An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
It had always been the two of us. In school, at home, shopping. There was never anyone else. She would spend nights at my house, and I did the same, ever since we were children. We trusted each other. We were best friends.
and all these are the things best friends do.
The things best friends don't do is steal long, hungry glances at the other, imagine how their face would feel in your hands, how soft it would be, imagine the other running their hands down your body, slowly, carefully… I was guilty of these things and I was not remorseful.
At first, I worried, whenever I'd hold Historia's hand for too long. Did she notice? Did my prolonged touch make her uncomfortable? My inability to hide my want for her plagued my actions during the day, and dreams of her—her cheeks stained red, her perfect tits covered in bite marks and contained perfectly in my hand, her lovely thighs around my hips—filled my nights.
The things best friends do not do is rig a stupid childish game of Seven Minutes In Heaven and pretend to be reluctant to get in the closet with the other, while their chest is collapses in on itself at the mere thought of what is about to happen. Or stare at the other's ass when they were in front on the journey to said closet. I was guilty of these things, never remorseful.
Historia stepped into the poorly lit place and I followed closing the door behind. Ever since the bottle landed on the two of us, her face had been expressionless. She probably did not want this but I was too selfish to care. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity I would never see again. I still made sure she was okay with the things I was about to do.
"Tell me your thoughts, Historia Teddy."
Read the rest by clicking the AO3 link and lemme know your thoughts 🥴
