think about loyalty?”

Your friend laughs, oblivious. “Deep question, man. What, you been betrayed by someone?”

Yuna knows. Her grip on her boyfriend’s hand tightens, her jaw flexing for the briefest second before she smooths it over with a small, cutesy sound. “Is that something you’re struggling with?”

A sharp retort, coated in molten sugar.

You grin, eyes transfixed on hers, where her soul would be if she had one. “Nah. Just thinking about how rare it is these days.”

She tilts her head unimpressed, expression unshaken by your taunt. “Guess it depends on who you’re with.”

Your friend laughs again, oblivious to the daggers flying inches from his head. “Damn, this is getting deep for a casual night.” Bless his stupid heart.

Yuna goes on to laugh a little too hard with one of your friend’s jokes, her fingers running over his arm as she throws a glance your way. It’s like she wants you to know. See? I can be happy without you.

While your friend isn’t looking and off to get another drink, you lean in slightly, whispering just loud enough that only her ears catch it. “So how long will it be before you cheat on him, too?”

Yuna’s smile doesn’t waver, but her eyes flicker with something dark. “Didn’t know you were still this bitter. Having a hard time getting over me?”

Your friend is none the wiser, sipping his drink and rambling on about something you aren’t even listening to. He doesn’t see the silent war happening right as he returns, doesn’t feel the tension stretching thin enough to snap.

And Yuna? She sits there, composed, graceful, effortlessly charming. Like she hasn’t spent the entire night digging her nails into old wounds just to watch them bleed.

You can’t wait for this night to end.

Your friend’s phone buzzes against the coffee table, cutting through the forced, suffocating conversation. A moment of relief. He barely looks at the screen before answering.

“Hello?”

A pause. His expression shifts. It’s subtle at first, then tightening with concern.That big, dumb smile evaporates.

“What? When?”

Yuna straightens beside him, her fingers curling slightly on her lap. You watch the way her entire body goes rigid, instinctively responding to the shift in energy. The room tilts, like the balance of power is about to change. A ceasefire is called, as your common concern grows ever more concerned.

Your friend exhales sharply and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. No, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He hangs up, already moving towards the door.

“I have to go,” he says, grabbing his keys from the counter. “It’s my mom. She’s in the hospital.”

Yuna blinks. “Oh my god?”

The snowstorm outside has only gotten worse, and the roads are probably a nightmare. You’re sure he knows that, but there’s no hesitation in his movements. You can’t blame him, you’d be much the same. He’s already halfway to the door, shoving on his coat.

“I’ll be back soon,” he says, then glances between you and Yuna. “You two will be fine, right?”

Like hell you will.

No. No, you won’t be fine. Not alone. Not with her. Anything but that.

You clear your throat. There’s not enough time for an excuse, and you’d feel even worse using one in this situation. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, man.”

He frowns, halfway into pulling on his other sleeve. “What? Are you serious?”

“The roads are bad. You shouldn’t be out in this. Or I could come with you?”

“It’s my mom,” he says, like that explains everything. And in a way, it does.

You swallow any goodness you have left in yourself, attempting one final protest. “Still—”

“Please, stay here, just in case something happens. Yuna doesn’t know what to do if the power goes out. It’d make me feel more at ease.”

If only he knew half of it. But this is not the time to be selfish. He’s your best friend.

Your jaw tightens. Yuna doesn’t react, doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say a damn thing. She doesn’t need to. Everything she wanted to say, you already did. She wants you nowhere near her. But your friend was right. This was the better solution.

Your friend claps a hand on your shoulder. “Just stay, alright? Keep each other company.”

You nod in reluctant agreement. “Yeah. Sure.”

And just like that, he’s gone. The door slams behind him.

A rotten silence taints the air.

The performance shatters instantly.

The false smiles, the polite distance—it’s all destroyed the second his car pulls out of the driveway.

You exhale sharply, rubbing a hand over the back of your neck as you peered over to Yuna. “Fucking hell.”

Yuna scoffs, her arms crossed. “Yeah, I’m not happy about this either.”

She walks past you, and you hate that you recognize every little sway, tilt and strut her body makes. The controlled tension in her shoulders, the barely concealed hostility humming in her eyes. She’s coiled tight, inches away from snapping.

You don’t give her the satisfaction of speaking first. If anything you’d prefer to just sit in silence, minding your own business until your buddy is back.

“Guess it’s just us now.” She laughs. Fuck. So far for silence. It’s sharp, bitter. Venomous. “Like old times.”

Your hands clench at your sides. “Not fucking funny.”

Yuna turns to face you fully, her lips curling into something devious. “Never said it was.”

A charged tension crackles between you, thick with unresolved filth. You can’t look at her without the memories flooding back. The way she felt beneath you as you pounded her down to where she belonged. The way she used to moan your name, confessing her filthy desires and so-called love. The way she made you feel like the only person worthy of her in the whole world—before she tore it all apart.

And yet, despite it all, despite your veins burning with hatred, you can feel it. You know she’s thinking the same thing. Seeing the same memories.

The past isn’t dead between you. Far from it. It’s alive, thrashing, screaming, demanding to be acknowledged.

Yuna tilts her head, breaking your introspection. She’s studying you like a bug nailed to the wall. “You look like you want to say something.”

You exhale sharply. She’s wrong. You don’t want to say something. You want to stay silent. You have to say something. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then fucking say it.”

Your hands tighten into fists, your venomous glands activating. “You cheated on me.”

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look guilty. Just crosses her arms and raises a brow. “Yeah. I did.”

The sheer lack of remorse in her voice sends you over the edge. You expect her to at least soften, to at least pretend like it wasn’t that bad, saving her own skin. But she doesn’t. She stands in it, owns it, like she’s daring you to throw it in her face. Daring you to do something.

She knows just how to press your buttons. It never works out in your favor, but you bite back.

“And yet I’m still the villain?”

Yuna steps forward, voice razor-sharp, knowing exactly what you’d say. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, right. I forgot. Because you think what I did was worse.”

She doesn’t agree, and the snap in her scowl all but confirms it. “It was.”

You step closer too, closing the distance between you until there’s barely a foot between your bodies. She won’t get the best of you. “You spread your legs for another guy, Yuna.”

“And you turned me into some sex trophy to fucking show off,” she spits.

She’s right, both your words serving as the flame used to light a fuse burning toward an explosion neither of you cares to stop.

Yuna’s voice drops lower, more venomous. “You think fucking me over behind my back was okay? At least I had the decency to keep it private. At least I didn’t—” She cuts herself off, centering herself before continuing. She knows her strikes will land harder if she’s calm to deliver them. “Do you have any idea how it felt?”

You don’t respond. You can’t respond, and she doesn’t stop.

“I found out months later,” she says, voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “Randomly. Just—stumbled across a conversation between you and your drinking buddies. ‘Look at her tits, isn’t she fucking unreal?’” Her eyes are burning now, the reflection of the impending explosion clearer than ever. “And they agreed. Told you how fucking lucky you were. All while I had no idea you were passing those pictures around like a fucking trophy.”

She had you dead to rights, but you didn’t care. “I was drunk.”

Her laugh is pure ice. Unamused and willing to kill. “Oh, fuck you.”

You began forming something that barely resembles an excuse. Against your better judgement. “I didn’t think—”

“That’s the fucking problem,” she snaps, stepping forward until she’s practically in your space. “You never thought. You never cared.”

You snapped back, your version of the truth different from hers. “That’s not true.”

Her head tilts again. It’s her tell for being in disbelief, her eyes dark. “Isn’t it?”

Silence. You wanted it not long ago, but now it’s suffocating.

You don’t have an answer.

Or maybe you do, but you don’t want to say it. Maybe there is some truth to you being an asshole.

Yuna scoffs at your lack of response, then turns away. You expect her to storm off, to put as much distance between you as possible, but she doesn’t. Instead, she walks to the counter, grabs the bottle of whiskey sitting there, and pours herself a bottom. She knocks it down without effort.

You frown, knowing what kind of omen this was. “Drinking already? That’s a bad idea.”

She scoffs, pouring herself another. “Yeah, you’re famous for being good with alcohol.”

You don’t respond to her accusation. There’s no point. What she did was worse anyway. “Alcohol makes you messy.”

She smirks bitterly, raising her glass in mock salute before taking a slow, deliberate sip. “Yeah?” Her eyes drift to yours, heavy-lidded and absolutely unimpressed. “And whose fault is that?”

You don’t answer.

Because you both know exactly whose fault it is.

And now, there’s nothing left between you but impending destruction. It wasn’t a matter of ‘if’, it was a matter of ‘when’.

[captain-huggy-bear]

'You're blushing.'

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader (Crush level)

Warnings: Reader is described as visibly blushing (normally i'd avoid it, but for this idea I kinda had to, sorry!)

Summary: You're friends with Jack and Luke first, they decide to tease you good naturedly about your reaction to their older brother, Quinn.

Notes: I feel like Jack and Luke as friends would really work together to tease you, just very good natured but finding it hilarious. Basically acting like your annoying brothers.

An NHL charity event isn't something that 2 years ago you would have thought you'd ever be at, but then 2 years ago you didn't forsee yourself becoming friends with Jack and Luke Hughes, two pro-hockey players, after taking your students to meet the New Jersey Devils on a school trip.

Everyone who was anyone in the NHL was present, players from across the teams from both Canada and the US, coaches, WAGs and then you, because Jack and Luke refused to leave you behind in case you got bored without them. Their words, not yours. You couldn't even use work as an excuse because school holidays were in full swing.

So, here you found yourself, clutching a glass of something expensive, but awful tasting, that you quickly deposite on a side table the moment no one is looking, wearing your best dress (the one that never came out of your closet and had needed a really good steam to get the wrinkles out) and oogling their attractive older brother from across the room. The big brother you've had a crush on for at least a year...despite having met him a total of 5 times.

It wasn't your fault, really. Jack and Luke were pretty, so very pretty, but a little too young for you and treated you like an annoying sister, Quinn however? He was the right age, the right height, had the right hair and the few times you'd interacted had made you feel like a girl and not one of the guys. He was easy on the eyes and from the time you'd spent around him a genuinely nice guy, the type of person that having a crush on was easy. Especially, when you were rarely around him and didn't need to confront said feelings.

It's stupid though, a crush? In your mid-20s? It feels like something you should have grown out of, but apparently not. You think you've managed a good job at hiding it though, hiding the way your ears perk up whenever Jack or Luke mention Quinn, hiding the fact you watch every Canucks game even if you have to catch up late after work kicks out, marking piled high in front of you.

Across the room you watch as Jack and Luke hug their brother in greeting, big smiles wide on all three faces. They're all wearing their best suits, hair neatly trimmed, a shame...as you're rather fond of Quinn's longer hair, but he's still handsome either way.

Luke must mention you as he gestures in your direction and Quinn turns to look at you, smiling wide in your direction. You're not expecting it, certain you resemble a deer in headlights.

His wide smile does funny things to your heart and it's only made worse when he starts walking in your direction, Luke and Jack trailing behind, you're almost certain your heart is about to stop in your chest.

He stops just shy of you, looking like some sort of daydream and you're certain that you're not hiding your crush very well in that moment. Suddenly, you feel 10 years old again.

"Hey, long time no see," Quinn doesn't hesitate before wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your cheek that has your face feeling incredibly warm. He pulls back, eyes giving you a slow once over from your head to your uncomfortable heels, "You look beautiful." There's a crinkle at his eyes that screams sincerity, that, combined with his soft smile only has you swallowing harder and trying to ignore the raised eyebrows of Jack and Luke over his shoulders.

"T.." You cough the lump from your throat, "Thank you, Quinn, it's nice to see you again"

It's not long before he's called away, once more pressing a kiss to your cheek on his way and you know you're beet red in the face without even looking at Jack or Luke. Their matching grins only confirm it and you internally groan when Jack throws an arm around your shoulders, smirking down at you.

“You’re blushing.”

"Shut up." You grind out, shoving his arm off your shoulder and crossing your arms even as your eyes continue to track Quinn across the room.

"You're seriously blushing because of Quinn?" Luke takes up the otherside of you grinning over the top of your head at his brother, even as Jack keeps digging at the topic. If your face was red before, you know it's probably bright enough to be seen from space now.

"Jack, in the name of all that is holy, if you do not shut the fuck up right now I am going to tell tiktok about that time that you tried to jump into my arms because of a mouse." You poke a harsh finger into his chest, but your threat seems to make very little impact, your friend just continues to grin at you like you've made his night.

"But, seriously? Quinn? Like, i'm right here,"

"You are a baby." You roll your eyes, turning back to find Quinn staring at the three of you from across the room. He's got the sort amused look that tells you he'll be asking his brothers all about this later, curious as to what had you make that face at Jack.

"I'm not that much younger than you!"

"Still a baby." You laugh simply because you all know Jack's joking. He's never once wanted to date you and you're fine with that. Your dynamic with the two younger Hughes brothers has always been entirely platonic and you like it that way.

"Does that mean I don't get a shot at all?" Luke chims in from besides you, arms slumped at his side in mock sadness that has you wrapping an arm around his waist to give him a side hug.

"Lukey, I love you, you get a shot just for being you." You grin up at him as Luke smugly waggles his eyebrows at his brother. It's all completely ridiculous and it reminds you that even when they're winding you up, you do in fact love the two of them.

"Oh, c'mon!" Jack's jaw drops like you've just told him that his first born child is the uglist child you've ever seen or something equally as offensive. From the corner of your eye, you can see that Quinn is still watching the three of you even as he talks to a group of journalists. It makes you nervous, hoping that he hasn't developed a talent for lip reading.

"Why are we even having this discussion? Neither of you want to date me and I don't want to date either of you! We firmly established that we're all in the friendzone here."

"It's the principle okay? I am the pretty one and you go for Quinn?"

You're quiet for a moment, eyes on your feet before you mumble out a quick, "I like his hair."

"I have good hair too." You roll your eyes at his retort, "So do I!" Luke ruffles his curls to show them off.

"I like his beard." That bit of scruff he always seems to grow as the season continues, the sort you're sure would scratch deliciously against your skin if he kissed you. Quinn gave off strong romantic book lead vibes with that sort of facial hair going on, a lumberjack or cowboy who saves the leading lady from hyperthermia or a bear or something.

"Okay...I'm...i'm working on that, give me some time, Jesus, woman!" You know he's only playing, but you also know Jack's genuinely curious as to when and how you developed a crush on his older brother. It's not like you'd ever expressed your interest in their brother before, not even suggesting he was cute in a passing comment.

"Look, I just...I think he's handsome that's all..." It's most certainly not all, but you're not about to wax poetic about their brother and give them more ammunition to tease you with than they already have.

"Well, if you're not marrying me or Luke, I guess the only way to add you to the family is to get Quinn to fall hoplessly in love with you." Jack claps his hands together, nodding his head like he's just come up with some sort of business proposal that benefits all parties rather than suggesting you marry his brother.

Luke looks over at Jack, nodding along with a little smirk, "I think we can manage that."

"Oh, definitely, Lukey Boy." Between them it's like looking at a pair of mischievious and naughty school boys.

"Please don't meddle, please leave it alone! I get crushes all the time, I really do not need you embarrassing me! We're adults, this is not the school playground!" You're practically begging them to leave it alone, mind already conjuring up a million and one ways in which they could embarrass you.

You're so focused on them that you don't see Quinn making his way over until he speaks from over your shoulder. He's eyeing his brothers like they might set off a stink bomb, arms crossed over his chest that only serves to make him look even broader than he already does in that jacket.

"Why do you two look like you're about to cause some trouble?"

"Us?" Jack starts, pointing at himself and then to Luke, wide innocent eyes fooling absolutely no one.

"Trouble?" Luke continues, a hand over his heart like Quinn had insulted his honour by suggesting such a thing.

"Quinny, would we ever do such a thing?"

There's a moment of silence before Quinn looks them both dead in the eyes and gives a confident, "Yeah."

Quinn turns to you, face softening into a look that screams that he's concerned his brothers are being dicks to you, it's pleasant and sweet and makes you feel warm inside, "You alright? These two idiots bothering you?" Both idiots shout a quick 'hey!' but your attention is solely focused on Quinn and the way his hair falls across his forehead when he tilts his head to look at you.

"Yes!" He chuckles at your insistant reply, hand reaching out to offer itself to you, "C'mere then," you grasp it without question and follow him off to the dance floor. Not thinking twice until you find yourself wrapped up in a slow dance with a guy you can barely look at without blushing. Feeling in over your head in the best sort of way.

From the corner of the room Jack turns to his younger brother with a smile, as they watch the you and Quinn inch closer and closer together on the dance floor. Your head eventually coming to rest on his shoulder as you sway back and forth.

"Y'know what, Lukey? Maybe we don't have to meddle at all..."

[cherryshortycake]

Summary: Bakugou and you always had a secret thing no one knew, even between you two. Until at the reunion party.

A/N: This takes place after the Mha time skip, and my requests are open, I'm doing only Bakugou requests at this time thank you for reading!

"It’s been a long time since Class 1-A graduated" you thought to yourself. A reunion party for everyone. The room was alive with chatter, the clink of glasses, and the music playing just loud enough to set the mood without overwhelming the conversation.

All grown up, and they were spread out across the room, laughing and reminiscing about the old days. But you couldn’t focus on any of that. Not with him standing across the room, his back to the wall, arms crossed, scowling at everyone like he always did. Bakugou Katsuki, the one person who had occupied your thoughts for years, even when you tried your best to hide it.

You remember the first time you met him. High school felt like forever ago now, and those overwhelming, youthful crushes seemed almost ridiculous in hindsight, but not with him. Not with him.

The guy who had been impossible to get along with. The one who had a temper and was too damn proud to show any weakness. And yet, somehow, that pride had been… different with you. It had started out so small. The way he always snapped at you in class when you'd try to ask him about something—like that time when you tripped over your own feet and managed to knock over a pile of papers right in front of him. He didn’t offer a hand or a “you okay?” like anyone else would. Instead, he just shot you a glare and muttered a "dumbass," but there was something in his eyes that made your heart skip.

Maybe that was the first time you noticed—how he’d look at you differently than he did with anyone else. "Y/N," someone called from beside you, pulling you from your thoughts. It was Mina, grinning as she sipped from her drink. "You look like you’re miles away. Come on, let’s mingle! It’s a party!" You flashed her a smile and nodded, trying to shake off the fluttering in your chest.

But you didn’t move. Not right away. Your eyes landed on Bakugou again, and this time, his gaze flicked to yours for the briefest second. He didn’t scowl. He didn’t sneer. He didn’t even look annoyed. In fact, it was almost… gentle? No, not gentle—but soft....

Your heart thudded louder as the realization hit. Katsuki, the loud, brash, stubborn hero-in-training who’d never given you the time of day in high school, had grown up too. And somehow, without you realizing it, so had the way he looked at you.

"Hey." A voice interrupted your thoughts, and you turned to see Kirishima grinning at you, a glass in hand. "You good?"

"Yeah, just… thinking," you murmured, forcing a smile. "About him..?" Kirishima asked, giving you a knowing look. His eyes flickered over to Bakugou, who was still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, but now his jaw was clenched.

You blinked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said quickly, avoiding Kirishima’s gaze. “Right,” Kirishima teased. “Well, just so you know, Bakugou’s been a little… different lately. Around you, I mean..... or man, whenever your names brung up...”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he began, tapping his glass, “you know how Bakugou is. He’s not exactly the type to… open up, right?” You nodded, biting your lip. That was an understatement.

“Well, lately he’s been a little more patient with you. Not like with the rest of us,” he said, giving you a pointed look. “He gets all… quiet when you’re around, like he’s thinking about something. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he actually listens when you talk.” Your face heated, and you shook your head.

“Yeah right...” you said in disbelief with tad of sarcasm.

“I’m telling you. The guy might be a walking time bomb, but he’s got a soft spot for you. Don’t let that pass you by, alright, trust me.. the guy talks about you all the time to me.. like your haunting his mind..?” Kirishima’s words echoed in your mind as you stole another glance at Bakugou.

This time, he wasn’t looking at you—he was looking at the ground, a slight frown on his face. But something was different. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it was as if he was waiting. Suddenly, Bakugou pushed off from the wall and started walking toward you. Your heart raced. Was he—?

"hey" he called out gruffly, his voice low but somehow more... familiar. "You gonna stand there all night or are you gonna get a drink?" You blinked, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

"Uh," you stammered, caught off guard. "I’m good. I’m just... talking." He grunted, stepping closer. “Tch. You're always overthinking shit. Let’s get something to drink, already.” There was a slight softness to his tone, one that only you would notice, and it made your stomach do flips.

As the two of you walked toward the kitchen, the room suddenly seemed quieter. It was just the two of you now, separated from the noise of the others. Bakugou was closer than you expected, his shoulder brushing yours as he walked.

His usual harshness seemed muted—he was always a little gentler with you. It wasn’t like he was being kind, but there was something in the way he looked at you now, something that held back all the sharp edges.

“You’ve been acting weird all night,” you said, trying to break the silence. “Shut up,” he muttered, but it was softer than usual. “I’m not the one acting all awkward.”

“I’m not awkward!” you protested. “Yeah, well… you look awkward,” he snapped back, but the way he avoided your gaze told you everything.

There was something in his eyes—something he wasn’t saying. “You’re not mad, are you?” you asked, suddenly unsure. Bakugou’s face twisted into his usual scowl.

“Why the hell would I be mad?” “I don’t know! You’re... different,” you said, your voice quieter now. “You’ve been acting different with me.” His eyes flicked to yours again, a flash of something unreadable passing through them.

Then, without warning, he sighed, looking away. “I’m not acting different, dumbass. I just… don’t wanna deal with your stupid questions tonight.” But you could hear the hesitation in his voice. The slight crack in his usual confidence.

You didn’t say anything more, letting the silence settle between you two, but somehow, in this moment, it felt… easy. Comfortable, even. And maybe, just maybe, Bakugou wasn’t hiding as much as he thought... But y'all didn't know, it's just the beginning......

[bbeoms]

rugby!simon headcanons

hello, my sports hyperfixation this summer is rugby union, thus here i present you my rugby player simon riley brainrot! decided to write it cause why not???? someone needed to bring this idea to life. i hope you enjoy <3

fluff, suggestive, slight hurt/comfort

- plays as a forward (more specifically, second row/lock) so he’s always there during a scrum!

- and as we know, forwards are usually huge men 🤭 so 6’4 117kg simon is the perfect candidate

- you have to restrain yourself every time he’s in his kit cause have you seen how tight their jerseys and shorts are?????

- you can’t help but stare at how the fabric hugs his pecs and how the sleeves are lowkey cutting off circulation to his arms cause of how large his biceps are (and the way his tattoos peek out from the sleeves? chefs kiss)

- hikes up his shorts when he knows you’re watching and smirks when he catches you staring at the thick muscle of his thighs

- avoids wearing his kit around you when you’re ovulating cause he’s not sure he can control himself with the way you eye him like you’re ready to pounce

- (he learned his lesson after that one time you went to a match when you were ovulating. simon didn’t think it was possible, but you managed to milk him dry after you guys went home that night 💀 the hormones made you too feral until you managed to make him tap out lmao)

- anyone else become possessed by a succubus during ovulation?,,,,,, just me?,,,,, okay,,,,

- doesn’t usually wear a scrum cap during his matches

- but there was a couple of times he had to wear it (per the doctors recommendation) to protect stitches he had near his ear

- “ohmygod si you look like the end of a pencil ✏️”

- sulked at your teasing, he didn’t want to wear it either 😭

- you cooed and proceeded to shower his face with lil kisses until he forgave you

- felt his heart melt when you squished your cheek to his and took a selfie, your smile wide as you laugh at the way his blond strands were cutely sticking out of the cap (and how he still, looked like the end of a pencil)

- made it his lockscreen immediately

- being a rugby girlfriend isn’t always fun and games though

- it’s an extremely physical and dangerous sport and although you’d like to think simon is invincible, he’s still human

- it’s hard to believe but there are quite a number of players that are taller and heavier than him (you can’t say they have the same skill set though, simon is really good at his job)

- there’s always an underlying feeling of anxiety every time you watch him play

- injuries are a given

- split skin, bleeding ears and broken bloody noses are some of the more tame injuries you’ve seen simon get.

- simon coos at your tears and furrowed eyebrows whenever you tend to his injuries during rest days

- you don’t like seeing your man hurt!!!! :(((

- (okay but it is pretty hot when he gets all bloody in the face like in the first picture like hello??? lemme jump on you)

- straddling his lap while wiping the dried blood off his eyebrow

- “gimme a kiss”

- being cheeky and steals a kiss on your lips after you ignore his request

- reassures you that he’s alright and reminds you that he’s had worse injuries

- you give him a glare, silently telling him to not remind you of that time you thought he died on the pitch

- simon got hit with a high tackle, the fucker that was attempting to tackle him had his shoulder straight into simon’s neck (the guy got a red card deservingly) knocking simon back and motionless on the pitch

- you watched in horror as multiple bodies pile on top of him, not noticing that simon was out cold

- soon enough, the team’s medics were on field and stretching him away for treatment

- simon still feels your gentle touch on his face that day, thumb rubbing his cheek willing him to be okay

- he still remembers the look on your face despite being concussed. distraught, dried tears staining your cheeks.

- you were so scared, you didn’t know how bad his concussion was and what the aftermath of such injury would entail.

- he’d never felt such tenderness before

- he couldn’t believe that someone cared about him that much, didn’t think that he would ever find someone to love him like you do

- whispers i love you for the first time in his dazed state

- decides at that point that he won’t let you go, and has become a simp ever since <3

left to right pics: david pocock, tariq sims, chris robshaw (<- he would lowkey make a good simon riley imo)

[alicewrotethis]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩. 𝟐﹒

ㅤ۫ㅤ ˚ ۪˖𓏲﹒synopsis!! tsukishima  does something he know will come back to haunt him   ㅤ ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤ ˚౨ cw!! timeskip k. tsukishima x chubby!fem!reader, nsfw nsfw nsfw   ﹒ ◠ note!!  playlist i listened to while making this !  angst will be in the next part muahahahahaah😼ALSO IT DOESNT LET ME RPELY TO COMMENTS WAA ౨   wc!! 3.5k <<< part one part three >>>

It had been a few weeks since you said those words to Tsukishima, and it's like they're still fresh on his mind. Ever since then, you've been inseparable, well, as inseparable as you can be. You both grew fond of each other's company and grew well as friends, he even managed to break it off with Etsuko; not wanting her to interfere with your friendship any further. He even told some of the guys on his team about you, only after they wouldn't stop pestering him on who the pretty girl was bringing in his lunches in cute bento boxes. He appreciated what you did for him, and he did his best to show it in his own way, he hoped you could feel it as well.

But it all came to a steady stop a few days ago; nothing bad had happened, you just got busy managing your classes and job and you didn't really have enough time to stop by his practices much between running from the college to the bakery then back again. Tsukishima never said anything about it, he knew you were stressed and didn't wanna seem selfish, though, he desperately missed the times you'd spend together. It's not like you never spent any time with him, you'd still go over to his apartment and hed go to yours whenever but either way your face would be stuffed in a book and papers and never just on him.

It started affecting his days as well, not being able to see you- to really see you.

Today was no exception.

You were sitting on Tsukishima's living room floor, papers and books scattered all around you as well as highlighters and pencils, some music filled the background, your combined playlist you made him join on Spotify. It was a sight Tsukishima had grown accustomed to in these past days.

"You alright down there?" He asked, his tone rather gentle as he studied your form.

It took you a minute to reply, wanting to finish reading the paragraph before directing your attention to him, "Yeah, sorry," You let out a yawn as you stretched your back, your shirt lifting a little to reveal more of your skin, something that didn't go unnoticed by Tsukishima. He found himself noticing these small parts of you more often than usual.

"You should take it easy," He spoke softly, standing up and walking over to where you were seated, promptly leaning down to your eye level and neatly sorting your papers into a stack.

"Sorry for the mess, Tsuki, its just your place is so cozy," You watched as he sorted and piled your books and pencils, you watched how his long fingers engulfed the pencils with ease, and you started to wonder how they'd feel on your skin.

"It's practically the same as your place, since, you know, it's the same complex," He teased, placing your things in your bag as you snapped out of your thoughts.

What were you possibly thinking? How could you think that about your best friend? Maybe he was right, maybe you did need to take it easy, all this stress must've been getting to your head.

"Yeah, but in yours, I get to be near you," You hadn't meant anything by it when you said it, but Tsukishima still developed a slight blush on his cheeks. He hated how much of an effect your words had on him, and how easily you could have him flustered.

"Whatever," He spoke, standing up, "You gonna spend the night?" He wasn't sure why he asked, you've never spent the night at his place since you were right next to him, he just wanted to spend more time in your presence before you went back into your usual busy routine tomorrow.

"Of course, we can have a sleepover Tsuki!" You cheered up at him, still sitting on your knees. Despite how innocent the moment was, Tsukishima couldn't stop his mind from drifting.

"Dont say it like that, it sounds lame," He spoke, "Do you want the bed or the couch,"

You huffed, "Your bed is big enough for the both of us, right?" You stood up and walked towards his room, "I mean it is a sleepover, Tsuki,"

His face flushed once again at the thought of sharing the same bed as you, his bed was in fact big enough, but he wasn't sure he could control himself in such close proximity to you, he could barely stand it now.

Tsukishima wasn't oblivious, he knew what a crush was, and he knew what he was feeling resembled one. But he didn't want to ruin what you both shared, he didn't want to be selfish with you. It was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

"Dont call it a sleepover," He sighed, following you into the bedroom.

"Tsuki! I didn't even notice you had glow-in-the-dark stars! That's so cute," You exclaimed, staring up at the dimly lit green stars, you assumed they'd be brighter once the lights were shut off.

"Dont look at them it's embarrassing," He spoke while grabbing his plain black hoodie, and a towel and tossing them your way, "The showers in... well you already know,"

"Thank you," You said shyly as you entered the bathroom that was connected to the bedroom. It made you nervous knowing you'd be showering while Tsukishima was out there.

And Tsukishima was no better, he couldn't help but imagine your bare body, he thought about running his hands up and down your curves gently, showing you exactly how riled up you get him, hearing you say his name, god, the way it rolls off your tongue like a prayer. You drove him absolutely wild. He wasn't sure how he'd get through the night with you next to him.

The sound of the door opening snapped him out of his thoughts, he was sitting up on the bed, facing the bedroom TV on his dresser, watching whatever show was on your shared Netflix recent played, you begged him to join your plan so you could see what shows he liked watching since he wasn't really the talkative type. He liked that about you, he liked that you always wanted to know more about him.

His eyes scanned you up and down, and he could tell that you weren't wearing anything underneath his hoodie.

"Um, Tsuki?" Your voice called his attention, and he raised his brow at you.

"Do you have any spare, uh," You looked away out of nerves, "Panties.." You meekly said, earning a chuckle from Tsukishima.

"Why would I own panties?" He asked in a teasing tone, adoring the way you got shy so quickly. He wished his hoodie was just a bit shorter.

"Well, do you have anything?" Your face was a deep red as you furrowed your brows, not finding the situation as humorous as Tsukishima did.

"In that drawer, the top one," He pointed with his fingers while watching you walk to the dresser, turning your back to him to grab a pair of boxers. Tsukishima tried to keep his eyes from exploring places they shouldn't.

"Close your eyes," You spoke softly, now facing him.

With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, he complied and you swiftly pulled them up, they fit quite nicely against your curves, it covered you but left nothing to the imagination, not that you cared, you just wanted to feel less... bare.

He opened his eyes when he felt you crawl into bed next to him, taking your phone out of the hoodie pocket and opening TikTok. Tsukishima grabbed the remote and turned the TV down a bit, knowing you liked to blast your TikTok's on full volume, he never complained tho, he found your for you page funny.

He felt his phone buzz, it was a notification from you, you sent him a TikTok, "Why are you sending me stuff I'm right here," He said with a smile looking over at you wrapped in the blankets, your head barely peeking out of the sheets to see your phone screen.

"I dont know, quit judging me sassyshima," You mumbled from under the blanket, you promptly shoved the phone in his face as a TikTok played.

"When my boy bestfriend decides to not answer me like I'm one of his hoes," Tsukishima read the words out loud, earning a giggle from you.

"It's so relatable," You spoke, taking the phone away from his face.

"No it's not, youre probably the only girl in my contacts," He said, his eyes never leaving you.

His words made you sit up and face him, "Tsuki, is this an admission that you," You paused dramatically, "Have no game...?" Your arms held you up against the mattress as you leaned in for dramatic effect.

Tsukishima scoffed, "I have plenty of game, I have a pretty girl in my bed right now," He smirked at you, watching as the familiar blush formed on your cheeks.

You crossed your arms against your chest, puffing your chest up unknowingly, "That doesn't count," You mumbled, taking your place back next to him and yawning.

You shifted on your side, your back facing him in an attempt to hide your blushing face, unconsciously rubbing your ass against Tsukishimas leg.

He felt his dick throb at the touch, and he wasn't sure what he should do, he didn't wanna make it awkward but he also didn't want you to think he liked it- which he very much did; but he didn't want you to know that as it might scare you away. but god he knew he couldn't stand it much longer.

Tsukishima instinctively placed a hand on your hip, not even realizing what he had done before you stopped your movements.

"Sorry, I dont know why I did that," He spoke softly, removing his hand.

You were a flustered mess, your heart was beating out of your chest and you were sure he could've heard it from there, you didn't even know you were rubbing against him and you felt bad for it, the ghost of his hand on your hip left a burning sensation, making warm waves twist and turn in your stomach. Was it wrong to think he wanted you in the way you needed him?

"Tsuki?" You asked apprehensively, shifting so you were facing him.

"Fuck, dont say my name like that," He breathed out, already staring at you. His breaths were heavy, and from what the TV illuminated you could tell there was a deep red adorning his face, the sight of him like this had you clenching around nothing.

"Touch me again," You enticingly spoke. The air was thick with tension, and your body felt hot all over despite the cool air floating around Tsukishimas apartment, "Please, Tsuki," You begged fervently.

Tsukishima was fighting battles in his mind, he wanted so badly to take you right here, to show you how badly he's been missing your presence, but he knew that when the morning came you'd both regret it, the friendship would become awkward, he didn't want that, he didn't want to lose you due to not being able to control himself.

"We can't," He said reluctantly, looking everywhere but you.

"Why not?" You whined out, your whines only making his cock twitch in his sweatpants.

"Fuck it," And with those words he was on you, running his hands all over your soft body, moving his hoodie up, and feeling your bare skin.

You let out soft whimpers at his rough touch, he was feeling you like he'd never get to again, as if you'd disappear in an instant and you loved it.

"Can I take it off, baby?" He asked gently, still feeling you everywhere except where you needed him the most.

His question made you cower under his gaze, there was nowhere you could hide so you brought your hands up to cover your face.

"If you dont want to, it's okay, I'll still think you're beautiful," His voice was smooth and intoxicating, it made your mind go fuzzy and all you could muster was a small nod.

His hands came down to the hem of the hoodie and pulled it off you in one swift movement, and though he couldn't see much with only the TV lighting up the room, what he could see he found perfect.

Before his hands could continue exploring your curves you grabbed his arm, "You too," You shyly spoke, earning a smile from Tsukishima. He complied with your demand and swiftly threw his shirt to the ground. You admired his form and ran your fingers along his build, sending shivers down his spine at your touch. You were finally touching the man who consumed all your fantasies.

Your hips unconsciously bucked against his thigh, earning a small moan from you at the friction. "Touch me, Kei," Your tone was laced with sultry, you had a deep need for his touch, you wanted so badly to come undone on him, for him, to him.

He positioned himself so your legs were on either side of him, and his fingers ran down your soft stomach, and down into the borrowed boxers, eliciting a small gasp at the contact. He leaned his head into the crook of your neck and began kissing and licking as his fingers slid up and down your slick puffy lips, coating his digits in your wetness.

You felt him smirk on your skin, "All this for me?" He smugly asked, even in a moment like this he still had the biggest ego.

"Tell me how bad you want me," He demanded in your ear, kissing the soft skin.

"I need you so bad, Kei, so so so bad," You whined, hating how much he was teasing you.

You felt him sink a finger in, and you let out a hushed moan into his ear, causing him to sink another finger in. He felt your grip on his shoulders as he moved his fingers into you deeper, he loved how you felt around his fingers, the feeling had his dick throbbing in his sweatpants, but he wanted to take care of you first, he wanted to feel you cum all over his fingers.

Tsukishima knew he found your soft spot when you became a moaning mess, rocking your hips on his hand and digging your nails into his skin.

"Yeah? Like that baby?" He whispered in your ear, quickening his pace. His other hand ran up your body to massage your breast in his palm, you felt vulnerable under his gaze, knowing he's touched you everywhere, but the thought only made you clench more around his fingers.

"Yes! More, more, more," You repeated in chants, his thumb came to rub around your clit, making your hips jolt up at the sudden sensation.

"I've missed you so much since you've been busy," His pace was steady, and his slender fingers reached places in you you didn't even know existed, you couldn't barely form any sentences as the familiar feeling of your climax crept up on you.

"Missed seeing your pretty face all the time," He praised in your ear, licking his way from your neck to your lips in a hungry kiss, wanting to taste you.

"You gonna cum?" He asked, maintaining eye contact with you as his fingers gradually increased their pace on your clit, the feeling felt like nothing you've ever felt before, it was new, and you were already addicted, his scent was intoxicating and it filled your every pore, you could hear how wet you were.

You nodded profusely, unable to speak due to the loud moans and shrieks that were coming from your mouth, Tsukishima loved the sight of you, a mess all because of his fingers, he couldn't wait to see what you would be like on his dick.

"Look at me, baby, god, I can't get enough of you,"

"'M gonna cum! Tsuki, tsuki, tsuki, please," You were cut off by your own climax, your walls clenched tightly around Tsukishimas fingers as your back arched up into his body, twitching and jolting while he fingered you through your high.

Your clit soon became too sensitive so you wrapped your hand around his wrist in an attempt to halter his movements.

"Tsuki, too much," You whined out, body twitching vigorously.

"Sorry, youre just so pretty," He took his fingers out of you, your walls instantly missing them. You took a minute to regain your composure while Tsukishima slid his sweatpants down and you slid the boxers off.

Tsuki started pumping his dick in his hand that was coated in your cum, the feeling eliciting a low moan. He could've come just by the sight of you.

"Are you ready?" He asked, rubbing his tip against your puffy lips, guiding it to rub against your clit.

You nodded up at him through tired eyes.

"I wanna hear you, baby," He spoke, never losing eye contact with you.

"Yeah, I need you Tsuki," Your voice was soft, exhaustion setting in from your high before.

"That's my girl,"

He guided his tip to your entrance and slowly let it sink into your slick folds, a gasp erupting from your mouth while Tsuki bit hard on his lip, trying to quiet his own groans. It wasn't enough for you though, you needed more of him, and you wanted to take every inch of him.

"More, Tsuki, please," You begged.

His arms were planted on either side of you, holding him up above you, "I don't want to hurt you," And it was true, but a part of him wanted to thrust so deep into you until you took all of him. But this was your first time together, he wanted to take it slow and remember every little sound you could possibly make.

Tsukishima slowly pushed deeper into you and with every inch came a new sound, your fingers were digging into his forearms, and your legs were wrapped around his waist, trying to guide him further into you. The pain felt so, so good to you.

When he finally bottomed out, you felt it, that special spot you had become addicted to him hitting, it felt even better now that you felt fuller.

"Right there, more, please, oh my god," Your back arched upwards and your hips bucked as you started fucking yourself on his dick, you felt him twitch inside of you at the sight.

"Fuck, baby, youre gonna make me cum doing that," He lightly laughed at how desperately you grinded on his dick, his arms moved to your hips, holding them in place and stilling their movement.

"You want more? Huh?" He teased.

"Yes! Stop being mean, Tsuki," You whined, face turning into a frown at the lack of friction.

"Alright, baby, I'll be nice," He smirked before pulling out and thrusting roughly back into you, your eyes rolled back and a shout of pleasure erupted from your throat, your body would've twitched had his grip on your hips not been so tight. He repeated his motion again, only this time he kept doing it at a steady pace. The pleasure sent waves up your spine, you couldn't even think straight, the only thing on your mind was how good Tsukishima was fucking you.

"Been wanting to do this since you made me that cake," He breathed out between moans and thrusts, "You have no idea what you do to me,"

Your hand reached down to your clit but was swatted away and replaced by Tsukishimas fingers, "Such a needy girl, yeah?" It wasn't even processing in your mind what he was saying, all you knew was to agree and take it.

With every thrust, your moans grew louder, every time he hit your soft spot harder and harder, the sounds of skin on the skin filled the room along with your nonsense blabbers about how good he was fucking you.

"Fuck, baby, I'm close," He groaned out, his pace grew sloppier with his thrusts, and his fingers on your clit got faster, "Can I cum inside you?" He asked, leaning down to breathe in your scent.

"Yes, please, please," Your sentence rambled off into noncoherent moans as the familiar knot in your stomach tightened. Tsukishima whispered all sorts of praises in your ear, but one stood out to you.

"Your body is perfect for me, baby," His sentence was enough to drive you over the edge, your walls clamped down tightly around his dick as you let out a shriek of pleasure, chanting his name over and over, it brought Tsukishima to his own climax, and with one deep thrust you felt his cum fill you in warm sputters, his hips bucked through his climax while his head rested on your shoulder, small pants coming from him as he caught his breath.

You both had stayed in that position for a while, seemingly going over what had just happened.

He stood up suddenly, leaving your walls to clench around nothing and you stared up at his glow in the dark stars as he cleaned you off silently

mlist. rules. tags.

© 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 ─ please don't copy, translate, or post any of my work without my permission !

tags: @ilovemymomscooking

<< part one part three >>>

[endearng]

About you

Pairing: Spencer Reid x ex!reader Summary: You know a place that you go to remember Spencer Reid's face. You never thought you'd get to actually see him again. WC: 4.6k Warnings: brief mentions of Spencer's trauma (childhood, addiction); hints at poor coping mechanisms/mental struggles; miscommunication; running away. A/N: This is a mix between canon events and some things are fiction (mostly when it comes to the timeline of the show) and I picture later seasons Spencer. This is based on many songs from ttpd, but this fic came to mind when I was listening to 'About You' by the 1975. I really hope you guys like it. Feedbacks are always welcome and appreciated <3 masterlist

You sat on one of the park benches. Actually, it was on the park bench, near a tree, you used to occupy with Spencer after getting your favorite treats from the coffee shop nearby.

It was your first date as boyfriend and girlfriend and he had started reading to you once the chatter had died down a little bit. He looked beautiful that day, eyes leaving the book pages every now and then so he could catch a glimpse of you. Every time he did, you smiled at him. You were so enamored by his eyes that you didn't care if you were perceived as desperate or too lovestruck when he looked at you. You felt warm inside and for a moment, you thought it could last forever.

From that day on, whenever you could, you'd always go to that park and sit on that specific bench. You even carved your initials in it.

Now, as you caressed the old indentation, dark from all the time that had passed, you were all alone. A hole in your chest.

You were living in Virginia, about to get your Master's Degree. It was the time of the semester when everything seems to be piling up and you can never get the time to take care of it as you should. As you walked home at night, you witnessed a young couple walking into a dark forest, but you didn't mind — horny kids were everywhere and you were glad they had a nice way to let off some steam, not being one to judge someone’s kinks.

The next thing you knew, the FBI wanted to see you. They sent a cute, awfully young agent to your apartment, who introduced himself as 'Doctor Spencer Reid' and waved at you once you answered the door, telling you you had been the last person to witness that young woman alive. You froze, unable to look away from him, sheer shock crossing your intriguing, mesmerizing features. Spencer Reid took more than a minute to try to calm you down to have you answer his questions. Despite your head going miles per minute, you tried to help out as much as you could and were able to describe the man as you managed to recall some of his features.

Then, you had gotten Spencer's number to keep him posted if anything happened, since that unsub was kidnapping and torturing girls from your university. When they wrapped up the case to go home, Spencer went to your building to tell you they were returning to Quantico. You had grown fond of him, his presence a warm embrace compared to the chaos around you, so when he broke the news, you did feel a little disappointed, even though you knew that he would eventually leave. He was sensitive to the matters around him, doing everything in his power and using his intelligence to help everyone around him. It made you grow a sense of hope in other people you haven’t felt in a while.

You took your study break a little earlier that night once you saw him at your doorstep, deciding you'd give him your time. A low "So, you're leaving..." escaping your mouth once he told you why he went to your place. To say goodbye. You couldn't conceal the sadness in your voice.

"Yeah. I just wanted to say goodbye. And to thank you, of course, you helped us a lot." He said, eyes never leaving yours.

"Anytime, Doctor," you joked. "I'm gonna miss you. Even if we've just met. Even if you had to be aware of something so terrible." You confessed. His eyes widened at you in surprise.

His eyes. Big, doe eyes glancing at you like you held the answers to the whole universe.

In that moment, you did. Not his education, not PhD's, plural, not anything he learned from all the books he read and certainly not his time in the bureau. You held the answers.

He chuckled, a little shy. Unable to tell you, verbally, that he would miss you, too. His eyes did the job, though. "Yeah, yeah. It was nice knowing you."

"Yeah, it was," you agreed, coming a little closer to him. You gave him a kiss on his cheek. Soft, warm skin against your lips making butterflies swarm in your belly. He smiled, widely, sincerely.

You wished he was yours.

You also wished he knew that you meant that, 'besides the bad guy and all the terrible things, it was fun meeting you because you are full of light. A masterpiece.'

"Take care, okay, doctor?" You whispered, slowly pulling away from him. “I’ll see you around.”

"Be safe,” he wished, “I hope so, in better conditions."

A few days passed and you got your first call from Spencer, which turned into a second, a third and when you noticed, you were scheduling hang outs. Those turned into dates when you started to go out more frequently to every new place you wanted the other to know. All of that and touching each other more often, more carefully, more passionately than regular friends did.

You simply sat there, your memories the only thing keeping you company, haunting you, besides the tears that pricked in the corner of your eyes. You missed him so much. You missed the time you had with him.

Two years into your relationship, things got more and more complicated. You struggled to keep up with his life and more often than not you seemed to keep much to yourselves instead of sharing things with each other. You never thought you'd share (funny wording) such a distant relationship with someone, let alone one you knew for sure there was so much love and respect. During your time together, you learned about Spencer’s past and some pieces fell into place; he was somehow explained by everything he had faced as a child, teenager and now as an adult — his mother’s condition, his dad walking away, the bullying, being abducted and its consequences. You held him through it all, when the memories and feelings of powerlessness washed over him.

Then, Spencer started to be away more often and the physical distance, enforced by the emotional one that slowly grew between you two, made you feel like you were an intruder in his life. So, you gradually started to hold yourself back from starting conversations. You rarely had his attention and you figured it was because his mind was always elsewhere.

Yours was, too. Back in a time when things were simpler.

As time went by, being around him, too quiet and far out of each other’s reach, simply floating in his orbit, felt like a heavy burden you had to carry in order to keep him in your life. He never opened up and since you didn’t either, you felt like you didn't have the right to suggest you two should fix things, so you let him be. Coexisting together in the same space, oceans apart from each other’s lives and struggles, never touching the subject. The result, of course, was that you grew apart.

It all ended, officially, when you decided to move away to get your Doctorate as an excuse to run away from the hard conversations that you knew would take place if you confronted him about where had things, where had you gone so terribly wrong. You were hell-bent on trying to turn your heartbreak and deception into something, into an achievement. Then, you both decided, albeit reluctantly, that breaking up was the best choice for you, since you’d move away. The part that there was already a huge gap between the two of you remained unspoken. You tried convincing yourself that it would be easier, since you’d never have to see him and you'd be okay being in past chapters of Spencer’s life. 

Funnily enough, it wasn't that simple.

You see, the heart is a tricky machine. The wording here is not random: it works, of course, to primarily pump the blood through your veins to make sure you are getting enough oxygen around your body and deliver waste objects, like carbon dioxide, back to the lungs, to be removed — Spencer had told you so once when you told him your heart beat for him in a corny deliver of a joke. Despite the fact that he was right, you can never anticipate how the heart will react once it has no access to the aim of its affections, after being cut off from their life. Worse: after being slowly dragged away from the one it was sure it would be able to adore for the rest of its pumping-function life. You figured that, maybe it would continue working for as long as it needs to, but not with the same devotion it once knew and now was deprived of.

That was how you passed the last few years of your life.

After Spencer, you weren't really interested in anyone. You tried to put yourself out there, made new friends, tried dating some people, traveled abroad, discovered more about yourself. Nevertheless, in the back of your hopeless mind and dejected heart, you held the memories you had created with him close to your very soul. When things got too quiet, it was him that you thought of. On a train, on the way home or to somewhere new and/or special, in the lazy mornings you spent by yourself, in the nights that got too lonely to bear by yourself, during your lunch breaks that you always seemed to remember how much he loved sharing those with you — stealing food from his plate, even if you didn't like whatever he was having, just so he could steal your dessert to make sharing equal. He got a sweet tooth after dating you.

Now, though, something felt off. You had spent years of your life pining and longing and hoping that you'd find your way back to each other in the end that now you didn't have the guts to search for him. You kept an eye on his life and could remember a thing or two of all his achievements and papers that were published in science magazines, a brief abstract ready to roll off your tongue if someone asked you about it. You tried keeping up with his professional life in order to feel closer to him, but the thing was, you didn't know if he had someone else, if he had moved on more easily than you (not that you had), if he had learned to cope a little better with the hardships of his job. You always said he needed some rest for his noisy mind.

Even the air in your hometown made you think of him. Felt like him: distant, missed and still plaguing your thoughts. It was the aftermath of running away for some time.

In hindsight, perhaps you had only shared fleeting moments with Spencer and it was a frail affair, doomed from day one, knowing how different your lifestyles were. When you got too fed up with your longing and inner romanticism over this relationship, you would try to convince yourself that you were better off without him. That being alone was better than to be by yourself in a relationship that you only kept for the sake of calling him yours.

Still, there was something missing. You didn't know what it was, but you were tired of wasting your time, waiting for a bus that never showed.

Or maybe it did, and perhaps you had missed it.

From afar, Spencer watched, dumbfounded, a figure that resembled someone he once loved so much, sitting on the bench he used to share with you. He still does love. Or maybe he doesn't. He doesn't know, really. He's been through so much, losing loved ones, losing his mother and enduring several trauma after leaving the FBI, never having the time to properly take in the happenings in his life. Could it possibly be you? He could never forget your form, no matter how many years passed and how hard he had tried to do that. His heart started slowing, oxygen lacking in his lungs. He felt dizzy. Was it a mirage?

Memories started to flood his mind and he was unable to move.

Daylight faded, announcing the beginning of the evening. Spencer listened as you read to him one of your favorite novels, The Hour of the Star, a Brazilian novel by Clarice Lispector. It definitely wasn't romantic, but you always made sure to use the correct tone whenever you were reading the characters' lines, and you paused every now and then to make comments and listened when he had one of his own. Those were precious, rare, quiet moments in his hectic life. He cherished them because of that, of course, but most importantly because you were with him.

Once you finished the chapter you were reciting, you noticed how dark it already was and that the lights of the city were already on, casting a soft glow over Spencer. He looked exceptionally, effortlessly beautiful that night. You smiled at him. "Shall we go home, Spence?"

"Yes," he accepted, helping you up. You thanked him with a kiss to his cheek, which made him flustered.

Years together and he could never get used to the effect your touch had on him, always wishing he could have more, more, more.

As you walked home together, he took your ring, a gift from him that was usually placed in your left hand, and put it on the one people put wedding rings on. Your reply was to kiss him senseless in public.

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him when you abruptly broke the kiss, looking back with a mischievous, happy expression on your face. He trailed after you, one single thought in mind: I'll never let you go.

The woman — he didn't want to deceive himself if she wasn't you, he was staring at her back, after all, so he thought it was better to be careful with his hopes —, had longer hair, fit better into her clothes, but her movements were scarily just like yours. From the way she looked around to the slight tilt of her head when you'd contemplate the park all those years ago. Spencer felt his thoughts clouding with the need to approach her, curiosity driving him to work on this instinct, but as soon as he moved to walk, he instantly halted his movements. What would he say?

"Hello?", "Is that you?" "Are you back?" "Are you real?" "Have you forgotten about me?"

The questions swimmed around his head like he had no control over his own mind. If there was a monitor to show every single thought running through his brain, it would definitely collapse, smoke clouding the air, telling how overwhelmed he felt. He decided on approaching as a passerby, walking as if he didn't want anything by it, acting nonchalant. He made his way closer to the bench, to the woman. 

She heard footsteps behind her, not too close, but still turned to search for the source of the disturbance, out of her daydreaming. You looked at each other for a moment that felt like an eternity — time stopped, the children stopped playing and the passersby stopped breathing.

As you turned around, your eyes found Spencer. The love of your life. You took in his appearance. His hair was long, unlike how it had been when you last saw him, and he didn't care about styling it as much as he did when he was younger, his curls unruly and a little messy, a little stubble growing on his face. His expression looked harder now, more tired, ripe. You couldn't quite know how to describe him properly. For a moment, you considered that he had hardened over the years, opposite from the caring, soft man you've met and loved ardently once.

On a surface level, looking at him made you feel like you've been loving a ghost. A memory, something that could never return.

Your mind suddenly felt empty. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"You?" You heard the question, uncertain, leave his lips in a low voice. Was it in your head or did you sense hurt?

Again, you wanted to speak, to say something, greet him, tell him you've missed him, ask him if he was okay. Nothing came out. Everything seemed inappropriate. Again, he beat you to it, coming closer to you, voice firmer. "What are you... I thought you'd left."

"I did."

"I know."

Silence. He got closer, moving to sit beside you.

"Yeah." Silence. Still looking at each other. "I came back a couple of months ago. Started visiting exactly three weeks ago, today." You revealed to break the silence, even though the idea that everything that came out of your mouth was improper still plagued your mind.

Spencer felt baffled. You looked different, more mature, even your style had drastically changed — you once wore colorful, baggier outfits, full of life and bright shades matching your personality (you even went shopping with Penelope and you exchanged fashion tips), but now, you wore more sober, neutral tones. Instead of the usual sneakers, or the Converse you both loved to wear together to match your outfits — his black and yours blue —, you wore black boots with heels. You looked grown. And it fit you. Still, your face was the same: your eyes held the same glimmer in them from all those years ago, your lips still as inviting as it ever was for him.

He licked his own, realizing his mouth was dry. "I come here every now and then when things get too heated." He confided, eyes never leaving your figure.

You smiled. A hole in his chest, desolation invading his being. The simple act still makes his machine of a heart ache and speed to reach its full capacity. Of breaking for you. "It's peaceful."

You knew that he seeked solace from whatever was happening in your memories together in that place. At least, you hoped so. You hoped, selfishly, that he thought of you as much as you thought of him, of his ghost. That he ached for you as much as you ached for him.

"Yeah."

Awkward silence engulfed the two of you. You didn't know where to look, but you could never stop scanning his face, taking in his features with care. "I like your hair. It fits you," you said.

He got closer, less than an arm's length between the two of you. Almost itching for you to touch his hair, eyes pleading for some mercy on your end. You've been awfully quiet and if meeting him maim you, you certainly have improved your poker face skills. "You've changed," he retorted. "I never thought I'd see you so different from, you know..."

You didn’t remember Spencer at a loss of words.

Too close. "I hope for the better."

"Why didn't you call?" He asked, brows furrowing.

Come to think of it, it was an excuse you had rehearsed quite a few times when you imagined this scenario, “I was settling, still trying to contact everyone, still finding my way around…”

“And you didn’t think of me?” His tone was wounded. He certainly dreamed you’d come back and was positively sure that you’d reach out to him. Of course, he was wrong.

“Of course I did. I just thought you wouldn't pick up,” you replied.

He didn’t know what to say. Of course he would pick up, but there was no way you could know about it nor trust him if he said so; why would you? You had left him because he built walls around him, cutting you off from his life, torturing you, slowly dragging the end of your relationship and he couldn’t explain why. Once you left, Spencer delved into his work life like never before. He flirted with women and even slept around, which he was aware was a poor coping mechanism, all to outrun the desertion of you, desperately wishing he could forget that he could feel alive in your presence. He even tried having a relationship. It was nice having someone around, now that he was grown and had made peace with some of his demons, but it was never like you and it was all that she was to him: someone around. He never felt that spark with her like he had felt with you, never again having a taste of the sensation that ran through him whenever he stumbled excitedly into your apartment when you invited him over, seizing the rare opportunities to be with you, happiness bubbling inside him. With his new girlfriend, it was quiet. He mistook it for the calmness he lacked within himself when he was with you, but it was just bland. Needless to say, he felt awful about straight up using a person to keep his mind off of you, but it was nice while it worked. He started longing for something he couldn’t even describe what it was.

One day, you guys met halfway, between the two cities you were both in. It was raining and you launched yourself into his arms once you recognized him. You had kissed him like a soldier's wife, for you sure definitely missed him like one — he had been away on a case which took longer than usual. “Hi,” you greeted, shyly, after giving him the hottest kiss of his life.

“Hi,” he smiled, a little flushed.

“I couldn't wait to get to you, Spence,” you confessed, arms pulling him back to hug you once again, his own engulfing your figure. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too. I miss you all the time.” He said, burying his face into the crook of your neck, wet hair prickling on his skin. He peeled himself away from you, taking a deep breath. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

The squealed “Yes!” before you kissed him ardently once more was forever ingrained into his mind.

Amidst his reverie, you stood up from your seat. The wind tousled your hair slightly, so you used your left hand to tuck it behind your ear. The street lights reflected their light on a ring you had on your left hand. He recognized it instantly. “I should go,” you murmured, slightly graceless.

“You still have it.”

You looked at him, still sitting and nodded softly. You were hit with the realization that he also remembered you. It didn’t matter that it was such a small thing about you, relief flooded your veins at the very thought that he thought of you. “I do.”

You waved at him, your lips turned upwards shyly. You turned your back and started walking away from him. Again, he thought. And again, he let you, without putting up a fight, which he was aware that he should have done. The elephant in his chest was a light weight compared to the heavy truth dancing around in his throat. Said truth would become much bigger, a heavier burden for him to carry, once it made its way out of him. Speaking made it real. He knew it because every memory that he kept of you, in a sacred, untouched area of his own consciousness, was full of comfort after sharing uncomfortable truths.

It was like his heart screamed at him to keep searching, to keep trying for the person who made it beat faster. But his brain, foggy with all the logic and terrible, horrid things he had to face, decided it was best to keep himself away from you, to save himself the trouble of being the target of pity, or worse, being another person who left him.

From that day on, you’d casually visit the park, secretly wishing you could see him more. It didn't take too long until your wishes were granted, no matter how private you thought they were. Perhaps they were all over your face and he could still read you so easily. Despite the apparent capacity of reading your wants, you were positively sure that Spencer didn't know what to say, just like you. Everything, including him, felt as distant as you had left it. You weren't sure if you could go back, but running away was just as troublesome: you had to adapt in order to survive, but everyone else surrounding you was already fit to the environment. You stuck out like a sore thumb, unable to connect with anyone but the protagonist from past memories of what once was a happy relationship.

Every time you were there, you sensed someone looking at you shortly after your arrival. It was like an unspoken agreement between the two of you, to try to talk things through without rushing into anything, trying to conquer the other's forgiveness by sharing both ordinary and big moments you had during your time apart. As you sat down and talked and shared, you realized that you'd never stop loving him, not even for a second, not even if you could. You had tried and failed, and kept coming back for more to fall in love with the same person over and over.

These encounters quickly turned into the best moments of Spencer's weeks, getting to be filled in on the things he had missed in your life. You had shown him photos, your new degree, new friends, discussed details about your job and how things were in your family. All of that wrapped in intricate, subtle details on how much you'd turned into a person he was already feeling proud of. You had grown into a strong-willed woman who managed to keep your heart as pure as the day you had met him. You still had the traits that made you fall in love with him.

One day, you two were sitting on the bench and you pointed to your initials on it. “Heh, I remember that day. You kept worrying someone was going to show up and stop me from doing it.”

He smiled. “I'm glad no one did.”

“It's funny, isn't it?” You asked, eyes on the indentation, not expecting him to answer due the lack of context. He frowned. “I mean, us. Acting like we don't know each other just for the sake of spending time together.”

He thought for a moment. With your shameless comment, you were definitely daring him to say something. Daring him to make things real, but better this time. “I like that idea,” he said, getting you to look at him. “Don't you? We get to meet each other again. I get to meet you again and I get to make sure that, this time, I'll never let you go.”

“You still don't know me enough to say that with such sureness,” you said, feeling bashful all of a sudden. It was also one of your behaviors that got him so enthralled, once again. Your capacity of saying something and then act coyly, as if you didn't know what he was talking about. Almost backtracking on whatever you had said that was a little more risky than the usual chatter.

He wouldn't let you.

“I want to.”

His tone made you speechless. Your expression turned into one of sheer, pure enchantment. It told him everything he needed to know.

Everything bad was now under the bridge and you could finally have each other back after being so patient.

He now remembered what it was that he missed so dearly in his life.

You.

[aluraveil]

sunday and ayato are both very alike in certain ways.

they both have sweet younger sisters that they care a lot about, are the heads to their respective families, have a lot of influence and power, hell they both even have blue hair for fucks sake.

but when it comes to their darling, they are both alike and different in terms of how life would be like with them. for instance they're both alike in how they would want you to be well acquainted with their sisters.

ayato loves his younger sister ayaka very much and wants to protect her from the corrupt and shady side of inazuman politics. ayato has and always will be a family man and his family comes first before everything else. not to mention, ayato needs a heir to continue the kamisato bloodline.

sunday loves his younger sister robin a lot. sunday was very close with his sister during their childhood days and he would even listen to robin's mini concert with him as the audience and a couple of other stuffed animals. sunday loves his sister, but he also both loved and cared for the people of penacony. sunday cared for them so much to the point where he didn't care if he suffered, but if everyone else could live in paradise in a sweet dream for the rest of their life, then it would make his suffering worth it.

they're also alike in how their darling wouldn't be able to escape them at all. ayato is known as someone who works behind the scenes and he has somebody else do the dirty work himself. ayato is a master strategist and he has the shuumatsuban on his side. the shuumatsuban mainly deals with espionage, gathering evidence against corrupt officials of inazuma, and they're loyal as hell meaning that they report whatever they find to ayato. the shuumatsuban is willing to give up their life if it means protecting their lord ayato against an assasination attempt. ayato will also have the shuumatsuban on your back secretly watching you in the shadows as you go about your day inside the kamisato estate when ayato is forced to be pulled away from you due to his never-ending pile of paperwork and meetings inside his office.

escape certainly isnt possible with ayato that's also how sunday can relate as well. sunday was someone who secretly conspired with the order behind everyone's backs not to mention he also managed to hide it until the very end. if that doesn't prove that sunday is a master conspirator then i dont know what will. sunday was also shown to have many different birds lying around penacony as a way for him to spy on certain people and things. with no doubt, those birds will be watching you like a hawk perched on top of a tree branch making sure to make eye contact with you- almost like a warning telling you not to get any funny ideas since the bird is around.

though they're alike in many parts, they're also different as well. for instance, they both handle escape attempts very differently.

ayato finds it so cute and adorable whenever you try to escape. the moment that you're forced onto ayato's feet on your knees when the shuumatsuban drag you back is quite amusing to him because of the sour look on your face. in fact, ayato even encourages it. ayato's a sly bastard who knows just what to do and say to get you all riled up and the worst part of it is that he does it on fucking purpose. ayato openly mocks your escape attempts because of how desperate you were and he just sits back and enjoys the show whenever you try to reason or argue with him.

sunday also finds escape attempts funny but after a certain point, they're not so hilarious. sunday finds it frustrating with how frequent your escape attempts become and at first he humored you but now he's just straight up dissapointed. sunday believed that if he allowed you to try and escape, you'd realize how futile they were and just how powerless you were compared to the head of the oak family. after a while, sunday just opts to cuffing your wrist to his own that way you can be with him at all times and that way you can stop making his birds work overtime.

but to pair both ayato and sunday together with a darling would be a recipe for disaster. to pit two yanderes who have a lot of money and influence together would make them an unstoppable duo. having them both share a darling would just mess with their head due to ayato's mind games and sunday's annoying proximity with you due to the cuff binding your wrists together.

lets just hope you would never get stuck in this situation between this deadly duo of yanderes.