#this might become a series bc my GOD this reader makes me wanna shake them by the shoulders

[mangostarjam]

silent reading time — kaiju no. 8, hoshina soshiro x reader, use of foods as nicknames, childhood best friends dynamic, biting, 1.4k words

Hoshina Soshiro is staring at your thighs.

... you think.

It's hard to tell, since you aren't looking at him. Quick, fleeting glances out of the corner of your eye aren't enough to discern the true aim of his line of sight, but it really kinda looks like... he's looking at your thighs.

Why, though?

It's just a typical weekday night. You dropped by his room the way you have for the past twenty-odd years, holding a paperback book with a purple pen tucked behind your ear, ready to indulge in your favorite pastime of silent reading in your best friend's company. Soshiro has his own paperback in hand, green pen spinning around his fingers. The two of you jot little notes as you read, and once you finish you swap books. Later, you'll go to one of your favorite cafes together to talk about them. Soshiro's neat scrawl is as familiar to you as the back of your own hand.

For a brief moment you debate calling him out on his staring. But — nah, it's probably nothing. Maybe your pajama shorts are a little worn and he's just appalled you're wearing something so flimsy.

"What's up, beansprout?"

You glance up from the words you haven't been reading and meet your best friend's gaze. "Huh?"

Soshiro closes his book but keeps his finger tucked to hold his place. His green pen spins in a blur. "You've been starin' at that page for ages. You sleepy or somethin'?"

"Nooo..." you draw out the word as you think of something to say. "Just wondering if I should get new pajamas."

Well — you didn't call him a creep, but now he's blatantly staring at your thighs and maybe this is... worse? You can feel a flush rising up your body at his scrutiny.

"What's wrong with these?"

"... Nothing?"

Soshiro gives you a doubtful look and before you have a chance to retreat, he's caught you against the bed, pinning you down with his elbows on either side of your shoulders. Your books and pens go flying across the mattress, landing with a thunk and a clatter as the room settles back to stillness. The sudden proximity of him looming above you takes your breath away. You squirm a little at the abrupt weight. Soshiro chuckles, his breath warm by your ear as his legs press yours into the mattress.

"Tell me, egg tart."

He's close enough that the strands of his purple hair tickle your forehead. You know you have no chance of getting away from the Vice Captain of the Third Division in close quarters, but you wiggle half-heartedly anyway. "Get off of me, you big oaf!"

"Oh? That's not very nice," Soshiro's grin is playful. He eyes you for a second, and then he pouts. "I just wanna know what's runnin' through that pretty lil head."

Well that's just unfair. He knows you're weak to him when he makes that face. You scrunch your nose at him and giggle when he mimics you. He's steady, hovering above you, as if it's nothing for him to basically hold a modified plank pose on the soft surface of his mattress. Something about that makes you feel... a little warm.

But he's your best friend. You've known him since you were toddlers, training in swordsmanship together at the Hoshina estate, following him into the Defense Force until you hit a wall and pivoted to research instead — you know Hoshina Soshiro, and he does not make you feel warm like this.

You gather your wits about you slowly, like your braincells are moving through molasses. Soshiro seems content to hold his position, familiar grin still firmly in place. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, the careful way he keeps from squishing you entirely, even though he's stopping you from running away from the question.

"It's really nothing, promise," you say, "I just thought maybe you kept looking at my pajamas because they're so old."

There's a moment of silence as Soshiro digests this. You listen to him breathing above you, the thick fabric of his sweats warm where his legs press into your bare skin, the overhead light haloing his purple strands and casting his carefully blank expression in a faint shadow.

"Dontcha think you're a lil too comfy 'round me?" His voice comes out low, almost missed beneath the sound of your rapidly accelerating heartbeat. "I'm a man, too, y'know."

You blink. Soshiro's now wearing the vaguely amused smile he always seems to have on when you're around, but there's something lingering along the edges that sends a shiver up your spine.

Forget molasses. Your brain shuts down entirely, bluescreening as you frantically try to reconcile his words and his meaning and why is he looking at you like that? Like he wants to — to eat you, to swallow you whole — and why does he keep glancing at your lips? Do you have something between your teeth?

But, no, wait — Soshiro is a man. You know this. You've known this for ages. It's impossible to train with the strongest close quarters combatant in the entire Defense Force and not realize this simple fact. You've seen Soshiro take down more miniature and mid-sized kaiju than you can count, and he's a brilliant leader of his platoon and division. Everyone respects him and works hard to live up to his expectations, though you know he works three times as hard in the shadows.

Your childhood friend is certainly not a child any longer. One glance at the densely packed muscle on Soshiro's body is enough proof of that. You peek at his biceps tensing as he shifts above you and gulp.

Yeah, he's definitely a man.

But what does that have to do with anything...?

"Of course I'm comfy with you, Soshiro-kun," you say. Why does your voice sound like that? All... breathy and soft? You clear your throat and try to inject some normalcy in your tone. "You're my best friend! You'd tell me if my pajamas are too worn out, right?"

Soshiro just looks at you blankly. This is where he's supposed to crack a joke, this is where he flicks your forehead and calls you 'sugarplum' and rolls off of you, this is not where he suddenly leans down close enough that you can feel his breaths puff against your ear before everything narrows down to the singular point on your neck where he bites you.

"S-Soshiro-kun, what the hell?!"

"What's wrong? We're best friends, ain't we?"

"Yeah, but why'd you bite me?"

Soshiro's laugh is pressed into your neck like honey dripping from the comb. He's not... He hasn't moved away. You haven't moved away.

You could. He's left you room to move.

But you don't.

It's warm. His legs are still pressing against yours. The faintly woodsy smell of him is all around you, seeping into your skin as you shift amidst his blankets. "No reason," he says airily, lips brushing your temple as he brings himself to hover above you again. "Just takin' advantage of my best friend privileges."

"By... biting me?"

"By showin' ya I'm comfy 'round you, too."

The tension pops. You can't help but laugh, something like relief and the bittersweet tinge of regret flushing through your bloodstream. "What are you, an animal? Who the heck bites people and calls it comfortable?"

"Are ya uncomfy?"

"Well, no, but—"

"I've always wanted to bite you," Soshiro says. You can read the truth in the curve of his smile as his purple strands waver above you. "Ya look like you'd taste good, chestnut."

"That's it," you wrinkle your nose at him. "You've gotta come up with other nicknames for me, or else you'll keep thinking of me as food!"

Soshiro hums in thought. You can feel the sting and the faint imprint of teeth along the sensitive skin of your neck. Something about it makes you feel fuzzy inside, like a tv antenna struggling to search for a signal. You shift anxiously as the silence stretches, yearning for something unknown.

"No can do," he says brightly. His red eyes gleam as he leans down again. "But we're comfy with each other, yeah? Want me to inspect these old pjs for ya?"

The blush blooms beneath your skin with a force that startles you. "Uh, what—? No, Soshiro-kun, definitely not—"

He grins and it's bright, but a little strained. You reach up unthinkingly to cup his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs along his jawline and cheekbones and smiling when he leans into the touch. The knot in your chest loosens. The two of you bask in the comfort of each other for a moment.

"You should really tell me off," he breathes, tilting his head. "You should tell me ta quit messin' around."

"Are you messing around?" you ask.

Soshiro laughs, a quiet sound in the stillness of the room. "I'm never messin' around when it comes to you."

[spencersawkward]

top shelf//MGG - part 1

summary: broke and having a bad day, Reader runs into Matthew outside a café. after a couple encounters, his financial support and friendship become something more.

word count: 3k

content warnings: swearing but nothing else!

pairing: Fem!Reader/Matthew

A/N: hi! welcome to my new series. i don’t think this will be super long in terms of parts, but i’ll try to update as frequently as possible for you all. this chapter is pretty expositional, so i’m sorry in advance lol. also i know i made it short but lmk if you want them to be longer. also shoutout my sweet sweet angels @reidsconverse and @voidsfilm bc i would literally cry without both of you. also THANK YOU to @dr-spencerr-reidd for this concept bc i probably wouldn't have written it without your ask!! sending hugs :)

you throw your phone down on the passenger seat with a frustrated groan. after everything that's happened today, you're now stuck on a congested street with your car barely inside the parking spot alongside the sidewalk.

your screen sits there beside you, blank and unresponsive, and you know you're going to have to go inside the coffee shop to ask to use their phone and call Triple A. of course it's not working because nothing is working today. you might as well just sit in your car and cry.

but you can't, because you have a huge project for work that you need to get done by next week, and you've already procrastinated enough. a red glow from the headlights of other cars on the street shine through your windows like melted wax, distorted by the rain. it's been pouring all day.

bracing yourself for the onslaught, you grab the old umbrella from the foot well of the passenger seat and open the door of your car. the torrents hit your body like a wall of ice, soaking you as you try to get to the safety of the café. the umbrella helps a little, but then you get to the overhang and have to actually close it before you head inside.

your fingertips slip around the metal, trying to shove the thing closed while water drips off the bridge of your nose. it's frustrating. your footsteps are still determined as they move towards the entrance, but you're distracted by the stubborn nature of the object, so you don't see the man walking out.

it's not even a bodily collision, really. it's so much worse: the sopping material of the umbrella pokes him in the stomach, knocking the hot cup of coffee all over his sweater.

your eyes widen.

"oh my fucking god, I'm so sorry--" you stutter over your words, completely at a loss. his face is twisted up in an expression of concealed pain. it can't feel good to have hot coffee seeping through your clothes after being prodded by a piece of metal. you move your wet hair out of your face in order to look at him full-on.

"it's fine, really." he gives you what's supposed to be a friendly smile, but looks more like a grimace. your stomach twists; he's hot. like, if you saw him at the bar you would stare at him all night kind of hot.

"no, it's not," your face heats up, despite the cold, damp air. "let me buy you another coffee."

"I--" he glances down at his sweater, which is knitted with cute foxes on the front, then back at you. he pauses a moment and you have to bite down on your tongue to keep from collapsing. he's considerably older than you, but he doesn't dress or act that way. maybe late thirties, if you had to guess. "sure. thanks."

a flowering relief in your chest, partly because he doesn't seem angry and partly because you'd like to look at his face just a bit longer. your eyes stay on his until someone walks through the door of the café and reminds you of where you are.

without a word, you brush past and go into the building, him trailing behind.

Matthew watches as you walk ahead, your clothes spattered with rainwater and your hair somewhat messed up, too. he smiles to himself at the way you almost bump into the corner of a table, nervousness evident in nearly every movement.

you head to the counter, setting your hands on the granite while the barista checks out your unkempt appearance.

"hi," you smile at her before realizing you have no idea what this guy wants. you turn around and see him standing slightly behind you, suppressing a smile. he can tell how flustered you are, and now you look like a fool. "what coffee do you drink?"

"can I have a medium Americano, please?" he asks the barista with a friendly smile. he's got straight teeth, dimples... holy shit. you wish he had been unappealing so that this whole situation would be less humiliating.

you pay for his drink before getting out of the way, both of you slowly walking to the pickup counter.

"again, I'm really sorry. that stupid umbrella." you shake the thing at your side, raindrops falling to the floor. you run a hand through your wet hair.

"it's okay. I appreciate you getting me another cup." he flashes that smile again and you remember that his sweater is all stained. before you can think to do anything else, you pluck a handful of napkins from the self-serve station and start to dab at the material.

he looks down at you for a second, surprised by the way you grab his clothes. Matthew feels your hand pressing into his stomach innocently, and he feels himself blush a little. it's only when you pull away that he's able to regain his head.

"it's still bad," you throw away the napkins and re-evaluate the garment. "jesus christ, it's a nice sweater, too."

"hey, it's totally fine. I can just wash it out." he lets out a slight chuckle, and the sound makes your heart flutter. he's got a dad laugh. deep in his chest.

"baking soda and water." you say abruptly. he frowns.

"what?"

"to get the stain out? I use baking soda and water for coffee stains and it usually works." you explain gently, your eyes meeting again. his irises are a brownish hazel color, warm. the laugh lines by them are charming.

"oh," he grins. "do you get coffee stains often?"

you twist your mouth to the side and glance at the windows of the coffee shop. he's teasing you and you'd be remiss if you said you don't want to play along. "more than I'd like to admit."

you can feel him looking at you with that stupidly brilliant smile and it's really setting you off-kilter. someone shouldn't be that attractive; it's not fair. and yet you want desperately to stare, if purely for the sake of aesthetic enjoyment.

"I'm Matthew." he extends his hand, which is decorated with a series of rings. you realize that you don't even know his name.

"Y/N." you shake. his fingers are softer than you expected.

"nice to meet you, Y/N."

"and under such fortuitous circumstances." the corners of your mouth turn up as you relax a little.

he laughs at your words, the delightful ring of it interrupted by a new Americano showing up on the counter. he glances at the to-go cup, then at you, then goes to get his drink. you wish you knew what he was thinking, but he's not displaying anything past friendliness.

"well, um." something like disappointment settles in your stomach as you recognize this will be the last of your interaction. there's no reason for him to stick around, and you need to get back home to work, anyway.

"I'll let you get back to your day." Matthew doesn't seem nervous, just unsure as he grips the coffee in his hand. you open and close your mouth like something impressive enough to keep him here will come out. you know it won't.

and then you remember the state of affairs, the existence of your useless car and the useless phone in the front seat, how you're going to have to call Triple A and then your roommate to come get you.

Matthew realizes that you aren't going to say anything and he gives you one last smile and an awkward wave before turning to go. you watch in silence as he crosses the room to the door. two more seconds until he's out of your life forever. so of course you choose this exact moment to speak.

"wait."

his head jerks suddenly to look at you. this is embarrassing, but you have nothing to lose.

"can I... borrow your phone?"

Matthew tilts his head to the side slightly, frowning as though deeply confused. and you suppose it is a strange thing to ask, especially given that you're a younger person and most people your age carry their phones everywhere. "sure." he walks back over to you, pulling his cell out of his pocket.

"I just--" you fumble with the device while you decide how to phrase it without sounding like a pathetic mess. "my car keeps breaking down and my phone battery is, like, totally fucked, so it just turns off and on constantly and it’s still in my car but it’s raining and I just wanna see if it’s back on so I can call my roommate." you immediately cringe at yourself. the rambling isn’t cute.

he’s not too bothered by your panicking, though, his mouth only forming an O shape. "it’s no problem."

you dial your number, fingers trembling while he waits. he's turned his eyes to the rest of the coffee shop, but it still makes you nervous that he's standing right there. you put the cell to your ear and pray that it rings out.

you’re greeted by the sound of your own voice telling you to leave a message. great. with a frustrated sigh, you hang up and Matthew gives you an inquisitive expression.

“it’s still off,” you explain. “I’m gonna call my roommate.”

he nods and shoves his hands into his pockets while you punch in the other number. for a split second, you peek his way and admire his side profile. he really is something to behold; a model, maybe.

"hello?" good thing Cecilia has no problem answering unknown numbers. you bite your lip.

"hey, it's me."

"Y/N? whose phone are you using?"

"uh, someone I just met--" you frown as you try to find a way to describe him without something as insulting as a random guy. "anyway, my car broke down so I was wondering if you could pick me up."

there's a pause on the other end of the line, like the movement of sheets and the slightly disappointed groan of another person. she probably has her boyfriend over again. "sure, of course. where are you?"

you give her the address and hang up before dialing the car repair company. Matthew gestures to a table off to the side so that you two don't need to stand, and then you sit down across from him. you're so distracted by the person on the other end of the line that you don't even think about it.

Matthew twists his rings on his fingers. he's fidgety and it's sort of cute. you try not to stare at his hands, at the black spot of ink on the outside of his pinky. either he writes a lot or he's an artist. you have to focus on the table in order to keep from blushing.

finally, you finish up with the phone and hand it back to him. "you're a life saver."

"do you want me to wait with you until your friend gets here?" he gestures out the window. your immediate reaction is to say yes. it'll be awkward to sit here alone without your phone, without coffee. but you don't want to keep him any longer than you already have.

"it's okay, I'm sure you have places to be." you smile accommodatingly. he chooses his next words carefully, it seems.

"I don't, really. but I'll leave you alone if that's what you want, too." the way he speaks, offering his company without trying to impose... something about it makes your heart melt a bit. you appreciate his thoughtfulness. it makes you want to know more.

"okay," you nod as you make your decision. "if you wanna stay. it shouldn't be too long."

"great," he settles back into his chair, the light from the café lights above you reflecting off the lenses of his glasses. "why does your car keep breaking down?"

you exhale sharply at the thought. "that's a really good question, because I don't know the answer. it's super old and I'm too broke to afford a new one."

he nods.

Matthew's mind turns to different avenues at this knowledge. he knows you're young and that usually means that there isn't a lot of spare income. and he doesn't know if you have a job. but what he does know is that you've got an energy about you-- a sweet, well-intentioned manner that draws him in. every once in a while throughout the conversation, you throw out certain phrases that hint at a quick-witted intelligence.

you're funny, but not boldly so. and when you two get on the topic of how you ended up rain-soaked, shoving your way into a Los Angeles café, you tell him about your day.

"--and I have this shitty job right now working for one of my old professor's friends, so it's not like I can afford to constantly repair the damages. all my money is going towards my savings so I can pay for grad school, anyway." you sigh. he listens intently to your words, and he never shies away from eye contact. every time he nods along, you practically feel your heart leap.

"what do you do?" he asks.

"I write for a wellness magazine, but I'm sort of a fraud." you joke.

he laughs. "why's that?"

"I don't know, a lot of it is about different yoga methods and meditation, stuff like that-- but I don't do any of that in my daily life." you admit. it should be embarrassing, but you don't feel ashamed of the fact. he seems to find it funny.

"working your way toward a different kind of job, then?"

"I'm hoping for a more editorial role, honestly, but..." you lift your eyes to his. they're bright, he notices; full of a deep-rooted hope. "gotta start somewhere, right?"

"very true." Matthew wants to tell you just how much he understands, about the roles as an actor he's taken and the hours he spent making films in college, just hoping that one day he'd be able to make things on his own, but he doesn't want to scare you away or sound like he's bragging. it's not your fault you don't know who he is.

"sorry," you speak through a silence he doesn't realize he's left between you two. "I've talked your ear off and you don't even really know me. what do you do?"

"oh--" Matthew actually blushes this time. you see the pink creeping up his neck. "I'm an actor."

in the same way they did when you ran into him, your eyes widen. "an actor?"

"yeah," he smiles at the expression on your face. "you know that show, Criminal Minds?"

the name is familiar, but you've never seen an episode. "yeah, of course."

"I'm in that."

you don't know a lot about the program, but you've heard it talked about and you know that it's a popular show. so this guy is an actual actor, not just some LA wannabe. that makes him about five times more intimidating. you feel even more idiotic for not seeing it before.

"oh, shit," the words tumble out. Matthew grins at the bluntness of your reaction, and you scramble to recover. "sorry I didn't know who you are."

"no worries!" he laughs it off. "it's not a big deal."

"do you like it?" you ask. "being famous, I mean."

he shifts in his seat for a second as he makes a face like he doesn't know how to answer. you wonder if there's something deeper to him that you just haven't seen, yet. secret feelings about the subject. "I'm really not very famous, but I love the work."

genuinely humble. you can see it in his face, the sparkle in his eyes. and maybe he's just charming and you're just a girl blinded by his attractiveness, but your gut tells you that he's being real.

this time, you're the one who falls silent. admittedly, you get a little in your head sometimes. and it makes sense, now, the smoothness of his behavior and the sheer beauty of his face. this is a show business city-- of course he's famous.

Matthew's phone rings and he jumps, as if jolted from a dream. your attention moves immediately to the screen and you recognize Cecilia's number. he pushes the device over to you.

"hello?" your voice sounds far away.

"hey, I'm here. where are you?" she says.

"I'm just inside the café."

"oh, okay, I'll park and come in--" you hear the click of a seatbelt and start to panic. she can't see you in here with him.

"no!" you say too loudly. Matthew's head jerks up to frown at you.

"why not?" Cecilia asks, confused.

"no reason," god, you're a bad liar. "I'll come out and we can wait for the Triple A person in your car." you and Matthew make eye contact again. he gives you an understanding smile. your stomach flips.

"sounds good." she hangs up and you grab your umbrella. time to go.

"thanks for letting me use your phone." you stand, not really wanting to say goodbye but also lacking a reason to stay. he remains in his spot, seemingly now settled into this little corner of the café. it sort of suits him, this place. all cozy and slightly strange.

“happy to help.” you notice the tip of his tongue dart out over his bottom lip as if deliberating whether or not to say anything further. but he doesn’t and you feel awkward just standing there by the table.

“I’ll, uh…” you could ask for his number. but that would be weird, right? he doesn’t really seem to have an interest, anyway. “I’ll see you around, then.”

“yeah. it was nice to meet you, Y/N.” he gives one more of those killer smiles and you turn around, almost bumping into a display of coffee beans before correcting yourself and heading back outside.

taglist (lmk if you want to be added or removed!): @la-vie-en-amour1 @reidsconverse @voidsfilm

[moirasimagines]

standing by | david budd x reader

summary: it’s the night of october 1st, and the reader is expecting a visit from david after an outing with his kids to see their grandmother. feeling nervous, they phone vicky and receive some less than reassuring news.

warnings: canon-typical mentions of su*cide bombing/terrorism and ptsd, lil angsty? but tender i promise, vicky and the reader each have one (1) drink, general concern is to be had about david’s mental state

word count: 2787

a/n: i kinda wanna make this a series? where david and the reader just? are dating so instead of sleeping w/ julia he just... becomes her friend and everything else just... happens the same way ig??? lemme know if anyone’s actually interested in this bc i might write it anyway but it’d be good to know if there’s any actual like... market for it bgjkrtbgkr

David is late. You aren’t angry–– it just seems odd. He’s a very punctual person, normally, and you couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t just text you if something had come up with the kids. He hasn’t answered any of the texts you’ve sent him, and both times you called, his phone went to voicemail. You think about phoning Vicky, then decide against it. You like to think that the two of you are friends. She’s kind to you whenever you see her, anyway, and David has mentioned once or twice that she’s asked about you, remembered that your aunt had been sick and sent well wishes or mentioned a book you’d told her about. You like her. She’s a good mother to her kids, and she treats David with the love and respect he deserves. You’ve never met a pair of exes with such a healthy relationship, and though you know it’s a two way street between herself and David, you’re still impressed with her grace. It’s these feelings that drive you to give her a ring when an hour’s gone by since Dave said he’d be over and you haven’t heard anything.

“Hello?” 

“Hi Vicky, it’s Y/N. I was wondering if Dave––”

“Oh love,” she says, and you notice that her voice wavers as she speaks. Your heart drops. “Everyone’s alright, the kids and him, but…” She sighs. “There was a suicide bomber on their train home.”

“Oh christ,” you murmur, your heart rate picking up.  “But they're okay? The kids? And Dave? Nothing happened, no one got hurt?”

“They’re all fine, yeah. They’re taking a cab home now. Dave said to expect them in at about  half past 10. He…” she takes a deep breath on the other end of the line. “He talked the woman out of it. Nearly got himself killed, but…” For a moment, neither of you says anything. You glance at the clock. It’s 9:45. You have to make a conscious effort to even out your breathing, but you manage it.

“He saved their lives,” you say.

“Yeah,” Vicky manages, but you can tell she’s crying.

“Is there anything I can do for you, hun?” you ask, “Do you want some company?” She sniffles.

“That actually… That would be nice, if you’re offering. And that way you won’t have to wait to see him, or the kids.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, of course. I’ll start over right now. Should be able to get there in twenty. Thank you, Vicky.”

“Yeah, all right. No, it’s…” She pauses. “I mean, thank you, hun.” 

“See you soon.”

You smile as you hang up, but your stomach is still churning. He’s fine, the kids are fine. Everything is fine. Vicky obviously spoke to him, and they’re all on their way home now. But the thought of something happening is too much to bear, and you notice after a moment that your heart is practically pounding. You don’t want to keep Vicky waiting, though, so you toss your phone and keys into your bag and drive over.

She meets you at the door, and to your surprise, throws her arms around you. Relieved, you return the embrace, giving her a reassuring squeeze. 

“Thank you for coming all this way,” she murmurs against your shoulder.

“Thank you for letting me come by.” Vicky takes a deep breath and pats your back. You both pull away and she nods for you to follow her inside.

“Drink?” she asks, padding into the kitchen. She sounds tired. You trail behind her, realizing slowly that you’ve never really been alone together. Normally you feel a bit like you’re visiting your in-laws or something when David brings you round to Vicky’s. But the house feels smaller now, somehow, more intimate.

“I won’t say no to that.” She offers you a weary but genuine smile and takes a wine glass from the cupboard.

“I’ve got my own in the sitting room, so don’t worry. I’m not trying to liquor you up. White okay?” You let out a laugh at the joke and she shoots you a wry smile.

“Yeah, perfect, thank you.” You both go to sit and wait for David and the kids, finding yourselves on opposite ends of the couch. She sits so that she’s facing you a little, shoulder resting against the cushions.

“So, how’s things with you and Dave?” Vicky asks after a moment. You feel a guilty pang, but it’s clear that she’s really just curious. There’s no malice in her words–– of course, there never is. If anything, you imagine she just wants to fill the time.

“They’re good,” you say, hesitantly. “Thanks. It’s, ah… You know, obviously I love the kids, and––”

“Oh, they adore you,” she replies, smiling despite the anxiety on her brow. Your expression softens.

“Really?”

“Yeah, ‘course. They’re always asking about you.”

“Oh. That’s really sweet,” you say, genuinely a bit surprised. You love Charlie and Ella fiercely, but you’d always assumed they must have felt a bit strange about you. After all, you and David have been together for the better part of a year now. They know you’re dating their dad. You’d always thought it would be a little bit difficult for them–– and who could blame them if it was?

“We all love you, you know,” she says earnestly after a moment. “I’m pleased it’s going well with you two, really, I am.” Spindly fingers reach across the space as she covers your hand with her own, giving you an affectionate jostle. Tears glisten in her eyes, and you feel your chest tighten. “I know it’s probably weird, me saying all this, but…” She shakes her head. “I love Dave, he’s the father of my kids. And all I want is for him to be happy. I think you make each other happy.” You nod slowly, taking her words in, feelings tears slip down your own cheeks as you place your free hand on top of hers and squeeze.

“I think the world of you,” you say once she sits back. “I really want you to know that. You’ve been nothing but kind to me since day one, and––” She waves you off.

“Oh god, don’t give me so much credit,” she says, recovering a bit, “You were the one in the really scary position. Meeting the ex-wife? Please, I would have shat myself.” She lets out a shaky laugh, sniffs, wipes her eyes. “And you were so sweet!”

“Are you kidding?” you reply, halfway between tears and laughter, “If I had to meet my ex’s new partner, I probably would have had a cow.” Vicky laughs at that, and the two of you share an admittedly tearful but warm look.

As you’re wiping your eyes again, a car pulls up outside of the house, and both of your heads snap up at the sound.

“Oh thank god,” Vicky says, and you both hurry out the door. Charlie and Ella come bounding up to her, and just like that, you’re welling up again, seeing the kids reunited with their mother. David follows a few paces behind, and the kids step back from their little group hug as she goes to embrace him.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” Ella asks, turning to you. Charlie follows suit, and soon you’re knelt on the ground to give them a hug as well. 

“I was worried about all of you,” you say, “so your Mum asked if I’d like to come see you.”

“That was nice of her,” Charlie says.

“Yeah,” you agree, pulling away to scrub at your eyes, “it was, huh?” They both smile at you, and you glance at David, who’s reassuring an understandably distraught Vicky. It had been easier to curb your emotions when the two of you were talking, but now you can’t help yourself. No sooner have you dried your cheeks than fresh tears roll down them and you look at the kids again, admiring their sweet faces. “I’m very glad to see you both,” you say quietly.

“We’re glad to see you too,” Ella replies. Charlie moves to hug you again, seeing that you’re still crying, and Ella joins him. You squeeze them both as David and Vicky walk over.

“Come on you two,” she says, voice a little calmer, but still tinged with emotion, “it’s past your bedtime.” You let them both go and Vicky offers you a smile, which you return gratefully. They scamper off after her into the house, and you can’t possibly stand up quickly enough. David’s arms are around you in an instant and when you exhale, it feels like you’re deflating into him.

“What are you doing here, love?” he asks gently, a hand coming up to cradle your head.

“I thought you were going to come over tonight,” you murmur, “and when I didn’t hear from you, I got worried, and I called Vicky and she told me about the train, and...” You feel David tense up for a moment, and then sigh.

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry, love. I completely forgot.”

“No, it’s all right, Dave, really––”

“No, but you must have felt awful talking to Vic–– and I didn’t even call you.”

“Well, you had quite a lot going on from what I understand,” you say, pulling away to look at him. He looks exhausted, rattled, and upset at himself, no doubt. “I’m not angry,” you insist, “Really, I’m just so relieved you’re all okay.” You lift a hand to his cheek and though he leans into the touch, he looks down, brow creased in frustration. “David,” you say, trying to get him to look at you. “Your kids come first. I know that, I’ve known it since the day we met. It’s one of the many things I love about you.” Finally, he lifts his eyes to yours. They’re bright, you notice, more intense than usual. 

“I would’ve called you first thing in the morning.”

“I know you would have,” you say reassuringly. For a moment, you just look at each other, your thumb brushing across his cheek. “Love, are you all right?” David sniffs, nods. You drop your hand.

“Fine, yeah. I’m…” he takes a deep breath. “I’ll be alright,” he says, but he sounds defeated. You frown slightly, and nod. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you softly, quickly, before pressing another kiss to your forehead. “I’m gonna go help Vic put the kids to bed,” he says, nodding towards the house.

“I’ll drive you home,” you offer. “Yours or mine. Whatever you need.” He nods gratefully and tucks an arm around you. With your arm wound tightly around his waist, his kisses you on the temple and you both head back inside.

You sit back down on the couch and lean your head on your hand as he sheds his jacket and trots upstairs. You don’t even realize that you’re beginning to doze off until the sound of your name rouses you from half-consciousness. David’s face materializes before your own as you blink yourself awake. He smiles softly.

“Hi, you,” he says. You chuckle, and he reaches for your hand to help you up.

Vicky leans against the stairwell and hugs David and you each in turn.

“Don’t be strangers,” she says through a yawn, and the three of you shuffle to the front door. 

“Night, Vic,” David says, stepping outside.

“Night, Dave.” You pause before following him out and take Vicky’s hand.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say. “Really. Get some rest, all right?”

“You too,” she replies softly. “You’re always welcome here, you know.” You nod.

“Thank you. Night, babes.” Vicky smiles.

“G’night.” You turn and step out into the yard, David nodding to Vicky as she shuts the door. He puts his arm around you again and you start down the street towards your car.

“You two seem very cozy,” David says after a moment, almost sounding amused. You chuckle.

“Yeah, I like her. She was really sweet to me tonight.” You slow to a stop as you reach your car and dig in your bag for your keys. “It was nice talking, just me and her, I guess.” David’s smiling when you look up at him.

“Vicky’s good people,” he agrees. “And anyone would have to be out of their mind not to like you.” You can’t help but smile as you shake your head at him and unlock the doors. He climbs into the passenger seat and you go around to the driver’s side.

“Do you want me to take you home, love?” you ask once you’re situated. David looks at you almost sheepishly.

“I’d rather stay at yours, if you’ll have me.” You let out a breath and give him a tired smile.

“Of course I will,” you say, leaning over the console to kiss him. He chases your lips when you pull away, a hand resting on the back of your neck. You kiss him once more and start the car. 

The drive home is comfortably silent, and when you look over, you see that David has closed his eyes, is taking measured breaths. It’s something you’d recommended he do that you’d learned from your own time in therapy, though you’ve yet to convince him to go. It’s better than nothing, though, and while he doesn’t look completely untroubled when you park the car, he seems a bit calmer.

It’s nearly midnight when you finally trudge into your apartment, and David heads straight for your bedroom. You don’t bother to do anything more than take off your makeup in the bathroom before following after him. He’s already in his pyjamas–– he has a decent sized drawer at your place–– and you change unceremoniously into your own. He draws the covers back and climbs into bed and you do the same. You have to lean over him to turn the light out and for a moment, you hover over him in the darkness. You feel protective, like you want to stay poised above him, ready to frighten off any would-be attackers in the night. He shifts beneath you and you drop a kiss to his temple, then another. He exhales slowly.

“What do you need, darling?” you murmur against his skin, “What can I do?” He’s silent for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he admits softly, shaking his head against the pillow. “I dunno.” You nod.

“It’s okay.” You lay down beside him, one arm slung over his waist, face pressed to the back of his neck and your other arm tucked up against yourself. “It’s okay.” For a little while the only sounds in the room are his and your breathing. He reaches for your hand, interlocks his fingers with yours. Minutes go by. You close your eyes but don’t sleep. Then it feels like he’s trembling, and you hear his breath hitch. His grip on your hand tightens. He’s crying. You squeeze his fingers where they curl under your palm, your arm bracing more tightly around his body. The sound is so quiet, only a few gasping breaths every now and again, but you can still hear it rattling out of him. He could have died today. His children could have died today.

You don’t say anything–– there’s nothing to say. All you can do is hold him, and you do. When the shaking subsides a little, you move to cradle his head with your other arm and you stay like that until you’ve both fallen asleep.

In the morning, it’s almost as if nothing happened. David is a little bit quiet while you both eat breakfast, but that’s not terribly unusual. While you sit, he places a hand on your thigh, as if to silently reassure you that he’s fine. With a kiss to your forehead, he gets up to dress for work (there are a few of his suits in your closet), and when you’ve finished your tea you do the same. He has to leave a bit before you do, and you walk with him to the door.

“I’ll call you when I’m done today, all right?” he asks. You nod. “Okay.” His expression changes, becomes softer. “I love you,” he says earnestly, his voice soft. You can’t help but smile, even through your worry.

“I love you too, Dave.” He kisses you gently, a hand on either side of your face, and lingers there longer than he might ordinarily. Your hands find his waist and give a comforting squeeze. He smiles. Part of you wonders if he really is just okay. His expression seems peaceful as he kisses the side of your head again and turns to leave. You can only hope that you’re right.