warning: attempted sexual assault (not by our boy mando, and i don’t describe it in depth the furthest it goes is non-consensual kissing), light smut, angst then comfort, then fluff fluff fluff, identity theft, mentions of slave trade, canon violence, dom!din trying hard to be sub!din for you, he doesn’t succeed for long
word count: 4,174
Summary: You travel the galaxy with a Mandalorian who is much softer than his impenetrable beskar would lead others to believe. He leaves you with his son to search for a Quarry, but it’s not the Mando you’ve come to know and love who returns to you.
“It shouldn’t take long.” Mando hummed as he collected his gear from his weapon’s storage. You sat cross legged on the Razor Crest’s floor with the child in your lap. His small green hand played with the small, metal ball he seemed to always find. Your hand stroked his ears only stopping to push the ball away from his mouth when he began to try and chew on it. Mando turned around to stare down at you. “Will you be alright here?”
After traveling with the Mandalorian for the last two months, babysitting and completing repairs on the ship, you had finally grown accustomed to the silver beskar covered man. Initially it had been difficult for you to even look at the man for longer than a second⏤ too intimidated by the black t-shape visor that stared back at you. However, joining him had been your only option at the time, an act of self preservation, so you had to push your fear aside. Luckily, you had quickly learned that though the metal he was covered in was impossible to penetrate, the man underneath was as soft as they come.
Summary: You sustain a minor injury and while high on painkillers you ask Tommy to bring you to Joel. Who knew that being this off your face would bring out the truth you've been keeping from your best friend...
Warnings: Fluff, swearing, injury, established friendship, friends to lovers, protective Joel, idiots in love, no use of Y/N.
Word Count: 4, 252
"Son of a...!" The sharp, hot pain erupting through your shoulder steals your words and brings tears to your eyes. "Shit! You okay?!" You barely hear the voice over the pain. Tommy is crouching before you, his eyes searching you with worry. The horse you'd been tending to is shuffling nervously in the corner at the opposite end of the stall. "Oh fuck!" he exclaims, gawping at your arm. Following his gaze, you're horrified to see your arm dangling uselessly, your shoulder jutting out at an unnatural angle. "What...?" "I think it's dislocated," Tommy says grimly. You attempt to get up but the slightest jostle is agonising, and with a sharp gasp, you slump back down on your ass. "You need to get it reset. I"m gonna help you up and take you to the hospital, okay?"
You can't speak, you just grit your teeth and nod through the pain as Tommy eases you off the stable floor and walks you to the hospital. The doctor confirmed what Tommy had suspected and had set it back in place, but not without a barrage of unsavoury words from you. Now, as you're being lead through the streets by Tommy, your head is starting to float- or maybe it's your entire body. Whatever pain relief they'd given you, it's fucking great! Your steps feel a little out of sync with the rest of your body and you stagger a couple of times. "Whoa, steady," cautions Tommy, his voice sounding kind of distant as he guides you onto your street.
You begin to giggle but you don't know why. "What's so funny?" Tommy asks in amusement. "I have n- no idea," you say in a dreamy voice that doesn't quite sound like your own. Tommy lets out a small chuckle. "Whatever they've dosed you up with, I wouldn't mind some of that." He continues to steer you towards your house, which just so happens to be next door his brother's. "Are we there yet?" you moan. "What are you...? A five year old in the back of a car." Tommy jests. "I wish we s-still had cars," you sigh wistfully. "I love a road trip." "The only trip you'll be taking is over your own damn feet if you don't watch where you're stepping," Tommy mock scolds as he steadies you again. "I'm not sure it's a good idea to leave you alone like this," he says thoughtfully.
You glance at Joel's house and you smile when you see his lights are on. "I know... Take me t- to Joel. He'll... look after me." "Uh... I don't know about that?" Tommy answers hesitantly. Your head rolls to look at Tommy. "Why not?" You can't help but pout. "Because the second he sees you like this, he's gonna loose his shit." "But I like Joel," you smile around your pleading tone. "Yeah, I know ya do, hunny," he pauses, then adds quietly, "I think we all do." "Wa...?" Tommy shakes his head. "Nothing," he quips, suppressing a smile. You give him your best doe eyes and Tommy groans, "Fine, but... get ready for the shit storm."
*****
Joel sat on the bench on his back porch, guitar in his lap and a steaming mug of coffee on the table beside him. Strumming away, he allowed the slow melody to take his mind elsewhere... but not for long. Turning his head, he checks your house for the tenth time in several minutes. It's still dark; no sign of life. Strange, she's usually home by now, he thinks to himself. "Joel." Tommy's muffled call comes from within the house. "Joel!" Joel jumped up at the sudden urgency in his brother's voice. Leaving the guitar on the bench, he rushed into the house and stopped abruptly, his whole body going rigid at the sight of Tommy holding you up and, is that... a fucking sling?! "Heyyy..." You look up and give Joel a half dopey smile.
"What the fuck?!" burst Joel, his legs clearing the distance between you in a nanosecond. "Darling, what happened?!" He promptly took you from Tommy and ushered you into the living room, holding you carefully while you sat down on the settee. Joel whirled on his brother, fear and adrenaline making him sound harsher than he should be. "What the fuck happened to her, Tommy?!" "Dislocated her shoulder," Tommy replied factually. Joel blinked, stunned. "How the hell did that happen?!" "Don't yell at him," you slur slightly. "It was my fault. I wa- walked around the back of the- the horse and she spooked..." Your words trail off into quiet laughter and the brother's give each other quizzical looks. "The last thing I remember before hitting the st- stall was a giant horse's ass coming my way!"
The laughter then burst from you but with the force of it, so did the ache in your shoulder. "Ow! ow! ow!" Sucking in a sharp breath, you hold your throbbing arm. "Easy, easy darling," soothed Jeol, sitting down beside you and pulling you into his broad frame. "You're okay, I've got you." He tucked your head under his chin and rocked you slowly. "Why's she talkin' funny?" He looked up at Tommy with concern. "Pain killers. They've done a real number on her," Tommy answered with a sympathetic smile. "I was untacking my horse when I heard a big thump in the stall and when I got there she was on the floor." "Shiiit..." Joel dragged the word out. "What am I gonna with you, huh?" His tone was low, intimate bedside your ear.
"I'm sorry," you mumble. "I should have b- been more careful-" "Shhh, it's okay," Joel hummed, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, then he instantly froze. Shit! Did he really just do that? He didn't even think it through; all he saw was you in pain, sounding so fragile, and it was just a natural reflex. Tommy cleared his throat and when Joel looked up at him he saw a smirk hiding in the corner of Tommy's mouth. "She asked for you, Joel. Said you'd uh... 'look after her'". Joel shot a withering look at Tommy. "If you're busy I- I can go home. It's okay, Joel," you say, sitting up straight. "Absolutely not!" Joel replied. "You're not going anywhere. You did the right thing coming to me." Joel fixed you with a stern look, his protective instincts flaring. "Remember what I told you...? You get into trouble, you come to me."
The smile you gave him made his heart lurch; a smile that says, 'I trust you", and that... that is everything to Joel. You tuck yourself back into his neck and he relishes the feel of you where you belong- right here in his arms. "Well... I got a wife and son who are probably wondering where the hell I am, so I'll just see myself out," Tommy piped up and turned to walk away. "Tommy..." Joel called after him. He stopped and turned to Joel. "Thank you for taking care of her." His tone was laden with gratitude. Tommy nodded and smiled at Joel. "Thank you, Tommy," you echo. "It's no trouble, hunny. You feel better, okay." And with that, Tommy left, closing the front door behind him. Still snuggled into Joel's body, you let out a contented sigh. "You okay, darling?" Joel whispered.
"Hmm... yeah Just a- a little tired," you mumble into Joel's shirt. "It's probably a side affect of the medication. Why don't you take a nap?" suggested Joel, but that's not what you want right now; not when Joel's arm is around your waist and his warmth and scent are enveloping your senses. "No, no," you mumble sleepily. "I want to stay like this, please. This feels... nice." You hear an amused huff from Joel. "Okay, just hold on a minute..." You open your eyes to see him reach across the setee for a blanket, all the while never letting you go. When you both settle back into the cushions he drapes the blanket over you and brings his other arm across your body. "Comfy?" he hums. "Mmm... very," you sigh and lay your uninjured arm on his forearm, smoothing him in circles.
Countless times you've fantasized about being held by Joel like this and, even if you weren't woozy from the drugs, you're certain you'd still be light headed right now. "This is nice," you say again. "I like this... I- I like your arms..." Did you just say that? Huh, yeah you did and for some reason you're not mortified to admit it, so you continue, "Actually I looove your arms. They're big and- and strong..." Did you imagine it or did Joel just tense beside you? "... and I feel sooo s-safe in them." "Umm... okay, that's... good to know." Weird, his voice seems to have risen in pitch. "I love how you take c- care of me and how good you are to me." You bring your hand to rest on Joel's chest, right beside your head and tap. "I love your heart, and..." Oh, what the hell, "I love you, Joel."
Joel let out an awkward laugh. "Aw, love you too, darling." You can tell by his casual tone that he completely misunderstood your meaning. "No," You sit up, your face so close to his you can smell the coffee on his breath and you fix your eyes on his. "I mean I love you, Joel... more than a friend should." Whoa, what the hell is in these drugs? All this time you've lived with the feelings you have for your best friend, never having the guts to come clean and now it's like you have no filter. Joel's eyebrows shoot up and he looks completely astonished. After a moment, his eyes soften and he opens his mouth like he wants to say something and it's then you realise you've been holding your breath. His eyes drop to your lips and when they travel back to yours, you're sure you saw... something there. Longing? Desire?
Emboldened by Joel's reaction and the sudden sexual tension in the air, you lean in and, even though you're a little out of it, you see him lean in just a fraction. And that's when it happens. The atmosphere shifts and Joel jerks away, his eyes now anywhere but on you. Your heart plummets, right through your stomach and down to your feet. "Um- I uh... I'll go make us something to eat," Joel rushes, rising to his feet. "Joel...?" Your voice is a timid whisper and you hate the sound. He doesn't allow you to finish. "You must be hungry by now," he continues, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down. Oh, that's not a good sign! You've learned by now that's what he does when he's anxious. "You just take it easy in here, okay?" He doesn't wait for an answer, leaving the living room in just a few hurried strides.
Your breath leaves your lungs as if you've been punched, humiliation a rising tide. What have you just done?! Had you read the signs wrong the entire time? For a while now, there was a part of you that suspected Joel might feel something more for you beyond a platonic friendship, but reality is a brutal bitch. With a sickening feeling, you realise it was nothing more than wishful thinking. Tears burn your eyes but you blink them back. You've already shamed yourself enough for one day. You slump against the back of the settee, head lolled over the back of it and stare at the ceiling, which appears to be wobbling in your drug induced state. "What the fuck have I done?!" you whisper harshly to yourself. You want to cry, you want to die, you want a sink hole to swallow you whole. Hell, even being tossed into a pit of infected would be less painful than the hollow feeling where your heart once was.
Have you just ruined the best friendship you've ever had? You don't want to know the answer to that. Maybe you should leave quietly while Joel's distracted in the kitchen. No, he'd only come knocking on your door. You could go after him and talk this though like a mature adult... or you could just blame it on the medication and when he comes back in, you could just pretend it never happened. Indecision and frustration are having a tug of war in your mind. You close your eyes and take a deep breath to centre yourself, the fatigue you'd felt earlier only growing stronger. You have no choice; you'll just have to face the consequences of what you've done...
*****
In the kitchen, Joel is barely holding himself together as he absentmindedly heats up some leftover beef stew. He'd almost kissed you! You'd said all the right things, all the things he'd been dreaming to hear from you, looked at him with such sincerity, put your trust in him while you were vulnerable and he'd almost kissed you. Did you even mean it or was it the drugs talking? For a moment he'd believed it was all you and he wanted nothing more than show you how he feels about you, to claim your mouth with his own. But in the last moments before his lips met yours, realisation that you're in no fit state hit him like a sledgehammer, dousing the heat beneath his skin. He had to get out of there- for both of your sakes. He knows he did the right thing, so why does he feel like utter shit for it?
The worst part was the devastation written all over your face and he hates himself for it. It's taking all of his willpower to not walk back in there and finish what had almost started. He stirs the stew with a little more force than necessary, trying to channel his frustration into the motion. What the hell is he going to say to you when he goes back in there? It's not like you both can just ignore what happened. His worries were short lived though, when he walked back into the living room with two steaming bowls to find you asleep on the setee with your head tilted back, a soft snore filling the otherwise silent room. He placed the bowls on the coffee table and just observed you for a moment. He smiled softly as he sat down beside you.
"Hey..." he shook your knee gently, "Wake up, darling." "Mmm..." Your head slumped to the side and your eyes cracked open slightly before closing again. Removing the blanket form you, Joel slipped one arm behind your back and the other under your legs and carefully scooped you into his arms. His chest tightened with a rush of affection when you nuzzled you face deeper into his chest. What he wouldn't give to have you like this forever- just without the injury. He took the stairs carefully, bringing you into his bedroom. He laid you gently on the bed then took your boots off, leaving them beside the bed. Pulling the quilt over you, he tucked it up to your chin and swiped a few loose strands of hair off your face. Taking a moment to look over you, Joel smiled and whispered, "Sweet dreams, darling," then left the room with the door ajar.
You wake with a groan, fighting against the pull of your eyelids. When you finally manage to peel them open, it's to a room you've never seen before. Your adrenaline spikes and your eyes shoot wide open. What the hell...? In your disoriented state you, you attempt to bolt upright, only to be reminded of your fragile condition by the deep throb along your shoulder. Sucking in a pained breath, you lay back down and glance around the room, searching for any clues as to where you are. It only takes a moment to for you to notice Joel's jacket hanging over the back of a wooden chair and a guitar propped against the wall beside it. On the bedside table are a pair of reading glasses and a book on woodwork. This must be Joel's bedroom, but what the hell are you doing in here?
The last thing thing you remember is lazing on the settee and... Oh fuck! It hits you like a bucket of freezing water: Joel's arms around you, your mouth running away with you, the almost kiss... Your stomach twists into a knot and if you had the energy, you think you might just throw up. "Oh no, no, no!" You're voice comes out as a choked whisper, one hand covering your face in absolute motification. What the fuck were you thinking last night?! The memory of Joel's flustered face and quick departure bursts behind your eyelids. You couldn't have been more wrong about him, so what now? Have you ruined what you already have because you couldn't keep your damn mouth shut? How are you supposed to face him now? You drag yourself up- your head still a little heavy with sleep- and slide your legs over the side of the bed.
From the weak light spilling in through the thin curtains, you guess it must be pretty early. Maybe you could sneak out of here without alerting Joel... or maybe a black hole could open up and suck you in; that would be the preferred option right now. Alas, the universe is never that kind. Leaning forward, you grab your boots and after a few moments of one handed struggle, you manage to slip your feet in and stuff the laces in the sides. Being careful to make as little noise as possible, you creep across the bedroom floor and crack the door open, listening for any movement in the house; nothing. You breath a sigh of relief and step out onto the landing, taking extra care to step lightly as you make your way down the stairs.
Passing the living room, you see a pillow and a rumpled blanket on the settee. Shit, he's awake. Okay, get to the front door, your inner voice is screaming. You only make it half way before you hear a deep voice say "Good morning," from behind you. A high pitched gasp escapes you and you spin around to find Joel leaning against the kitchen door frame in loose, grey sweatpants and a creased white t-shirt, holding a mug of coffee in one hand. "Holy shit, Joel, you scared the hell out of me!" "Sorry," Joel says with a teasing tilt to his lips. "How's the shoulder?" "A little sore, but much better than yesterday," you reply. Joel smiled, looking relieved. "Good... I made coffee if you want some." You shift uncomfortably and you hate it. You've never felt uncomfortable around Joel the whole time you've known him.
"No thanks," you say, trying to sound casual. A lingering silence falls between you both and Joel looks at you is if he's unsure what to say next. God, the tension is stifling; you can barely look him in the eye. "How'd you sleep?" he finally says. "Okay... Uh, about that..." You grasp a hand with the other one, fingers fiddling with each other. "How did I end up in your..." Your cheeks flush at the thought of saying bed. That feels too intimate. "...um, room?" Joel walked towards you, setting his mug down on a low unit in the passage. "You fell asleep on the setee, so I took you up." Your mind flooded with thoughts of Joel carrying you upstairs and your stomach gave a little flip. You try your best to ignore it but you can feel your cheeks heating up again. "You should have woken me up, I would have gone home." Joel shook his head. "Not in that state. You were safer here where I could keep an eye on you."
"Well... thanks," you smile. Another silence falls and you can't take it anymore. "I should, uh... get... going," you splutter and Joel steps even closer. "What's the rush? Stay for breakfast," he urges, sounding hopeful. "Um, I can't. I-I need to go!" Inwardly, you cringe at the stammer in your voice and turn to leave. But before you can even take a step, you feel Joel's hand wrap around your wrist. "Wait," he says softly, and that one word alone has you freezing on the spot, your heart beginning a marathon. You turn to face him with what you hope is a neutral expression. "We need to talk," he insists, giving you the most intense look you've ever seen and you're not sure you're ready for this. "About what?" you ask casually- too casually.
Joel gives you a flat look. "You know what." You close your eyes for a moment and shake your head as if that alone could erase what you'd said last night. "Honestly, Joel, I'd rather forget it happened," you groan. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I- I wasn't thinking straight and I was high on painkillers-" "So, you didn't mean any of it?" Joel jumped in, his brows pinching together as he studied you. He looks disappointed. No that can't be right. Your mouth opens and closes again, your brain clearly lagging this morning. "Uh... it's not- that's not what I meant..." Joel's frown eased into a soft, almost smile. Your cheeks are a furnace now and you lower your gaze to his chest and begin to ramble, "I don't want to ruin our friendship, Joel. You're like my best friend and it's okay that you don't feel the same -" "You think I don't feel the same?" Joel's question catches you off guard, just as much as his sudden proximity.
He's dangerously close, his big chocolate eyes searing into yours. "Um, no..." you answer, but it sounds more like a question. "You made that clear last night." Joel huffed, smiling gently at you. "Darling, how long have we known each other?" Okaaay... Where's he going with this? "Uh... about a year," you reply, hesitantly. "And I have loved you. Every. Single. Day," he punctuated the last words. Jaw slack, you just stare at Joel as his words sink in. "But- but last night, you couldn't get away from me fast enough!" Joel sighed, pained. "I had to get away from you... or I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from doing this..." Before your brain could even compute, you were in Joel's strong arms, his lips crashing to yours with a hunger that rendered your legs useless and made your head swim.
Holy freaking shit! Joel Miller is kissing you. So all this time, you haven't been alone in your longing. He's wanted you too! Your trail your hand up his shoulder, along his neck and into his hair, gripping the curls and you can't stop the moan that comes out. In response, Joel's hold on you tightens and he slides his tongue inside your mouth, desperate for as much of you as he can get. He'd tossed and turned all night, torturing himself over wether you'd meant what you'd said. A part of him feared to hope; after all, what would a beautiful woman like you see in his old ass? But now tha you've laid all his doubts to rest, he couldn't be happier. All these months of loving you from a distance, of wanting you, of wanting to take care of you, had been chipping away at him. He's an idiot. Why didn't he say something to you sooner?
When you both pull apart, breathless and giddy, Joel says, "Now do you see how you make me feel and why I had to put some space between us? It was almost impossible for me to walk away but I wasn't bout to take advantage of you while you were high as a kite." You give him a teary smile and Joel's heart melts at the sight. "You're a good man, Joel Miller..." You place your hand on his chest, "With a good heart." Joel settles his hand over yours and smiles. "It's all yours, darling. For however long you want it." "Is forever okay?" you purr and Joel sighs happily, all the love, affection and tenderness he has for you welling up inside. He brings his hand to your cheek. "I love you, so much," he declares. "I love you too, Joel. God, we're idiots," you chuckle. "We wasted so much time dancing around our feelings for each other."
Joel's arms tightens around your waist in a possessive gesture that has your boobs pressed against his chest and it causes your pulse to race. "Well, we won't waste any more," he says, the rumble of his voice vibrating through your chest. "Agreed," you breathe and you kiss each other again, slow and deep. Oh, you're definitely not going to be able to get enough of that. After a few moments, Joel breaks the kiss and slides his hand into yours, fingers threading, and he begins to lead you to the kitchen. "Now, come on. You're still under my care and I'm making you breakfast." "Bossy," you laugh while snuggling against his arm. He turns his head, giving you a blinding smile. "But I like it," you grin. He replies with a wink that makes your insides go all gooey and you smile to yourself, knowing this is the start of something long awaited and beautiful.
tags: 18+ only, mentions of violence (not to reader ofc), soft! clint, daddy kink duh, pet names, older boyfriend! clint, legal age gap, dirty talk, praise kink, incorporating the bunny during sex (SORRY NOT SORRY), smut (p in v), creampie, multiple orgasms
word count: 2,138
summary: clint makes up missed time with you by giving you a jellycat, lingerie, and slow kinky sex.
clint quietly walks through the threshold of his house, being extra cautious to close the front door to avoid waking you up out of your slumber. his clothes were ruffled a bit, dried blood on the knuckles of his right hand, paired with the bruising that was already threatening to show through the skin.
in his other hand lay a bunny doll holding a cake. a jellycat you called it one day. you had went on a tangent about how you loved those things and how new ones came out on the website every week. when you turned your phone screen to show clint, his eyes widened at the price of just one. you explained how they don't wither very easily, though.
so now, here he was. holding this doll, the aftermath of carrying out some business to a crackhead who owed "the guy" some money evident on his knuckles and face. glancing at the hallway where he knew you were fast asleep in his bed, he made his way down it, each step softly thudding against the hardwood flooring. opening the bedroom door slowly, he sees your figure buried underneath the warmth of the comforter and blankets, one of his old t-shirts covering you.
a ghost of a smile threatened to appear on his face as he turned his head toward the bathroom before shutting the door and laying the doll next to your pillow. once he was in the bathroom, he quickly shed his clothes and shoes, basking in the steaming hot water that he liked to think washed away his inequities.
unbeknownst to him, you shifted awake while he was in the shower, feeling something foreign near your head. blinking your eyes open, you grabbed it and quickly knew what it was. this woke you up quickly as you gasped, examining it further and smiling. leaning back against the headboard of the bed, you cuddled with it, trying to think of a cute name.
the bathroom door then opened and out came a half naked clint, towel draped low around his waist with beads of water dripping from the ends of his hair and down his face and neck.
"clint, look!" you say excitedly, showing him the cute bunny. he chuckles, walking over to you on the bed. "i know, baby. you like it?" he asks before kissing you on the forehead.
you nod, happily. "i have to name her."
"how d'ya know it's a her?" he genuinely asks, walking back to the drawer to grab a pair of sweatpants. "i just do, silly." you bite back. after he pulled the pants on, he crawled on the bed up to you, pulling you down by your legs so you could lay on your back. "well, i hope she makes up for me being late. i'm sorry, honey, you know work." he positioned his body to lay his head on your stomach, cuddling with you now.
in the short time you've been with clint, you've come to learn that he works a lot.
'i help make business deals.' was how he phrased it. he'd never tell you exactly what that entailed, though. you were too sweet, too nice to know that side of him. he'd never hurt you like that and didn't want your mind even going there.
"yea, i know...bubbles says it's okay, too." your fingers go over the bunny's ears feeling how soft they are. clint's eyebrows raise in amusement. "bubbles, huh?" he glances down at it. "bubbles the bunny." he speaks again, making you giggle.
"noo, you said i'm your bunny." you feign pouting, remembering how he called you that a few times. clint leans forward, planting a kiss on your lips. "you are, baby. daddy's little bunny." he reassures, making you smile again.
as you two lie there on the bed, he asks you about college. ever since he started talking to you about your grades, they have been slowly improving. your parents didn't give a shit about things like that, only caring that you weren't dead or pregnant. "how'd 'ya do on that test? what was it, chemistry?" he asked as he ran circles over your stomach underneath the t-shirt.
"yes, i got a B. my professor wrote a nice note on it. i think she's proud of me..." you say it with a hint of uncertainty. "of course, honey. i'm proud of you, too."
“look man. i got two jobs to carry out today. you cannot fuck this shit up.” clint’s clipped tone came out and into the receiver of whoever was on the other end of the line. he paused, listening.
“i don’t give a fuck if your arm is broken! you should’ve did it right the first time.” he let out a heavy sigh. “alright alright, fine. it’ll be your fault.” he hangs up the phone, jabbing his thumb on the red button on the screen.
it was saturday and you were so grateful for the weekend after a long week of classes. you didn’t have any tests next week and did your homework already, so it was a free weekend. you thought maybe you and clint could go do something. waltzing into the kitchen, you see him sat at the dining table, his head in his hands.
you heard him fussing earlier but didn’t want to bring it up. he heard the soft paddles of your sock covered feet and looked up at you. “oh, hey baby.” he extended his arm, inviting you to come sit on his lap. “hi.” you gently reply, sitting on his leg, draping yours across his other one before kissing him on the cheek.
he smiles. “always so sweet to me.”
“clint, do you have to work today?” you bite the bullet and just ask. he sighs in disappointment, not at you, just everything. “i do. ‘m sorry honey.” his fingers rub against your knees, soothingly.
you pout. “aw c’mon darlin’. don’t be like that. ‘s how i make the money to buy you things.” he lifts your chin up with his index finger. “yea…i know…” you were really sad, you just wanted to spend the day with him.
“hey, tell ‘ya what,” he pauses. “why don’t you take my credit card. go to the mall. buy something pretty, and show it to daddy when he gets home, hm? how’s that sound?” he suggests, brightening your mood at the thought of shopping.
you smile bashfully, sitting up straighter. “okay!”clint just shakes his head, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket to find the card. he hands it to you, caught between his index and middle fingers. you go to pull it away, but he keeps a good grip on it, making you look at him.
“daddy.” you whine, pulling at it again, and he let go this time, chuckling at you. “you’re spoiled, you know that?” he kisses your cheek, his grown-out stubble scratching your face.
“i’m not.” you defend. “you are.” he pushes, leaning in this time to capture your lips with his. he tastes like coffee and a hint of mint. you kiss for a few moments more before he pulls away. “hey, promise me you’ll be careful today? lot of bad things happenin’ around town.” he firmly tells you.
you nod your head. “yes, i promise.”
he smiles. “that’s my good girl.”
earlier today, you had picked out the prettiest pink and white lacy bra and panty set, but the second clint got home and saw you in it, he pounced.
"that's right, honey. right there." he grunted out as he held onto your hips with the heels of your feet resting above his backside. he had just slipped the tip of his cock inside of you. his plan was to purposefully take it slow tonight, wanting to feel every inch of your warm, wet walls. your fingers searched to grip onto anything: sheets, a pillow, blanket, anything.
"talk to daddy. tell me what 'ya want." he leaned down, his body pressing down against yours, planting kisses on your cheeks. letting out a breathy moan at his thickness, your walls fluttered around him, trying to stretch to accommodate him. his hands trailed up behind your shoulders, sandwiched between them and the bed.
"i-i want it, daddy, please go slow?" you sweetly ask of him, trying to catch your breath. he coos at you, kissing your soft lips, slipping just the tip of his tongue inside your mouth. teasing you. "of course, darlin'. 'ya want daddy to fuck you niiiiice and slow, hm?" he pulls his hips back to push another slow, deep thrust into you.
"yes, yes!" moaning out in complete pleasure, you close your eyes and try to ground yourself so you don't float off in your mind. you feel one of clint's hands leave your shoulder and land on your breasts that were exposed with just the pink bra laying directly below them. he wanted to fuck you with the set still on. this also consisted of your panties being pulled to the side while he drives in and out of your weeping pussy.
"missed this, baby. missed you." he speaks through the pleasure of your tight pussy having a vice grip around his throbbing cock. "i missed you t-too, daddy."
"such a good girl. gettin' good grades in school, studyin' so hard." he rolls your nipple between his fingers while kneading your breast, watching them jiggle. "yes, i'm your good girl." you say, loving how he was praising you.
he smirks, angling his hips in a different direction, hitting a new spot. a deeper spot. your eyes fly open, grabbing his forearms as your mouth falls open. "oh that's a little deeper, ain't it baby?" he teased you, speeding up just the slightest to keep hitting it for you.
out of the corner of his eye, he sees it.
bubbles.
he reaches over to grab it, giving it to you to hold. "why don't 'ya hold on to her while daddy fucks you." you immediately obey, holding bubbles tightly to your chest, adding a new thrill to the situation. the soft sound of your skin colliding filled the room on top of your squeals and clint's groans.
"my two little bunnies." he growls, loving the sight of you holding that precious doll while creaming all over his cock and down his balls. you giggle amidst it all. "she wants a-a kiss, daddy." you hold her out for him to kiss. he smirks before leaning forward to plant a kiss on bubbles' head.
his thumb starts to rub circles over your clit just how you like it, as he keeps fucking you. "cum for me, honey, please? squeeze daddy's cock." he talks you right to the edge, feeling that coil building up and getting ready to burst. your clit also begins to flutter as your eyes roll back as you let your orgasm wash over you. "that's a good bunny. yes, just like that, keep cumming." clint bit his lip at your wrecked figure: eyes glossed over, lips swollen from biting them, sweat glistening over your pretty skin.
"o-oh my god, daddy i can't..." you whimper, it was feeling too good that you thought you couldn't take it. clint shook his head, bringing you back to a good pace, his cock soaking wet in your juices. "yes you can, bunny." he pulled all the way out, leaving you empty and before you could say anything, he pushed back in, loving the feeling of that first stroke against the head of his cock.
he did this over and over again, pulling all the way out then putting it back in. "that feel good, bunny?
"yes, please...faster daddy." you whimper. "shh, shh. okay, baby." his other hand goes to your neck and puts just the slightest pressure on the sides, cutting off some air supply while heightening the feeling of his cock pounding into you. "fuck. that pretty pussy just cryin' for me, honey." he brings both of your legs onto his shoulders, kissing your calves.
"i feel 'ya squeezin' again. give me one more, princess. just for daddy." your sensitive walls were acting before you knew it, hitting you unexpectedly, as you squeal and moan underneath him. "shit baby, here it comes, you ready?" his breaths get quicker and his grip gets tighter. his balls tighten as he feels the muscle on the underside of his cock start to contract while he spills his seed deep inside of you.
as you both take deep breaths, coming down from the high, you look into each others eyes. "i love you, darlin'. i really do." he whispers, kissing the tip of your nose as you smile and catch his lips before he pulls too far away. "i love you too, daddy," you pause.
cw: nightmare (leon), cuddling, hand holding, a simple kith, re9 violence, some angst, LOTS of fluff, a lil jealousy, happy ending, you comfort leon, he comforts you, what can i say
wc: like 5.3k lol thats my bad idk why its so long
The first time you hold Leons hand, he doesn't know what to do. You were his current mission objective, and his purpose was to keep you safe and bring you to the extraction point. Hand holding was not and is not something ever requested or required of him. Sure, sometimes he would hold a kids hand when he was extracting them, but it was more of a mechanism for protection and safety than it was for their comfort, though Leon knew that often, holding the kids hands helped them feel safer. He didn't mind that, but it wasn't ever the reason he did it. He just found that it was easier to keep track of kids that way, and only did it when he couldn't just carry the children.
Protection had never meant affection in any way. At least not usually. And besides, you weren't a kid. So hand holding or carrying would be, generally speaking, extremely unusual. But he liked you. Your conversations, the way you would lean into him when scared, how you looked to him for protection while also being a strong, grounded adult.
You don't even think about it when you shove your hand into his, crouched down next to him, peeking around the corner, both of you staring intently at the two blisterheads, the first of these kinds of zombies that you'd seen, with their jerky, erratic movements, their soft, sinister growls, and their unnnaturally blown up, cranium heavy heads. Your hand just simply- finds his, heart pounding and muscles tense with anxiety. You do it automatically, like you'd always held his hand, like your hand belonged in his, like it was the right place to be. Granted, you'd probably hold your enemies hand if they were next to you too, but it wouldn't feel as safe.
When your hands interlace, Leon doesn't flinch or move. He simply adjusts. He is far too tactically trained for a behavior like that, especially in a situation where he's dealing with flinch-happy creatures like these monsters. But boy is he surprised. He glances at you out of the periphery of his vision. "you okay?" he murmurs, his voice a gentle rumble. Most of his attention stays focused on the blisterheads, who haven't yet noticed either of you. Both of you are doing your best to keep it that way.
You nodded, not trusting your voice, your hand squeezing onto his even tighter.
Using his free hand, Leon pulls Requiem quietly from its holster, and aims the gun carefully. His hand moves with practiced confidence, the lines of his muscles flexing as he straightens it and points, lining both creatures up in the line of fire. When he's happy with his aim, he shoots once, the bullet slicing through both of their heads as if made of tofu. A spray of blood paints the rubble around the now twice-dead blisters. Leon lip twitches, a small smile flickering there. "Heh. Two blisters, one bullet." He does not let go of your hand as he holsters his gun once more, his eyes sweeping the perimeter of the building, checking to see if the noise would attract more creatures or if that was it. You stay quiet as he does so, keeping your eyes peeled as well.
"I think we're okay. For now at least." He says, his other hand grabbing your elbow to help you as you stand up.
"Thank fuck." You say, dusting some of the powdery cement that had landed on your cargo pants. "Those things were scary."
Leon can't resist a smile when you say that, checking his comms for the to figure out the best place to. "The blisters? Nah. They're just irritating. Like hemmoroids. Can't get off my ass."
You let out a little snort of laughter, your residual fear slowly disapearing. Agent Ashrcroft's voice flickers through the comm as Leon asks for an update. "Leon, theres a safe house a couple blocks down from where you two are located. You can rest there for the night. I've sent the details to your device. Over. Will communicate more when you reach the safe house."
Leon nods. "Lets go." He says to you. He glances down at your intertwined hands once but doesn't say anything more. He doesn't let go, just starts to walk, his comm shoved back in his pocket, clearly knowing his way around here. It was Raccoon City, after all, and he had said, in one of the brief moments where you got him to talk about himself, that he was from here. You glance around. Not a single building here was still fully intact. Roofs slopped, caving in. Clothing dirty and tossed. Cars abandoned, full of supplies rotting and useless.
It must be hard, you mused. Seeing the place he knew so torn up. You squeeze his hand, almost as if to comfort him, and he squeezes back on autopilot, his focus on ensuring that you get through the rubble and buildings to a safe place without dying. Leon is constantly on alert, his eyes always scanning the area. He was good at his job, you'll give him that. And you would miss him when this job was over, which was odd to say because these had literally been some of the worst days of your life.
The two of you make it to the safe house with no serious trouble, and you finally let go of his hand, almost regretfully, missing the warmth and comfort immeadiately as you guys set up camp.
"Time to rest." Leon says. He takes some of his guns and weapons off, resting them to his sides. But Requiem, he keeps on him. His hatchet, which he takes care to sharpen and clean, wiping flakes of dried blood off. You watch him cleaning methodically, the motion repetitive and soothing, finding yourself staring at his hands. It had been awful nice to hold them. You find yourself wishing you had another excuse to hold his hand.
As the two of you dig into some canned tuna and stale saltines, a comfortable silence fills the air. You finally allow yourself to take a breath, knowing that in this area, you were at least safe for the night. Or that was the hope, anyways. You felt calm, with the little lamp buzzing softly, the two sleeping bags rolled out, yours on the small twin bed, Leons on the floor, despite your numerous offers to let him have the twin bed instead.
No no, ever the gentlemen, he simply says. "take the bed. i prefer the floor anyways. harder to sneak up on." you want to argue with his logic, but then decide that its not worth your time, and simply accept his offer of kindness.
You look up from your sad meal of tuna flakes to see him staring at you, his gaze burning a hole in your skin. It shocks you, the intensity of his gaze. You can't help but wonder what he's thinking when he stares like that. He glances away once he notices your gaze, and the moment passes as he stands up to check that the place is secure one more time before its time to sleep.
After the food and a simple washing up, you curl into your sleeping bag. it is nice to sleep on top of a bed again, you have to admit, the softness feeling foriegn after your abduction. Even though you can feel the springs hidden in the thin mattress, a twin bed has never felt more comforting and beautiful in your entire life.
"Thanks for letting me have the bed, Leon." You murmur, voice thick from tiredness.
"Glad you're comfortable." Is is simple reply, as he unzips his sleeping bag and settles in himself.
"Good night." You murmur, already drifting off. Leon turns off the little lamp with a soft click.
"Good night." He replies back. "Sleep well."
__
As the two of you are walking down the city streets the next morning, you actually find it quite peaceful. You really shouldn't, you suppose, but its been a couple of mornings like this and knock on wood, nothing too terrifying had happened in the mornings. The cold seemed to make the creatures go mildly dormant. Or perhaps they were more nocturnal than anything. You weren't sure. But whatever it was, mornings had always been relatively peaceful.
"Leon," You say, as the two of you walk over a bridge that feels like it may soon collapse beneath your feet, creaking and groaning. "Do you like what you do?"
"What I do?" He repeats, sparing you a quick glance, before it returns to scanning the horizon for dangers. He kicks a crushed soda can, the label long deteriorated.
"It seems like such a tough job. Mentally and physically." You say simply. "And so dangerous."
"It helps people." He replies back. "And I have more personal reasons as well." His eyes flick down to his gloved hand.
"I see." You reply. You don't want to pry.
"I've lost people." He continues quietly. "Seen people lost. Seen people gone. Watched people turn. It is a mercy, to take these people out of their misery. They're in pain, you know. They're supposed to be dead but they aren't, not fully, not yet. It is a mercy. A kindness."
He still refers to them as people sometimes, you note. Interesting for someone who has been at the hand of so many of their deaths.
"And, if I can save one more person whose alive? It's worth it. All the shit i deal with. I can't save em all." His face tenses at that, and he actually stops for a second, his gaze far off in the distance, lost in a memory.
"But I can try."
"Can't make killing some of these people easier though. Even if you save a few."
Leon shrugs at that. "Maybe not. But I've always been confident that what I've done has been the right thing. Even back when I was a starry-eyed recruit for the Raccoon City Police Department."
Leon actually laughs for a second, taking your hand and helping you over a large pile of rocks. "Technically this is breaking client confidentiality, but I don't think she'd care. I helped this kid: Sherri. A long time ago. She helped me too, more than she knew then. More than she knows now."
He reaches into his back pocket, behind his hatchet, and pulls out a sleek black wallet, which he flips open. You see a blonde girl, dressed in blue graduation regalia, her smile bright and sunny.
"This was her high school graduation. She sent me this picture." Leons smile softens as he looks at Sherri. "She got to graduate because of me."
"I don't always know how the people I save turn out. But I never regret it. Even saving one person."
"Oh man," You say softly. "Thats so beautiful. I kind of thought you just liked beating zombies up."
Leon lets out a huff of laughter. "It is satisfying in it's own way."
You squeeze his hand lightly. He blinks in surprise, glancing down at your hand, which has once again found his. "Thanks for sharing."
He doesn't say anything, but he does squeeze your hand in return. And if your heart fluttered the tiniest bit at that, that was no ones buisness.
--
A couple days later, the two of you are walking to the next safehouse, later than you'd usually be out. There had been more zombies than usual out crawling, and Agent Ashcroft had insisted that you move now, even though it was late at night.
Leon had been more open with you than usual, talking more, sharing more, and you can't help but think that you were going to miss him when this was over. A plant rustles menacingly and you can't help but grab his arm.
He glances over, hand coming to rest more securely in yours. "You scared?"
You nod. He pulls out his gun with his free hand. "I'll keep you safe." He says. "You can trust me."
"I know."" You reply, without a single thought, already feeling better with your arm wrapped around his. Its softer than you'd thought, less muscled almost. "I trust you."
The barest hint of a smile makes its way to his face. "Good. You should."
He guides you through the rest of the way to the safe house with one hand, the lamp secured to the strap on his breastpocket, lighting the way. Although you hadn't laced your hands together, he does it for you, grabbing your hand and meshing them together, your arm tucked still in the crook of his elbow. He squeezes your hand absentmindedly sometimes, as he continues to walk, almost as if to check in, make sure you knew that he was still there, still protecting you, still your safe space in this dark night.
He smells good, you realize. Even though he really shouldn't, not after all the days you've spent with barely any ability to stay hygenic. But he does. Not in cologne kind of way, though sometimes a faint trace of whatever colonge he usually wears drifts through the air, but more in the human kind of way, the natural scent each individual human has, indescribable in its uniqueness. It's soothing. You have to resist the urge to tell him this, even though he probably wouldn't care. Maybe, just maybe you have the tiniest crush on him, and you feel like saying that might make it very obvious.
Regretfully, the two of you do in fact reach the safe house, and, no longer having an excuse to hold on to him, you release him from your grip, immeadiately missing the comfort of holding onto him. He almost seems reluctant for you to let go, looking down at your hands as you pull your arm away.
But neither of you say anything.
--
Today, you are blessed with a can of spaghetti bolognese. Or, you think more honestly, a can of something that vaugely resembles that. It's got tomatoes in it, and perhaps it smells a little bit like beef, but it's not exactly...well. But it is a meal, and you are appreciative.
Leon sits across from you. You're lucky enough that this safe house has two beds, so hes placed most of his stuff down on one bed, the one nearer to windows and doors, and yours is more inside.
"You know," You say. "I'm going to miss this after its over."
Leon drags his metal fork through the can of gummy spaghetti. "Miss this." He huffs out a small laugh. "Now thats not one I've heard before. Want to explain?"
"Well..." And the rest of the words exit your mouth before you can stop it. "I'm going to miss spending time with you."
"With me?" He says, his smile twisting upward a little as he makes eye contact. "Really?"
"Kind." You land on. "And also really cool." Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you hope he can't see it in the golden glow of the lamp.
"You think I'm cool?" He asks, and you see Leon Kennedys face light up for the first time as he teases you a little.
You can't help the smile that comes to your face. "Don't let it get to your head."
He takes a bite of potential spaghetti. "You're...cool too." He pauses. "And sweet."
The two of you stare at each other, the lamp flickering and buzzing softly in the background, illuminating you with a warm glow. A tension, a good tension is flowing, ebbing, reaching a breakingp point, sparking sharply in your veins and you think its going to burst, and he opens his mouth to say something when his comm buzzes and you startle.
He pulls his comm out, a little short when he replies, his mouth set in a tightline, irritated at having to do anything but talk to you.
"A little busy, Grace. Is it urgent?"
Graces voice crackles through the comm. "Adas on the line. She wants to talk." Leons eyebrows raise.
"Ada wants to talk, huh?" He smiles a little. "Alright, give me a second."
He walks to the makeshift bathroom to get a little privacy, but you can still hear the muffled sounds of a conversation. He sounds surprisingly animated and your heart sinks a little bit. Of course he would have a girl back home. It made a lot of sense. He was handsome, thoughtful, kind. You'd sort of thought the two of you were having a moment back there, but clearly you'd been reading the situation wrong.
Leon laughs from the other room, and you can't help but feel a little rejected. You know its not this womans fault, that she was probably awesome and amazing and wonderful, but you really liked Leon.
And fine, you did have a crush on him. Could anyone blame you?
But, you decide, as he comes back, it was his life to live. And you hoped that he lived it well.
You are in your sleeping bag, on the bed and ready to sleep by the time he comes back from the conversation. You'd give yourself a day to lick your wounds, and then accept things as they were. You had already curled up.
Leon pauses at your "sleeping figure" turned away from him, whispering your name softly. You don't reply. Pretending to sleep was your new plan, not just to be in bed already. You can hear his footsteps approach where you are sleeping, and with gentle, gentle hands, he takes the hair that has fallen in your face and brushes it carefully behind the curve of your ear, leaving a trail of shivers going down your spine, the pads of his fingers rough and callous, but the touch itself impossibly soft. He says your name again. When you don't reply, he sighs and flicks off the light.
"Sleep well." He says, and you hear him settle into his sleeping bag.
Your eyes open in the pitch black darkness, his touch lingering on your skin, burning a hole in your stomach. You weren't sleeping tonight.
--
Only one more day to the extraction. You take solace in this, even if it means traveling at night again, and even if it means saying goodbye to Leon after this mission. After he sends you back to safety, even though honestly, you've found so much safety in his company that you'll miss him no matter what. Even if he did have a thing with an amazing girl named Ada.
So tonight, you are going to brave the streets alone. No holding his hand. No grabbing his arm. Not that you should have been, but by the end, maybe you had thought of it as a sort of cute, romantic thing to do. Yes, you did do it because you were scared, but also because you liked holding his hand. It felt warm and calloused, but so so comforting.
For the first 30 minutes out after dark, this works out just fine. You just had to make it to the safe house, you encourage yourself. Just the safe house, then traveling to the nearby helipad and you would be on your way back home, to your safe, warm bed, and your lovely lovely little dog. You hoped your roommate was taking care of Engel.
But then Leons flashlight casts a suspcious shadow, and you jump twenty miles into the air, a squeal far too loud for a situation like this escaping your mouth. Your hand reaches out to grab Leons, but at the last second you curve it back to cover your mouth instead. You could do this.
"Sorry," You whisper, trying to keep your voice down.
"Happens." Leon says, scanning your surroundings, his hand hovering over Requiem. He glances over at your hand casually, but you don't reach to grab his. Honestly, you feel a little awkward after what had gone on, what with Ada, and as much as you would like to grab his hand, you were very stubborn and very embarassed, and it was a potent combination that prevented you from doing anything else.
The two of you continue your journey, but you are much more on alert, and very regretful at your promise to yourself to not hold his hand, which you desperately wanted to do. You walk in the dark, quietly.
A couple minutes later, Leon holds his hand up, indicating for you to stop. Hand signals were far safer than speaking at this time of night, and you stop immeadiatley, waiting to see what he's going to do. He takes out his gun, holding it in his right hand and then pauses, seeming to be in debate about something. Were you coming up on some very unsafe underpass? You weren't sure but you were also very confident that even if you were, Leon would be able to keep you safe. In some way shape or form. It would just double suck to not be able to hold his hand.
You are in your little deliberations so long that Leon has to cough lightly to get your attention. You look up, mildly startled, and see that hes been holding his free hand out to you.
You blink at him, almost confused. Does he want you to hold his hand? Why? You were scare happy but still, before you had started to grasp onto his hand, he had never offered to hold yours.
"You don't have to," You say, feeling a little awkward, almost as if you'd been too seen, like he'd know that you liked holding his hand, not just cause it was protection, but that you liked the feel of his hand in yours, liked walking beside him. All of those things. It almost felt like you bared your soul a little bit, and then found out about Ada, which was just embarassing, honestly.
He sighs, shifting his weight back and forth. "I know that." He says back, making eye contact with you. You feel his gaze on you, something akin to desire in them.
"Oh." You say softly. And hes won. You reach your hand out to put in his. They mesh together, and you breath an unconious sigh of relief. A little smile flickers on his face.
"You find me that safe?" He asks quietly, his voice barely a murmur as you start to walk.
"I'm not dignyfining that with an anwnser." You breathe back, deliberatley focusing your eyes on the road.
"Alright." He says back, but theres a smugness in his voice that makes you want to punch him, just the tiniest bit. Or perhaps kiss him. It was really up for debate.
--
Dinner that night is very quiet. Tonight you get to eat beef stew, with chunks of what might have once been potatoes and carrots mixed in as well.
Both of you are thinking about this ending. About having to say goodbye. It's not a pleasant thought, and that is some how insane to you.
After all, you'd been abducted, held hostage, and then verbally harassed for days on end with little food or water. And then Leon had come in, and within a couple minutes, you'd been untied, seen your captors beaten up, and been on your way home. Or, you guessed, it did make sense that you'd like Leon. But for him, it was just a normal tuesday. It just also majorly sucked that you liked Leon. What could you possibly say to him at the end of this?
Hey, just in case you aren't majorly in love with Ada, would you like to go out with the hostage you saved? We've already lived with one another, so I think we might be pretty well suited for each other. Anyways let me know what you think. I'd give you my number but I think its in my case file, along with other information that I think you probably shouldn't know about me. But hey, who's counting, amirite?
Anyhow. That was sort of all you could think of and it really wasn't great. So... it was quiet. He was such an interesting person too. The kind of person you'd simply love to know more about.
But all you could simply hope for in this case was that he did have someone lovely waiting for him back home. You'd not seen a ring, but that didn't mean he wasn't promised to someone.
You finish washing up, getting ready to go to bed. There were two beds today, and you had the more interior one, as usual. You curl up in your bed as Leon comes back from washing up as well, his hair slightly damp in an undecently handsome way.
"Good night Leon," You say as he flicks off the lamp. "I'll miss you." You add quieter.
"You too." He replies, his voice uncharateristically soft.
--
A loud noise jolts you out of your sleep, and you are immediately on edge. Its too dark to be morning, so you quickly roll out of your sleeping bag and rumage around for the lamplight, flicking it on with fumbling hands.
It's Leon. He's covered in cold sweat, his face beaded with little droplets and scrunched up against some unknown fear. You tap his shoulder lightly, shake him, and yell his name, but nothing seems to pull him out of this dream that has gotten a hold of him.
Feeling desperate and a little delirous, you reach out and grab one of his hands, lacing your fingers together, very aware that he could accidentally through a punch that would absolutely break your nose the closer you got to him. If you couldn't wake him up, maybe you could calm him down? Hopefully. Dear god.
His breathing slows a little as you hold his hand. You sit down on the edge of his sleeping bag that has been shoved off with movement, holding his hand and staring at the gun he has stored on the floor next to him.
Figuring this couldn't hurt, you edge closer to him, now sitting on the bed with him. His breathing is still heavy, and he seems to be in distress. You weren't going to push any boundaries by getting any closer, however.
Leon has other plans. In his sleep, his hand farther from you ends up flopping over your stomach as he sort of curls into you. His breathing is deepening though, so despite this being the most awkward position you've ever been in, for a multitude of reasons, you let it slide. Besides, it was almost like cuddling with him. Almost. Just a little bit.
You tap gently him one more time, testing his lucidity. Still asleep. There is no reaction to your tap, though you suppose with Leon there never would be. He was too good at managing his reactions for safety reasons. Besides, you think mildly, shifting your body so that you were very clearly just sitting next to him despite one of his arms being wrapped around you.
You sit there with him as he sleeps, not wanting him to become distressed again. What the fuck is happening?
"Leon. Leon!" You whisper.
Finally he lets out a small, sleepy moan. "Mmm. What?"
Well...at least he was awake, even if he wasn't entirely concious.
"You doing okay now?"
"From-what?" And you have a sudden realization that hits you like a truck. Hes- hes allowing himself to be sleepy around you. Must be allowing himself to, because he's so aware. So so aware. Had to be, for his job.
"Don't worry about it." You murmur. And as much as you don't want to, you realize that its probably just about time to go back to your own sleeping bag. "Alright. Goodnight."
You peel his hand off of you as gently as you could, trying not to distress him, while simultaneously not letting go of the hand you were still holding.
As you slowly remove his hand, it suddenly tightens imperceptibly, and he's pulling you in by the waist. Your breath catches, and you are wide awake now, finding yourself curled up against Leon Kennedy,
"Stay." He murmurs, his voice thick and soft. "Please."
"Okay." You whisper. His eyes stay shut, his breathing even and slow. It deepens out eventually, and you reach over to turn off the lamp, but not before you stare at him with unfiltered ache. His flaxen hair, messed up and flopped everywhere. His face so young and unstrained in sleep. His eyelashes, blonde in colour. You could stare at him for ages and you weren't sure you'd ever get another chance. He was so beautiful, so gentle, so kind, and you could feel your self falling for him. Just a little.
Your eyes start to feel heavy, and you know you are going to fall into the thick, warm recesses of sleep soon. Your head droops onto his shoulder and you curl into him a little, abandoning all pretenses. His arms go to wrap around you, enveloping you in his strong, warm embrace.
It's the best night of sleep you've gotten in a while.
--
The next day, things move too fast. Too fast. Leon is gone by the time you wake up. You are glad for this, honestly. Breakfast is quiet, though he does say thanks once, to which you nod and say of course. Its not as awkward as you'd think. Almost as if you'd always been like this, the two of you. It's a terribly domestic thought at you force yourself to push it away. It's a short walk in the cool morning to where the helicopter is waiting. Leon lifts you into it without a second thought.
Ada ends up being the one whose piloting the helicopter, and my god, you can't even blame Leon for being in love with her. Shes gorgeous, she can pilot, and shes got amazing style? Who wouldn't fall in love with her? She was also terribly nice to you, giving you her coat, which smelled expensive, and a small kiss on the cheek. Leons face brightens when he sees her, and she holds her hand out.
You look away, refusing to admit that it was a little painful to see, but also point blank refusing to look as Leon probably kissed her hand.
"Never thought I'd see the day." Leon says.
Ada just laughs. "Neither did I. But we can talk about this later. Lets get her home."
You were glad for the little time you had gotten with Leon.
You cant hear anything with the blades whirring above your head, and you can't stop thinking about last night. The way his hand tightened around you. The way his breathing blew softly against your neck, the warmth of his body against yours. The feeling of resting your head against another's shoulder, the knowledge that you were being held, that he had wanted you to help him sleep. What had all of it meant? Was it really nothing?
And then its over. You're back home. In your native country. Leon helps you, his hands grasping your waist and making sure you don't fall off the helicopter. You open your mouth to say something. Thanks seems too small, and I will miss you horrendously seems too big in the light of day.
And unfortunately, barring a better thing to say, your brain decides on: "Thanks, miss." Combining the two potential statements into an equally terrible sentence.
Leons lips quirk up into a little half smile. "Miss?"
You wince. "Sorry, I was trying to say thanks and I'll miss you a lot all at the same time. I fucked it."
"Why...would you miss me?" He asks, sounding confused. Now you're the one whose confused.
"Well- this is the last I'm gonna see of you, isn't it?"
"It is?" Leon asks back, surprised. He runs a hand through his hair, a nasty thing to do to you. "I don't really have a next mission planned, and I kind of thought we hit it off. Just a little."
You laugh, a little exasperated.
"Well...you've got Ada, and I cant-"
Leons face scrunches up and he looks even more confused. "What do you mean I've got Ada?"
"Cmon, Leon, you took her call and then you took her hand earlier and-"
"Ada's a lesbian. She's marrying our coworker, Claire Redfield. I was congratulating her both times. She's a very dear friend."
Oh! Oh.
"You thought we were- no. In the best way possible, Ada and I are meant to be friends. I was actually going to- uh- if you wanted to, ask you to be my plus one to her wedding."
"Oh! I mean-yes! I mean sorry- I assumed- should-"
"And then, I was going to do this." He pulls you closer to him by your waist, one hand coming to rest in your hair, the other on your jaw, rubbing a gentle pattern.
He kisses you gently, your mouths fitting together and melding like they had always been meant to find each other. It is soft, simple and sweet.
Both of you are dirty, tired, and honestly, could smell better.
And it is still the best moment of your life.
working on writing fluff, asks are appreciated but never obligated
someone hold my hand, question mark?
im working on characterizing him pls be nice. its my first leon peice kay
i hope no one read the title and thought this was gonna be freaky
will make a part two idk i dont think it needs it.
description: (this might be the cutest fucking thing i've ever written) eddie being soft in all the ways you wouldn’t expect: sneaking up behind you saying “close your eyes,” always pressing something small and shiny into your hand, pulling you into his space like you belong there. quiet moments that turn into something bigger, a little chaos, a lot of sweetness, and a boy who says “mine” like he means it.
pairing: boyfriend!eddie x you (fem!reader)
tags: boyfriend!eddie, soft!eddie, touch-starved x touchy bf, you might need a fucking root canal after how fluffy this shit is, acts of service, gift giving love language, "mine", loses his mind about you in his clothes, constantly reading to you, non-sexual intimacy, soft-dom eddie, domestic fluff, fake?! proposal!?
TW: giggling and kicking your feet may occur, proceed with caution
WC: 4.5k
A/N: oh my GOD YOU ARE NOT READY OMFGGSGGDG. this request came in from @mymind-is-a-warrior i hope i did your vision justice!! reblogs are always appreciated <33. much love, enjoy friends!
The hallway is loud in that particular way it always is between periods, lockers slamming, voices bouncing off tile, someone’s cassette player bleeding tinny music into the chaos, and you’re halfway through spinning the dial on your locker.
“Miss me, sweetheart?”
His voice is low, right by your ear, all gravel and teasing warmth.
Before you can even react, there’s a hand at your waist, the other catching your wrist, and he’s spinning you around like you weigh nothing, like this is second nature, like you belong right there in his orbit.
“Eddie—” you start, but you’re already smiling, already gone for him.
He grins like he’s just pulled off the greatest magic trick in the world, hair falling into his eyes, rings glinting as he lifts a finger in front of your face. “Ah, ah. No talking. Close your eyes.”
You narrow yours instead, suspicious. “That sounds like a trap.”
“It’s a gift,” he corrects, mock offended, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “Jesus, you wound me.”
You huff a quiet laugh, but you listen, because it’s him, and you let your eyes fall shut. The hallway noise fades a little, or maybe it’s just that you’re suddenly hyper-aware of him.
“Hand,” he murmurs.
You lift it without question.
There’s a pause, like he’s taking his time on purpose, like he knows anticipation is half the fun, and then something cool presses against your finger. He slides it on slowly, like it means something, and it’s not just a joke.
“Okay,” he says softly, voice dropping just a fraction. “Open.”
You do.
It’s a ring, obviously, but not just any ring. It’s silver, a little worn in a way that feels intentional, the band thicker than anything delicate, and set into it is a small black stone, dark and glossy, catching the fluorescent lights just enough to gleam. It’s a little edgy, a little dramatic, very him.
You turn your hand slightly, watching it catch the light. “Eddie…”
He’s watching you like he’s waiting for a verdict, like your reaction matters more than he’d ever admit out loud, though the way he’s practically vibrating gives him away. “Saw it at the flea market this weekend,” he says, trying for casual and missing by a mile. “Thought of you. Y’know. Dark, mysterious, probably cursed—”
“It’s perfect,” you cut in, looking back up at him.
Something in his expression softens immediately, the edge of his grin melting into something warmer, quieter. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You flex your fingers, the ring settling comfortably like it’s always belonged there. “You didn’t have to—”
“I know,” he shrugs, but there’s that fondness in his eyes again, unmistakable. “I wanted to. Gonna deck you out eventually, y’know. One ring for every time you put up with my bullshit.”
You snort. “So I’m gonna run out of fingers fast.”
“Hey,” he points at you, mock stern. “We can get creative.”
By lunch, you’ve already caught him staring at your hand more than once, like he can’t believe it’s still there, like it means more than just a piece of metal.
He laces his fingers through yours under the table, thumb brushing over the ring absentmindedly, and when you glance at him, he just gives you that lazy, crooked smile.
“Looks good on you, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
By the time you end up in his trailer, the light’s already starting to dim, that soft gold slipping into something quieter, and you’re sprawled across his bed with a textbook propped open in your lap like it personally offended you.
You’ve been staring at the same paragraph for at least five minutes.
“Okay,” you mutter, dragging a hand down your face. “This is actually torture.”
Eddie, who’s halfway through digging around for something in a drawer, glances over at you, brows lifting. “Homework’s kicking your ass, sweetheart?”
“I’ve read this sentence, like, twelve times,” you complain, tapping the page. “And I couldn’t tell you a single word of it. My brain is… gone. Evaporated. Dead.”
He hums, shutting the drawer and wandering over, dropping onto the bed beside you with a soft bounce. “Lemme see.”
You angle the book toward him, already slumping sideways until your shoulder bumps his. “It’s so boring,” you add, quieter now. “And I’m so tired.”
He scans the page for a second, lips moving slightly as he reads, and then he glances down at you, something soft flickering across his face.
“Alright,” he says, like he’s just made a decision. “Gimme it.”
You blink. “What?”
“Gimme the book,” he repeats, holding out his hand.
You hesitate, suspicious. “Why?”
“I’ll read it to you.”
You stare at him for a beat, then let out a short laugh. “You hate reading.”
“Wow,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him again. “First of all, rude. Second of all, I hate boring reading. Big difference.”
You squint at him. “This is literally boring reading.”
“Yeah,” he shrugs, taking the book from your hands anyway. “But you’re not.”
You feel your face warm just a little. “That was smooth.”
“I have my moments,” he shoots back, already flipping to your page. “Now, c’mere.”
You don’t argue. You never really do with him when he gets like this, all quietly insistent.
You shift closer, curling into his side, your head finding its place against his chest like it belongs there. His arm slides around you without hesitation, pulling you in, thumb brushing absently along your arm.
“Comfortable?” he murmurs.
“Mhm,” you hum, already softer.
“Good. Pay attention, this is gonna be riveting.”
You snort lightly as he starts reading, his voice dipping into that exaggerated seriousness for the first few lines, like he’s trying to make it entertaining for you.
He throws in a dramatic pause here and there, changes his tone just enough to make you smile, even if the content is still painfully academic.
“‘The socio—’ Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, then clears his throat. “Okay, hang on, I got this.”
You laugh quietly against him. “Struggling, Munson?”
“Absolutely not,” he scoffs. “I am thriving. This is my calling, actually. Gonna drop out, become a professional textbook narrator.”
“Please do,” you mumble. “You’d make it bearable.”
“Damn right I would,” he says, softer now, the teasing easing into something warmer.
He keeps going, though, steady and patient, even when the words get dense, even when you can feel your focus slipping in and out.
Every now and then, his fingers drift up to your hair, gently combing through it, grounding you without pulling you out of the moment.
At some point, you realize you’re not even trying to read along anymore. You’re just listening to him, the cadence of his voice, the way his chest rises and falls under your cheek.
“Hey,” he murmurs after a while, glancing down when he feels you go a little heavier against him. “You still with me, sweetheart?”
“Barely,” you admit, eyes half-lidded. “But it’s not your fault.”
“Wow,” he says softly. “Devastating.”
You smile faintly. “You’re doing good.”
“Yeah?” his voice drops a little, quieter, more genuine. “Even though I supposedly hate reading?”
You tilt your head just enough to look up at him. “You don’t hate it. You just pretend to.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t expose me like that.”
“Too late.”
There’s a small pause, and then he shrugs one shoulder, like he’s giving in.
“Maybe I just like reading to you,” he says, almost offhand, like it’s not something that’s been sitting in his chest for a while.
You tuck yourself a little closer into him, pressing your face into his shirt. “Good.”
His arm tightens around you just a bit.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss into your hair before going back to the page. “Good.”
Somewhere between the third page and whatever long, winding sentence he’s currently fighting his way through, your focus slips completely.
Your body relaxes further into him, your head pressing more fully against his chest, your eyes drifting shut even though you’re still trying, in a half-hearted way, to listen.
“—and therefore the correlation between—” Eddie cuts himself off mid-sentence when he feels it, the shift in your weight, the way you’ve gone soft against him.
He glances down. You’re barely awake.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice dropping instantly, careful not to startle you. His hand comes up to your hair, brushing it back from your face. “You’re crashing on me, sweetheart.”
“M’not,” you mumble, words slurring just slightly.
“Uh-huh,” he huffs a quiet laugh. “You definitely are.”
You make a small noise of protest, but you don’t move; if anything, you tuck yourself closer, like his warmth is something you can physically hold onto.
He looks at you for a second longer, something soft and almost helpless settling into his expression, like he’s completely gone over you in the best way.
“Stay,” he says gently. “Just stay here tonight.”
Your eyes blink open just enough to find his. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” he answers immediately, like it’s not even a question. His thumb traces lightly along your arm, grounding. “You’re halfway asleep anyway, might as well finish the process here.”
You let out a quiet breath, something easing in your chest. “Okay.”
The word is soft, but it’s enough. His grin flickers back, shorter this time, but just as warm. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Good,” he murmurs. “C’mon.”
He carefully shifts, easing you back onto the bed so you’re lying properly, one hand hovering near you like he’s making sure you’re settled before he pulls away. He disappears for a second, rifling through a pile of clothes near his dresser, muttering to himself under his breath.
“No, not that one… hold on…”
You watch him through half-lidded eyes, too tired to fully track what he’s doing, but aware of him, always.
“Alright,” he says finally, turning back around, holding up a shirt like it’s some grand reveal. “This one.”
You squint at it. “It’s just your shirt.”
“Hey,” he points at you. “It is not just my shirt. This is a classic. A staple. A cornerstone of my wardrobe.”
You let out a soft, sleepy laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off, walking back over. “Sit up, sweetheart.”
You do, slower this time, and he kneels on the bed in front of you, gentler now, hands finding the hem of your shirt.
“Arms up,” he murmurs.
You follow his lead, too tired to argue, letting him help you out of your clothes with an ease that feels natural. There’s nothing rushed about it, nothing that feels like anything other than care.
He pulls his shirt over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves, fingers brushing your skin in a way that’s absent-minded but soft.
When it settles on you, it’s big, of course it is, hanging off your frame, collar slipping just enough, sleeves swallowing your hands. He just stares for a second.
“Jesus,” he breathes, barely above a whisper.
You blink up at him. “What?”
He shakes his head, like he doesn’t even have the words, one hand coming up to lightly tug at the fabric near your shoulder, like he’s grounding himself in the reality of it.
“You look…” he trails off, then huffs a quiet laugh, almost embarrassed by himself. “You look so fucking pretty in my stuff, it’s actually insane.”
You smile, slow and sleepy. “It’s just a shirt.”
“It’s not,” he counters immediately, softer now, his thumb brushing along your collarbone where the fabric dips. “It’s my shirt. On you.”
There’s something about the way he says it, like it means more than he’s explaining.
“C’mere,” he murmurs again, voice gentler than anything else.
You go, shifting closer, and he eases you back down onto the bed, pulling the blanket over you, then sliding in beside you without hesitation. His arms wrap around you like they’ve done this a hundred times, like it’s instinct, one hand settling at your back, the other threading into your hair again.
He tucks you into him, close, careful, like you’re something he’s been wanting to hold onto all day.
“My girl,” he murmurs, almost to himself, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
You hum quietly, already drifting. He lingers there for a moment, just looking at you, taking you in like he’s committing it to memory, like this is something he never wants to forget.
“Sweetheart,” he whispers, softer still, brushing his nose lightly against your hair. “You’re gonna kill me looking like that.”
You don’t even have the energy to respond, just a faint smile ghosting across your lips.
He exhales, something warm and full settling deep in his chest, and pulls you just a little closer.
“Stay right here,” he murmurs. “Got you. All mine.”
And this time, when your breathing evens out completely, he doesn’t say anything else, just keeps his hand moving gently through your hair, like he could do it forever.
The Hideout is dim in that comfortable, familiar way, low lights, cigarette smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling, the hum of quiet conversation filling in the gaps between whatever song is playing on the jukebox.
You’re tucked into one of the booths near the back, fingers tracing absent circles along the condensation of your glass, still a little soft around the edges from the night before.
You’re still wearing the ring, of course you are. You’ve caught yourself looking at it more than once, turning your hand just slightly to watch it catch the light, like it’s something new every time.
He’s late. Not unusually so, but just enough that you’re starting to wonder if he got caught up with the band or his rust bucket of a van or something equally Eddie.
“Close your eyes.”
His voice is right there, low and warm against your ear, and it sends that immediate, familiar spark down your spine.
You barely have time to turn before he’s behind you, hands settling briefly at your shoulders like he’s steadying you.
You huff a quiet laugh, already smiling. “Eddie—”
“Uh-uh,” he cuts in softly. “Trust me, sweetheart. C’mon.”
You hesitate for half a second, more out of habit than anything, then let your eyes fall shut.
There’s movement around you, the subtle shuffle of him stepping away, the faint scrape of a chair, and then a small pause that stretches just long enough to make your curiosity spike.
“Okay,” he says. “Open.”
You do.
“Oh my god—Eddie?!”
He’s on one knee. Actually, on one knee, right there in the middle of the Hideout, hair falling into his face, hands slightly raised like he’s bracing for impact, and in one of them—
Another ring. Your brain short-circuits.
“Nonono—hey, hey,” he rushes out, eyes wide when he sees your expression, a nervous laugh slipping out. “Not proposing. Jesus, not— not yet anyway, don’t freak out—”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, hand flying to your chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” he winces, then grins a little, sheepish but still very much himself. “Couldn’t just be normal about it, sorry.”
“You think?” you laugh, still recovering, but your eyes flick back to the ring in his hand, and your chest softens despite yourself. “What are you doing?”
He exhales, some of that nervous energy settling into something quieter, more genuine. His gaze lifts to meet yours, and for a second, the noise of the bar fades out, like it’s just the two of you in it.
“I just…” he starts, then huffs softly, shaking his head. “Okay, this is gonna sound lame as hell, but whatever.”
You smile, softer now. “I’m listening.”
He shifts slightly, still on one knee, thumb brushing over the ring like he’s grounding himself.
“I know it’s…early,” he says, slower this time, choosing his words carefully in a way he doesn’t always bother to. “And I’m not trying to, like, scare you off or anything. But I like you. A lot. Like, stupid amount.”
Your heart stutters.
“And I just wanted to give you something,” he continues, voice quieter now, a little rough around the edges, “that’s not just, like, a thing. More like…a promise, I guess.”
You tilt your head slightly. “A promise?”
“Yeah,” he nods, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “That I’m in this. With you. That I’m not going anywhere, unless you tell me to. That I’m gonna keep showing up behind you like a creep and giving you rings until you run out of fingers.”
You laugh, breathy and soft.
He shrugs one shoulder, eyes flicking down for a second before coming back to you. “Just…something you can look at and know you’ve got me. If you want that.”
“Eddie…” you murmur, a little overwhelmed in the best way.
He lifts the ring slightly. It’s different from the last one, thinner but still silver, with a subtle engraving along the band, something simple but intentional.
“No pressure,” he adds quickly. “You can say no. I’ll just—y’know—crawl under the nearest table and die quietly—”
You shake your head, cutting him off, a soft smile spreading across your face. “Shut up.”
He huffs a small laugh, and you extend your hand.
“I want it.”
Something in his expression just lights up.
“Yeah?” he breathes.
“Yeah.”
He slides it onto your finger, slower this time, more deliberate, like he’s aware of every second of it, like it matters. His fingers linger for just a moment longer than necessary, then he looks back up at you, that crooked, boyish grin settling in.
“Looks good on you,” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” you echo softly. “It does.”
There’s a pause. And then a whistle cuts through the air. Followed by clapping. Loud, unmistakable clapping.
You both turn, startled, to find half the bar watching you, a couple of guys at the counter already cheering, someone shouting, “SHE SAID YES!” like they’ve just witnessed the event of the century.
Your eyes go wide. “Oh my god—”
Eddie freezes for half a second, then looks back at you, grin spreading slowly, dangerously.
“Well,” he says, voice low with amusement. “Guess we’re engaged now.”
“Eddie!” you laugh, half hiding your face.
A waitress appears out of nowhere, sliding two drinks onto your table with a wink. “On the house for the happy couple.”
You gape at her. “We’re not—”
“She’s just shy,” Eddie cuts in smoothly, draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. “Big moment.”
You smack his chest lightly, but you’re laughing. More cheers ripple through the bar, someone raising a glass in your direction, and Eddie leans in closer, lips brushing your ear.
“This is insane,” you whisper.
“I’m kind of loving it,” he whispers back.
You pull back just enough to look at him, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Hey,” he grins, lifting his drink. “Free drinks say otherwise.”
You laugh, leaning into him despite yourself.
He glances around once more, then back at you, eyes bright with that familiar mischief.
“You know what?” he says, thoughtful for all of two seconds. “I’m gonna have to do this again.”
You blink. “What?”
“Yeah,” he nods, completely serious in the most unserious way. “Different bar. Different crowd. New ring. Really milk the system.”
You stare at him, then laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But you love me,” he shoots back instantly.
You roll your eyes, smiling anyway, your fingers unconsciously brushing over the new ring.
“Yeah,” you admit softly. “I do.”
His expression softens just a fraction at that, something quieter slipping through the cracks of all his teasing.
“Good,” he murmurs, pulling you a little closer. “’Cause I meant it. The promise part.”
“I know,” you say.
The lake is quiet in that lazy, late-afternoon way, sunlight stretching long across the water, warm enough that it settles into your skin and stays there.
The grass is soft beneath the blanket, your shoes kicked off somewhere behind you, and your book rests open in your hands, pages slightly worn from how often you’ve flipped through them.
You’re comfortable. More than that, you’re content. Which is exactly why—
“Sweetheart.”
Your eyes don’t even lift at first. “No.”
There’s a pause. Then, closer now, dripping.
“…you didn’t even look.”
“I don’t have to,” you reply, turning a page. “You sound wet.”
“I am wet,” Eddie says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
You finally glance up. He’s standing there, hair soaked and clinging to his face, chest damp, and a grin already forming like he knows exactly what he’s about to do.
You narrow your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he asks, stepping closer.
“Eddie.”
“What?”
You shift up onto your elbows, holding your book protectively against your chest. “You’re literally dripping.”
“Yeah,” he nods, taking another step. “Lake’ll do that to you.”
You point at him. “Do not come near me.”
He pauses, just long enough to make it seem like he might listen.
Then he drops down onto the blanket anyway, right next to you, all damp limbs and cool skin, immediately wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into him.
“Eddie!” you yelp, squirming. “You’re soaking!”
“Relax,” he laughs, nuzzling his face into your shoulder, completely unbothered. “You’ll survive.”
“It’s cold!” you protest, trying to push at his chest, though there’s no real strength behind it.
“Yeah, I noticed,” he grins against your skin, tightening his hold just slightly when you try to wiggle away. “C’mere. Warm me up, sweetheart.”
“You are unbelievable,” you mutter, but you’re already giving in, your body settling against his despite the initial chill. His skin is cool, but it doesn’t take long for it to even out, for the warmth between you to take over.
He sighs softly, content, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “There we go. That’s better.”
You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“Oh, I know,” he says easily. “I remind myself daily.”
His hand drifts along your side absentmindedly before he tilts his head slightly, eyes catching on the book still half-open in your hands.
“What’re you reading?” he asks.
You glance down at it, then back at him. “Sylvia Plath.”
He raises his brows, impressed. “Damn. Getting all deep on me.”
“Sometimes,” you shrug lightly.
He shifts just enough to prop himself up on one elbow, peering at the page. “Lemme see.”
You hesitate, then angle the book toward him.
He scans a few lines, lips moving slightly, and then something flickers in his expression, that familiar spark of mischief mixing with something softer.
“Alright,” he says, already reaching for it. “I got this.”
You let out a small laugh. “Here we go.”
He takes the book from you, clears his throat in an exaggerated, overly dramatic way, and immediately drops into a tone that’s way too intense for a sunny afternoon by the lake.
“‘I shut my eyes, and all the world drops dead—’” he begins, voice deep and theatrical, like he’s narrating some epic campaign instead of poetry.
You snort. “Oh, my god.”
“Shh,” he whispers sharply, though he’s grinning. “This is serious literature, sweetheart.”
He keeps going, leaning into it fully, giving every word weight, every pause just a little too long, like he’s performing for an audience of thousands instead of just you.
But underneath the dramatics, he’s good. He softens in the right places, lets the lines breathe where they should, and even when he’s being a little ridiculous, there’s care in it, attention.
You find yourself settling back into the blanket, eyes drifting half-closed again, listening.
He notices. His voice shifts, just slightly, the edge of the performance easing into something quieter, more natural, though the hint of that playful tone never fully disappears.
“‘I think I made you up inside my head,’” he reads, softer now.
Your chest tightens, just a little.
You tilt your head toward him, watching him this time instead of the page. His hair is still damp, curls falling messily around his face, rings catching the sunlight as he holds the book, completely focused.
“Eddie,” you murmur.
“Hm?” he glances down at you briefly, thumb marking his place.
“You’re…actually good at this.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, looking away for a second like he’s brushing it off. “Don’t spread that around. Ruins my whole reputation.”
You smile, reaching out to lightly tug at the edge of his shirt. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Better be,” he murmurs, nudging your shoulder gently with his. “Now stop interrupting. I’m in the zone.”
“Yes, sir,” you tease.
He rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness there that doesn’t fade.
You settle back into him, your head finding its place against his chest again, one of your hands resting loosely over his stomach, fingers brushing absent circles over the damp skin.
His arm wraps around you automatically, pulling you closer without thinking, like it’s just how you exist now, intertwined.
“My girl,” he murmurs under his breath, more to himself than anything, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head before continuing.
He keeps reading, slower now, softer, the words blending with the sound of the lake, the warmth of the sun, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.
Every so often, he’ll dip back into that overly dramatic tone just to make you laugh, calling you “fair maiden” or “keeper of the sacred text” under his breath, and you’ll swat at him lightly, telling him to shut up while smiling the whole time.
“Don’t sass me,” he mutters at one point, tightening his hold around you. “I’m providing a service.”
“A very annoying one,” you mumble.
“Yeah?” he leans down slightly, voice dropping. “Still your favorite, though.”
You hum, pretending to think about it.
He nudges you. “C’mon.”
You tilt your head up just enough to meet his eyes, soft and warm and entirely yours.
“Yeah,” you admit quietly. “Mine.”
Something in his expression shifts, just for a second, something deeper slipping through the usual teasing.
“Damn right,” he murmurs, brushing his nose lightly against your hair. “And you’re mine.”
Summary: You drag Leon out shopping, bribing him with the promise of homemade muffins and a quick trip – just a quiet evening, or so you thought. Until a stranger crosses the line, and Leon shows a side of himself you don’t get to see often. Back home, it’s up to you to pull him out of it, piece by piece.
Word count: 3,5k
Featuring: protective Leon, hurt/comfort, brief violence, anger & aftermath, calming Leon, established relationship, soft intimacy, light teasing, domestic fluff
A/N: I felt like I needed to write down my own visualization of protective Leon and the way he deals with his anger and guilt so here it is. And of course I couldn’t resist adding some sweet nonsense – this man just melts me, I can’t help it. English isn’t my native language, so please forgive any mistakes.
With how little free time you had – and Leon especially – going out shopping for anything that wasn’t strictly necessary felt nearly impossible. But one evening, when Leon had a few days off and you got back from work early, you decided to take advantage of it and coax him into going out with you. You really needed new curtains.
Leon was sprawled out on the couch, all tired and grumpy, one leg on the floor, the other bent up on the cushions. A half-empty bag of peanuts rested in his hands, some show about sleek, fast cars playing in the background. You walked over to him, deliberately circling the couch. He didn’t turn his head, but you knew he was tracking you anyway. The moment you reached the foot of the couch, you dropped onto him, pressing yourself against his chest. He let out an exaggerated groan as a few peanuts spilled over him and onto the cushions.
“I didn’t know you started training wrestling…” he muttered, instinctively wrapping a hand around the curve just above your ass.
“Leeeon…” you dragged out, resting your chin on his chest, doing your best to give him wide, pleading eyes.
“Yeah?” he grumbled, already suspicious. His brows pulled together just a little more.
“Maybe we could go shopping today? We’ve been putting it off for so long…” your voice was sweet, innocent, your finger tracing small, teasing patterns over his chest.
“Honey, it’s late,” he replied evenly, tossing the last of the peanuts into his mouth.
“Leon, it’s six,” you said flatly.
He took a slow breath, blue eyes drifting over your face in quiet consideration. You knew he couldn’t say no. He just needed a little push. “We have to go eventually anyway. Might as well get it over with. And the sooner we go, the sooner we’re back,” you added, seeing you had his attention. “And I’ll make you muffins tonight, promise.”
To sell it further, you shifted closer, bracing yourself on your hands – your neckline dipping just enough to reveal the curve of your breasts. Leon’s eyes dropped instantly. He swallowed. He couldn’t help it. His hand was already on your backside, a low sound leaving him in response. “Besides, you said you’d finally fix the bed frame. It’s about to fall apart.”
“I’ll fix it. Don’t need a shopping trip for that, sweetheart,” he muttered, still very much focused elsewhere.
“Yes, you do. You lost the allen key.”
“I didn’t lose it.” He finally, reluctantly, met your eyes. The triumphant smile on your face said everything.
“Then where is it?” you asked, expectant, your hand sliding along his jaw.
In response, you felt his hand slip beneath your neckline – before you could even react to scold him for thinking this was a valid way to distract you from the pressing issue, he pulled out a peanut from between your breasts and popped it into his mouth. Then he slid you off him and stood up with a stretch.
“…We’ll buy a new one,” he sighed.
You just laughed, stepping closer and tugging him down by the collar so you could press a quick kiss to his cheek – then darted off to the bedroom to get changed.
***
You had to admit – it took longer than you planned. But at least you got everything you needed… and a few things you didn’t. You walked down the street as dusk settled in, the city still buzzing with people. While you were both ready to retreat into the quiet comfort of your apartment, for others the night was just beginning.
Leon walked beside you obediently, arms full of shopping bags, a backpack slung over his shoulder – the one he insisted on keeping in the car “just in case.” He’d been right. You’d filled it nearly to the brim after stepping into a candle shop. All that was left was the hardware store just around the corner.
“Leon, look how pretty!” you blurted, grabbing his arm as you pressed yourself against a shop window, captivated by the display of hand-painted porcelain.
“Babe…” he started calmly, already knowing where this was going. “Our cabinets can’t fit another cup.”
“I’ll just look, I promise! Can I go in for a second?” you said, far too enthusiastically. You could see him physically fighting himself. “You go grab that screwdriver thing and we’ll meet right here, then straight to the car. Scout’s honor.”
“Fine… just a minute,” he gave in.
But seeing how tired he looked, weighed down with bags, you didn’t want to drag it out. “Go get the tools. It’ll be faster – we’ll meet right here, okay?”
He hesitated, clearly reluctant. “Don’t get lost,” he said, a teasing edge to his voice, his gaze soft.
“Me? You’re the one who disappears,” you shot back, winking before slipping inside.
You drifted between shelves lined with delicate porcelain, already thinking of how you’d make Leon’s evening a little nicer as a thank-you. He’d handled today surprisingly well – patient, even offering opinions on curtain colors despite clearly seeing no difference between them. Then your eyes landed on a cup. A delicate, hand-painted piece – slightly asymmetrical, with soft glaze pooling in the grooves of fine blue patterns. You couldn’t help yourself. Your hands reached for it before you even fully decided. Leon was right – you had enough. But handmade things were your weakness. And really… would one more make a difference?
You wandered a bit longer, mentally noting which plate sets might fit your kitchen someday – far in the future, of course. At the register, you paid, the cup carefully packed into a small box and paper bag. Stepping back outside, you paused by the display again, leaning in to look at a mug you hadn’t noticed before – covered in little bees and lavender. Cute.
You smiled to yourself, already hearing Leon’s inevitable comment.
Then you felt it – a firm hand on your hip, a solid presence behind you, warmth near your ear.
“Leon! Not here–” you laughed instinctively, surprised at the boldness.
“We can move somewhere more private, pretty thing,” came a rough voice.
Your stomach dropped. That wasn’t Leon.
You turned sharply. A stranger stood there, clearly out of it, a stupid grin on his face. Two more hovered nearby.
“Don’t touch me,” you said firmly, knocking his hand away and stepping back.
He didn’t back off. His gaze dragged over you, slow and disgusting.
“Why so tense, pretty? You looked like you were asking for it. I can take care of you better than your boyfriend.”
Laughter behind him.
“I said leave me alone,” you snapped, moving to pass him – only to be grabbed roughly by the wrist and yanked back. The force made you drop the bag. Porcelain shattered against the pavement. His breath hit your face – stale, foul.
Adrenaline surged, your pulse roaring in your ears.
“You stick your ass out and now you’re playing hard to get?” he sneered, lifting your wrist, holding you in place.
You forced yourself to think. Fast. One good kick–
You didn’t get the chance.
The man vanished from in front of you. You had to turn your head to see him slam into the pavement, face-first.
Leon stood where he’d been, already between you and the others.
“Get him!” one of them shouted, rushing him.
The swing was wide and sloppy. Leon stepped aside before it landed, caught his wrist mid-motion, and twisted – sharp and sudden. The man folded, his arm wrenched behind his back as Leon forced him down onto the pavement, cheek pressed harshly against the ground. Leon glanced at the third one – who immediately backed off, muttering and retreating.
You stood frozen, trying to process what had just happened, feeling like you hadn’t even managed to blink. Leon moved in complete silence, his expression tight, his movements controlled and precise.
When the first man who had grabbed you started to push himself up with a groan, Leon was on him in an instant. He grabbed him by the back of his collar and hauled him up. You saw blood running from his nose and mouth as Leon lifted him, and you were almost certain he spat two teeth onto the ground.
Holding him firmly, Leon dragged him a few steps along the sidewalk and hissed through clenched teeth:
“Apologize to her.” his voice cold, commanding.
The man looked at you, dazed, coughing up blood. You noticed Leon’s grip on his shirt was so tight his knuckles had gone white, lifting him so high that his knees weren’t even touching the ground anymore – hovering inches above the pavement.
Not out of reflection, but fear, you heard him mutter a slurred “sorry, we were just messing around.”
After that, Leon threw him aside and didn’t look at him again. He immediately turned to you.
“You okay?” he managed, grabbing your face with both hands and scanning you for any sign of injury.
His eyes were wide, panicked. His breathing heavy, and you knew it wasn’t from exertion. You grabbed his wrists, exhaling slowly, still trying to process what had just happened.
“I’m fine,” you said quickly, catching a glimpse of the man with the broken nose pulling himself up and stumbling away.
“Are you hurt?” Leon continued, this time taking your hand and running his thumb over the bruise forming on your wrist, left from the way you’d been grabbed. His brows were deeply furrowed, his jaw clenched – and you saw it tighten even more as he looked over your hands.
“No, Leon…”
“I saw him touch you. If I’d been a second later…” he cut himself off. When it hit him, you saw him swallow hard. He moved his hands to your ribs, holding you like letting go might make you fall apart.
Even though you were scared, you tried your best not to show it. The entire situation had lasted only seconds, but seeing Leon like this frightened you more than the men who had approached you. You saw the fury in him, one he was barely holding back. When your eyes moved over his frame, you noticed he was trembling slightly.
“I had it handled,” you continued calmly, “I was about to kick him in the balls.”
But it didn’t seem to work on him. He pulled his hands back, stepped away, and glanced over his shoulder as if checking whether anyone else was nearby – aside from the confused passersby. He rubbed his face, fingers pressing in like he was trying to reset himself.
“I shouldn’t have left,” he said flatly, coldly, more to himself than to you.
For a moment, you didn’t see Leon – you saw the agent. The one from missions. Tense posture, alert gaze scanning the surroundings, movements precise and controlled. Except this version of him was unraveling because of you; something that mattered more to him than any mission, something that outweighed everything else.
You knew that if you didn’t pull him back now, he’d sink deeper into guilt – and you didn’t want that. You closed the distance and grabbed the edges of his jacket, tugging slightly just to get his attention – there was no way you could physically move him otherwise.
“Seriously. One more second and he’d have had trouble walking.”
His gaze stayed lowered, fists clenched.
“Leon.” You waited until he finally looked at you. “I’m fine. I’m right here.”
His eyes met yours – shaken, guilty.
You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled his forehead to yours. You stood like that for a moment, feeling his breathing slowly steady. Your touch always worked.
“Let’s go home.”
“Yeah.”
You kissed his cheek, then let him pick up the bags he had dropped when he saw you.
You bent down for your own purchase – only now realizing the cup was in pieces.
“My cup…” you muttered, peering into the bag, confirming there was nothing left to save.
Leon stepped up beside you, both hands full of shopping bags.
“Come on.”
You thought he meant the car.
Instead, he walked up to the shop and pressed his shoulder into the door, pushing it open. He stood in the doorway, holding it for you, nodding with his chin for you to go inside.
***
You placed two new cups and a set of plates into the trunk – something Leon would normally complain about, yet this time he had been the one to press them into your hands. You didn’t object. One, because you could never resist beautiful porcelain. Two, because you knew he needed even a small sense of control back after what had happened.
You were glad he had calmed down a bit, seeing your excitement again as you moved between shelves of your favorite things, reassuring him without words that you were okay.
His hand stayed on your thigh the entire drive home, his fingers intertwined with yours. He was holding you a little too tightly. You talked about waiting for a warm, sunny day so you could sit on the terrace and drink coffee from your new floral cups.
“Leon? It’s green,” you said softly when you noticed he still hadn’t moved.
He turned his head toward you just as a horn sounded behind you. He flinched and pulled forward too quickly, tires briefly squealing. He was still somewhere else. Still scanning – mirrors, surroundings, everything.
“I should’ve–” he started, but let out a breath and didn’t finish, shaking his head slightly.
“Hey. I’m right here,” you interrupted, trying to cut through the spiral in his head. “You can stop buying me the entire store now.”
This time you gently squeezed his hand, feeling the tension slowly leave his grip.
***
You moved around the kitchen, preparing batter for blueberry muffins, the smell of freshly brewed coffee drifting through the air as it filled the space. Leon had disappeared into the bedroom a while ago to tighten the bed frame. You hummed under your breath as you poured the batter into the molds. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Leon leaning in the kitchen doorway, shoulder against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze was warm, though slightly distant, lost in thought.
“Come here, what are you waiting for?” you smiled, holding your arms out for him.
“Didn’t want to startle you,” he said calmly, but seeing you were clearly waiting, he pushed himself off the frame and walked over. There was a faint, almost shy smile on his face, his brows slightly furrowed – you knew why.
You pressed yourself against him, his body large, warm – and still a little tense. His hands settled on your back, stroking gently, his nose brushing into your hair as he breathed you in, grounding himself. You wrapped your arms around him too, slipping both hands into the back pockets of his sweatpants, pulling him closer against you.
“Bed fixed?” you asked, tilting your head up, brushing your nose against his chin.
“Yeah. Ready for us to break it again.”
You let out a quiet laugh, reluctantly pulling away when the oven beeped. You slid the tray of muffins inside. Leon leaned back against the counter, watching you in silence.
“You shouldn’t have had to deal with that,” he said quietly, his tone shifting.
“But I didn’t. You were there,” you answered immediately, sincere, without hesitation, turning to him. “Lower your head.”
A little thrown off, he did as you said, leaning down. You cupped his face, brushing both thumbs over his brows before pressing a slow, lingering kiss between them.
“Don’t frown.”
He let out a quiet, low chuckle. Then he dropped his head further, resting his forehead against your shoulder, arms hanging loosely at his sides in a rare gesture of surrender. You were glad that after all these years, you’d learned exactly how to disarm him, how to calm him down.
“...Well, at least we’ve got enough plates for the next ten years.”
“I still dream of one more cup, you know? The one with the bees.”
“No.” His hands were already on your hips.
“What if I win it?”
He lifted his head, narrowing his eyes at you suspiciously. “How?”
You reached past him, grabbing a few blueberries left over from baking. Rolling one between your fingers, you stepped back a few paces. “If you catch them, we don’t buy it. If you miss, even once – I get it next time.”
Without waiting for his answer, you tossed one at him. He dipped slightly at the knees and caught it in his mouth, giving you an unimpressed look.
“You’re cheating.”
You didn’t respond – just threw another, higher and to the side this time. Leon shifted with it, tilting his head, the berry bouncing off his nose before dropping neatly into his mouth anyway.
“Okay, last one. If you miss, I win.”
This time you gave him a moment. You saw him adjust his stance, legs slightly apart, knees bent, cracking his knuckles as he focused entirely on your hand.
You wound up – and then casually tossed the berry behind you. It disappeared out of sight, somewhere toward the living room.
You snorted, seeing his expression as he slowly straightened, shaking his head in warning.
“You’re getting old, big boy. Zero reflex,” you laughed, clearly pleased with yourself. But when Leon – unfazed – started walking toward you slowly, you immediately reconsidered and turned to bolt for the living room.
He followed.
You shot out of the kitchen, barely managing to slow down as you veered toward the couch, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him. He caught it midair and tossed it aside. There was a predator’s smile on his face. Instinctively, you grabbed another, jumping onto the couch and holding it up in surrender.
Just as expected, Leon ripped that one out of your hands too and tossed it away – then dropped his full weight onto you, pinning you beneath him. Before you could react, you were flattened under his broad, muscular frame. You squealed helplessly for a moment before managing to free your arms and wrap them around his neck, pulling his head down, pressing his cheek against yours.
Leon went still, waiting for your next move, but you stayed exactly like that, unmoving.
“Trying to put me in a hold, or…?” he rumbled.
“I don’t know…” you replied in a mock-offended tone.
He lifted his head with ease, looking down at you. For the first time in hours, there was something softer in his eyes – pure fondness, a flicker of amusement.
“You’re lucky, Mrs. Kennedy, that I have a soft spot for you…” he murmured, brushing a kiss to the corner of your lips, making you smile instantly. “But you’ll have to try harder if you want to have me wrapped around your finger.”
“I don’t need new techniques, mister. You know I’ve got you without using force,” you shot back, raising a brow, a smug smile tugging at your lips.
“Oh… right,” he said slowly, shifting slightly so he wouldn’t crush you. He kissed your cheek, then your neck, then both of your collarbones. When you tried to grab his hand, he was quicker – capturing yours and pressing quick kisses from your wrist up to your arm.
“Leon… what are you–”
“Worshipping my wife,” he answered simply, not stopping. When he finished with your arm, his kisses turned aimless – your temple, your nose, your chin, never in any pattern – while his other hand poked teasingly at your stomach, making you squirm and laugh beneath him.
“Ow, at least take the screwdriver out, you’re jabbing me,” you said between laughs when he tugged lightly at your earlobe with his teeth.
“That’s not a screwdriver.”
Of course it wasn’t.
“Seriously–” you started, but couldn’t keep a straight face.
“What can I say? You’ve got me wrapped around your finger,” he murmured into the crook of your neck, taking your hand and guiding it down along his chest and stomach.
As much as you were enjoying this spontaneous moment, you knew exactly how this usually ended – last time it meant a burned dinner and airing out the kitchen for an hour.
“Hey, we need to keep an eye on the muffins…” you tried to remind him, though there was no real resistance in your voice. The warmth of his breath and his mouth on your skin was more than enough to make you want more. Obviously, he could unravel you just as easily – you just weren’t about to admit that out loud. He’d use it against you. Like he didn’t already.
“You just put them in. We’ve got time. Give me ten minutes,” his hand slipping under your shirt, spreading over your stomach.
“Oh? Efficient. You sure that’s enough time?” you teased, your finger hooking absentmindedly into the waistband of his sweatpants.
“Sweetheart, I meant for me,” he replied, then, as if considering it, added, “for you… I’d need five. Max.”
Feigning offense, you smacked his shoulder with your free hand. “You don’t know that–”
Before you could finish, your pants were already halfway down your thighs.
Pairings: Monster!Eddie Munson x Fem!reader
Summary: He feeds on your nightmares in the night, but he doesn't want to kill you, no, maybe he's just a little lonely
Warnings: brief mention of blood, it's a MONSTER AU!! kissing, it gives stalker vibes, but he's bound to the room so he can't exactly leave.
Word count: 5.5k lol
Day one of my Valentine's day event
Valentines masterlist
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He is already in your room when you fall asleep. The dark gathering in the corners of the room, thickening where the light cannot reach, until it loosens itself from the walls and takes shape at the edge of her bed.
You stir beneath the weight of his attention, breath hitching as though your body senses him before your mind dares to.
The mattress dips, slow and deliberate and something unseen settles beside you, close enough that the shadows breathe against your skin.
You dream of pressure, of being watched, of a presence that knows the fragile places where fear hides. When your heart begins to race, the thing in the dark leans closer, patient and intent, and waits for terror to wake you fully.
He watches you the way the night watches itself, silent, patient, savoring the tiny betrayals of her body:
The tremor of a finger, the flutter of your eyelids as dreams scrape against your mind.
The air bends around where he sits, pressing shadows into the corners of the room, curling tendrils toward the shape of you. He leans closer, not touching, but letting the heat of his presence seep into your skin, drawing you into the dark like a moth to flame.
Every inhale, every shiver, is a language he understands.
He tilts his head, noting the rapid beat of your heart, the shallow rise of your chest.
Fascination hums through him, hungry, relentless, almost reverent. You do not see him. You cannot see him. But you feel him. And that is enough.
He shifts, a soft scrape of movement over the edge of the bed, deliberate but silent, letting the mattress sigh beneath the weight he does not claim. His shadow stretches over you, brushing your hair, settling along your arms in the way a predator studies prey before the kill. Yet he does not strike.
Not yet.
Not tonight.
Not while you tremble like this, so small, so alive, so deliciously aware of him, yet so clueless at the same time.
He hovers there, waiting, watching, listening… loving the terror he inspires, yet marveling at the strange draw your presence has on him, the pull that keeps him rooted at your side.
So by your bed he stays, just like he has for the past month.
Learning the way you turn in your sleep, remembering the sweet sound of your snores.
He stays.
He feeds.
He learned early that fear tastes sweetest when it’s coaxed, not taken.
Tonight, though,
Tonight, something is different.
The air in the room is thin, stale.
But the dark gathers as it always does, obedient and eager, pooling along the ceiling, dripping down the walls like ink. He settles into it easily, his shape forming in familiar pieces, too-long limbs, shoulders that blur into smoke, curls of shadow that suggest wild hair rather than define it.
If light ever dared touch him, it would probably catch on sharp cheekbones, a crooked grin, eyes that burn like dying embers.
He was never subtle.
He leans over you, close enough that the shadows brush your lips when you exhale.
He expects the usual response,
The twitch, the hitch in your breath, the sweet spike of fear he can draw into himself like a held note.
But you don’t flinch.
Instead, you frown in your sleep.
A tiny, annoyed sound leaves your throat. Your hand curls, fingers grasping at the blanket… then drifting upward, searching.
Your knuckles brush the dark.
He freezes.
The shadows recoil instinctively, pulling back from your touch like it burned him, but you don’t wake.
You just murmur something soft and unintelligible, brows knitting as though he’s interrupted a dream rather than invaded it.
That’s new.
He’s been careful. A month of restraint, of learning you. He knows your rhythms now, when you’re most vulnerable, when your fear sharpens, when it dulls into something softer. He knows the nights you dream of falling, of being chased, of being watched.
He did not expect you to reach for him.
The hunger stutters.
Curiosity curls through him instead, sharp and unwelcome.
Your breathing changes.
It goes shallow, uneven, like you’re surfacing too fast from deep water.
He feels it immediately, the subtle shift in the rhythm he’s memorized over a month of stolen nights. The fear that had softened snaps sharp again reminded suddenly that it is not alone.
Your lashes flutter.
"Oh-" you gasp, a sound torn from your chest as your eyes fly open.
And he is gone before sight can catch him.
The shadows peel away from the bed in a single, silent recoil, retreating to the corners, the ceiling, the narrow space behind your dresser where light never quite reaches. His shape unravels, dissolving into nothing more than darkness again, breath held, hunger forgotten.
You sit upright.
Your heart is pounding hard enough that he can feel it from across the room, each beat like a knock against his ribs. You drag in air like you’ve been running, hand flying to your chest, fingers curling into your shirt as if to hold yourself together.
The room is empty.
Just your bed.
Your walls.
The soft glow of the alarm clock reading 12:14 AM.
You scan the space anyway, eyes wide, frantic, darting from corner to corner. Your gaze lingers where the shadows seem thicker, heavier, as though they haven’t quite finished settling.
2Oh-" Your voice breaks. You swallow and try again. "Jesus."
But your hands are shaking.
You swing your legs over the side of the bed, feet hitting the floor too hard, grounding yourself through the shock of cold. You press your palms into your thighs and breathe, counting under your breath like you’ve done before.
In for four. Hold. Out for four.
He watches from the dark behind your door.
He shouldn’t stay.
You were awake, that was number one code red.
To get the fuck out.
So he did, vanishing in the depths of the dark of your room, pooling into the shadows.
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The next night, the dark hesitates.
It still gathers, because it always does.
Babit, hunger, gravity, but it moves slower this time, thickening reluctantly in the corners of your room as if unsure it’s welcome.
The shadows don’t rush the ceiling. They don’t stretch for the bed.
They wait.
He arrives already tired.
Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes, the deeper kind, the kind that settles into the marrow of something that isn’t supposed to feel like this.
He pulls himself together from the dark with less flourish than usual, shape forming in pieces that don’t quite lock into place. His limbs blur. His edges smoke and fray.
He doesn’t sit on the bed.
He stays near the wall, half-formed, watching you from a distance like you might spook if he breathes too loud.
You toss once in your sleep, restless, a soft huff leaving you as you turn onto your back. He flinches anyway.
Last night lingers between you, sharp and electric. The way you’d woken so fast. The way your fear had spiked.
Not the slow bloom he prefers, but something jagged and raw. It fed him, sure.
Any type of adrenaline did.
But it left a bitter aftertaste he hasn’t been able to shake.
And the aching feeling of hearing your voice for the first time.
It was rough, drowsy, and weak, but he tries not to remember the way he thought he grew a heart by the sound of it.
You look… tired tonight.
Dark smudges beneath your eyes. Your brows knit even in sleep, like your dreams are crowded with too many thoughts.
The fear is there, it always is, but it’s tangled up with exhaustion, stress, things that have nothing to do with monsters in the dark.
He exhales, a sound like air moving through a cave.
"Hell," he mutters quietly. "You’re not even good to eat anymore."
It’s a lie.
He drifts closer despite himself, shadows dragging reluctantly across the floor.
He stops at the foot of the bed this time, crouching low, arms braced on his knees. From here, he can feel your pulse without leaning over you. Can listen without looming.
You twitch.
And he flinces back. He won’t have a repeat of last night, it can’t happen, but when you twist in your sleep, mumbling sleepily, he can’t help but lean in closer.
You cuddle into the pillow by your side, curling closer like you wanted to seek its warmth, like you crave the affection of being held.
He wouldn’t know much about that sort of thing, there isn’t any sense of loneliness that rattles his bones when he has nothing to do.
There is no companionship when it comes to his kind, and the way you shove your face into the soft fluff of your pillow makes him wonder what it feels like, whether or not you crave that thing…what was it called again?
That was the word.
It comes to him slowly, dredged up from some half-rotted corner of memory, from a time before shadows were the only thing that listened to him breathe.
He rolls the word around in his mind, unfamiliar and irritating, and very deliberately does not let himself wonder whether you feel it now.
You shift again.
This time it’s sharper. Purposeful.
He stiffens.
Your breathing changes, not the gentle rise and fall of sleep, but the uneven hitch of someone surfacing. He feels it before he sees it, the way he always does, a ripple through the dark that tugs hard at his attention.
"No," he murmurs instinctively, already pulling back.
Too late.
Your eyes snap open.
You jolt upright with a sharp inhale, hand flying out as if to grab something, anything to ground you. The room feels wrong immediately.
Too heavy.
Too quiet.
Like the air itself is holding its breath.
Eddie vanishes.
Not smoothly.
Not cleanly.
The shadows snap back toward the walls, peeling off the bed and floor in a rush, but fatigue makes him sloppy. His form breaks apart unevenly, limbs unraveling into smoke that doesn’t quite disperse fast enough.
You see it.
Just a flicker.
A shape where there shouldn’t be one.
You freeze.
For half a second, neither of you move.
Then your brain catches up.
"Oh my god-!"
You scream.
It tears out of you raw and panicked, echoing off the walls as you scramble backward on the bed, heart slamming so hard it hurts.
Your hand fumbles blindly for the lamp, knocking over something small that clatters to the floor.
"Get out!" you shout, voice breaking. "I’m calling the police!"
Eddie slams himself flat against the wall behind your door, compressing his shape until he’s nothing but a jagged smear of darkness.
You’re shaking now, fully awake, adrenaline flooding your veins. You grab your phone from the nightstand with trembling fingers, eyes locked on the far side of the room.
"Who’s there?" you demand, voice high and sharp. "I- I swear to god-"
Your gaze catches on the corner near the door.
You stop mid-sentence.
There’s a shadow there that doesn’t make sense.
It’s darker than it should be, thicker, wrong against the flat paint of the wall. It moves.
Not much, just a subtle shifting, like smoke trying to remember how to be solid.
You stare.
Your phone lowers an inch.
Only to see what seems to be like a pair of glowing eyes, small but unmistakingly bright.
But that alone isn’t what made you tense, it was the mere size of the silhouette itself.
It was dark in your room, sure, it was the middle of the night, but thanks to the street light seeping through your curtains, you could define the darker areas, standing tall against the corner of your room, its form seeming to be cramped under your roof.
"Wha- what are you?" you tremble.
The words hit him harder than the scream did.
What are you?.
They’re small. Broken. Not angry- not threatening.
Just terrified.
He hesitates.
For the first time since he learned how to pull himself from the dark, he hesitates to move forward instead of back.
He’s not supposed to be seen.
Not like this.
There are rules, old ones,
Whispered through shadow and instinct.
If a human sees you clearly, you leave.
If they name you, you run.
If they fear you enough to fight back- He’s heard all of the stories.
Of salt lines and iron blades. Of lights too bright, words too sharp. Of shadows burned away by hands that learned not to tremble.
Humans are fragile, yes.
But they are also cruel when cornered.
And right now, he is the one cornered.
Your hand tightens around your phone.
He sees it clearly now, the way your knuckles have gone white, the way your shoulders are pulled tight like you’re bracing for impact.
You’re crying, he realizes distantly. Not loudly. Just the silent kind, tears slipping down your cheeks while you try very hard not to fall apart.
"Hey," he says before he can stop himself.
The sound of his voice makes you flinch violently.
You choke on a breath, scrambling backward until your spine hits the headboard with a dull thud.
"Get away!" you sob. "Stop!"
His chest tightens, a sharp, unfamiliar sensation, like something cracking where there shouldn’t be anything to break.
He raises his hands again, slow. Careful.
"I’m not gonna hurt you," he says, voice rougher now, edged with something like fear. "I swear."
You laugh weakly, hysteria bubbling up through your terror. "That’s what everyone says!"
"Yeah," he winces. "Okay"
The shadows around him ripple, agitated, urging him to dissolve, to flee back into the safety of formless dark. He almost listens.
Almost.
But then you slide down the headboard, curling in on yourself, knees pulled to your chest like a shield.
You look impossibly small like that, not prey, not food- just a person who is very, very scared.
That’s… new.
He takes one step forward.
You scream again, a short, sharp sound, and shove yourself farther back, fumbling blindly for something on the nightstand.
Your fingers brush against a heavy book, and you grab it like a weapon, holding it out in front of you with shaking arms.
"Don’t come any closer!" you cry. "I mean it!"
He freezes instantly.
"Okay," he says quickly. "Okay, stopping. See? Not moving."
He stays right where he is, just inside the edge of the lamplight.
You can see him clearly now, the tall, looming silhouette cramped beneath your ceiling, the way his shape wavers like smoke held together by sheer will.
His eyes burn brighter when he’s nervous, embers flaring against the dark.
He swallows.
"I'm just going to go-"
Your grip tightens on the book. "You- You were here last night"
He doesn’t deny it, staying silent for a while before whispering
"…yeah."
Recalling the events of waking up in sweat yesterday, you remember all the nights you were woken up almost sleepless, the nightmares haunting you throughout your slumber.
Were they connected to this…being?
"You’ve been here before…"
"…yeah."
Your breath shudders. "My nightmares…."
He flinches at that, shoulders hunching reflexively.
He opens his mouth, then closes it. Then runs a hand through his mane, agitation making his edges fray.
"I didn’t think you’d ever wake up like this," he admits quietly. "Usually, people don’t. Or if they do, they don’t see me. Supposed to be careful"
"That’s not comforting!" you snap through tears.
"I know," he says again, softer this time. "I've never had to do this"
Silence stretches between you, thick and trembling.
Your breathing is ragged. His is… unnecessary, but he does it anyway, mimicking the slow inhale and exhale you’re trying and failing to manage.
"In for four," he murmurs without thinking. "Hold. Out for four."
You stare at him, wide-eyed.
"…how do you know that?" you whisper.
His gaze flicks away, embarrassed. "I watch. You do it a lot."
That should scare you more.
Instead, it just leaves you confused and exhausted.
"What?" You stutter out, your voice wavering, and he watches as you wipe your nose with the back of your hand, blinking.
"What- what do you want from me?" you whimper
The question lands between you like something fragile.
What do you want from me?
He goes still.
The shadows around him are quiet, curling in on themselves as if they’re listening too. He stares at you for a long moment, ember-bright eyes dimming slightly, like a fire starved of oxygen.
"I…" He falters, jaw tightening. He hasn’t had to answer that before. Hunger never asked permission. Instinct never needed explanation. "I don’t want to hurt you."
He’s not sure why he said it. His whole being is to bring you harm in the night, but it was only to keep him alive- well, as alive as he can be.
But to harm you physically almost pains him to think about, his point was never to kill you.
You swallow hard. "That’s not an answer."
"I know," he says quietly. "I'm working up to it."
Your hands are still shaking, but you don’t raise the book again. It rests against your knees now, forgotten but not discarded.
The phone lies loose in your grip, screen dark, emergency numbers un-dialed.
That alone feels like a miracle.
But really, after taking the first glance at whatever he was, you realised that the police wouldn’t be able to do shit against this, him.
He shifts his weight back, deliberately increasing the space between you. He keeps himself on the edge of the lamplight where you can see him clearly, no tricks, no vanishing.
It costs him something; you can tell by the way his form wavers, shadows tugging at him like a tide against stone.
"I feed on your fear," he says at last. "Nightmares"
Your shoulders tense, but you don’t interrupt.
"You feed on me?"
He shakes his head vigorouly before slowly nodding, the answer laying somewhere in-between your accusation.
"I- well, you-"
You fiddle with your phone, turning on your flash before pointing in his direction.
He shrinks away, a ghastly shriek deafening your ears as he twitches, his body contorting in stiff and odd ways.
You lower your phone quickly, the high pitch ringing in your ears as you apologise.
"Sorry! I’m sorry!"
The screaming fades away and you can hear the heavy pants of his breath, composing himself again.
The image of his sharp features imprints in your mind. His skin was as pale as it was dark, his face looking hollow and decomposed, but that wasn’t what scared you.
It was the long, boney fingers that swiftly hid his face from the light, the curled nails piercing his flesh, cutting himself.
Looking down at your legs, you frown at the scratches and thin scabs you’ve woken up to in the past month.
He touched you.
He winces in pain and you aren’t sure what to do with yourself, but the moment you see shiny blood trickling down his cheek, you look away.
"I- I have a Band-Aid" You mutter to him
"Band..aid?"
You nod, tearing your eyes away to your nightstand, digging through the drawer.
He watches as you pull out a box, pulling out a small rectangle and peeling it open before you shuffled down the bed cautiously, your hand shaking as you held it out for him.
He stares at it intently, not making any sign of wanting to take it, but you motion to his cheek.
"What?" he questions softly, looking you in the eye.
His breath almost hitched at the gentle gaze you offered, waving the fabric in front of you.
You looked terrified, but oh so curious and concerned.
For the second time you made him feel as though he’s grown a heart.
His chest tightens as you sigh and stand up, daring to take a step forward.
He finches back against the wall, his fingers twitching in the fearful need to attack, but he mustn’t, he doesn’t want to.
"It'll help the cut…" you say meekly
He blinks slowly, feeling the warm trickle of blood falling down to his jaw.
You take another step and he realises he isn’t able to back up any further, instead, he shrinks down, his knees bending as he slides down the wall, the crack of his limbs echoing throughout your room.
"I’m not gonna hurt you" You repeat him, trying to form some sort of smile as he tilts his head away, closing his eyes tightly in some sort of an attempt to stop you from touching him.
But he feels your warmth engulfing his space, causing shivers to run down his spine as you leaned closer.
Even with him crouched down on the floor he was taller than you, it made you wonder how the hell he could fit in your bedroom.
Still, you huff and remove the wrapping of the bandaid, slowly but surely placing it on his skin.
He was cold to the touch, freezing the air with his presence, but as your fingers brushed his skin, his eyes flickered open, his long eyelashes batting as he watched you step back.
He reaches up to his cheek, being careful as the rough fabric tingles his skin.
You didn’t harm him, didn’t curse him or kill him like the tales spoke of. You were…kind.
He held his breath as you stayed by his side, looking so small against his frame.
Then he apologises.
"But I don’t want to do it anymore," he continues, voice rough. "I’m sorry"
"Sorry for what?"
"Taking my feed on you"
Silence stretches again, but it’s different now. Less sharp. Still fragile, but no longer threatening to shatter at the slightest sound.
You shift on the bed, uncurling just a little. Your feet touch the floor, toes digging into the rug as if anchoring yourself.
"You said you feed on fear," you say. "What happens if you don’t?"
He hesitates. The shadows around his ribs thin, flickering.
"I get… empty," he admits. "Faded. Like I forget where I end and the dark begins." He glances at the corner of the room, where the shadows are thickest. "Some of us disappear that way"
Your chest tightens at that, unexpectedly, but he continues.
"We have to choose who we feed on, but some people fight their nightmares, causing us to fade"
"And you chose me," you say quietly.
"I didn’t choose you at first," he replies. "You were just… there. Loud, like I said. But then you started noticing things. The dreams changed. You reacted differently. You reached for me."
He swallows.
"No one’s done that before."
Your hand curls in the blanket you broigh with you to hide yourself.
You remember the dreams, vaguely. The pressure. The sense of something there, waiting. You’d thought it was just your mind playing tricks on you.
"I thought I was going crazy," you murmur.
"I know," he says, guilt threading through his voice. "I’m sorry."
The word is simple, but it lands heavy.
You look up at him then, really look. At the way his shoulders slope inward, like he’s bracing for rejection. At the flicker in his eyes that isn’t hunger now, but fear. Real fear.
"You’re scared," you say softly.
He lets out a breath. "Yeah. Turns out I don’t like being the thing under the bed."
A weak, startled laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. You clap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide.
He blinks, his head dizzying at the noise "Was that-"
"-I’m sorry," you rush out. "I just- that was stupid."
"No," he says, something like wonder creeping into his tone. "It’s… new."
He tries to ignore the way his head spins, the refreshing feeling of his gut like he had found his feed.
You laughed, and he felt ful.
You wipe at your cheeks, embarrassed by the lingering tears. Your body still hums with adrenaline, but it’s ebbing now, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion.
"So," you say carefully, "what happens now that you’ve been caught? Do you fade?"
He considers that. The shadows stir, restless but subdued.
"I should leave," he says. "That’s what the rules say. I was seen. Named. Caught."
Your stomach drops. "Oh, can I not feed you anymore?"
"No," he admits. "Cause the fear the recognisable now, expected"
The honesty is terrifying, and grounding, somehow.
You glance around your room: the posters on the wall, the pile of clothes on the chair, the lamp casting warm, imperfect light. This space has always been yours. The idea of being alone in it again feels… complicated.
"So…it’s like I've banished you from my nightmares?" you say.
"Yeah."
You hesitate. Your heart pounds, but not with the same wild panic as before. This feels like standing at the edge of something unknown,
Dangerous, yes, but also strangely inviting.
"What about dreams?" you whisper.
He stiffens."What do you mean?"
"Dreams" you admit. "I’ve banishes you from my nightmares, but what if you can feed from my dreams?"
The shadows around him soften, curling inward like a held breath finally released.
That was never really an option that he considered, beings like him were meant to feed on fear, not something softer, not something bright.
But your laugh, the dizzying feeling it caused him.
He hadn’t had the time to feed on you tonight, so why did he feel full?
"I don’t-" he says. "I don’t know"
You take another breath, steadying yourself. "You can stay," you say slowly, "try"
He shakes his head immediately. "Why would you let me?"
"Cause you wouldn’t be hurting me anymore…and everyone deserves a chance…"
You weren’t sure what came over you, what possessed you to allow this being to stay, but the way he shuddered at your words made you believe that he wouldn’t hurt you.
He seemed lonely.
"And," you add, surprising yourself with the firmness in your voice, "you don’t hide if I’m awake."
He winces. "That’s… risky."
“I know," you say. "But if you vanish every time I blink, I’m going to lose my mind."
A pause. Then, reluctantly, he nods. "Okay."
You relax a fraction, shoulders dropping. For the first time since you woke up screaming, the room feels… still.
"What’s your name?" you say.
"Name" he spoke carefully, uncertain of himself.
"What do they call you?"
He smiles, his sharp teeth flashing in a pearly white and faded yellow.
It would scare you if you didn’t know he was expressing joy.
“Eddie"
"I'm-" You introduce yourself, a timid smile on your lips as you made your way to your bed.
Eddie nods in acknowledgement.
Minutes pass. Neither of you moves much. Eddie stays near the wall, keeping his promise, while you sit on the bed with your knees drawn up, watching him like he might vanish if you look away too long.
Eventually, your eyelids begin to droop. The adrenaline crash hits hard.
"I'm really tired," you admit.
“I know," Eddie says softly. "I can go. I don't want to-"
“No," you interrupt gently. "Just… stay over there. Please."
He nods. "I can do that."
You lie back slowly, every movement cautious. You don’t turn off the lamp. He doesn’t comment.
As your breathing evens out, Eddie settles against the wall, sliding down until he’s seated on the floor, shadows pooling around him like a cloak. He looks smaller like this. Less monster. More… something else.
Lonely, maybe.
"Hey," he murmurs, watching you as you turn in your bed.
"Yeah?"
"What is val-en-tines day?" He says, voice soft with curiosity as he tries to pronounce the word.
A quiet, incredulous sound escapes you, half laugh, half breath, making you sit up in your bed.
“what?"
"Valentine day," he repeats
"How do you know what that is?"
He shrugs"You talk about it"
"No, I don't!" you deny truthfully
“In the box with little people moving in it, you watch and cry" He exposes, blinking in confusion at your denial.
"The TV?"
He doesn’t respond as he looks at you, watching the blanket fall from your frame, finally revealing the pale pink pjamas that cling to your body, a love heart depicted right over your breast.
You huff, shaking your head incredibly at his behaviour, you cross your arms over your chest in an act of frustration.
"Come here" You demand curtly, pointing to the side of your bed.
He slowly gets up, rising until he needs to bend his head down from hitting the roof.
He stalks forward, the loud thud of his footsteps causing you to wince.
Downstairs people won’t like that.
He stands where you point to, gulping.
"Sit"
He sits, his fingers curling around the side of your bed where he rests, looking down at you sheepishly.
"Did I say something wrong?" he asks quietly, avoiding your gaze.
"I do not cry at those movies, alright?" You reason, pointing a finger at him, he shrinks, his head dipping down. And when you sit up straight on your mattress, you notice you're finally at eye level with him.
"Valentine's day is a day where people show their affection towards each other in the form of gifts and acts of service to show their love"
"Gifts" Eddie repeats, blinking up at you.
"Yeah, like flowers 'n shit"
He nods slowly, understanding what you are explaining.
"And a valentine is a person who you celebrate the day with, a partner, friend- if you're single, but it’s mostly a couple thing…do you have a partner?" you frown.
He shakes his head, licking his lips.
"You don’t even know what that is, do you?"
You laugh at his silence, taking it as a no "a partner is like your best friend, someone you spend a lot of time with, someone you love. Girlfriends, Boyfriends, that type of thing, someone you care deeply for" you explain "I’m only watching those movies cause Valentines Day is next week"
He nods again, his eyes dropping down to your frame, his gaze following the soft plush of your curves.
You don’t notice his stare as you lay back down"keep me safe in my dreams, yeah?"
Love
That’s the word Eddie was looking for.
ــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ
— Bonus Ending —
You wake to the unmistakable sense that something is wrong.
Not danger-wrong. Not fear-wrong.
Just… off.
Your eyes crack open, squinting against the soft gray light of morning filtering through the curtains. For one hazy second, everything seems normal.
Then you notice the weight on your legs.
You blink.
Once.
Twice.
There are things on your bed.
You sit up with a sharp inhale, blanket sliding down as your gaze takes in the scene in front of you, and your brain promptly short-circuits.
A bouquet lies across your knees. Except… it’s not flowers. It’s a bundle of delicate black feathers, glossy and iridescent, tied together with what looks suspiciously like a ribbon made of spider silk.
Nestled beside it is a smooth stone that glows faintly from within, warm against your skin when you touch it. A string of little glass bottles clinks softly as you move, each filled with something different:
shadowy mist, glittering dust, what might actually be moonlight.
And sitting right in the center of it all, placed with almost ceremonial care, is a human heart-shaped box.
Except it’s carved from bone.
You stare.
"…what," you say flatly.
A soft scrape comes from the corner of the room.
Eddie is there, half-formed and fidgeting, shoulders hunched, hands clasped together like he doesn’t know where to put them.
His shadows flutter nervously, betraying him completely.
"You’re awake," he says, unnecessarily.
"Yes," you reply." Obviously. Why is there a cursed Etsy starter pack on my bed?"
His eyes widened, almost in offense, but also hurt. "They’re not cursed."
You raise an eyebrow.
"Not really…"
You sigh and rub your face. "Eddie. Why."
He shifts, glancing at the bed, then back at you. "Val-en-tine’s Day" he says slowly, like he’s testing each word. "gifts"
He gestures vaguely. "The stone keeps bad dreams away. The bottles won’t bite. And the feathers-" he hesitates, voice dropping, "-pretty"
You stare at him, chest tightening in a way that has nothing to do with fear.
"…Eddie."
He tenses immediately. "I can take them back."
"No," you say quickly. "Don’t."
He blinks. "…don’t?"
You exhale, carefully picking up the feather bouquet. "They’re just… a lot."
His shoulders slump. "Yeah. Okay. I thought so."
You look up at him, softer now. "But I like them."
His eyes flare bright, hopeful and startled all at once. "You do?"
You smile. "Yeah. I do…where’d you get them?"
He points to himself.
"Yeah, I know they’re from you…where did they come from?"
"Mine" he states "collect"
You frown deeply "they’re yours?"
He nods, swallowing, shy but visibly buzzing with excitement "Happy Valentine Day."
You blink, sucking in a crisp breath of air "…Happy Valentine’s Day, Eddie."
"Kiss?"
Your eyebrows shoot up "uh...what?"
He puckers his lip, just like how he saw on the movies he watched with you.
You really shouldn't have introduced him to that thing.
"Um-"
He moves forward in an instant, lowering his face towards yours, his heavy breath blowing against your skin.
"Please" He pleads, blinking at you innocently.
You hesitantly lean in, trying not to look into his eyes as you aim for his cheek.
But what more do you expect from him?
He moves his face swiftly, his cold lips meeting yours in a swift kiss, his hand reaching up to brush your outer thigh.
It was sweet, and he didn't know any better. but it was crazy, absolutely crazy, kissing...whatever he was.
He pulls away, His grin is all crooked shadows and embers.
THANK YOU MY DARLING BEX @creme-bruhlee who co-wrote this with me!! it wouldn't be finished without their contributions so everyone say thank you bex <3
You walked along the shore of the creek, hearing Billy’s footsteps crunch the soggy leaves behind you. You turned over your shoulder and laughed as you watched him make wide, awkward steps to avoid sharper rocks and puddles of water.
“Not gonna slip, are you?” you asked, and he shook his head, looking up at you for a second with a little smile on his lips.
You looked ahead again, admiring the view for the first time since your first week here— you got used to it, somehow, over the months. You nearly lost the ability to appreciate how gorgeous it really was. But knowing this was your last sunset at Oak Hill made it look entirely new.
The sun was low, hiding behind trees that bent in the wind, making the whole sky look all swirly and orange like—
“Marmalade,” Billy blurted out suddenly as he stepped up beside where you were standing. “Sky looks like marmalade on toast.”
You snorted, looking at him before looking back to the sunset-stained sky.
“And those clouds there? That’s the butter,” he smiled. “Good, Irish butter, getting all melty and soaking into the bread and mixing with the preserves—”
“Stop,” you whined, dragging it out as you tilted your head back and clutched your belly, “you’re making me hungry.”
“We could always go back for dinner,” Billy joked with a grin, “and have meatloaf for the thousandth time.”
“I’ve been here even longer than you— it would be my third-thousandth time,” you reminded him.
He seemed to get sad then, wiping under his nose roughly a few times as he stared down at the creek beneath his boots. You deflated, too; you’d been here longer, and your time was up. You never thought you could want to stay longer… but you never thought you’d meet someone like Billy.
“Anyhow,” you changed the subject quickly, “I-I was thinking I’d get something really good tomorrow. Been craving Nando’s for about, oh, a year or so—”
Billy snorted. “Figured you’d want something a little nicer— y’know, somethin’ fancy, after eating all this cheap cafeteria stuff…”
You walked together to the fallen tree— it wasn’t actually completely knocked over, but it had grown sideways into a sort of arch— and you kept glancing at him, kept admiring the way the light of dusk shined in his hair, made it look golden. “I mean, sure,” you replied, “but with whose money?”
He shrugged, reaching up and scratched the side of his head for a moment, before quickly sniffling and rubbing his nose again.
You leaned your back against the tree, wishing so much that he would stand in front of you and let you look right at him, but he leaned beside you instead. For a moment you were both quiet, just looking at the creek and the sky— darker by the second— and listening to the stillness of the world. It wasn’t so quiet out there, and you weren’t guaranteed a place to sleep or a nurse to come help you if you have an episode.
But you’d be free.
You looked at Billy again, watching him stare forward as he brushed a shaky hand over his wavy hair.
Free, and alone. No one to enjoy your freedom with.
“So,” you began quietly, looking down at the ground where you traced random circles in the leaves with the toe of your shoe, “I, erm… I’ll miss you loads. I know you know that.”
He nodded quickly. “Y-yeah, I… dunno what m’gonna do without you, actually.”
You felt your cheeks flush, and that butterfly feeling stirred in your gut again; Billy used to just be the new kid, the quiet one with the mess of curly hair. It’s hard to say when it changed for you— maybe it was when you took him out by this creek for the first time, with three others, just for some obligatory rebellion after hours, and he picked a wildflower to hand to you. Or, likely, it was when he found you hiding in a supply closet and didn’t even ask what was wrong, just held your hand until you felt right again. There was a case to be made that it started as soon as you met him, but you didn’t notice for the first month or two.
You shivered a little, since it was getting chillier the later it got, and he glanced at you. “Are you cold?” he wondered.
You denied it with a shake of your head, but he was stripping off his zip-up anyways. “O-oh, Billy, I’m really fine—”
Sighing, you relented as he draped the jacket around your shoulders, tugging either end of the zipper towards each other on your chest as you mumbled your thanks.
It took him a few seconds to notice that you were looking at his face, and when he looked back at you, you could see him thinking— though you could only imagine what. Your chest filled with a breath of hope; his eyes darted around all over the place, mostly down to the ground shyly. Maybe this could be it, the moment you’d been dreaming of—
He let go of the jacket and wiped his nose. “M-maybe that’ll keep you warm,” he mumbled awkwardly.
You slumped your shoulders defeatedly. “Bet so,” you agreed. It smelled like him, and you revelled in that.
An uncomfortable silence settled in as you watched Billy, gnawing your lip, wondering where to go now that the moment had passed.
He suddenly grabbed your— his— jacket again and slammed his lips onto yours. Eyes shut tight, like he was focusing all his energy on it; it was sudden and hard but it was perfect, and you melted into him quickly.
He pulled away almost as fast as he’d leaned in, looking at you with a particular expression, clearly wondering if he’d made a horrible mistake. You just reached up and weaved your fingers into the hair at the back of his neck and pulled him in again— a longer, slower, deeper kiss. You settled into a pattern with him, his lips carefully moving on yours. One of his hands found your waist and gave you a soft squeeze there, and you smiled against him.
It ended eventually, him pulling back first to look at you with more love in his eyes than you’d ever seen on anyone before— let alone directed at you.
“Billy,” you breathed, “why’d you have to wait so long to do that?”
He laughed softly, and you did too, reaching up to stroke his cheek with your thumb. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“No, I just—” you sighed, leaning forward to rest your forehead on his shoulder. You felt his hand gently pet the back of your head and you bit your lip. “I’ve just been hoping— I thought maybe— and I’m leaving tomorrow—”
“Shh,” he soothed, and when you lifted your head to blink up at him, he closed his own eyes and rested his forehead on yours.
As your eyes fell shut as well, a shiver ran over you— the evening chill was creeping in while the sun crossed the horizon, and not even Billy’s hoodie could protect you from the nippy breeze.
He wrapped his arms around you tightly, pulling you into him as you reached up to rest your hands on his chest. It was sweet, and it was warm, but it was a goodbye hug: you could tell just by the way he kissed the top of your head and rubbed your arms and took a deep breath in. You pulled back, just at your head and shoulders, to look up at him.
“Promise me we won’t have to be apart,” you whispered pleadingly, balling your hands into fists and tugging at his shirt, and he licked his lips for a second as he looked down.
“You know I’d never lie to you,” he breathed, and you bit your lip; his hands reached up and cradled your face.
“Just lie to me once,” you begged, “that we’ll always be together, please—”
He held your head and lifted it so he could kiss the height of your cheekbone, where a thin tear had begun to fall. “We’ll find each other,” he promised instead, “someday, when we’re out of this place. We’ll always find each other.”
In the morning, he saw you off from the front office, and you snapped off your paper ID band from your wrist to stuff into his pocket. “So you remember me,” you explained.
“We won’t forget each other,” he promised. “No matter what. Certain people will always be in your life… no matter how long you go without seeing each other.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“I-I heard that in a movie one time,” he admitted with a shrug.
“Is it true?” you wondered.
“I guess we’ll find out.”
xx
“Do we have the ingredients for paprikash?” you wondered, and George narrowed his eyes as he opened the pantry.
“Well, we don’t have paprika…” he noticed. “So I guess it would just be ‘sh’.”
You snorted, ducking your head down into the opened fridge. “Oh! I could make beef stroganoff! Except, erm, with… pork. Or tuna.”
You both perked up at a knock at the door. “Pork sounds great,” he agreed as he started to walk away, “I’ll get it.”
There was another rapid succession of knocks before George could get there, and you started getting pots and ingredients out for dinner.
“We’re not giving you money or anything,” George announced firmly when he opened the door; you figured it was someone raising for a political cause or maybe even a religion when you heard that.
“I-is she home?” you heard a meek voice ask in reply.
“Mate, whoever you’re looking for isn’t here—” George began, but you were already running out of the kitchen and tumbling towards the door.
You knew you must have lit up when you saw Billy standing there on your welcome mat; he had on a soft grey hoodie, with the sleeves pulled up around his hands— one of which was held to his mouth to gnaw on his thumb nail. That hand fell quickly and his lips curled into a gentle smile as he saw you. “I knew you’d come,” you announced as you ran to him, pulling into a quick but tight hug. There was a bit more colour to his face, more brightness in his eyes as he looked down at you when you pulled away, arms still draped lazily over his shoulders while his hands gently held your back.
“Course I had to,” he smiled at you, “said I would, wouldn’t I?”
You realised you were still holding him and pulled away, facing George who seemed to be catching on. “Y-you remember I said I’d visited a friend in hospital?” you prompted, and George nodded, looking a little embarrassed that he’d reacted to Billy that way.
“Sorry, mate,” George offered Billy a handshake; Billy seemed a little uncomfortable with it, but shook your fiancé’s hand politely.
“I’m just starting dinner,” you announced, “you could help me, if you wanted? Give George a break from sous chef duty? O-or just wait, I’m sure you’re tired—”
“I’ll help,” Billy decided, “f’that’s alright.”
“Of course,” you hummed, and you and George stepped back to let him in. He toed his sneakers off, looking around the house with wide eyes.
“Nice place,” he noticed while George shut the door. “Wow, look’t that…”
“Y-yeah, it’s George’s place, really,” you admitted, “but I did some of the decorating.”
“Who painted that?” he wondered as he pointed at the oil painting in the foyer.
“Oh, that was a gift from a client,” George explained, looking at it with crossed arms. “It’s an original Lebo, he’s the next big thing, up-and-comer in the Miami art scene…”
“Miami? Like California?” Billy wondered.
You giggled a little bit as George made that face he made when he was trying not to be condescending. “Er… Miami, Florida.”
“Eh? Coulda sworn Miami was a place in California,” Billy frowned, wiping under his nose quickly a few times; he always did that, but you could tell by the way he did it that he was nervous. You bit your lip as you looked at George, willing him with your mind to not think less of Billy for questionable geography skills— you hadn’t told him everything about this friend of yours who was in hospital, just that you knew each other as teenagers and that he was a kind and gentle person. If George really understood all Billy had been through, you’d hope he wouldn’t be judgemental; but it wasn’t your story to tell.
“Listen, you two get to cooking and I’m gonna get some work done?" It wasn't a question but George raised the tone of his voice at the end like it was one. "Come up if you need anything."
Billy gave you a slightly shy look as George disappeared up the stairs with heavy footsteps. “If you slice the mushrooms I’m gonna start cooking the pork,” you explained.
He nodded as you opened the knife drawer for him and he took out a small one to begin cutting on the bamboo slate you’d already set out. “Been a while since somebody let me handle sharp objects,” he admitted with a chuckle.
“Oh, if you don’t want to, I can—”
“No, it’s fine,” he promised, shaking his head. “I can handle it. Only ever hurt myself on accident doing wood carving.”
“You still carve?” you realised excitedly, and he nodded. “I remember you spent ages trying to get them to let you do it in the facility.”
“Yeah, that took some persistence,” he recalled with a grin. “I was stuck doing regular arts and crafts for the first… six months? Lots of papier-mâché.”
You snorted at the memory. “In the girls’ wing we did a lot of ‘inspiration boards’...”
“Oh, Christ,” Billy laughed, “not the bloody inspiration boards. Hated those— as if anything you can find in an old magazine’s going to inspire you to not be fuckin’ mental.”
You laughed, and as you focused on preparing ingredients, the conversation lulled for a moment. Billy eventually, gently, broke the silence.
“S-sorry for how I was before, at the hospital,” he mumbled. “I was still pretty out of it, but I was so happy to see you.”
“Oh, you were fine,” you promised, “I know what it’s like to be hopped up on painkillers.”
He gave you a look with a raised eyebrow, and you shook your head.
“Don’t worry— distant memory.”
“But you’re, uh… you’re still on something?” he broached the topic carefully.
“Yeah,” you nodded. “Ziprasidone, forty miligrams twice a day. And, you know, some escitalopram as needed, but that’s nothing.”
“And the side effects aren’t too bad?” he pressed. “My tics got worse no matter what I was on.”
“Well, there are some,” you admitted, “but not that bad once I got the dosage right. It’s worth it.”
He nodded, reaching up with the hand that wasn’t holding the knife to wipe his fist under his nose quickly. You knew what the silence meant, you knew he wanted to believe you but was worried how it would feel to be medicated; he’d had so much trouble with it, having gone through his share of prescriptions— actually, he’d gone through his and three other people’s shares. You could only imagine how much trouble he’d had staying on pills if he couldn’t even afford them.
“You’ll stay on what the hospital sent you home with, right?” you asked quietly.
“Y-yeah, of course,” he shrugged, “as long as it doesn’t, you know, make me feel horribly sick or something.”
“You can’t go off of them just because you’ve got dry eyes or nausea, though,” you frowned.
“Obviously!” he scoffed. “I… I really wanna get better this time, for good. But, um… it’s hard, with my brother…”
You nodded, but didn’t say anything else, focusing mostly on stirring the meat around the hot pan as it sizzled.
“Malibu!” he said suddenly.
“Hm?” you turned to him, eyebrows knitted together, and he suddenly looked a bit embarrassed.
“I— I was thinking of Malibu… before…” he mumbled as he trailed off. “Malibu, California.”
You grinned wide, watching him reach up to wipe the back of his hand, covered with his jacket’s sleeve, over his face quickly. "How are you feeling?" you asked. "After the injury."
"Not so bad," he answered, "it still gets a little sore sometimes, especially at night with the pain meds wear off, but it's not that bad."
"You're so tough," you shook your head. "Got stabbed a few days ago and you're just walking it off."
"I got lucky," he explained, "it didn't hit anything important. Mostly I'm just hoping it’ll turn into a cool scar.”
He looked at you with a little smirk and it warmed your heart.
“People say scars are attractive," he continued, "but… they only mean the ones on the outside.”
You sighed, knowing how true that was— it took you long enough to find someone like George, who stuck with you even though you had so much you still struggled with. “Can I see it?” you asked, hoping not to get too deep into the other topic.
Billy nodded and lifted his shirt, exposing more and more pale skin, until the fabric was gathered up to his shoulder and you could see the sewn wound right at the centre of his chest. You gasped, reaching to cover your mouth first as you realised it was much worse than you imagined before; and then you found yourself reaching out to touch him, though you should’ve asked permission first (yet he didn’t make a move to stop you, he didn’t even seem all that surprised).
Your fingers gently trailed around the marks, and it was like you could feel how much it must have hurt— the stitches and the stabbing; your heart ached for him, as always. “Billy,” you whispered under your breath, shocked at all he’d survived.
For a moment, you found your touch trailing further, brushing over the thin layer of hair on his chest. It was new, after all, since the last time you’d touched him there— he was only a boy then, a bit scrawny and lanky, and while he was still on the lean side now, this was clearly a man’s body. A man who had been through so much; a man that the world had tried so hard to harden and callus and break, but he was still so soft and delicate.
Your fingertips were still tracing his skin when your eyes finally met his, and the look in them penetrated you. Knowing you should pull away, you started to move your hand back, but he grabbed it and pulled it to him— he pressed it flat and firm to his chest, squeezing your fingers, letting you feel his heartbeat beneath.
It didn’t feel like you were doing anything wrong, until you both heard George’s steps coming around the corner and jumped away from each other quickly; Billy tugged his shirt down, wiping under his nose as he cleared his throat, you did a bit of a better job of acting natural.
“How’s dinner coming along?” George wondered.
“Oh, well,” you smiled. “S’nice to catch up a little.” You cast Billy a small smile, hoping to connect his glance, but his eyes were down, his focus back on his task. It nearly seemed as if he were ashamed of almost getting caught.
“How’s it you know each other again?” George asked. “She’s got so many little friends, it’s hard to keep track.”
You scoffed and rolled your eyes, and you almost answered, but Billy’s inhale made you realise that the question wasn’t aimed at you. “When we were kids,” Billy started. “Not kids, really, I guess, but… when we were younger, we were at a-a facility together. Not for very long, but…” he trailed off for a moment, getting a slightly glassy look in his eyes. Finally, he simply added, “We grew close.”
“That’s good,” George said. “And you’ve just gotten out of hospital?”
“Erm, yeah—”
“What happened?”
There was a split second where the question hung in the air, and you could feel Billy’s energy change. He obviously wasn't ready to talk about it.
"Why don't you set the table, Georgie?" you requested without turning around. Your face burned, and you cleared your throat as you tried to dampen down the flames in your cheeks. “Make yourself useful,” you added with a light laugh, almost jumping a little when his hands rested on your arms as he leaned in to kiss by your ear.
“Anything for you,” George said, his voice a little quiet, like he didn’t want Billy to hear, and the kitchen fell into silence as George gathered the utensils and left the kitchen.
The kitchen was only quiet for a moment more, the sizzling of the pork dying down a bit, before Billy, with a smirk, noticed, "Bit posh, isn't'e?"
"Shut up," you giggled, pushing Billy's shoulder.
“Never thought you’d go for someone like that,” Billy admitted lightly. You could tell he was still trying to make it a joke, but the joke was obviously falling a little flat; you could feel the anxious energy radiating off of him. “B-but I’m glad you’re happy.”
“How about you?” you asked, and you found yourself biting your lip as you spooned the mix of meat and veg onto three plates. “Any girls strike your fancy?”
“Ah,” Billy started, and he shook his head. “No. You know me, though, that’s never been my nature, really…”
“I used to know you,” you said, and Billy cast his big dark eyes at you. You hadn’t meant to be so blunt about it, and you quickly added, “but I imagine you haven’t changed all that much, eh?”
“I guess not,” Billy mumbled, and you wondered if that hadn’t really helped to add— if that was what he was afraid of, not changing. But you never found anything to dislike in Billy all those years ago, even if you were still fighting the urge to resent him a bit for never calling after he promised to. You trusted that you’d find each other again someday— and most of the time, with him here, it felt like no time had passed at all— but you’d hurt for a while, wondering if you did something wrong… if he never really loved you.
And, of course, time had passed. You remembered that every time you looked down at your hands and saw the ring on your finger; every time you glanced over your shoulder and saw George setting the table.
I waited for you for so long, Billy— couldn’t you have let me find you sooner?
xx
Dinner was… quiet. Not exactly tense, but not not tense. You could all pretend your mouths were just so full of stroganoff that you couldn’t say much, but really, there wasn’t much to say.
Actually, there was a lot to say— you and Billy wanted to talk, but you both must’ve felt strange about it with George there, and in turn, George probably didn’t want to talk to you how he normally did with Billy there.
"So, Billy," George prompted, clearing his throat after a long pause, "what do you do?"
"E-er…"
"For work?"
"Sort of between jobs at the moment," Billy admitted. "It's hard for me to work with… my condition…"
"Right," George frowned, and you lightly kicked him under the table. “W-well, we’re just—” he rushed to try to appease you, “glad you’re alright. After what happened.”
You caught Billy’s lips pressing together, and you knew he was trying not to smile at the wrong time. Maybe it was the use of we that amused him; maybe it was the idea that Billy was ‘alright’ after everything.
“Do you have a place to stay?” you asked suddenly, and Billy stopped chewing to look at you with wide eyes. You felt George’s glare land on you, he already knew you were going to offer Billy anything no matter how misguided it might seem.
“Erm… well, no, but—” Billy began.
“There’s our couch,” you noticed. “You should stay here tonight.”
“I— I couldn’t let you do that,” he insisted, rubbing his fist under his nose. “I-I couldn’t—”
You rested your hand on his shoulder, and he stilled for a moment as he blinked at you. “It’s the least we could do.”
xx
“I don’t want him here,” George said sternly the moment he’d gotten you alone. “He’s obviously unstable, he needs real help—”
“Listen to me,” you pleaded, “he’s got a three-week prescription from the hospital, he just needs to get used to the new meds.”
“I know you wanna think you can save everyone,” your fiancé sighed, sounding so exhausted with you, “but you need to think about your own safety. He’s not well and he’s… inappropriately attached to you.”
“Inappropriate?” you repeated.
“A grown man has no reason to stake his sanity on someone he met in hospital,” George hissed, “as a child.”
You laughed in frustration as you shook your head.
“Oh, don’t do that,” he warned, “don’t act like I’m ridiculous for not wanting a strange man on my couch. That’s an expensive couch.”
“Well shit, George, he’s not a dog, he’s not gonna piss on it or something!” you scoffed. “And he’s not strange, either.”
“He is to me.”
“But I know him, and you know me,” you explained, “can’t you trust my judgement?”
“It’s my house, I have the right if I don’t want him—” George began.
“It’s my house, too,” you hissed, lowering your voice as you stepped closer to him, “and you brought her here— you brought her in our bed, didn’t you? So what’s that compared to my friend on the couch?”
“Oh, Christ,” he spat, “I knew you’d bring that up, again, when you said you’d forgiven me—”
“I did!” you insisted. “But you’re being a fucking hypocrite! Just admit that you don’t trust me— when I’m the one who shouldn’t trust you.”
“We should both trust each other,” he corrected.
“You should stop treating me like a guest here,” you replied, raising your voice, “like I’m just some charity case and not the woman you asked to move in and asked to marry you—”
“You always do this,” George shook his head, looking beyond irritated with you.
“And now you take issue with my friend?”
“He’s not your friend,” George spat, “he’s here because he’s mental and broke and horny, probably.”
“What?!”
“Oh, come on, darling, don’t be so stupid,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “He wants to shag you!”
“I can’t believe you,” you scoffed as you stormed out, only to stop halfway down the hall when you found Billy, looking shivery and uncomfortable with his arms crossed around himself. “O-oh, Billy, I—”
“S’just lookin’ for some sheets…” he mumbled, looking down, and you knew he must have heard you arguing.
“They’re down here, let me get them for you,” you offered as you opened the door to the linen closet, but he stepped back nervously.
“I-is everything alright?” Billy asked you tenderly, and your heart ached.
“Yes,” you sighed, “it’s fine, he just—”
“Oh god,” Billy whimpered, knowing you were lying, “v’done it again, haven’t I? Fucked everything up.”
“No,” you sighed, “no— you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I don’t want to make it harder for you,” he choked, covering his face with his hands. “You got better! You’re normal! And I’m making it worse, I’m… dragging you back down. It’s just why I never called!”
You rushed forward, holding his wrists tightly even as he struggled for a second. “Billy, look at me,” you pleaded. “Look, I need to see your eyes.”
He relaxed and let you move his fists out of the way so you could see his wet, quivering face.
“You don’t make anything worse,” you promised.
Just as he started to melt into your touch, and your fingers slid up to interlace with his, you heard George come through the door and huff at the sight. He said your name sternly, and you turned around, giving Billy’s hand a squeeze before you let go.
“I was just helping him find the sheets,” you explained, already knowing what George wanted to say.
“Won’t need them— he’s not staying here,” your fiancé insisted.
“No, George, don’t—” you started to protest, but Billy was already shrinking away. “Billy, please don’t go—”
As you watched Billy start to run out, George held you back and stopped you from chasing after him. “He needs to leave,” George insisted, and he was much too strong— your fight was useless.
“Let me go!” you whimpered, but he didn’t, not even after you heard the front door slam, not even after your rage fell into exhaustion and you started to cry.
“Better this way,” George promised, “trust me. We need to trust each other.”
He kept saying that, a convenient quote from your couple’s therapist manipulated to apply to kicking out your oldest friend— and first love. “He just needs help, Georgie,” you whimpered as the restraint turned into a gentler sort of embrace, with soft kisses and shushes beside your ear.
“You can’t help everyone,” he explained, “you should just worry about yourself— God knows you’ve got plenty to worry about… we can’t have you getting bad again.”
That was what he called it when you had an episode, as rare as they were now, bad. You had to remind yourself that it didn’t make you bad for struggling.
It’s so scary when you’re having bad thoughts, but you’re not bad, you remembered telling Billy just a few days ago.
“I-I wanna get ready for bed now,” you decided quietly.
“Okay,” George whispered, and only then did he let you go, after one more kiss to your cheek. “See you in bed.”
It’s hard to say if you knew for sure, then, that you weren’t going to get ready for bed— you felt like you were in a dream, or a trance, as George left you in the hallway only for you to instead put on your shoes and walk out the front door.
xx
“Can’t believe I found you,” you gasped as you threw yourself onto Billy, not even stepping inside first. He reciprocated the hug instantly, burying his face in your shoulder. “Don’t ever run from me like that again, please…”
“I won’t, I won’t,” Billy promised softly. “Just tell me you’re okay,” he pleaded as he held you tighter.
“I’m okay,” you promised.
“I— I heard him yelling at you,” he admitted. “I was so afraid he would hurt you— he didn’t hurt you, did ‘e?”
You smiled a little as Billy pulled back enough to examine your face closely, looking for marks. “He didn’t hit me,” you assured, “he wouldn’t— he’s not like that.”
“Good,” Billy nodded, “good— if he did, I— well, I shouldn’t say something like that. But I would be really fucking angry.”
But felt his hands tighten into fists at your waist, and you knew what he was imagining.
“How’d you find this place?” Billy wondered as he stepped back and let you in, shutting the flat’s front door behind you.
“Called back your old friend, Mr. Strike,” you smirked. “He had a few leads.”
“I’m sorry for leaving like that,” he sighed, “I was just—”
“I know,” you interrupted quickly.
"There's something I have for you," he said suddenly. You waited with a tilted head as he knelt down by his backpack, propped up against the wall, unzipping it and pulling something out.
A carving on a panel of wood, rough and unpolished but careful crafted: it was the creek, that very one behind Oak Hill. The bent tree, the rocks by the shore, the sun a big divot as it sank down behind the jagged treeline.
As he held it in front of you, you ran your fingers over the edges in awe; "It's just how I remember," you sighed.
"C-careful, splinters," Billy warned, reaching for your hand and grabbing it tightly. You looked at him, knowing you were already crying, heart breaking at the look on his face.
"You really carved this for me?" you whispered, and he nodded. "When?"
"Ten years ago," he replied, "but that was just the first one. This one— this one I did before I came to see you for dinner."
You looked at it again, then at him with a tilted head. "You did more than one?"
"I-I've done about… about a hundred, maybe more," he explained. "I kept trying to make it perfect, but I couldn't always— sometimes I messed up, so I'd start again. I wanted it to look exactly like it did then."
You looked down at the carving one more time, seeing the detail, and imagining every change he made over the years to accomplish it.
"I just couldn't remember it right," he explained, scratching beside his ear, "u-until I saw you again. Then it was like it was all there… I finally got it right."
“Billy, it’s amazing,” you promised, whispering as you fought back the urge to cry, “you’re amazing…”
As you trailed off, he suddenly asked: “Do you still love me?”
“Of course,” you answered, faster than you could worry about being self-conscious about it. “Always— of course I do.”
“But… you can’t love me the way I thought you did,” he breathed. “You can’t love me the— the way I love you.”
“A-and what way is that?” you wondered.
“Every way.”
You sighed, shivering as he stepped closer, each of his hands resting on your shoulders. His touch on your bare skin was still so… much.
“You’re gonna marry him,” he reminded you both, “and it’s better that way. You’re better off with someone you don’t have to take care of all the time.”
"I'd rather take care of you," you admitted, eyes welling with tears, "I'd rather have you, Billy, I just didn't think you still cared for me—"
"I said I always would," he interjected, "I meant that— c'mon, v'never really loved anyone but you, don't you know that?"
You smiled a little as you looked down.
"B-but that's not my point, you shouldn't be with me," he insisted.
"I want to be with you, Billy."
“What about when I have bad days?”
“I have bad days too,” you reminded him.
“Yeah! And what if I can’t take care of you, ‘cause I’m too messed up?” he wondered. "I still— I still see things, you know. I mean, not since hospital, but—"
"It'll be okay," you promised. "We'll be okay, we'll have each other. I can't heal you, Billy, I can't save you— but I can be here when you need me."
“You can’t leave him for me. I can’t let you throw your life away for me.”
“If he doesn’t understand you, then he doesn’t understand me either,” you explained.
He was shaking his head, looking down, but you held his cheeks and lifted his face. “I love you,” you reminded him, but he kept looking down, tears striping his face.
"Billy," you whispered, making him look at you softly. "Kiss me again. Please."
He did: tender and patient, just as delicate as the first time so many years ago. As you kissed him back, holding tightly onto his shoulders, he carefully reached for your waist and pulled you closer. Being pressed against him was so comforting and warm; being wrapped in his arms and pulled into bed felt so right.
He mumbled something about how his brother wouldn’t be home ‘til morning, and you just nodded, not wanting to break away from the kiss any longer.
xx
You woke up to fingers tracing along your back aimlessly, and you hummed, clinging tighter onto the pillow under your head.
“Sorry,” Billy whispered, “wasn’t trying to wake you up…”
“S’okay,” you mumbled, feeling kisses trail your shoulder next. When you blinked open your eyes, you saw his hand— a bandage still around one of the knuckles, small bruises and cuts here and there— run down your arm to hold your hand and give it a squeeze.
He pressed himself up to your back, embracing you tightly again, resting his face in the crook of your neck. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “Tell me it’s real— that you’re real.”
“Of course I am,” you laughed softly.
“Just seems too good to be true,” he admitted quietly. “You show up at my door and tell me you wanna be with me instead of him, that you love me, I— I sort of imagined it before, if m’bein’ honest. Definitely imagined this…”
You giggled as his hand slipped under the sheets to run up your bare thigh, the memories of last night’s lovemaking imprinted into the soreness of your skin— everywhere he’d held you tightly, like he was afraid you’d run off and disappear if he let go. Bruises were likely blooming already in the shape of his touch, but you didn’t mind it; it was exactly what he’d feared, that he wouldn’t know how to love you without hurting you, but all you’d ever wanted was the ecstasy and the pain of sharing everything with someone.
Billy pulled you closer still, helping you turn so you could press your forehead to his. “I’ll never run away from you again,” he promised quietly.
“I’ll never let you again,” you returned, making you both giggle as he peppered your face in kisses. As you reached up, he felt your ring brush over his skin, and he grabbed your hand to hold it up where you could both look at it.
Delicately, he slipped the engagement ring from your finger, and examined it. “Well,” he frowned, “we can chuck this, then—” and threw it over his shoulder. You laughed as it fell to the floor with a quick ping! and he kissed you again before you could protest to his flippancy.
“Billy, you shouldn’t—” you still tried to get out with his lips overwhelming yours, but he hummed and rolled you onto your back so he could climb on top of you.
“I’ll get you a new one,” he decided softly, “when I can afford it. Won’t be as nice, but—”
𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || during his time in hospital, billy couldn't help but fancy the sweet but headstrong american nurse taking care of him. it would've been harmless if it weren't for your own growing crush on your patient: the quiet, gentle man with those brown eyes that made your heart flutter when he looked at you like that.
𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 9.5k
𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut (18+ ONLY!!, male masturbation and brief oral m receiving), medical ethics violation so kinda dubious consent but trust me it is very much wanted, fluff, some angst, touchstarved billy, american reader, mentions/discussions of psychosis and other psychotic patients, brief mentions of SA, hopeless romantic billy, yeah just lots of sweetness with some filth in the middle
"It's important that you stay calm."
That was what made him look at you, scared and confused, before he seemed to finally notice the hand you'd laid on his shoulder to try to soothe him: that was always a risk, touching them without permission, but he'd woken up with a start and been so clearly upset and disoriented, you didn't know what else to do.
Thankfully, as he looked at your hand on him, he stilled, hesitantly leaning back onto the propped-up bed. The doctors thought it would be better for him if the bed was partially upright while he began to exit his coma, preventing too much blood pooling near the wound at his chest.
You took your hand away as he stilled, and he looked around the white-and-beige room. "Where am I?" he asked.
"Saint Anne's, South London," you answered. He raised an eyebrow at you and you figured why he asked.
"Did you think you'd somehow woken up in America? Because of my accent?" you snorted.
He blinked self-consciously; "Err— I guess not."
"You wouldn't be the first," you assured him.
"What's an American nurse doing in London anyway?" he wondered.
"Not much," you shrugged, "just healing the sick, feeding the hungry— generally being a saint."
He smirked a bit, and you smiled at him in return.
“I’ll be your day nurse while you’re here,” you explained, “so if you need something, you can press this button here— and it’ll be me that comes, most of the time, if I’m not too busy and have to send somebody else. Anything you need, I’ll do my best to help you, alright?”
A moment’s hesitation was followed by a nod, and he seemed too nervous to even look right at you— he would take these little glances over you, then up at your face, then back down to his bed again. He wiped his fist under his nose quickly.
“William, is it?”
“Erm, Billy,” he corrected. “Jus’ Billy.”
He cleared his throat dryly as his voice cracked, and you tilted your head. “Would you like some water?”
He nodded again, and thankfully you already had a cup of chilled water ready for him— the big kind with a handle and straw, and markings on the side so you could monitor how well he was hydrating. You picked it up and held it for him, guiding the bendy straw to his chapped lips so he could drink.
You knew already what kind of patient he’d be— the kind who didn’t like to ask you for anything, so you had to figure it out on your own. There were definitely more like that here than back in America where you’d first started nursing; patients in the States seemed to have a much easier time asking for what they needed. Here, there was usually some rigamarole to get them to admit they needed something— unless what they needed was painkillers, everyone’s pretty vocal about that.
“Is that better?” you asked quietly as you took the cup away, and Billy swallowed as he nodded. “I’ll set it here where you can reach it, just be careful with that IV,” you explained. “How’s your pain? Is your chest hurting you?”
“N-no, it’s fine,” he promised, “can’t feel a thing… I’m guessing that won’t last long, though.”
You nodded in agreement. “They’ve still got you on the good stuff. They’ll switch you to Tylenol by the end of the day,” you explained.
“Afraid I’ll become an addict?” he assumed.
“Not quite,” you chuckled, “afraid you’ll get too constipated— side effect of the morphine.”
Billy choked, face turning a little pinker. “O-oh.”
You only rolled your eyes in amusement as you turned around to fiddle with one of his monitors. Patients, and Brits, were pretty shy by your standards; you preferred to be brutally honest, because there isn’t much need for prudishness in a mental ward. “If your heart rate gets too high, or too low, it’ll page me,” you explained. “Anything else, press this button here and I’ll be on my way— got it?”
“Yeah,” Billy hummed, “thanks.”
“Oh, don’t thank me,” you dismissed, “it’s just my job, and I love it. I’ll be back to check on you later, but Nurse Tilly’s bringing you lunch at noon. You’re not vegetarian, are you?” He shook his head. “Great! Do you want the TV on? Oh, uh, the telly, I mean…”
He shook his head again, and you nodded, leaving the remote on his bedside table in case he changed his mind. You could feel his eyes on you as you left, somehow, and his image was still in your mind as you shut the door behind you. Even as you went about the rest of your shift, checking in on your old patients and meeting some new ones, Billy in room 3041 was in your thoughts.
You didn’t know too much about the circumstances that brought him to your hospital— no one did, because he’d refused to tell police or paramedics who stabbed him. His chart gave a colorful history— psychotic breaks, episodes of delusion and paranoia, on and off medication for years— but his behavior was so… gentle. And very few of the people you’d encountered in this line of work were dangerous, despite the harmful stereotypes; but Billy was even more delicate than the usual, even more reserved. Maybe he’d brighten up a bit when he wasn’t freshly awake from surgery.
Shaking the thoughts of him away and trying to focus on work, you figured it was just a little infatuation with a handsome patient— happens to everyone, right?
//
It had taken quite the effort to get the woman to sit down— she’d been pacing and chewing her nails, and you finally convinced her that it would be better if she was sitting, and she did. After dodging some questions and looking around at the space behind you as if something was there— which, yes, was kind of unsettling but something you got used to— she finally got on with it and told you why she’d come to the hospital.
"They've put wires in me," she whimpered.
"I've never heard of that happening before," you admitted. "I wasn't even sure if aliens are real…"
"They are," she insisted.
"And how do you know there are wires in you? Did you see them put in?" you asked. If she said yes, you'd know her hallucinations were severe, but she shook her head; you took a note of that on her chart.
"I can feel them," she replied instead. "I can feel the electricity. They're making me like— like an antenna. For their ships, y'see? And it hurts."
Your heart twisted. "That would be terrifying," you agreed, "and painful—"
"Please, someone's got to take their wires out," she begged.
"Hold on," you tried to soothe her, "I'll check for entry wounds first, okay? To see if I can tell where they've put them in."
She shakily nodded, looking down at the floor where her feet shuffled around on fleck-patterned tile.
You carefully lifted her hands to examine her fingertips and wrists. "I haven't seen anything yet," you offered her quietly.
"Th-they hide them," she explained, "so the doctors can't see."
"Tricky, those aliens," you frowned as you nodded thoughtfully. "They don't want you to get any help, do they?"
She shook her head.
"But we can help you," you promised. "If we can't find the wires this way, we should do a CAT scan."
"What's tha'?" she asked suspiciously.
"Just a bunch of X-rays taken all at once," you explained. "If there's anything metal in you, it'll right up. They are metal wires, right?"
She nodded, already seeming to soothe a little at the prospect of a surefire way to find the wires she was feeling inside her. It made you feel better, too, that you could help her somehow just by listening.
"I'll have the doctors give you a thorough scan," you nodded with a smile, "and we can see what we find, okay?"
It seemed like a great idea at the time. You started to question it now that it was a few hours later and Dr. Humphries was glaring down at you.
"You ordered a CAT scan for a woman with schizophrenic delusions?" he snapped, looking up from the chart and back at you with a red face and flared nostrils.
"Uh, well—" you started to defend yourself.
"She doesn't need an MRI, she needs to be fucking medicated!" the doctor spat at you.
Straightening your back, you frowned as you took offense to his tone. "You think I don't know that?" you returned with just as much intensity as he'd thrown at you. "She's not going to take any pills we give her if we don't take her seriously. A CAT scan will take a half hour and it might give her some peace of mind."
"Believe it or not, nurse, the purpose of that million dollar machine is not 'peace of mind'."
"Don't you mean million pound?" you rolled your eyes.
"No— you're such a dolt, I know if I'd said that you'd've asked how I knew what it weighed," he sneered, all too proud of his wit no matter how minimal it was.
From inside his room, Billy watched the argument unfold; he couldn't hear much, but he could see you crossing your arms and puffing your cheeks and getting right back in the face of the man in the white coat while he barked at you. Another nurse was tending to his linens, and she caught a judgemental glance of the spat outside before shaking her head.
"Quite American, isn't she?" the nurse scoffed. "Can't back down from a fight— or keep her mouth shut, ever."
Billy smiled a little.
"And she's got no clue how to make a cuppa, either," the nurse added, "can't even use a kettle. Not sure how she plans to find a husband if she can't figure that out!"
Billy felt his chest warm, and not in the painful way he was used to with his healing wound. He didn't think you'd have much trouble at all.
//
He could tell you were in a worse mood than usual when you came in— even though he could also tell you were trying to hide it. “How are you feeling today?” you asked him, a little exasperation tinting your tone.
“Better,” he nodded.
“Not too much pain? Any soreness?” you continued interviewing him, but his chest deflated a bit as he watched you go around the room without ever really looking at him— you were just going through the motions, he was just another patient.
“Are you alright?” he asked you, and it seemed to break you out of your trance. You looked at him, and you looked tired— not something he’d tell you, because it would sound like he was saying you looked bad, which you didn’t. You looked a little sad, really, in a breezy sort of way like you were trying to shake it off.
“Oh, I— I’m fine,” you promised.
"Is that doctor giving you trouble again?" he wondered. The question seemed to catch you off guard, before you glanced down shyly and then over your shoulder at the window into the hall.
"You saw that, huh?" you noticed.
"He seems like an arse," Billy decided.
"He's not so bad," you sighed, "he's really smart— problem is he knows it, and he thinks it makes him better than everyone. Thinks us nurses are basically just maids, too, or secretaries. I swear, if he walks into the break room one more time and asks where his tea is, I'm telling him it's in the fucking harbor."
Billy snorted at your comment, stammering through his next question. "Don't have anything against Brits, do you? 'Cause you picked a bad place to live."
You sighed, stopping your work for a moment. "Well… no, I don't. But I do have a bone to pick, I guess. I moved here for a guy— this amazing, too good to be true guy. Thought we were gonna get married and stuff. I only thought that 'cause he told me so! But he, uh… he had a few of us going, actually. I was the only one who moved this far to be with him. But after I found out, I didn't have anywhere to live, and I can barely make rent as it is so I can't afford a ticket home… so, yeah. Stranded across the pond. Because of some fucking guy."
Billy shrunk a bit inside as he looked at you— he could tell you were trying to be casual and silly about it, to hide how much you were still hurting. "We-we're not all like that," he blurted out, and you looked up. He felt even more stupid for saying it now that you were looking at him. "Englishmen," he clarified.
Your lips slowly curled into a smirk. "Not all juggling a half-dozen girlfriends at once?"
"Some of us are lucky to just get one!" Billy agreed, and you laughed. Your laugh was fucking angelic, he thought; it made him want to jump right out of this blasted bed and hug you, as bizarre as that would be. Ever since he saw you he imagined you'd be nice to hold, but every day it only got worse— and you were so pretty and sweet, you probably had every patient wrapped around your finger. You probably thought he was another dirty, sick stranger; you probably thought he was work. And he couldn't even blame you.
"I guess I'll have to give y'all another chance, then," you shrugged. Y'all. How quaint.
"You can probably get a lot of guys' attention with that accent," he suggested. And that arse. But he didn't say that.
"I don't really want a lot of guys' attention," you sighed. "Just the one."
"Which one?"
"The right one."
His heart hurt because he knew the feeling, the one he saw on your face, the one that made your eyes sparkle differently for a second.
"But I don't have much time for that anyways," you shifted topics quickly, "working all the time."
"Must be tough," he nodded.
"I like it, actually," you corrected, "I always keep busy. And the people here…certainly keep me busy."
He felt a little self-conscious when you said that. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"No, not you!" you clarified quickly, leaning closer and reaching out apologetically like you might touch him again. He wanted you to, so badly, but you didn't. "I mean the staff more than anything. The patients are what make me want to come back every day, even the tough ones."
"Am I one of those?" he wondered.
"No," you smiled. "Don't tell, but you're my favorite."
Oh, you shouldn't have said that— it only hurt him more because he wouldn't let himself believe it. "Bet you see crazies like me all the time," he shrugged dismissively.
"Crazies? Yeah," you laughed lightly. "But I've never met anyone like you."
His face flushed briefly and he looked down at his lap under the white woven blanket.
A page startled you out of the moment. "That's my cue," you hummed. "Ring if you need me, please."
He nodded and watched you dart away as quickly as you'd arrived, wishing he could keep you here forever but knowing it was better to let you help the others, too.
//
“Knock knock!” you greeted as you leaned into room 3282 to see the patient gathering her things. It had been a while since you saw her in street clothes— not since you’d admitted her and ordered that infamous CAT scan— and she looked so much better than she had then. Her hair was brushed and she was smiling at you, visibly less disoriented even when she was just standing beside the bed. “I’m glad I could catch you before you left— I came as soon as I heard you were discharged.”
“I feel like we’re sort of meeting for the first time, now,” she explained. “You saw me a few times the past couple days, but I wasn’t really myself…”
You nodded in understanding, and she bit her lip for a second; you could tell she was getting a little self-conscious remembering how dysregulated she was.
“It felt so real,” she breathed shakily. “I could feel them watching me…”
“I know,” you nodded. “That’s how powerful our minds are— everything we know comes from that squishy pink brain, so if it gets the wrong idea, it’s gonna convince you to believe just about anything.”
“You must think I’m an idiot,” she decided, “to ever believe that.”
“Not at all!” you promised. “Listen, Miss Dougherty— it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You came here for help, that’s what you should be proud of.”
She nodded, but didn’t seem to really believe you, looking down at the floor.
“Honestly, people believe all kinds of ridiculous bullshit,” you announced, and the crude language got her attention if nothing else. “Far, far too many people think that the Earth is flat, or that the polio vaccine could cause autism, or that immigrants are somehow both lazy and stealing jobs— or that you can look like Kim Kardashian with just some tea from the internet and portion control.”
She laughed a bit, and you laughed too, even though you were perfectly serious.
“At least we can give you medication for believing what you did! Those people just have to live with it, that’s the really sad thing. You take one of these with breakfast every day and you can be normal,” you explained as you pointed at the bottle in her hand, “they’re stuck with whatever they’ve got. You’re the lucky one.”
“Thank you,” she nodded. “I’ve been to hospitals before— but you really listened, even when I didn’t make any sense.”
“Hey, it made sense to me,” you shrugged, “I’d’ve been scared, too. Keep up with the prescription, okay? Don’t wanna have to see you here again— no offense.”
She laughed in agreement; “I will.”
//
He was halfway through watching something terribly mediocre on the telly when you came in; he jumped up to grab his fork and try to pretend that he’d been eating his dinner, but he started to frown shyly as soon as he caught your disapproving look. “Billy, you’ve barely eaten it,” you noticed; it was obvious, with three quarters of the chicken breast still on the plate and the green beans untouched. “Didn’t she bring that an hour ago?”
“Erm…”
“Is it the medication?” you asked, quieter, stepping further into the room. “It can suppress your appetite.”
“D-don’t make me change to something else,” he blurted out, “I like this one. I can actually think straight.”
You smiled patiently, and he couldn’t even look at you while you did it— you were so fucking pretty when you smiled like that, it hurt to look at it. “I won’t make you change medications just because you haven’t finished your chicken, Billy.”
“I was worried Dr. Humphries might—” he began, cutting himself off with a hum. “He said he was worried about me eating enough on this one, and that he’d change it if I lost any weight— b-but I like it…”
“We’ll just tell him you didn’t like the chicken,” you decided. “If I bring you an extra slice of cake, will you eat that?”
He had to fight his smile from getting too big. “I can try.”
“Easier to get down than dry chicken, that’s for sure,” you winked, putting the plastic cover back over his plate and grabbing the tray to set aside somewhere else. “What are you watching?”
“E-erm, some melodrama, I think. She’s been cheating on her husband with his evil twin,” he explained, just as the advertisement ended and an inquisitive musical sting indicated the show was back on.
“Don’t you hate when that happens, huh?” you offered sarcastically. Your eyes stayed on the screen as you sat down on the edge of the bed, right by his hip; his heart fluttered with you so close, the warmth of your body just one pesky bedsheet away. “Mind if I watch it with you for a minute?”
“N-no,” he assured, voice thin and wavering as he tried to act natural. “Stay as long as you like…”
Unfortunately, you were interrupted almost immediately as a male nurse swung the door open— Billy somehow felt like he’d been caught doing something bad, when he wasn’t really doing anything. The nurse said your name and you perked up. “Been looking all over for you,” the nurse said, with a tilted grin that seemed a little flirtatious— maybe any smile would seem flirtatious when you’ve got perfectly white and straight teeth like those, and sparkly blue eyes and perfectly quaffed hair— Jesus, was this guy a model or something?
Billy hated imagining you spending time with this guy, selfishly. “S-sorry,” you mumbled as you stood up, “I was just taking Mr. Knight’s dinner tray.”
“Tilly can do that,” the other nurse dismissed with a shrug.
“But she’s busy,” you noticed.
“Could you come out here?” the man asked you, and when you turned over your shoulder, Billy gave you a quick wave as his way of approving your departure. You smiled at him one more time as you followed your coworker into the hall, just outside Billy’s door.
“Listen, I’ve been meaning to talk to you…” he heard the man’s voice continue, right before the door shut all the way.
Billy furrowed his brow and turned the volume on the telly down, hoping to hear the conversation better. He could still barely make it out— and he was afraid if he muted the show, you’d notice.
“...since you came here, and actually, I was thinking—” he heard part of a sentence, but it sort of went in and out. He couldn’t tell anything else for sure until he heard your voice again.
“I prefer to keep my work and personal life separate,” he heard you say, distinctly, and he couldn’t decide how to feel— excited, that you seemed to be turning his guy down for a date? Or heartbroken that he would never have a shot with you because of this policy you held?
You never had a shot with her anyways, his inner voice told him. Well, at least Mister Handsome Nurse Man didn’t either. Misery loves company, or whatever.
//
It had been years since Billy felt something warm. He was all too familiar with his hand, rough and shaky— all too familiar with using his imagination to get himself off. Of course, back at his flat he had porn to ease the way, give him something to picture… here all he had was the telly in the corner and the unending thoughts of you you you.
Just the other day you'd leaned over his bed and he could smell your hair. He wanted to hold your head and bury his nose in it, breathe the sweet scent of you.
Once he caught a quick glimpse down your shirt before he looked away, out of nervousness as much as gentlemanly discretion. But he wasn't feeling so much a gentleman now, after waking up in the middle of the night from a dream of you in a more compromising position.
He'd never had an orgasm from a dream, only gotten hard and woken up unsatisfied. There was a monitor clipped to his finger on his hand— so he took it off and moved it to the other, so he wouldn't have to worry about it or the IV while he did this.
He already had to bite his lip just from slipping his hand into the hospital-issue pants, just from wrapping some weak fingers around his aching cock. He'd made a bad habit of wanking frequently at home— not much else to do when you're trapped and alone, and it was the only thing he liked doing just as much whether he was off his rocker, or semi-stable, or medicated. Thankfully, he wasn't on the kind of medications that removed his libido: that, or his fancying of you was just that powerful.
The room was incredibly dark with the shades shut, only half the lights in the hallway on, but even then he couldn't make out any light except for the dots where the strings ran through the blinds. He watched that window when his eyes were open, but sometimes he shut them— it didn't make much difference, either way all he saw was you.
As he jerked faster on his cock, letting his hand tighten occasionally, he pictured you climbing on the bed and straddling him, resting your hands on his chest (even though that would hurt). Remembering your hand on his shoulder when he first woke up made it easier to imagine, but he couldn't even conjure up how you would feel inside, how your body would take him— he just had to think about how it would look.
He grunted your name to himself, shutting his eyes tight, trying so hard to think of the way you'd moan as your hips rocked above his. He wanted to watch you as you picked up your pace, so desperate for pleasure that you couldn't slow down. You'd be such a wild thing, he decided, just as brash and shameless in bed as you are at work— if not more.
He would give anything to make you say his name in that exact way, that needy hungry way just like he mumbled your name now. His hips were starting to rock up off the bed, and he imagined his skin clapping with yours as you moaned louder and louder. As unrealistic as it was, he was imagining you showering him in praises, so good, Billy, you're so good, fuck! but he couldn't always get your accent right in his head. Please don't stop, god, just don't stop, need t'come—
"All yours," he answered you under his breath, "not gonna stop, feels so fucking good…"
And then he couldn't stop himself from imagining you admitting, in bed or otherwise, that you'd wanted this. That you had thought of him the same way— fuck, what if you touched yourself, too? That'd be too fucking rich. Billy wasn't really sure if girls did that— obviously they did in porn, sometimes, but he knew a lot of that wasn't real. He heard that most won't do anal, either, but that's different; touching yourself is more normal, more natural, and fuck how bloody natural you'd look on your back with your legs spread, rubbing your needy cunt, begging to be touched, desperate for a partner— for him, for Billy who could fill you so nicely and make you sound so pretty.
He was already so close, in part from having taken a few days off from this, mostly because the thought of you was making his cock fucking throb.
As he got closer and closer to the peak, his mind raced with images of you— but not in the poses of the girls in dirty magazines, not how he pictured you naked, no. It was different. The way you'd look in normal clothes, or dressed up for a date. How it would feel to watch you sleep next to him as the sun's coming up through your bedroom window. Not just his name on your lips in pleasure, but in casual conversation with others— my boyfriend, Billy— or in a cackling yelp as he made some joke you hated to laugh at, maybe while he tickled your ribs to see you smile— Billyyy, stop it!
Holding the back of your head while he kissed you, your little whimper as you tugged him closer because you needed more. Putting a necklace on for you, hopefully one he'd bought or made for you, and touching the back of your neck. Kissing you there— and everywhere— and hearing you hum with satisfaction. Don't do that, we don't have time before— oh god, Billy, we'll be late if you do that… hm, okay, just a quick shag before dinner. No wait— just a quick fuck before dinner— the American way.
The intimacy, which sex was only one of his favorite parts of, was what he was imagining. Cuddling up on the sofa, sharing popcorn at the cinema, cooking for you… that's what he was imagining as he realised he was going to come.
He panted and squinted his eyes shut as he fucked his hand faster and faster, heart pumping hard and fast as well, hand shaky but determined as he chased pleasure right around the corner—
The door swung open and you burst in in a flash, running to his bed, but you stopped dead in your tracks as he pulled himself off— well, not in that sense, like he had been a half-second ago— rather, pulled his hand away and pulled the blankets up, scandalised and stammering.
"Oh, fuck m'sorry— I—" he began.
"N-no, I'm sorry," you insisted, looking down awkwardly, "I thought— your monitor, it was— I thought you were having a fucking heart attack."
His baking-hot face turned down sheepishly, and he noticed the thin sheet and blanket did nothing to hide his unsatisfied erection, the fabric clinging to every contour so you could see basically the whole thing. He coughed and put his hands over himself atop the blankets.
"I should've knocked— but I was worried you needed immediate attention—" you explained hoarsely.
"I didn't know you were on tonight," he mumbled, like that mattered. Not as if he wanted any other nurse running in on this. But it was different, more shameful, knowing he'd just been getting off to the thought of you.
"Wasn't supposed to be, but someone asked me to— doesn't matter," you shook your head. "Sorry to burst in on you…"
"I wasn't…" he began, questioning if he should say it but going on anyways. "I wasn't doing… what you probably think I was."
"I-it's nothing I haven't seen before, Billy," you promised, seeming a little surprised, if not irritated, by his obvious lie. "You're a free man, got every right to take care of yourself—"
"Don't—" he pleaded, before he interrupted himself with a mumbled, "Jesus…"
"I'll go," you decided, "and leave you to it—"
"Christ!" Billy added, almost as if he were just now finishing the curse. "S'not like I could… do that now, is it?"
"Seems you've still got everything you need to do it," you smirked, and he choked.
"God, don't tease me, said m'sorry an' all," he pouted.
"Not teasing," you shrugged. "It's natural, everybody does it."
Even you? "Y-yeah, s'pose…"
"Not much else for you to do here anyway, stuck in bed… can't help if you get horny—"
"Not horny, okay?" he spat out suddenly, and defensively. "M'just— god. Just lonely."
He wouldn't normally admit something like that, but it was so late and his chest hurt in a sense totally unrelated to his wound.
When he heard the door shut, he worried you'd just up and left. How cold that would be, to leave him alone as he said how lonely he was.
He only knew you were still on this side of the door when you stepped up to his bedside again, your shoes clicking on the floor.
"You should go back to sleep," you noticed. Then why'd you shut the door?
"I— even if I take care of it, I don't think I can," he admitted. "Sometimes I have—"
"Nightmares," you finished. "It's in your chart."
"Please stay," he whispered. "It's easier with you here…"
"Sleeping, or…?"
"Sleeping! God, sleeping," he coughed. "I mean, both, but—"
"I can stay," you offered.
"That was the first good dream I've had in months," he told you, easier to confess these things in the dark. "The one that made me… like that."
"Very good dream," you agreed with a smirk.
His oxygen monitor beeped softly behind it all. "Y-yeah…" he mumbled. "It was— well, I bet you know it was you."
"Oh— how would I know that?" you sighed.
"Because you must have been able to tell I'm proper mad about you," he explained, "aside from just mad."
"I… I wondered if you were," you replied, softer. "I hoped you were."
Billy, unsure what to say, turned to look up at where he was sure your face was in the room— and he could barely see it, his eyes still readjusting from the door being opened. Your features were softened when they were lit up in light blue by the monitors behind him.
"I came in here to take care of you," you promised with a whisper. "It's my job. Just tell me what you need."
"I need— god, I can't say it," he whined.
"If you can't tell me, then show me."
Your hand rested for a second on his shoulder, and he couldn't stop himself from grabbing it. After debating it for a moment, he pushed the blanket and sheet down again, and sighed with a wide open mouth as he guided your hand to his throbbing cock. It bounced up into your fingers before he'd even finished putting it there, so needy for your attention, so greedy to be finished off after being brought up to the edge like that. Billy had never had the patience or fortitude to tease himself, the closest he'd ever come to edging having been those times he was on a certain type of meds and could jerk off all day and never come.
He had the exact opposite problem as he hesitantly let go of your hand and watched you do it yourself, slow and gentle brushes over him, almost reverent in the way you touched him where he needed you most. He almost didn't want to let go of your hand, he wanted to keep holding it just for holding it's sake, but he wanted you to act on your own: to not feel trapped or forced. You were so delicate about it— he was so worked up you absolutely didn't need to be that gentle, he probably would've still blown his load if you tried to tug the bloody thing off— and he could see in the dark how little sighs fell from your mouth as you stroked him.
"God, I'm not supposed to do this," you breathed. "S'it sensitive? Your heart rate's spiked again…"
"V-very," he murmured out. "God, you're— god."
"Fuck— I'm really not supposed to do this," you repeated again. "But I— I've been wanting to for a while… no one's gonna come in while I'm in here, but shit, if someone did…"
It would be a huge mess, for sure, but sort of hot. Even better if it was somehow another patient who thought they were the only one with affections for you. Even better if it was that nurse who was hitting on you. "Never— fuck— wanked a patient before, right?"
You laughed. "No, haven't given a hand job in years, actually— feels a bit high school, doesn't it?"
"Fuck, wouldn't know," he groaned. He meant it both as in 'you wouldn't know because you're so good at this' and 'I wouldn't know because nobody was wanking me in high school'. "Your hand f-feels good. I-I don't deserve this, I definitely don't deserve this— pretty sure I'm dreaming actually—"
"No, it's real," you promised, "I know it's real, 'cause in my dreams I've never got my work uniform on."
"Y-you don't have your work uniform on in my dreams, either," he joked.
How desperately he wanted to reach out and touch you with one of his hands— it didn't even need to be somewhere scandalous, though he wouldn't mind a chance to feel you up under your shirt. Even just to hold onto your hip, or even to hold your hand, would be so perfect right now. But he didn't want to take this too far and ruin it. It was already too good to be true.
"F-fuck," he sighed as your hand twisted gently when it reached the ridge of his head. He couldn't remember the last time anything felt this good, just being touched by you.
"Like this?" you asked in a meek voice— how precious, you asking him how he wanted you to wank him. Even just you asking made his toes curl under the blanket.
"Yes," he hissed, "l-like that… little slower, maybe?"
You followed his command, and his chest reverberated a groan. He liked it best like this, savouring every second— normally he'd just be beating himself off senselessly by now, desperate to come, chasing pleasure with reckless abandon. But this was so different, and he never wanted it to end, even if his balls were tight and aching with the need to release what he'd been holding in for much too long.
"I… I can't believe this is happening," he blurted out as he watched with better-adjusted eyes your movements in the dark. Your pretty, tender hand squeezing his swollen tip, giving his whole length nice, long strokes.
It was incredible enough, then you pulled your hand away— and he was about to whine pathetically, beg you not to stop, he even thrusted his hips up in the air in search of more— and spit in your palm quickly before getting back to it.
"Oh god," Billy moaned, his head falling back on his pillow as your hand smeared your saliva all along his hot skin. Your strokes were smoother now, and you could grip him tighter without tugging the skin the wrong way— and he couldn't stop fucking moaning, couldn't stop himself from trying to buck his hips up and fuck your hand. The sensation was incredible, but the raunchiness of it was what really did him in. Spitting in your hand so you could jerk him off better, really giving him the proper treatment; his whole body was sort of overheated and numb at the idea that you cared so much about doing this right. With a dry hand it felt more like you were doing him a favor, but after doing that he was sure you wanted this for your own reasons. He couldn't imagine what those would be, but he dared not question them.
"How's that feel?" you asked, almost clinical in your tone, the same way you'd asked when helping him stand up or after giving a fresh dose of painkillers. And yes, he had imagined something like this when you asked him that before, so good to know he was on the right track.
It was sort of silly that you asked when he couldn't stop moaning and writhing in the bed, but he nodded as he answered: "R-really fucking good. You're so good…"
He heard you hum a bit, a tiny pleased laugh, and he whined pathetically. You seemed to be revelling in how little you could do to him to make him so desperate.
"So good," he said again under his breath, cock pulsing in your grip. He was so close but he couldn't let it go yet, he couldn't finish now and just have you clean him up and go: he'd fight it off all night if it meant keeping you here, feeling you, being pleasured by you this way.
"I— I'll get fired if they catch me," you reminded him. "But I just— sorry, I've been wondering about your cock for a while."
Jesus, she keeps saying things like that and I'll lose it in a second.
"And it's bigger than I thought."
Jesus! He screwed his eyes shut tight in hopes of staving it off further— he didn't want this to end, you'd just barely started.
"I'm so fucked, fuck, might as well— oh god, you know the saying, right?" you prompted. "In for a penny—"
"In for a p— oh, fuck, fuck!"
You'd bent down and captured him in your mouth, still stroking at the base with your hand but bobbing your head on the rest.
"Baby," he whined, bucking up into that perfect wet heat encompassing him, "baby, I'll come, god, I'm so sorry— I'll fucking come—"
You hummed around him. You didn't even stop, didn't even flinch, as he began to spray his come on your tongue. He grabbed your head and tilted his own back with a loud moan— dangerously loud— as his whole body seized up for a second. Each wave of it seemed to hit harder than the last, especially when you sunk your lips down further and he could feel you swallowing it, god you were so sweet and you acted like a proper slut given the chance. He couldn't have made you more perfect if he built you himself.
"Oh, fuck," he sobbed, looking down at you in the dark again, petting your hair, keeping you there just a bit longer as he basked in the warmth of your mouth. Drool was sliding down his cock and balls in droplets, maybe some of it was his come you hadn't gotten down. "Fucking perfect," he blurted out.
He felt you smile slightly around him, before you carefully slid your mouth off of his cock and popped back upright again. "There you go," you said chipperly as if you'd just tied his shoes for him or something— not like you'd just given him his first non-self-induced orgasm in years and easily one of the best of his life, with only your hand and a couple seconds of a blow job.
"I— fuck," he choked, "you— thank you, I— oh my god… I'm sorry, I—"
"Sorry?" you repeated. "What for?"
"Just— dunno, m'sorry, if I made you think you had to do that…"
"Well I had to do something to get you back to sleep," you joked, making his face heat up even more. "Of course I didn't have to— actually, I think it might be, um, illegal, so… don't tell, I guess."
As if he could even imagine doing anything that would interfere with the chance it could happen again. He had no idea if it would happen again either way— but he didn't care, he was still riding the high from it happening at all. "I— I tried not to come that fast, but your mouth—" he began awkwardly.
"It's sexy," you promised. "It's cute."
He blinked bashfully, as if he had any right to be bashful now. "You're sexy," he returned, "really, really sexy, god. You know how many guys' fantasies you just fulfilled?"
"Not interested in many guys' fantasies," you quipped. "Just the one."
He beamed. "Which one?"
"C'mon, Billy, I just swallowed your jizz, don't be coy with me," you frowned.
"S-sorry…"
You leaned down and gave him a gentle peck on the cheek. "I've gotta get back to work—"
He grabbed your head and forced a kiss on your mouth, hungrily slipping his tongue between your lips and groaning as you relaxed your jaw to let him in.
He hadn't kissed like this in ages, either, and the last girl he'd managed to go home with after some pub crawling hadn't even kissed him at all; he groaned against your mouth as he moved his hands from your face to your neck, your waist, your back… anywhere he could reach, he wanted to touch you.
He got lost in it instantly, you had to push pretty hard on his shoulders to peel him off, and he cleared his throat nervously. "S-sorry," he said again, "I— I just had to kiss you, sorry."
"Even after that?" you chuckled.
"Especially after that."
"Even with the, you know, taste?"
"Oh," Billy smiled, "so that's what that funny flavour is…"
"You never tasted it before?" you realised.
"No," he frowned, "why would I?"
"I dunno— I've tasted mine," you shrugged.
"Oh— Christ," Billy choked. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to stop imagining you pulling two fingers out of your cunt after using them to make yourself come, bringing them to your slack lips and kitten-licking the cream off your hand…
"Really gotta get back to work now," you insisted, "try to get some rest—"
"Wait," he begged as he grabbed your wrist. "Stay a little longer— we can just talk, if you want— I should return the favour though, shouldn't I? Are you, erm… are you turned on at all after that? If you stay I can help you, too— you can get in the bed with me and I'll make love to you—"
You snorted out a laugh. "We don't have time for that, Billy, I've already been in here too long, there are other patients—"
"Don't go yet," he insisted again, squeezing your hand in his.
"What more do you need?" you asked, and the question made his heart jump.
"Just some time with you," he explained. "Just— was that— are we—?"
He stopped as you leaned in and kissed his face again— the side of his nose specifically— gently. "I'll check on you again in the morning before I go, okay?"
He pouted a little, reaching up to hold your shoulders for a second, before nodding and relaxing back into his bed.
You tucked him in carefully and encouraged him once more to get some rest. "I'll be back just before shift change at seven," you assured.
He fell asleep so quickly, so exhausted even when his mind was wired, that it only felt like a few moments before he woke up again with a jump as the door opened. He expected to see you come in, but he frowned at the back of Nurse Tilly, bringing the breakfast cart. "Good morning, Mister Knight!" she greeted, and he sighed as he glanced up at the clock: 8:30. He'd slept right through shift change.
"Morning," he greeted her flatly.
//
"I've got good news," the doctor smiled at Billy, tilting his head; somehow it almost seemed condescending. "You're cleared for discharge. You’ve healed well and you’re responding just how I’d hoped to the new medication.”
“But…” Billy started to protest.
“What’s the matter?” Dr. Humphries wondered.
“Could I stay longer?”
“Erm, well… it’s a hospital, not a hotel, Mister Knight,” he frowned. “What makes you want to stay?”
“I just— is my nurse here?” Billy asked instead.
“Which one?” the doctor asked before seeming to realise something. “The American?!”
“Err…”
Dr. Humphries scoffed quickly. “She’s just had a twenty four hour shift, she won’t be back until Thursday. You certainly can’t be here another two nights with no medical need for hospitalisation. I’m guessing you’d hoped to say goodbye?”
“Yeah,” Billy nodded.
“And you were hoping to ask her on a date as well, I presume?”
Billy choked, glancing self-consciously at the other nurses present— one of which was the handsome male one from before. That face had a sort of sneer on it— subtle, but noticeable— as if to say yeah, good luck with that, mate. “I— I just wanted to thank her,” Billy lied. He honestly hadn’t been sure if he’d ever get the courage to ask you out, but now he’d never know.
“I’ll pass along the message for you,” the doctor offered, though he didn’t sound too enthused about it.
//
Google, delete history, chew nails, repeat. illegal for a nurse to have sex with patient, can you lose your nursing licence for sexual contact at work, is masturbating a mental patient crime UK...
The search results were a mix of inconclusive and unencouraging. They kept talking about why you shouldn’t have sex with patients— as if you didn’t know— but rarely clarified the exact consequences of your exact situation. You didn’t know if the hand job counted as sex, anyways, or if it really mattered since you were both consenting adults of sound mind (well, some not quite as sound as others, but still), or if this rule really only applied to doctors who had a genuine power over patients in a way nurses didn’t exactly— they just gave more and more scoldings to anyone considering ‘beginning a relationship’ with a patient. They gave examples that were obviously violations— like a doctor who was tried for sexual assault after convincing a patient that an invasive physical exam was necessary when it was actually elective and not related to their condition, or a nurse who was fired after touching an unconscious patient, stuff like that. Billy had wanted you to touch him, that much you knew, he put your hand there himself; god, just the memory made you shiver, and you shook your head as you cleared your history again. There was no real chance anyone would see what you’d been searching up, but the shame that burned in your gut every time you saw your own history was worth avoiding.
The really concerning thing was how little, after all that Googling, you actually regretted it. Yes, you were fully aware at the time how risky it was, why it was a bad idea, what would happen if you were caught. But for all this searching up about nurses and patients, it didn’t feel like that at all… it just felt like two people with a basic human instinct surrounded by insanely complicated circumstances.
It wasn’t like you at all, either, and not just because you’d never made an advance on a patient before: that was obvious. You usually didn’t do that much even with your actual dates, even with guys you’d met under exactly the right conditions. Usually, a hand on yours guiding you there would make you shudder and jump away; usually, you wouldn’t even think to touch somebody like that on the first date. You hadn’t even gone on one date with Billy, though the amount of time you spent imagining it was almost like you were trying to delude yourself into thinking you had.
You’d been daydreaming more and more since you met him about that sort of thing, about what it would be like if you met in some random way after he was discharged from some other hospital, one of those cute ways like in the movies where he helps you get something from the top shelf at the grocery store or you find his lost dog or he just sees you on the street and has to tell you that he thinks you’re beautiful—
Groaning, you shut your laptop and stood up; you were gonna be late for work if you kept torturing yourself with these fantasies.
//
Oh god, I’m actually mental— more than usual, he realised as he stood there, holding the pathetic arrangement of cheap daisies; the plastic around them crinkled as he relaxed his grip slightly from the sadness sinking in his gut. She does me a favour, takes care of me for nearly a week and wanks me off once and I start stalking her— she’ll think I’m a creep.
He’d been waiting all morning by one of the entrances to the ward, hoping to catch you as you walked back in to work on Thursday, but as the hours passed he became more aware of how disturbing his behaviour really was. You probably knew you wouldn’t see him again when you did that, that was probably why you did it— so you wouldn’t have to worry about exactly this happening, about him wanting more from you. Hadn’t he taken enough?
Slumping his shoulders, he stood up from the bench and contemplated what to do with the flowers. He was about to toss them away when he saw someone exit the building, an older woman, crying into a handkerchief as she talked on the phone. “He’s gone,” she informed whoever was on the other end of the line. “They just told me— he went this morning.”
“Ma’am?” he asked her, not quite getting her attention at first. He stuck the flowers out towards her and she looked at him with a hint of confusion. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“O-oh… thank you…” she breathed, and he nodded at her as he turned and stuffed his hands in his pockets on his way towards the car park. “Y-yes, sorry, someone just gave me flowers…” she continued as she talked on the phone, harder to hear as he walked away, “no, I don’t know him— some man outside the hospital— they’re daisies…”
He smiled a little to himself as he hopped across the street, jaywalking in a break between cars zipping by. He’d nearly turned the corner when he heard your voice.
“Billy?” you noticed him, smiling wide as he turned to look at you, standing on the street— walking to work, apparently. You were wearing your uniform already, and he’d almost missed it, even with how much he’d been dreaming about seeing you any other way.
“O-oh, erm, hi,” he stammered, wondering if he should pretend it was a coincidence he ran into you.
“You’re… you’ve got jeans on!” you noticed, and he looked down at his outfit— just the aforementioned jeans and an old t-shirt, with his hoodie on top for the chilly weather.
“Not much of an improvement from what you’re used to,” he mumbled nervously, rocking back on his heels.
“No, you look good,” you insisted. “H-healthy, I mean— maybe I shouldn’t have said that, it could sound… forward.”
“Forward?” he repeated.
“Well, I was hoping to talk to you today,” you admitted, chewing the inside of your cheek. Oh god, I’ve heard this talk before— ‘I like to keep my work and personal life separate’. “I wanted to apologize.”
“Eh?”
“I shouldn’t— we can’t— I’m sorry,” you started over a few times, “if I exploited any… dynamic, that we had. I don’t want you to think that because I’m your nurse, you couldn’t say— that you can’t say ‘no’ to me.”
“You’re not my nurse anymore,” he noticed, “I’m not a patient— I’m…”
He wanted to say it quickly, before he lost the courage, but with you staring at him expectantly he couldn’t keep his thoughts in order and he sort of just spit it out all at once.
“I’mjustsomeblokewhocan’tstopthinkingaboutyou,” he rushed.
“Huh?” you frowned, understandably unable to parse what he’d said.
“Oh, Christ,” he groaned, “doesn’t matter— y’don’t need to apologise, i-if anything I was gonna thank you again.”
“Well, you don’t need to do that, either,” you mumbled quietly, a shy smile crossing your face. “We’ll call it even. You got a happy ending and I get to keep my job.”
“Not quite even,” he recalled, face getting warm as he pictured exactly what he’d have to do to make what happened that night completely fair. “I want something else.”
“Oh…?” you wondered, tilting your head.
“Your number, maybe?” he finally asked, heart pumping dangerously fast, and you smiled.
“Okay,” you agreed.
“A-and I could call you sometime.”
“Okay,” you repeated.
“And ask you to dinner.”
You smiled wider. “Okay.”
“O-or I could just ask you now…”
“Okay,” you laughed.
“But maybe I should wait!” he decided suddenly. “Maybe it’s better to do it later— I don’t know, I don’t do this very often…”
“I noticed,” you smirked, and he blinked at you shyly.
“I-I’m not totally helpless, y’know, I got you flowers,” he informed you proudly.
“You did? Where are they?” you asked.
“E-erm, over there,” he pointed across the street, and you raised an eyebrow in confusion. “I’ll get you different ones, better ones—”
“I don’t want flowers, Billy,” you replied, “I just want you to come pick me up when I get off today— my shift’s over at—”
“I know,” he interrupted with a beaming smile, “I’ll meet you by that door and we can go somewhere nice.”
“How about your flat?” you recommended.
“W-well… it’s not very nice…” he admitted, biting his lip as you stepped closer.
“I bet I’ll like it,” you purred, and he couldn’t resist the urge again— he grabbed your face and kissed you, way too needy and passionate for the seemingly-mundane situation here on the street by the hospital. But you hummed into it and kissed him back; he knew he couldn’t blame that first kiss on it being the middle of the night anymore, being all sleep-deprived and desperate, because he felt the exact same way at eight in the morning on a Thursday in the middle of the pavement.
Again, you had to push him back gently to cue him to stop, and he looked at you as your eyes fluttered open and your bitten lips smiled at him.
“Not gonna run me late to work, are you?” you challenged.
“No,” he promised, “I-I really want to, but no.”
“That’s a shame,” you jokingly pouted as you lowered yourself from your tiptoes and started to cross the street. “See you tonight!” you called as you went on your way, and he wanted to say something back— something smooth, but anything would do, really— but he just got mesmerised watching you go, knowing the next time he saw you would be for a date.
He could hardly believe it was real, that he’d gotten this lucky, but he decided not to question that anymore and just accept whatever gift from the universe this was supposed to be. He was almost tempted to just stand outside and wait for you for your entire shift, but he decided instead that he could at least go and pick out some new flowers for you, despite what you’d said about not wanting them… better safe than sorry.
A Little Color
Pairing: Billy Knight x You
Summary: You find an interesting way to brighten Billy's day.
Contains: Cleaning, weather-related gloom, fluff, and lots of kisses.
Words: 1k
Youths and ageless blogs who interact with this fic will be blocked.
"What're you doing?"
You look up to find a curious Billy standing just outside the bathroom.
"Cleaning," you answer, holding up a cardboard box full of junk to show him. "I don't use half of this stuff, it's just taking up space."
He tilts his head slightly, trying to peer into your box, so you hand it to him. He takes a step closer to accept it, then leans against the doorframe. Billy gently rifles through a pile of beauty products you'd bought on sale and used once or twice before tossing them in a drawer. You watch his face for any spark of fondness; if there's anything in there he likes, you're keeping it.
His fingers linger on a tube of lipstick that turned out to be way brighter than you'd bargained for. Did he like that on you?
"You like that?" you ask softly.
Billy shrugs, drops the lipstick, and hands the box back to you. He kisses your temple and leaves the room to go on about his day.
You pluck the lipstick out of the get-rid-of-it box, drop it back in the drawer it came out of, then move on to the next.
About a week later, you got a chance to use it.
Billy woke up in one of his moods and didn't want to get out of bed. You blame the weather. Sometimes, the grey and the gloom are so overwhelming, Billy starts to feel like he'll never see sunshine again.
You spoon him from behind under the heavy blankets, arm wrapped tightly around your boy's torso. Your cheek rests against his back, with only a thin layer of cotton between you. You can tell from the occasional shuddering breath that he's trying not to cry.
"M'sorry," he sniffles after an accidental sob. "Sorry I'm like this."
"It's not your fault, baby," you whisper into his back, holding him a little tighter. "It's just the weather. Things aren't really this bleak. We just need a little sunshine. A little color."
The lightbulb above your head clicks on.
"I need to run to the bathroom for a minute. You gonna be okay?"
"Yeah," he sniffles.
You kiss between his shoulder blades, give his cold hand a squeeze, and whisper a quick "love you" before hurrying toward the bathroom.
You return with the tube of too-bright lipstick in the pocket of your pajama pants. Instead of reclaiming your place in bed behind Billy, you crawl on top of him, trapping him beneath the blankets from the waist down by straddling him over the covers.
"What're you doing?" he asks, twisting to look up at you curiously.
"We just need a little color," you repeat, pulling out the tube and carefully applying it to your lips. His brow furrows. You lean down to kiss his cheek. And the other. And his jaw. And that spot on his neck that makes him melt. You sit up to watch him for a moment. He stares at you with his teary eyes, and slowly, a little smile begins to form on his beautiful face.
"I think you could use a little more."
Billy nods in agreement, and his smile widens. He shifts beneath you to lie on his back, so he can watch you leave your love marks on him.
You lean back down and slowly kiss his forehead, and the tip of his nose, and his chin. Your hands rub from his shoulders, down his arms, to his hands. You lift each to place a kiss to his wrists, his palms, his fingertips. You reach for the hem of the shirt he slept in, and your fingers slide beneath the fabric and make contact with his soft belly. He's much warmer than he was when you left him.
"Can I take this off?" you ask quietly. Billy nods and half-sits up to help you remove his shirt, clearing a path for a lot more color.
You reapply your lipstick before you get started, and cover Billy's chest with brightly colored kisses. By the time you reach his belly, it's shaking with giggles. You can see a change in the shape of your kisses as you travel down his torso; full sets of lips become smaller and smaller as you smiled more and more at the thought of Billy's dark clouds lifting.
You move down Billy's body as you go, throwing the blankets aside to be closer to him. He doesn't need them for warmth anymore; he's flushed all over. You're straddling his legs when you get to his happy trail. Alternating sides, you kiss your way down that gorgeous line of hair… until you feel something hard pressing between your breasts.
You look up at him, and his blush goes a shade deeper. He smiles that adorable little embarrassed smile that makes your heart flutter.
You trace a finger over the edge of his waistband.
"You want me to keep going?"
Billy nods, and you pull the elastic down just enough to plant a few new kisses on the unmarked skin. His breath catches, and you can feel him twitch against your chest.
You hook a finger into each side of his waistband, and give a light tug downward. He lifts his hips. You move off of him and to the side, and slide his sweats and underwear down his legs and over his feet, throwing them over your shoulder and out of sight.
You position yourself between his bare thighs and sit up tall to apply a fresh coat of lipstick. His cock twitches and drips. You can feel the heat radiating off of him. He bites his lip and grasps the sheets on either side of him in anticipation.
"Good thing I decided not to let this go to waste, huh?" you tease, pocketing the tube again.
Billy smiles, wide and happy and genuine, and it's the most beautiful thing you've seen in days.
