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puck-luck · 17 hours

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new beginnings | june 3 - june 9

note: this chapter features me trying to find the right balance between "slow burn😈" and "OH MY GOD I'M SO BORED CAN THEY FUCK ALREADY", so enjoy that.

here is a link to chapter one! if you've forgotten what took place, i recommend skimming, or just read day 7 over again!

8:90 – HONEY

Mondays are Honey’s lazy days. It’s the last day of her weekend, since The Reading Nook isn’t open. She usually spends her day doing laundry and cooking for the week, but today, all she wants to do is lay in bed.

She hasn’t been unproductive, per se. She started her laundry and took a shower, even shaved her legs. She replaced her sheets, and then the allure of her bed called her back in. She cocooned herself under the covers and cracked open the book from her bedside table, but Honey’s eyes have just been sliding over the page. Her mind is elsewhere.

She can’t stop thinking about Saturday night.

It was fun. She had fun.

From the first moment, she was comfortable. The boys treated her and Bea like their friends, people that they’d known for longer than a week. She had been apprehensive at first, then thankful that Bea was willing to leave with her if she wanted to, but she never really wanted to leave. The time just came and she knew that she couldn’t be there any longer.

The second Jack opened the door and she saw Luke and Cole holding Trevor back, she just felt light.

Since leaving home, she really only had Bea. The old ladies are friendly enough, but it’s not the same. Before coming to Litchton, Honey and Bea went to a big high school. They knew a lot of people between the two of them and Bea was captain of the school’s state-championship-winning volleyball team their senior year. Honey’s parents were well known in the community and they were really involved in their church.

She went from having plans every night with her friends, sneaking out of the house to get up to no good because she wasn’t legal yet, and being miserable because she was overcompensating for a feeling she couldn’t describe to… asking her best friend to go off grid with her in a tiny town that no one from their hometown knew. And Bea came.

Honey was happier this way, and Bea could adapt to any situation with a little time so long as the illusion of adventure was intact, but it was still lonely. She loves the home she made for herself in Litchton and how it taught her to be an adult, her own person rather than a version of her that was molded from her surroundings. At the same time, she misses knowing people her age.

Litchton, as great as it was to Honey, was the kind of little town that you flee when you leave for college after living there your whole life. The only time you come back is when you’re starting your family, or maybe even after your kids move away and you crave that small town life your parents enjoyed so much.

Or, if you’re Honey’s dad, you vacationed in the town as a kid and wanted your child to have the same experience.

Long story short? There is an abundance of people under 18 and over the age of 50 in Litchton, but not so many 19-30 year olds.

It’s more of a problem for Bea. She’s the one who’s looking for a relationship. Honey is not looking for that. She’s not.

It’s nice to have a few new friends, though. Not Trevor, really, even though he seems desperate for Honey’s attention. Honey didn’t talk much with Luke, since the boy was quiet for most of the night. The most animated she saw him was when Trevor started his Zulu Run and Luke cheered him on. Quinn was at the pool table the whole night… until he was upstairs… but he seems like a cool guy. Jack is easy enough to talk to, when he’s not flirting.

Honey’s not ashamed to admit that her favorite is Cole. He’s a sweetheart with a charming smile and thoughtful intentions. He’s a good person. Honey kind of wishes that she had met him when she and Bea first became friends– she can only imagine how precious he was as a child. Their trio would have been something the other kids envied and Honey and Cole would’ve been each others’ date to prom.

He would’ve fit in really well with them, she thinks. He’s kind of like the male version of Bea. Maybe that’s why she likes him so much.

Her phone rings and it’s Bea’s name that flashes across the screen, speak of the Devil.

Honey answers and starts to say hello, but Bea cuts her off.

“I’m at your front door,” she says, then the line goes dead.

Honey pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at the screen. She scoffs and shakes her head, tossing the covers off and swinging her legs around the side of the bed. She’s just in the old boxers that she stole from her last boyfriend and a bralette, her laziest outfit. She doesn’t even consider changing as she walks to the door and opens it. Bea’s seen all this, and more, before.

“Good, you’re not wearing clothes,” Bea breathes out in relief as a greeting. She pushes past Honey and makes her way towards the bedroom. “I was going to make you take them off for this anyway.”

Honey rolls her head back and fakes a snore. She closes the front door and trails after Bea, finding the girl sitting on her bed when she reenters the room.

“Okay, before we get started, I want to give you a chance to tell me about your night after I left the room,” Bea says. “Oh, and I should probably tell you that Trevor was upset that you weren’t at church yesterday.”

“Okay,” Honey replies, her laugh strained. “That’s… weird.”

He likes you. He’s good. He’s trying. You should like him too.

Honey shakes her head and takes a deep breath. “Not much happened. Trevor did his Zulu Run, each of the boys chose a song for him to run to, and I left during Cole’s song. Jack walked me to the door.”

“Oh,” Bea drawls. She tilts her chin up and taps her nose. It’s a habit they both picked up when they were teenagers– a secret signal of sorts when they were talking shit at parties in their younger years. They do it when something is too ‘on the nose.’ It’s supposed to be clever– Honey thought of it. “So that’s why Trevor pushed Jack up against the wall, while he was naked, might I add, and asked him what the hell he was doing?”

Honey freezes, lips parted in surprise. Her eyebrows are furrowed and she hopes that she looks judgmental enough to hide the shock.

Bea tilts her head to the side slowly and smiles up at Honey, pulling one of her braids over her shoulder and twisting the end between her fingers. “Isn’t that so… interesting…?”

Honey licks along her top row of teeth and seethes at Bea. “No,” she snaps. “I don’t find that interesting.”

Bea rolls her eyes. “Fine. But you can’t fight this forever, Honey. I’m going to get you laid this summer, while we have this many willing participants, whether you like it or not.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what you did with Quinn? I know that’s why you’re here.”

Bea’s face lights up and she grins from ear to ear. “Honey, I know they’re all athletes, but, like… holy shit.”

She jumps into a long winded story that begins with the second Quinn bent over her to hit the 8 ball and she felt him against her behind. (“He wasn’t even hard yet, and I was practically swooning!”) Bea is gesticulating wildly, miming her movements and even climbing onto Honey’s lap at one point to recreate the position Quinn had her in.

Bea’s downright dirty about it, and Honey squirms a bit. This happens every time Bea hooks up with someone, but it never becomes more comfortable for Honey.

After Bea finishes describing the way that Quinn groaned when he came, all the while Honey is cringing because she’ll never look at Quinn the same again, she says: “You know, if you just started having sex again, I wouldn’t have to describe my hijinks to you.”

Honey laughs out loud, her jaw dropping at the statement. “You’re a liar!” She accuses, pointing a finger at Bea and pushing her over on the bed.

Bea giggles into the covers, hiding her face from Honey. She shrugs and nods along as Honey continues her accusation.

“We’re going to keep doing this shit until the day we die!” Honey exclaims, her cheeks tight with how wide her smile is. Laughs keep bubbling up from her chest and interrupting her sentences. “Buzzy, when you get pregnant, I genuinely think you’re going to find some sperm and shove it up my cooch so we’re ‘experiencing everything at the same time.’ You freak!”

Bea howls with laughter, clutching at her stomach. “Fuck off!”

“I swear! When you get married, I’m going to have to get an IUD just so I’m not fearing for my fucking life the whole time,” Honey retorts, grabbing her pillow from near the headboard. She whacks Bea with it as the girl squeals and tries to avoid the weapon.

After a satisfying hit to the side of Bea’s head and a groan of contempt, Honey throws her pillow back up to the headboard and collapses into her sheets, her head turned to face Bea’s. They giggle and blink at each other for a minute, breathing in the smell of Honey’s fresh laundry.

Honey’s eyes are half-covered by the top sheet and for a moment, when she catches a glimpse of Bea’s flushed cheeks, she thinks of all the times that they had sleepovers in Honey’s childhood bedroom and stayed up all night trying to stifle their laughter.

Honey pushes herself up from her position and shuffles under the covers, pulling the sheets up to her chest. Bea joins her with a little groan. They sit together, facing forward, mirror images of each other.

“Was he really that good?” Honey asks softly.

“Better than Overalls Joe,” Bea replies.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Honey turns over, leaning against her pillow. Bea follows her lead and faces her, her hand tucked below her cheek in a little fist. Her face scrunches, catching on the skin of her palm.

“Does that change anything?” Honey asks. “Are you still going to hook up with all of them?”

Bea nods tentatively. She breathes out a sigh. “For a second, after we finished, I thought about not telling him. He was so sweet and great that I thought maybe I wouldn’t want to go through with everything, and you know how much I love the strong, silent type, but like. I don’t know.”

Honey searches her face for a clue. Bea still looks just as uncertain as she’s describing. She purses her lips and avoids eye contact with Honey, turning so she’s facing the ceiling.

“You thought that you’d change your mind and you’d want a monogamous hookup situation, but when you finished with Quinn, you hadn’t,” Honey supplies. She’s still laying on her side, looking at Bea’s profile.

Bea bites the insides of her cheeks. “Yeah.”

“And you felt bad.”

“Yeah.”

“And you still feel bad.”

“Yeah.”

Honey finally shifts to lay on her back, reaching over to take Bea’s hand. They stare up at the fan on Honey’s ceiling. It’s dusty. Honey makes a mental note to clean it later.

“He reacted well when I told him,” Bea says. “He was surprised, which I get, but then he kind of just shrugged. He said if I wanted to have a Slut Summer, then he wasn’t going to stop me. I referred to it as a Slut Summer first, by the way. He wasn’t being an asshole about it.”

“Do you regret it?” Honey asks.

“I needed to tell him. It would be so unfair to Quinn if I hooked up with him, got his hopes up, and then hooked up with one of his brothers.” Bea shrugs and shakes her head. “I feel gross about it because I know he was disappointed for a second, but I’d feel grosser if I didn’t tell him.”

“How did he act after you told him? After the shrug?”

“Well, he also told me that he just got out of a relationship, and then he acted normal for the rest of the day. He drove the boys to church and drove me home after. He was touching me in some way almost the whole time.” Bea drops Honey’s hand and picks at a hangnail. “And we made out when we were at my place.”

Honey’s lower lip juts out in an unimpressed look before she smiles. Good for Bea.

But she's not finished.

“I just— I saw how he looked at me when I first propositioned him.” Bea covers her face with both of her hands. “And he told me that if this had gone down when he was younger, it would've ruined him. I know he meant it to lighten the tension because he laughed… but, like… I can’t get that image out of my head. Baby Quinn getting his heart broken by a girl who didn't want more from him. It makes me feel like shit.”

“Maybe you should go over there,” Homey suggests. “You should talk to him some more and clear the air.”

“I can’t,” Bea complains. “I can't let him know that I care. Then he’ll have all the power.”

Honey rolls her eyes. “I don't think that’s how this works.”

“It's how I think it works!”

“Okay.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Honey picks up her book from her nightstand and begins to read. Bea stares at the ceiling.

Ten minutes of thought later, she sits up abruptly.

“I'm going home,” Bea announces and leaves the bed, pulling her shoes on. “I'm drinking some of my calming tea and going to bed. I’ll see you at the store tomorrow?”

Honey looks over to her clock and snorts out a laugh. It’s only 5:15 in the evening. Bea’s going to be overtired by the time she wakes up in the morning. She’s planning to sleep for almost sixteen hours. “Be at work at ten,” Honey tells her. “You're scheduled then and the ladies are coming in.”

“Yadda yadda,” Bea replies, then waves goodbye and blows Honey a kiss. “I’ll get there when I get there, like every day other than Friday.”

Honey sniffs out a laugh, then returns to her book. It's just now getting good. The story follows a girl who is trying to create an anthology based on her hometown’s history and she’s spent the past few weeks interviewing the townies and local historians, just to stumble upon a town secret that no one really wants to talk about.

Honey thinks it’s the best book she’s read so far this year.

Her alarm beeps at a quarter to six, and Honey puts her book away. She stretches under the covers, groaning at the satisfying pop of her joints as she does so. Honey throws the covers off of herself and leaves them messy as she changes out of her pajamas and into some spandex shorts and a long t-shirt.

She grabs her mesh shoulder bag and her car keys, ready to head to the fruit stand outside of the grocery store. She had finished her peaches halfway through the week last time, so she needs to buy more today. She’s feeling like blueberries would be a good investment– maybe some blackberries.

Honey keeps her head down, parking near The Reading Nook and walking along the sidewalk. She shuffles by a few townies with a nod, and turns the corner. She stops dead in her tracks.

Trevor.

He’s standing at the stand, two paper bags in his arms. He’s chatting with the vendor, a sweet woman named Joan who’s been working the booth for twenty years. She’s laughing and smiling at him and holding another little bag. Trevor bends at the knee and makes a joke as she tries to balance it precariously on top of his other groceries.

Honey just hopes he’s leaving soon. She walks up to the booth and starts to peruse the apples, keeping to herself and hoping Trevor doesn’t see her before she leaves.

It’s a futile effort and she knows it.

“Honey!” Joan exclaims. “How are you doing, my dear?”

Honey smiles, soft and sweet at the woman. “Hi, Joan. I’m okay. I did some chores today, so I’m just happy to be out and about.”

“Well, you just let me know what you’re looking for today and I’ll give you my best,” Joan promises and leaves Honey to browse.

“Hi,” Trevor says.

“Hello, Trevor,” Honey replies, not even looking up at him as she scans the selection for the best looking fruit.

“Do you like tarts?” Trevor asks.

“They’re fine,” Honey replies. She picks up a carton of raspberries, ripe and red. “I prefer turnovers.”

“I was thinking about trying to bake something later,” Trevor tells her.

“That’s nice,” Honey says. She’s not an idiot. She knows what he’s hinting at. Trevor wants to hang out with her again, this time in a much more intimate setting. She’d be at their house, because she would not allow him to invite himself over, but the presence of the other boys wouldn’t mean much. “I’m sure Cole would love to watch you try to bake some tarts.”

“Cole would be a disaster,” Trevor laughs, like Honey just made the best joke he’s heard all day.

“Maybe he would surprise you.” Honey turns to Joan, holding up her raspberries. “Are these ready? Or should I wait a little while for the next batch?”

“You know what I always say, Honey,” Joan answers. “The second batch is always the best.”

“Good point. Do you have a quart of blueberries around here somewhere?” Honey scans the stand, but she doesn’t see them.

Joan points to the other end of the stand, past Trevor.

For the first time since making it to the stand, Honey looks up at Trevor. She makes eye contact. His eyes are green and he’s happy and there’s this tiny smile on his face as he looks down at her.

“Excuse me,” Honey says. She tries to keep her voice hard, disinterested.

Trevor continues to smile down at her, arms full of groceries. She focuses on the point slightly past him and squeezes by, her back towards the stand. She tries to avoid shoulder-checking him, but they brush arms anyway. Trevor’s skin is warm against hers, even if it’s just a fleeting pass.

“Would you like to come over and bake with me?” Trevor asks. “I’ll let you take home half the goods. I need someone with some experience to help me out, I’m not much of a baker and you seem like you know what you’re doing.”

It’s an enticing offer, only because Honey had so much fun the other night. She could probably convince all the other boys to help, and Trevor would hate that her attention isn’t completely on him.

“What kind of tarts?” Honey asks. “If I like the flavor, then I’ll come over.”

Trevor’s smile splits his face like he knows something Honey doesn’t. “Joan just sold me some of her best strawberries.” He tosses the older woman a wink.

“What a shame,” Honey muses, and bites back a smile at the way Trevor’s face falls. “I’m allergic.”

“What?” He asks, genuinely taken aback. “Bea said–” He cuts himself off and his eyes go wide, flushing to the tips of his ears at the inadvertent admission.

“‘Bea said?’” Honey repeats, tilting her head to the side. “What did Bea say?”

Trevor scowls at the ground and scuffs his shoes against the sidewalk. “She said you would like strawberries if I bought them for you,” he grumbles.

“Oh, poor baby,” Honey teases. “She tricked you, and you fell for it.”

Trevor rolls his eyes, but Honey can tell that he’s a little bit pleased with the endearing term, even as mean as she said it.

“Go home, Trevor,” Honey says, her voice turning despondent instead of laced with laughter. “Don’t ask Bea for help with me again. If you want to win me over, you have to do it yourself.”

“Me-ow,” Joan chirps, reminding Honey that they have an audience.

Honey picks up a quart of blueberries and hands Joan a few dollars for the berries, placing the basket in her bag. She grabs a few peaches on the way back to her car, the payment covering the cost of those as well. She walks back to her car, catching a glimpse of Trevor loading his groceries into the trunk of his car. She quirks her eyebrows as she sees him scrub his hands over his face and pat his cheek, not unlike the wake up call she gave Jack on Saturday, saying something to himself.

Whatever. Honey came out on top of that conversation, yet again. One good night at the boys’ house doesn’t mean that Honey wants to hang out with Trevor again, even if she’s bringing donuts over on Friday.

9:90 – TREVOR

Trevor gave up on trying to fall asleep around 4 a.m. after tossing and turning all night. For a while, he scrolled on his phone and caught up with his friends’ Instagram posts. The rental house has WiFi, but it’s notoriously terrible being in the mountains and all, so Trevor’s stuff never loads. In the early morning hours, while none of the other boys are awake and scrolling, he’s able to load up three TikToks in a row once he tires of Instagram. It’s a luxury he hasn’t experienced in over a week.

He chalks it up to excitement for the day– they’re getting to go on the ice for the first time since coming to North Carolina. Quinn is planning on packing up Trevor’s car around 9 and they’ll be on the road to Bojangles Coliseum, home of the Charlotte Checkers, soon after that. Trevor can’t wait to be back on the ice and have a real hockey practice, even if it’s self-led.

But, at the same time, Trevor can’t chalk all of his inability to sleep up to excitement for the day.

No, some, if not most, of his inability to sleep was due to the fool he made of himself yesterday.

He was so close to getting Honey to come over, so close to getting her alone in something that he could call a date, even if she didn’t consider it to be one. He had blindly trusted Bea, something he now knows not to do, and gone with the strawberries rather than ask Honey what kind of pastry she’d like most.

Of course she’s allergic to strawberries– it only makes sense that Honey’s conniving best friend wants to enjoy Trevor’s plundering just as much as Honey does.

And Trevor knows that she enjoys it.

Poor baby.

Even with the ounces of condescension pooling around the words, Trevor cannot stop them from ringing through his head on a loop. Baby, baby, baby. He’s never been one for pet names, preferring his name or to be called Z, but he sort of wanted to fall at Honey’s knees and beg her to keep calling him that.

Which is peculiar.

Because Trevor doesn’t fall to his knees for anything, much less a girl, and much less one he barely knows.

He can’t seem to shake Honey from his mind, though. Part of it might be the fact that he’s not in a relationship at the moment and he’s used to being in the city over the summer, where he can go to bars and the country club and chat up plenty of nice girls his age. Trevor’s not sure that’s the case, though. It’s a good excuse, but he knows deep down that the reason he can’t shake Honey from his mind is that he likes her. He wants her to like him, too.

Disgusting.

He’s in his early twenties. He has no desire to settle down with someone yet, especially not at this point in his career. The hockey life is hard for him. He can only imagine how hard it would be for someone who had never been a part of that world, who had never had to deal with the constant travel and practices and commitments of the job.

And yet, he keeps catching himself thinking of moments where Honey is part of his life. She’s not, and he knows she’s not, but like when she came over on Saturday: she went toe-to-toe with Jack, decimated him enough that Cole gave her a trophy and a hug, and dominated the pool table. She never went easy on Trevor, nor on the other guys, and she fit. She was happy to be there, even when she caught herself and took a step back.

Trevor can’t wait to see how beautiful she looks when she finally lets loose.

He’s a little embarrassed by his actions after she left, but only because he knows that the story has probably gotten back to her. Bea probably told her all about how Trevor pushed Jack up against the wall for getting Honey alone, probably overexaggerating the story to make Trevor look more like a fool. Obviously they didn’t do anything– Honey turned Jack down earlier in the night– but Trevor felt a very unfamiliar clench of rage in his gut that caused him to lash out at his best friend.

Not his most shining moment.

He would absolutely do it again.

However, Trevor will never get the chance to do it again if Honey never comes back to hang out with him.

But he keeps coming back to those strawberries. Strawberries, Bea said. Trevor was a fool for thinking Bea would really teach him all the ways to get in with Honey. When Honey turned him down, and told him the reason, it took Trevor by surprise and he slipped up. He revealed that he had asked Bea for help and Honey grew delightedly wicked at the mention. Trevor watched her eyes light up, the joy fill them as she gained an opportunity to tear him down.

She loves to be in control, loves it to the point of reinforcing her walls that she’s built up for years and years, Trevor assumes, at any opportunity. He saw it in the way she switched from teasing to curt and serious within a moment.

When he texted Bea afterward, upset and biting like a rabid dog, all Bea replied was: “you were never going to get her with my help. stop using me as a crutch. freak.”

And then an hour later, “do u think quinn is mad at me”, which Trevor never replied to, because he had no interest in asking Quinn if he was “mad at Bea.”

All he cares about is if Honey is mad at him.

She didn’t seem like she was. Trevor just has a feeling that something is off and he needs to find a way to make up for it before he loses his chance to win her over. It’s dramatic, yes, but he needs to be on her good side. He needs it.

He cannot possibly think about this any longer.

Trevor swings his legs over the side of the bed and patters down to the kitchen, phone in hand. He printed out the recipe the day prior, preparing for Honey to come over and bake with him, but he had been too pouty to follow the directions last night.

He already can’t sleep, so he might as well cook. The sooner he makes those tarts, the sooner his housemates eat them all, which is ideal since he wants to forget this exchange as soon as possible.

Trevor had bought these mini tart shells the day before, pre-baked and thrown into the fridge haphazardly in his frustration. He takes them out to prepare, then assembles the rest of his ingredients.

It’s slightly therapeutic, the baking. He blends ingredients together with a wooden spoon until the lumps are gone, he lets the ingredients simmer over apple juice. He watches as it solidifies and goes from two separate solids and liquids into a sugary glaze. He pours the glaze over the tarts and arranges the strawberries on top of the little shells. It takes him a while to get them all perfectly balanced. They kept falling over, much to his chagrin, and before he knows it, the sun is nearly rising. He’s got a tray of twenty-four tarts on his hands and not enough room in the freezer to chill them before they leave for Charlotte.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Then, again, he spits out, “Fuck.”

Trevor stares at the piles of frozen pizzas and chicken breast and steak that have accumulated in their freezer, bags of ice to be blended into drinks on hot days.

“Motherfucker,” Trevor growls, then covers his mouth. He glances towards the stairs, expecting one of the boys to make their way down at any moment.

When no one appears, he turns his attention back to the freezer.

Trevor hauls out the bags of ice, the stacks of food. He clears the freezer and grumbles, shoving the tarts onto a shelf. The strawberries fall over again and he has to fix them. He all but slams the food back into the fridge, unorganized and harsh. He forces the freezer door shut, the sound echoing throughout the house.

“Oh,” Trevor hears a sleepy voice say from behind him. He turns around, eyes wide, and finds Quinn in his boxers and a navy t-shirt at the bottom of the stairs. “I should’ve known you were the one making all this noise.”

“Sorry,” Trevor says.

“What are you doing?” Quinn asks, rubbing his eyes before glaring at Trevor. “It’s not even six.”

“Are you mad at Bea?” Trevor replies, hearing frustration tinge his voice. He points an accusing finger at the older boy. “Because it’s her fault that I’m in this mess.”

Quinn raises his eyebrows, unimpressed with Trevor’s accusation. He opens his mouth to yawn, joining Trevor in the kitchen and sitting behind the counter.

“I’m not mad at Bea,” Quinn says simply. “I admire what she’s doing.”

Trevor makes a face. “What’s she doing? You?”

Quinn growls a warning at Trevor. “I don’t have to explain her business to you. Yeah, she and I hooked up, and it was great. We’re going to keep hooking up. But she’s allowed to do whatever she wants. I told her if she wanted to have a Slut Summer, I wasn’t going to stop her.” He holds up a hand to cut Trevor off. “She called it a Slut Summer first, by the way. I’m not being an asshole about it.”

“Who’s she slutting it out with?” Trevor asks, laughing. “The only non-Hughes boys in this house are me and Cole and, quite frankly, I don’t want Bea like that. Cole’s also too short for her. There are no other guys in the town.”

“She is going to get whomever she wants,” Quinn says, voice cool. His face is calm. “Whether they are in this house or not.” He schools a tight, borderline-annoyed smile across his face. “What are you doing?”

“Baking,” Trevor snaps.

Quinn snorts. “Sounds like you’re mad at Bea.”

“I am! She fucking– how do you know about that?”

“She told me, you idiot,” Quinn replies. “And I thought it was very funny.”

“When did she have time to fucking tell you–”

“Right when I got in the car, Trevor.” Quinn nods, a smug and satisfied expression on his stupid face. Trevor’s not biased. “She couldn’t stop laughing, even after she told me that you were about to buy strawberries for Honey… who is allergic to them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Trevor demands. “You knew I was going to the market just for that! We didn’t need anything. You made me pay for beer!”

“Because it was funny.” Quinn slaps his hands down on his thighs and shrugs. “Because I wanted to see this play out. My only regret is not going to the store with you and watching it play out in person.”

Trevor sneers at Quinn. “I hope she never sleeps with you again,” he grits out, sincere and nodding.

Quinn narrows his eyes and leans in, voice quiet. “If she never sleeps with me again, then she will never bring your little friend around again. We both know that you can’t get her to come over on your own.”

He and Trevor maintain eye contact for a minute. Trevor is the first to break it, looking down and away with a clear of his throat. He steps back to the fridge and takes out the carton of eggs to make himself an omelet.

The boys traipse down the stairs in annoyingly long intervals. Jack is the last of the five to mosey down the stairs and make his breakfast, which is when Quinn leaves to pack Trevor’s car for their practice today.

Trevor is glad to be driving to Charlotte alone. Quinn’s words lodged themselves deep between his ribs and left him unsettled. He’s always been able to get the girl he wants and he’s been secure in that. But this is different– this is Honey, the first girl he’s ever wanted so much, and Quinn’s absolutely right. Trevor has no idea what he’s doing and has no chance at all.

And as Trevor runs sprints by himself during practice, just circling in laps over and over, he decides that Quinn is right. It will never happen. Honey would never be interested in him like that and she has made it very clear. Trevor will have to settle for being her friend, and only her friend. It’ll be hard enough to get her to like him, but he’ll have to do it if he wants even a slice of her at all.

And on the drive home, the decision settles like a rock in his stomach. Trevor has never felt quite so unhappy in something that he has to accept. It’s her friendship or nothing at all, and Trevor will be damned if he receives nothing at all from Honey.

10:90 – HONEY

It’s officially summer.

Ada was at the bookstore when Honey came to open it up this morning. Evidently, she had been up since the wee hours of the morning, plucking deep purple blackberries off of the vines behind her home until she had plenty for a pie. She could have baked it at home, but instead, Ada chose to bake the pie in the tiny, barely functional oven in the back.

The Reading Nook has been filled with the scent of sweet, summery blackberries, and Honey cannot think of a better way to start the day.

Bea is late for work, obviously, but she strolls in with a coffee for Honey and a kiss on the cheek for Ada to make up for it.

“Good morning girls,” Bea sings as she walks into The Reading Nook. She’s wearing a navy t-shirt that’s tied in a small knot around her midriff and a long, flowy orange skirt.

“Is that my skirt?” Honey asks, accepting the coffee from her friend and zeroing in on her outfit.

“I’m being Donna from Mamma Mia 2 today and I needed it,” Bea replies.

“Oh, you’re just like Donna, alright,” Honey confirms, the thinly veiled insult darkening Bea’s face.

Bea opens her mouth to retort, but thinks better of it when her eyes flicker over to Ada. The sweet old lady might have a heart attack and die if she learns what Bea is planning for her summer. Instead, Bea paints a smile over her face.

“It smells good in here,” Bea says. “Did you bring us some sweets, Ada?”

“I am baking you a pie right now, Miss Bea,” Ada says, turning the page of her magazine with a polished finger. She doesn’t even look up at the girl as she speaks. She’s immersed in her activity, eyes scanning the page so she doesn’t miss a word.

“Good, I ran out of desserts and no one bought me any strawberries this week.” Bea cuts her eyes at Honey.

“We already talked about this. If you want strawberries, go ask Trevor.” Honey’s expression is impassive. She and Bea had had a long discussion yesterday about her meddling and how it’s overstepping Honey’s boundaries.

Bea had agreed to let up, but she’s still pouting about it.

“I just don’t understand why you’re not interested in him,” Bea hissed through gritted teeth, leaning into Honey’s space between the stacks. The knitting ladies are barely out of range, but Honey wouldn’t be surprised if they were craning their necks and listening in. She wouldn’t be surprised if Sacha turned up her hearing aid, just to try and catch their whispers. “He’s cute and he likes you. He bought fruit for you.”

“I don’t want him,” Honey reinforces. She’s repeated the same thing, in so many words, to Bea all morning. She even read the messages that Trevor sent Bea after the strawberry incident, with Bea’s permission, and all it did was stress her out. “And I don’t want you to help him anymore!”

“I’m not going to,” Bea promises. “But you should give him a chance.”

“No, Bea!” Honey looks around and lowers her voice again. “I’m not looking for a man, and if I were, I wouldn’t choose Trevor. I’m not like you, spreading my legs for every cute boy in the room.”

It was a bit too far, to be honest, and Honey apologized shortly after. They’re back to bickering like sisters, annoyed by the other but not enough for it to be a real argument. They easily could’ve ran into “real argument” territory with Honey’s comment and Bea’s pushing, but neither girl felt like that was necessary.

They’re better when they’re not fighting, anyway.

They’re kind of fighting anyway.

Honey gets to work doing her own thing– restocking shelves, checking customers out at the counter when Ada waves her over, while Bea talks to the customers as they shop. When she’s not talking to customers, she’s sitting in the back, typing out little messages on her phone.

It’s suspicious, the way Bea went from rarely texting anybody to suddenly texting all the time. She’s more of a voice note kind of girl, so Honey has gotten used to hearing her record messages for her sisters and cousins, often vulgar and rarely edited. She goes off on tangents often, she yells into her phone whilst sitting in traffic, and yet lately, she’s been putting her thumbs to use. It’s weird.

Hours pass and Honey notices Bea on her phone often throughout the day, usually accompanied by a quick glance up to see who’s around her. If Honey didn’t know any better, she’d say that Bea is watching her movements to make sure she doesn’t creep up behind her.

It doesn’t matter, she decides. Bea can be cryptic all she wants. Honey doesn’t care about what she’s saying or who she’s talking to.

That’s a lie. She’s been fantasizing since lunchtime that Bea found a new boy to talk to over the summer, and she’ll relinquish her grip on her Slut Summer plans, and Honey will be free to ignore Trevor and his goons as long as possible. He will never be a thought in her head again.

Until the next time he shows up out of nowhere, she grumbles to herself. He’s making it so hard to forget that he even exists. She narrows her eyes at the mere thought of him. Trevor.

And the boys have a real knack for showing up out of nowhere, because as they’re closing down the shop for the night, literally right as Honey approaches the door to flip the door sign from “Open” to “Closed,” Quinn appears.

He waves awkwardly at Honey when she approaches the door, both of them reaching for the door handle at the same time. He laughs sheepishly and pulls his hand back, tucking it into his pockets with a soft smile.

Honey opens the door. “Hi, Quinn,” she greets. Her heart feels like mush. He’s sweet and lame, but in a more mature and embarrassed way than Cole’s blatant lameness. Bea made a good choice for her first conquest. “We’re closing for the day.”

“That’s okay,” Quinn replies easily. His eyes are lit up by the lamplight to Honey’s right. “I was just hoping to talk to Bea.”

Honey’s eyes are drawn down by the soft curves of Quinn’s lips. She curses herself for a moment. She’d trade Trevor for Quinn any day, but she’s sure he invoked some sort of bro-code hands-off thing. Not that she cares.

“Yeah,” Honey says with a nod. “She’s in the back. Come on in.” She steps away from the door and holds it open for Quinn.

He walks in, shaking his arms out as he enters the cool bookstore. He’s wearing a hoodie, but he had pushed the sleeves up due to the humid heat outside. The sleeves fall past his wrist and neatly curve under his fingers.

Honey gestures for him to stand near the register. “I’ll go get her.” She retreats into the back, where Bea is slicing a blackberry pie into two, planning to transfer hers and Honey’s halves to a tupperware. She’s startled when she looks up to see Honey standing there with a smile on her face.

“What?” Bea whispers, skeptical. “I wasn’t going to take the bigger half this time, I swear.”

“There’s a suitor at the door,” Honey simpers with a knowing smile. “He’s come to court.” Her voice slips into a British mockery, knowing that Bea had just started Bridgerton’s newest season.

“Which one?” Bea asks, eager and bright. She puts the knife down and licks her fingers clean.

“Anthony,” Honey reveals, giggling.

Bea gasps, her hand flying to her mouth and covering her lips. “You’re kidding,” she giggles back, grinning like a schoolgirl behind her fingers. She brushes her hair out of her face and bites her lip, repeating “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Honey tells her. “He’s at the register, waiting for you.”

Bea bounces on her toes, smoothing out her outfit. The orange skirt makes her sort of glow. Honey’s eyes soften as she watches her best friend. There is no one in this world like Bea. You can never hate her or be angry at her for long because she’s like sunshine.

“Will you go? I’ll put your half of the pie in my fridge and reheat it for you tomorrow. I have a feeling you’ll be needing me to bring you breakfast in the morning.” Honey smirks at Bea, still laughing a little to herself. “Do you want me to open the store, too?”

Bea blushes, her tongue poking through her teeth. “Would you?” She teases, considering it. “I’ll text you, yeah? I should know what kind of encounter this is, and how we should proceed, in about thirty minutes. Thank you, Honeybear.”

“Of course,” Honey agrees with a smile, walking forward to take Bea’s place. As Bea walks away, Honey calls, “Hey.”

Bea turns, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “What?”

“I guess he’s not mad at you,” Honey replies with a final laugh at the finger guns Bea shoots at her before she walks away.

She hears the door jingle open and closed five minutes later, after she’s split the pies and packed them into her bag. She fiddles around the kitchen a little longer, making sure to give them a head start before finishing up in the main room.

She straightens a few books on a few carts, sorting a few books onto a different cart.

Finally, she walks to the door. She pulls it shut and locks it behind her, walking the short distance to her car. She drives home in silence, listening to the wind whistle through her windows.

She enters her home with a one-handed turn of her key, slamming the door behind her with a kick of her foot. She puts their food away, then decides to take hers to bed and eat it while reading. She grabs a fork on the way out of her kitchen, turning out the lights with her elbow as she walks.

She enters her bedroom and navigates in the dark until she finds her lamp and flicks it on. The room fills with soft light and she settles into her bed, balancing her plate on her thigh as she reads against her bent knee. Honey raises the fork to her mouth as carefully as she can until she’s finished a slice of her dessert.

She puts the plate away and tosses her book down to the end of her bed, leaning over to turn off her lamp. She barely touches it for the thousandth night in a row, swinging wildly to reach it. She settles against her pillow, snuggling in.

She waits. And waits. And waits, but her eyelids never grow heavy. Fuck. Her phone lights up with a text from Bea, so she gets up to read it: “So….. can you open the store for me tomorrow?” with a picture of Quinn’s legs extended next to her on the couch, stretched toward the ottoman. His thumb is rubbing over Bea’s knee in the live version of the picture.

Honey’s stomach flips. Fuck. That can’t be what she was missing.

But immediately, as Honey watches Quinn’s thumb move over Bea’s skin, she gasps at the idea of a heavy, warm body behind her, ready to touch her in the same way.

She cringes, exits away from the message, choosing not to respond. Of course she will. Of course she’ll open the store for Bea, she doesn’t need to confirm. She just needs to get away from that picture and the things she shouldn’t be thinking about. This is dangerous. Honey’s not looking for this. She’s fine on her own.

Yeah, she’s fine on her own. Honey nods to herself, eyes wide as she readjusts under the covers. Her bed is just big enough for her to stretch out her limbs. She’d have to squeeze if there was another body here. It was fine when it was her and Bea for that year, but a man? He’d never fit. He’d have to hold Honey in place to keep from pushing her off the bed. She’d have to– God, feel another person against her all night. Ugh.

But it’s a little appealing, if the man behind her pulls her tight against his front and nudges her neck before he kisses it with his perfect, tan, delicately curved nose–

Nope. Honey shakes the image away, opening her eyes to observe the still aloneness next to her on the mattress. She clears her throat and physically shakes her head. She closes her eyes again and focuses on the blackness behind her eyelids until she finally, mercilessly falls asleep.

She’s not looking for that.

11:90 – TREVOR

Today brings a huge challenge to Trevor and plops it at his feet like a dog spitting out a bird. The challenge is helpless and sad. He stares at it for minutes, hearing the seconds from the clock on his mantle nearby tick away.

He has to return his library book today. He finished it last night in the game room while Cole chased Luke around with his own pool cue. Luke was surprisingly agile and able to escape upstairs without getting hit once.

Trevor came out of his trance with a knock to his bedroom door.

“Get up!” Jack pesters. “Going to store! More beer! More fire! More tarts for you to bake!” He continues to pound on Trevor’s door with each word. His shouts are like a caveman’s, annoying and short. He must’ve watched that episode of the Office where Kevin shortens his sentence over breakfast this morning. Why say long word when short word do trick? or whatever.

Trevor grabs his book, feeling like it’s burning his hand. It’s like an anvil in his palm. He wrenches the door open mid pound and Jack stumbles into him. He whacks him over the head with the book.

“I told you I was up,” he reminds Jack. “I just had to grab something before we left.” He holds the book away from Jack when he tries to snatch it.

Jack reaches for it anyway, playing the game, clawing at Trevor’s arm. He struggles out, “Now that you’ve given up on wooing Honey, maybe I want to be the one to give her a visit.” He manages to snatch at Trevor’s book one last time before it turns into a weapon and beats him away. Eventually, Jack surrenders and Trevor stalks away, starting the car and locking the doors so Jack can’t get in for the next minute.

Luke giggles in the front seat, videoing Jack on his Snapchat through the passenger side window. Trevor watches Jack glare at Trevor through the phone screen while he pulls on the doorhandle, shaking it over and over and yelling at Trevor to unlock the door.

Bea giggles in the backseat, perched mostly on Quinn’s lap, Cole’s arm pushed dangerously far away by Quinn’s elbow. Bea shakes her hair back into Cole’s face and he crinkles his nose, sad that he’s in the middle seat.

“I hate it when we all ride in one car,” Cole grumbles under his breath, trying to breathe through Bea’s ponytail. He reaches over and kicks the door open for Jack, more aggressive than necessary.

“Chill out, Sweetie,” Bea teases, leaning over to press a lipgloss-kiss onto Cole’s cheek. “You’re more eco-friendly this way. Big rich boy doesn’t care about the environment?” She faux-pouts at him and Cole makes a face at her.

“Airlines hate him,” Quinn jokes quietly in Bea’s ear, causing her to howl and clutch at his chest. Quinn smiles, proud of himself.

Trevor speeds all the way to the town center, glaring at Bea and making Quinn hold onto her so she doesn’t spill into Cole’s lap. He hopes she’s getting carsick. She’s the reason he had to stop pursuing Honey. She ruined everything.

And, because Trevor is full of good fortune lately, Bea takes his hand and flounces toward The Reading Nook with him in tow. She waves at Quinn as they walk away, and laughs when he whistles.

“Didn’t you wear those clothes yesterday?” Trevor spits out, walking faster than her.

“Jealous you can’t get laid?” Bea retorts, succeeding in snatching the book from Trevor’s grasp in a way Jack didn’t. They come to a stop a hundred feet from The Reading Nook. Bea plants her hands on her hips and heaves out a breath at Trevor.

“You fucked me over,” Trevor accuses. He stifles his temper, pushing it down. “Like… really, Bea?”

“I thought she would find your effort cute,” Bea explains. “And I thought she would go, because she loves to bake. And watch you struggle.”

“Well, it didn’t, and now I have no chance.”

Bea scoffs and shoves his book back to him. “You know what? Good luck in there. Let’s see if you’re right.” She stomps to the store and holds the door open for Trevor “Come on in.”

The Reading Nook has barely opened, so the only person there is a doe-eyed Honey, startled, behind the counter. She’s holding a book in front of her, on its final pages. She stares at the open doorway, monitors Trevor’s movements as he approaches. Her lips are slightly parted and it looks like she might even be chewing some gum.

The book tilts down as Trevor comes to a stop in front of her. Her pupils grow behind her eyelashes. Trevor blames it on the shadow he cast on her face when he stood in front of the light.

Trevor clears his throat and inches his book between her elbows, patting both hands on the bottom edges of the cover. He watches himself do it, centering the book perfectly. Then, he looks up into Honey’s eyes.

He lathers on his best charm and says with a smile, “I’m here to return my book.”

Honey stares at him, quirking an eyebrow.

Trevor continues, voice soft and prodding, “See? I can be good, you didn’t have to chase me down.”

Honey blinks up at him, then breathes out a high laugh. She covers her mouth as it grows louder, muffling it as much as she can. “Oh my God,” she marvels, hand shaking as she places her index finger on the tip of her nose. “Is that how you treat your girls in California? Do they fall for that?”

Trevor’s smile drops and he glares at her. “Thanks. Can you point me in the direction of another book? I want to check out Alexander and the No Good, Terrible, Very Bad Day, please. I need to plagiarize it but change Alexander’s name to Trevor.”

He pushes the book towards her and she flinches back, offense splashing across her face at the movement. Trevor clenches his jaw and steps away. He watches her face sour, growing deadly.

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to take it out on me,” Honey snaps back.

Trevor just scoffs and shakes his head and leaves the store. Bea never stopped holding the door, but she makes sure to slam it behind him in celebration.

Is it that fucking laughable? His affection is something to make fun of, something to tease. It’s obvious. He really never stood a chance.

When they go to the golf course later, Trevor drills the ball farther than he’s ever driven it before.

12:90 – HONEY

It’s National Chocolate Ice Cream and National Donut Days. Honey promised Jack she’d bring donuts to the house tonight.

She doesn’t want to. She really doesn’t want to see Trevor. She pales at the fact that she was ready to be nice to him until he turned against her. It was disgusting, the way his eyes rolled in annoyance.

But she made a promise to Jack, and she likes to be with Cole, and Quinn is a sweet guy, so it can’t be that bad. It can’t be. She’ll hang out with them, maybe even get to know Luke. Bea can come, and probably fuck Quinn again, ask him if she can put his dick through the donut hole.

That makes Honey laugh enough to push away the panic that comes with seeing that version of Trevor again. He was like– an entitled rich boy, very… West Coast surfer bro. It makes her shudder. She doesn’t want to see that again.

It makes her think of the look her father gave her after she handed him the last check for the mountain house. He was protecting himself. He couldn’t show her he was sad. Bea insists that he was, that he couldn’t be that apathetic. Honey wishes desperately for that to be true.

She opens her eyes, staring at herself in the vanity mirror in Bea’s bedroom. She lifts her chin and takes a deep breath, evaluating the gold eyeliner Bea coated on her waterline, into a neat little cat-ear. She shakes her hair out, watching it catch the light, and clears her throat.

“You okay over there?” Bea asks, adjusting the pastel yellow strapless maxi dress on her chest. “You look rattled.”

“It’s nothing,” Honey deflects.

“Baby-Honey, you haven’t been yourself since Quinn and I left the Nook the other night,” Bea muses, walking to stand behind Honey and run her fingers through her hair. “What’s up?”

Honey shakes her head again, causing Bea to pull back. Honey stands. She plasters a smile on her face and makes eye contact with Bea. “Absolutely nothing,” she chirps. “Let’s go.”

She’s struck by how different her outfit is than Bea’s. Her best friend is in a dress with cute clogs, earrings in her pierced holes and everything. Honey’s got on a homemade muscle tee, sleeves ripped off after cutting a small hole and a faded Nascar graphic on the front. You can’t even read the number anymore. The car could be 15, 16, 18, 19… she doesn’t know. She’s wearing those little biking shorts under the tee- barely peeking out due to its length. She looks like a slob. Bea looks regal.

Good. Why would Honey really need to impress anyone? She’s even only wearing this makeup because Bea wanted to try out her new palette. Honey has no one to impress.

Not fucking dipshit, angry Trevor, that’s for sure.

She grabs the box of donuts from Bea’s counter and stomps out to the car, biting her tongue so she doesn’t jostle the donuts too much as she holds the dozen with one hand and opens the door with the other.

It’s Honey’s car, but Bea drives there, cradling the new bottle of red wine that she picked up at the liquor store before it closed for the evening like a baby. “It pairs well with chocolate,” Bea explained to Honey when she first revealed it.

They drive to the house with the windows up, one of Bea’s cutesy new girl-pop songs on the radio. She sings quietly and Honey smiles as her friend enjoys herself. Eventually, she picks up on the chorus and begins to sing along. Bea puts it on repeat and they sing together, up until they pull into the driveway and Bea turns the car off, drawing the key out of the ignition. She hands the key to Honey, who drops it in her purse.

She adjusts the bralette beneath her muscle tee, then grabs the donut box and follows Bea into the house.

The wood isn’t any less jarring the second time. The boys have also never heard of mood lighting before, since each switch is set to its brightest setting. Honey squints into the brightness. Someone peeks out of the kitchen at the sound of the door opening and shutting and Honey is relieved to see that it’s Quinn. He waves them over.

Bea flutters over like a butterfly, kissing Quinn on the cheek as Honey turns the corner. She places the donuts on the counter near the island, across from Cole and Jack. Trevor is on the other end of the counter, the third seat down. She makes sure to place it out of his reach.

“I brought wine,” Bea tells Quinn, handing him the bottle. She starts to open drawers and rifle around for a bottle opener.

Honey finds it on the counter and waves it at Bea, catching her attention with a whistle. She tosses it to the girl, Bea catching it with both hands and grinning like she’d won an egg toss.

“Who wants some?” Bea asks. “We have to kill this bottle in record time.”

“Record time? Who needs that,” Jack laughs. “We should make a game out of it. Spin the bottle? Truth or dare?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Okay, Rom-Com,” Bea laughs. “You think that’s such a good idea?”

“Sounds like a great idea to me,” Jack says. “I think we all need to bond more, and playing a game is one of the best ways to bond.”

“Hmm,” Bea hums, tapping her finger against her chin. She turns toward Quinn and scrunches her nose at him. “It couldn’t hurt?”

“No.” He leans down and pecks her lips. “Could be fun for you.”

“What should we play?” Bea asks, turning back to Jack. She takes a few steps back, until she’s wrapped up in Quinn’s arms with her back plastered against his chest.

“Just Truth or Dare, probably. And if you don’t want to do your thing, then you can drink from the bottle. When we finish the bottle, we can have a little Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Jack shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but it’s clear that he thought this out.

Bea and Honey look to each other. “So frat,” Bea says knowingly as Honey grumbles, “Spin the rapist.”

Bea reacts to Honey’s comment and snorts out a laugh, shaking her head at the reference. 13 Going on 30 has been Honey’s favorite rom-com for years, since they first watched it when they were teens. The impact Billy Joel’s Vienna had on Honey since first watching the film is unquantifiable.

“Okay, Jack,” Bea decides. “In that case, you get to go first. Truth or Dare?”

“Obviously dare,” Jack laughs out.

Honey stifles a giggle as Cole rolls his eyes and finally opens the box of donuts, looking at each of them before choosing one. She joins him on that side of the counter, able to watch Bea and Quinn cuddle up to each other and fortunately removing Trevor from her line of sight.

“Strawberry with sprinkles, huh?” Honey asks. “I didn’t peg you as a pink boy.”

“I love pink,” Cole replies through a mouthful of donut. “Hi, Barbie, and all that. Trev made some good tarts the other day that were strawberry, too.”

Honey chuckles, then chooses her own donut– a caramel one with brownie crumbles on the top. She had asked Mark, the man who runs the small bakery near The Reading Nook, for an assorted dozen and he had given her some of his best work for the price of a plain glazed dozen. If she had revealed that the extras would probably go to the boys’ house, Mark likely wouldn’t have given her that discount.

He likes his beers, and the boys keep buying up pack after pack from the grocery store, and Mark is left with the scraps. He told Honey that he’s looking forward to the end of the summer, when he’s the only man showing up at the store twice a week to get his beer. They restock it just for him.

That’s not to say he’s the only man in the town that drinks, but he’s the man who has the most opinions about different kinds of beer and how it’s made– a funny trait for someone who works with wheat and flour just as often as a beermaster.

“I dare you…” Bea trails off, tapping her index finger to her lips and looking around the room. She spots a broom hanging near the laundry room, a little offset from the kitchen. She points to it. “Oooh, you have to give us a little sexy pole dance around that thing.”

Quinn laughs into Bea’s hair at her dare, watching carefully as Jack looks between the broom and the wine bottle. Eventually, he shrugs.

“Yeah, why not?” Jack agrees, pushing away from the counter and grabbing the broom off the wall. He holds it out in front of him and evaluates it, the bristles pushing against the floor. “Huh. This would be easier if I had music.”

Luke laughs quietly. He crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows at Jack, waiting to see how this plays out.

“I don’t really want to see this,” Honey whispers to Cole, a joking tone in her voice.

“Oh, but how can you look away?” Cole asks, taking another bite of his donut. “It’s like a car wreck.”

“It really is,” Honey agrees, laughing as Jack starts to circle the broom, then howling along with the rest of the room when he drops low and spreads his knees, bucking his hips forward.

“That’s enough,” Cole exclaims, holding his stomach and laughing so hard that he’s almost bent at the waist. His forehead almost rests on the counter.

Honey pats him on the back, rubbing his shoulder as it shakes.

She catches Trevor’s eyes over Cole’s back, over Jack’s abandoned seat. They’re dark and she notices that his own laughter has stopped. She pulls her hand away from Cole and takes a step back, putting distance between them like she’s been burned.

Trevor blinks, then looks away.

Honey suddenly realizes that he hasn’t said anything since she and Bea got here. Her lips part to say something– what, she’s not sure– but she changes her mind and looks away.

She’s not the only one who’s noticed, though.

“Z,” Jack says, hanging the broom back up on the wall. “Truth or Dare?”

“I’ll take a dare too, I guess,” Trevor says.

Jack smiles, devilishly. His eyes turn to Honey and for a moment, her heart stops as she thinks of all the things Jack could make Trevor do– all the things that she’s sure involve her. She shakes her head and looks away, missing the way Jack’s smile deflates and Trevor’s jaw clenches.

“You gotta give Cole a foot massage, my friend,” Jack decides, clasping his hands together.

Cole fist pumps, kicking off his house shoes. “This is the best day ever,” Cole says. “I get donuts and a foot massage?” He raises his leg, pointing his toes and reaching out towards Trevor with them.

“Get that away from me,” Trevor snaps, leaning back in his chair as Cole’s foot begins to encroach on his personal space. “Let me see that wine.”

Luke passes him the bottle and Bea tosses him the bottle opener, which she was still holding onto. Honey thinks she had the full intention of opening it herself, but she’s too comfortable in Quinn’s arms to move at the moment.

Ew.

Trevor pulls the cork from the bottle deftly and drinks straight from the spout, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Honey watches it move. When he wrenches the bottle away, his bottom lip is stained purple. Honey feels her eyes go wide, but she manages to school her face before anyone notices.

Hopefully.

“Bea,” Trevor says.

“Hmm,” Bea hums in acknowledgement, looking at the hair on Quinn’s arms wrapped around her chest.

“Truth or Dare?”

“I’ll dare,” Bea decides.

“Let Quinn go through your phone for a minute,” Trevor says.

“A minute?” Bea laughs. “He won’t be able to do anything on there.” She dips her hand into the waistband of her top, just under her armpit, and digs out her phone. She hands it over to Quinn after unlocking it.

He scrolls along, holding the screen out in front of Bea so that she can see what he’s doing. They laugh about something, she cringes at something else, and Quinn kisses her cheek when she blushes. He shuts the phone off after a minute, true to the dare, and slides it into his back pocket. One of his hands makes its way to her hip, crossing over her stomach to rest there. The other remains across her shoulder, sweeping along her collarbones and holding her flush against him.

“Q,” Bea sighs. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” he says into her ear, voice low.

“What’s the worst thing you would do if you became invisible for a day?” Bea asks. “Like the most corrupt thing. I find it hard to believe you have a bad bone in your body.” She pushes her hips back, quirking her eyebrows as she does.

Honey notices that Jack’s drinking her in, like her wiggling hips are a show for him.

“That’s a good question,” Quinn says, both hands flush on Bea’s hips now, dragging her movement to a stop. “I don’t know. It’s not bad, really, but I’d probably just blow off all my responsibilities and go out on the boat for the day. Drive myself around a bit, have lunch under the sun.” He shrugs. “Not think about hockey for a few hours.”

Bea pats his chest and tilts her head up to kiss the corner of his jaw. “You’re very dangerous, Quinn.”

“Very,” Quinn agrees. “So now it’s my turn to pick?”

“Yeah,” Bea says. “Don’t act like you don’t know how to play the game. You’re not that sheltered from the world. You had a life outside of hockey.”

Honey wonders when they had all this time to talk about hockey. She guesses it was some kind of pillow talk, knowing how Bea operates, trying to keep her man talking into the early hours of the morning. She always has so many questions and wants to know everything about everyone.

“Lukey, Truth or Dare?” Quinn asks.

Cole shakes his head and nudges Honey’s shoulder. “Always picked last, you and me, huh?”

Honey smiles at him and rolls her eyes.

Luke decides on truth as well, just like his oldest brother. Of course he does. Honey hasn’t seen much from Luke, but it’s obvious he’s not a “dare” kind of guy. At least, not while she and Bea are there. Maybe he’s more outgoing when it’s just him and the boys.

“Okay, be honest,” Quinn reminds Luke with a smile and a shared look at Jack. “What did you and that girl do last summer when you went upstairs and locked yourselves in Mom and Dad’s room?”

Honey’s jaw drops, mirroring the expression on Bea’s face. The rest of the boys break out in laughter, especially Jack.

“Yeah, Lukey,” Jack teases. “First, second, or third?”

Luke blushes to the roots of his hair and opens his mouth multiple times, with nothing coming out.

“Don’t tell me you went all the way to home base,” Quinn adds, his smile wide and wolfish. “In Mom and Dad’s bed?”

Luke looks absolutely tormented, miserable at the question. Honey can tell that they’ve been ragging on him about this since it happened and he’s desperately trying to maintain his dignity.

“Have a sip of the wine, Luke,” Honey comforts him. “You don’t need to be the guy who kisses and tells.”

Luke nods, sheepish and red to the tips of his ears, reaching forward to take the wine bottle from in front of Trevor.

The boys boo and try to cajole him into revealing rather than drinking, and Honey for that matter for her role in the turn of events, but Bea shushes them with a finger to her lips.

“You’re all acting like cavemen,” Bea admonishes. She turns to Luke. “I think it’s sweet that you’re keeping your private matters to yourself. That’s very respectful of yourself and the girl. Good job, Lukey.”

Honey smiles and giggles when Luke blushes red again and takes another sip of the wine after quietly stammering out a “Thank you.” He clears his throat and rubs a hand through his curls, making them messier than before. “Cole?”

Honey’s not even surprised that he doesn’t pick her or Bea. She wouldn’t be surprised if he couldn’t even look at them without blushing again.

It was unfair for the boys to bring up the past, especially since he doesn’t want to share.

“Dare, buddy,” Cole replies, cool and confident. His cheeks are dimpling as he waits for Luke to think of a dare.

“You should eat the rest of your donut out of someone’s mouth,” Luke suggests.

“Whose?” Cole asks, waving the last few bites out to everyone. “Bea?”

“Honey,” Jack corrects with a glance at Trevor.

Honey puts her hands up in front of her and she and Bea open their mouths at the same time, but Trevor beats them to it.

“She’s allergic to strawberry,” Trevor states. His voice is hard. “She can’t do the dare with Cole.”

“Why don’t you do it, Jack?” Bea asks. “Since you’re so willing to volunteer others for the job. Why not volunteer yourself?”

“Cuz I don’t want to Lady and the Tramp with Cole,” Jack replies, making a face.

Honey doesn’t really like how Trevor jumped in and corrected Jack like she wasn’t even in the room with them. “I can do it,” she decides. “But we just have to finish my donut instead.”

“Yes!” Cole celebrates, raising his hand to high five Honey. “You and me, dude!”

Honey lets out a little laugh at that, raising her hand to slap it against Cole’s. She bites down on the end of her donut, holding most of it out far enough for Cole to take it between his teeth. He’s not going to kiss her or anything. Honey just has a feeling in her gut that Cole isn’t the kind to take advantage of a situation like that, and plus, she and Cole have a friendlier relationship. He has to understand that.

Honey looks over his shoulder at Trevor, who is watching her with steely eyes. He’s rigid in his seat. He doesn’t understand, not in the way Honey and Cole do.

He takes in a deep breath, pinching his lips shut as Cole leans closer to Honey, taking a good ¾ of the last of her donut before pulling away. The dough rips in a weird way, leaving a bite dangling from the right side of his mouth. He smiles wide and gives Honey another high five. Trevor lets out a breath when Cole leans back in his chair and finishes chewing Honey’s donut.

“Mm, that’s good,” Cole tells her. “What flavor was that?”

“Caramel with brownie,” Honey says, chewing her own bite.

Cole nods in approval. “Can’t leave my buddy hanging,” he says. “Truth or Dare, Honey?”

“I’ll do a dare too,” Honey says. It’s an easy choice. She loves a good truth, but almost everyone has done dare, and she’s never one to back down from a challenge.

It seemed like a safe choice too, with Cole choosing what Honey is supposed to do. Until he opens his stupid mouth.

“I’m gonna pull out our whipped cream bottle and I think you’re gonna have to lick it off someone,” Cole announces, jumping down from his perch behind the counter and rounding the island to the fridge. He pulls out the red can and shakes it, uncapping it.

Honey watches, knowing exactly her luck, as Cole points from man to man saying “Eeny, Meeny, Miney… Mo.” His finger, and the nozzle of the whipped cream can, land on Trevor. “Shirt off, Z.” Cole lifts the whipped cream bottle to his mouth and sprays a little bit onto his tongue.

Honey feels frozen. Her feet are stuck in cement at the corner of the island and she eventually has to put her hand on the counter to ground herself. Her eyes flicker to Bea’s, wide like cornered prey. Bea meets her there.

In that split second, it’s like they have a conversation. Honey can’t describe the thoughts that fly between them, given how quick they pass.

With a slight shrug of one shoulder, Bea leaves it up to Honey. She could end it, take a sip of the wine if that’s what she wants. Honey isn’t even sure what she wants to do. She doesn’t– she doesn’t.– want to lick whipped cream off of Trevor. She doesn’t want her tongue to be that close to his body.

And yet, she finds herself nodding when she meets Trevor’s eyes. He waits until she does to pull off his shirt, revealing skin that makes Honey feel even more sluggish. She takes a moment to drink in his tan skin, adorned with his tattoos on his arms. Her eyes zero in on the delicate words on his ribs and she feels her lips part in surprise. Her fingers twitch at her sides, begging to reach out and trace over the script.

NO.

Not Trevor.

Yes, Trevor.

“I have a vision,” Cole announces, pulling Honey from her thoughts. He takes Honey’s hand and pulls her over towards the inside of the island. “Hop up.”

She follows his directions, skin crawling with anticipation for what’s coming next. She can’t believe she agreed to do this– with Trevor. With Trevor. The skin is cool against the tops of her thighs and she’s very aware of the way her muscle tee falls around her waist and reveals the edge of her bralette, and the skin around her middle. She clenches her fists as much as she can, fingers rounded around the edge of the counter. She doesn’t want to seem freaked out. She’s not going to be the girl who messes up the game and doesn’t go through with their dare.

Cole nudges the whipped cream can against one of her hands until she turns it over and takes it, feeling the cool aluminum in her hand. “Z, come stand in front of her.”

Honey hears him, refusing to turn around and look at him as he gets down from his chair and make his way over to Honey. She hears the movements loud as day, like there’s nothing else in the room except Trevor and her racing heart.

Trevor stations himself between Honey’s knees, resting his hands on either side of her legs. Her eyes are level with his here, on the counter, and she tries to ignore the thrill that his proximity sends down her spine.

“Alright.” Cole claps his hands and smiles. “You ready, Honey?”

Honey turns her head and takes a sharp inhale. “Yeah.”

She keeps her words short so her voice doesn’t shake.

“Why don’t you put some whipped cream on his collarbones for me, yeah?”

Bea’s mouth drops at Cole’s words, still in Quinn’s grasp. Honey has to stifle a giggle at her reaction.

Honey presses her lips together and refocuses, hand shaking as she brings the can up to Trevor’s clavicles, startling herself at the sound when she pushes the trigger down to release the whip. She makes a tiny squeak, an embarrassing noise that has her closing her eyes.

Trevor’s thumb moves closer and nudges her thigh.

Honey looks up, her eyes meeting his. Her breath is caught in her throat. His eyes are no longer steely and guarded. They’re soft and they’re searching her eyes for something.

His thumb starts to move against her skin and she jumps, wrenching her eyes away from Trevor’s and quickly spreading another line of whipped cream on his other collarbone. She’d do anything to be able to ignore the pit in her stomach and the heat that is very rapidly filling it.

She turns to Cole, holding the can out to him.

Cole raises his eyebrows. He raises his hands. “You’re not done yet.”

Bea twists in Quinn’s arms, staring up at him with an affronted, offended, betrayed look on her face. Honey can tell exactly what she wants to scream: “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Honey’s jaw drops a little, then she clenches her jaw and takes the can back, cradling it on her thigh. It leaves a round circle when she picks it up again.

“From his belly button to his sternum.” Cole’s voice is hard and definite, but not mean. Honey wonders how long he’s been thinking about this, probably doing it at Trevor’s bidding. The only problem is, Trevor looked just as unaware as her and Bea. Just as unaware as the other boys– at least, the two in front of her.

Honey takes it back. Cole is her least favorite.

She sprays the whipped cream, grinding her teeth as she sees Trevor’s stomach muscles jump at the sensation. His hand comes to the top of her thigh, index finger tracing the ring of the can. Honey’s not even sure that he’s breathing. She’s not sure she is, either.

“His nipples,” Cole commands with a cheeky smile, looking past Honey and Trevor to Jack.

Honey whips her head around and looks at the other boy, smirking at Cole. He makes eye contact with Honey and raises his eyebrows, wiggling them like a devil. She almost wants to throw the can of whip at him, then pounce on Cole and take out his knees.

She scowls and dispenses a small amount of whip on each of Trevor’s nipples. He hisses at the cold and she looks up to check on him without a thought, only realizing what she’s done when his eyes meet hers.

“It’s fine,” Trevor breathes out. “Just cold.”

“Okay,” Honey replies, hoping he could even hear her. The statement might’ve died in the air between them and never reached his ears.

The can of whip starts to sputter like it’s running out, so Honey gives it a shake. She goes to set it down on the counter next to her, but Cole stops her again.

She’s going to break every single one of his fingers.

“One more,” Cole says with a nod and a lick of his lips. “Open up, Trev.”

“No,” Honey forces out. She’s just as taken aback by the word as Cole is– her refusal cut through the air like it was broadcast through the bluetooth speakers that run through the home. She takes a shaky deep breath, pushing away the image of her licking into Trevor’s mouth to get her final mouthful of whip. “Sorry. No.”

She refuses to look Trevor in the eye after that.

“That’s okay,” Cole says. He shrugs, not deterred. “His nose. Just the tip. Like Rudolph.”

That, Honey can do.

She uses the last little bit to cover the tip of Trevor’s nose, focusing on the line of his nose and the recently shaved skin above his top lip instead of the eyes that she can feel are boring into her face.

Finally, she sets the empty can down with a rattle and flicks her hair over her shoulder, facing Cole.

“Can I go?” She asks, hoping she sounds sassy and bored rather than freaked out, like how she is on the inside. She feels like her brain is on fire, completely fried and burning from the inside out. Her heart is pounding loud in her ears and her cheeks are stained red.

“Start in the middle, then go down. Lick it off his nose last.”

Honey closes her eyes to calm herself, but she hears a slap of a hand against skin. She can only imagine that Bea reached out and slapped Cole’s arm– the yelp from the blonde and soft laugh from Quinn being tell-tale signs while Honey breathes.

Trevor’s hand drops from her thigh and he takes a step back, putting a little space between them.

Honey’s eyes snap open and they flash at Trevor’s. Where hers were once panicked and his were seeking, they seem to have completely switched roles now. Trevor’s fingertips still touch the counter next to Honey and their absence, but their closeness, feels like frostbite on Honey’s skin. It turns to steam against her fiery cheeks, releasing air into the space between them in time with Honey’s exhale.

His breath catches in his throat and Honey sees the whipped cream start to drip from his stomach.

In an instant, right as the dollop of cream starts to separate from the rest of its line, Honey finds herself sliding off the counter to her knees to catch it in her mouth.

Her lips slide against Trevor’s skin, the muscles contracting and his happy trail brushing her bottom lip as she mouths over the sticky trail marking Trevor’s stomach.

She looks up, up to Trevor’s face. He’s already looking at her with nothing but shock on his face, his mouth open and his eyes wild. His chest is heaving, trembling between breaths.

Oh my God.

Honey’s gaze drops back to his skin, then finds that unbearable to look at as she rises up to his sternum. She can make out edges of the script on his ribs in her peripheral vision and squeezes her eyelids shut. She quickly realizes that she can’t navigate up Trevor’s body on feel alone. She has to look.

Fuck.

She opens her eyes and finishes her path up to his sternum. She carefully licks the whipped cream off Trevor’s nipples, trying not to come into contact with them too much. She can’t just lick Trevor’s nipples. It’s not the same as if…

Trevor was licking whipped cream off of her nipples.

She forces the image away, like she’s spraying an asteroid with a fire extinguisher.

Honey rises to his collarbones, mouthing over the sharp edges and dipping her tongue inside the pooled skin to get every drop.

She pulls away, barely, aiming to zero in on the dollop on Trevor’s nose, but fails. She finds herself face to face with Trevor, who still has the same expression on his face. His eyebrows are quirked, he can’t stop licking his lips between breaths, and he’s practically vibrating in front of Honey with the ache to stay still.

She suddenly feels fabric under her fingers and looks down, jaw dropping at the sight of her index fingers sneaking under his waistband, nestled snugly like they’ve made a home there. She wrenches them away, clutching the bottom of her muscle tee instead.

She doesn’t move far, Trevor’s fingers like stone against the skin of her waist. Trevor’s fingers like stone against the skin of her waist. Honey heaves a breath in, stepping away from him and his fingers’ trembling brush against the lace band of her bralette. She gulps.

Trevor’s fingers catch on the bottom edge of her sleeves, or lack thereof, and her shirt ripples against her twisting stomach as the digits fall lamely to his sides.

Honey knows that her eyes mirror Trevor’s now, matching instead of swapping roles like previously. They’re both wild and racing away from each other in their minds, but unable to look away. They’re tripping over their feet and running like there’s something chasing them, but their eyes are fixed on each others’ like they’re running towards each other in a starry reunion.

Honey wants. She’s overcome with this desire, so much so that she can’t even describe it. She just wants. She aches to go back in time and place the dollop of whipped cream on Trevor’s tongue instead and loses herself for a moment before the panic reminds her:

She’s not looking for that.

“You got a little something there,” Honey says, quiet and ashamed and a bit like the kid who does get picked last every time, reaching up to wipe the whipped cream off Trevor’s nose with her thumb. She licks the white dessert off her own skin, stepping away from Trevor. He’s following her, turning with her as she moves away. His own fingers twitch at his sides, one of his thumbs actually making its way up and hovering over the place where Honey’s index fingers rested on his waistband.

She looks at Bea, tearing her eyes away from Trevor like a physical rip of a picture. She opens her mouth and locks her eyes with Bea’s, tilting her face so it’s slightly pointed towards the front hall. She chokes back a haggard gasp, feeling her throat start to grow sore with a teary ache.

I need to go. Please. Come with me. Be there for me. Please.

Bea untangles herself from Quinn’s arms, letting them drop to his sides without another thought. She eyes Cole and Jack, gaze piercing and hard, but it softens as it slides back to Honey.

“Goodnight, boys,” she bids, taking Honey’s arm and escorting them both to the door.

A duet of goodbyes follow them from Quinn and Luke, but the jarring silence that echoes from the kitchen afterward scars Honey while Bea wrenches open the front door. It’s the same silence that surrounds them in Honey’s car.

She shivers in the passenger seat. Bea plucked the keys from Honey’s purse without asking and loaded them in the car, getting behind the wheel. She holds Honey’s hand over the middle console, fingers intertwined and heavy. She drives one-handed, her hair whipping her face. She hates to mess it up. Honey is grateful for the fresh air that chips at her face. It dries up the tear that escapes from the corner of her eye.

Bea stays over. She cuddles Honey under the covers, clinging to Honey’s arm like a koala. Honey lies on her back and stares at the ceiling for hours. Bea is asleep, or close to it, next to her. The even breaths help her to regulate her own, enough that she can speak.

“It was like–” Honey gasps, pressing a hand to her chest as a breath escapes her like it was punched out. She centers herself. “We were back in Charlotte.”

“I know,” Bea breathes out, eyes still closed. She wraps one of her legs under Honey’s, her knee bent under Honey’s own, and her ankle crossing over Honey’s.

“I felt– seventeen.”

“I know,” Bea repeats, her eyes fluttering open. Her hand comes up to rest on Honey’s own, monitoring the rise and fall of her own chest. Her heart is slowing and her gulps of air are less frequent. She’s fine.

“I’m not looking for that,” Honey mumbles, shaking the words out of her mouth.

Bea just takes a deep breath at that, pressing her forehead into Honey’s temple.

“It’s okay if you are.”

Honey’s bottom lip quivers and she starts to leak tears, Bea’s reassurance turning the faucet and making the water flow. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Bea replies. Simple. Easy. No hesitation. Like there’s no other option.

“I came here to leave that behind me.” Honey squeezes her eyes shut, ashamed at the hot trails making their way down to her chin. “Not to, just, repeat it with some guy who’s leaving anyway.”

“Do you really see yourself as someone who’s going to be alone forever?” Bea wipes the tears from Honey’s cheeks with the hand that used to rest on her chest. “You love so hard, Honey. You need someone to give that to. It weighs on you.”

Honey shakes, turning so her body faces Bea’s. She reaches out and buries her face in Bea’s shoulder.

Bea pets her hair. “He likes you.”

Honey nods.

“You feel– something.”

Honey sniffs, but nods again.

“I think it’s time you turn to face all of that,” Bea teases, her voice soft enough and just a little mocking of Honey’s words, the way only a best friend does when you’re crying into their shoulder.

Honey pulls her face away and breathes out a little laugh and quirks a shy smile at Bea. She reaches up and pushes her hair away from her face. She wipes under her eyes with both thumbs, shaking the wetness away and laughing for real.

“Elephants are kind of big, huh?” Honey replies, sniffing between giggles. “Hard to ignore?”

Bea nods, tears prickling at the edges of her own eyes.

The girls stare at each other and giggle, a fresh round of tears staining their cheeks. Honey’s hand slaps at her own chest, knocking at her heart like a concerned parent at a teen’s door.

Honey can breathe again. She uses her lungs to make her laughs louder, harder. She curls into Bea’s hug, squirming on the bed together. They calm down eventually, and their eyes meet for a final time in the dark.

“I just– Trevor?” Honey giggles. “Really?”

“Love at first sight,” Bea snickers back sarcastically.

Honey waves a finger in Bea’s face. “That’s a little dramatic,” Honey corrects. She scoffs to herself. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Okay,” Bea agrees, shrugging. “Let me know.”

They’re quiet for a minute, smiling at each other. Honey rolls her eyes and turns over, facing the ceiling again. Bea cuddles back into her, latching onto Honey’s arm in her koala-way.

“I invited them to our lake day tomorrow,” Bea announces just as Honey starts to fall asleep. She nudges her nose against Honey’s bicep. “You can see if you still feel the same way then.”

Honey inhales and holds the breath, eyes opening and focusing on the ceiling again.

Bea’s breaths even out and she falls asleep, but Honey barely manages to close her eyes before the clock flips to the dreaded “tomorrow.”

13:90 – TREVOR

Trevor hasn’t been fully soft since the first moment he stood between Honey’s legs last night. It’s proving to be a problem.

First, she had bolted from the house looking no better than a wild deer in the midst of a hunt, leaving Trevor standing with the ghost of her fingers in his waistband and a cock so hard that he could feel the blood rushing through it.

Second, Cole and Jack had laughed at him for his very prominent hard-on when the girls left. It was their idea to have this stupid drinking game in the first place, and Cole’s bossiness that had set Trevor up. They had to have planned this out in advance.

Third, the cold shower he took right after Honey left hadn’t even done anything for him. Sure, it had caused his erection to flag briefly, just long enough that he could let out a breath and delude himself into thinking the moment was over.

His biggest problem is that each time he closes his eyes, he’s confronted with the vision of Honey on her knees below him. He can feel her tongue licking up his stomach and chest. He can feel the pressure of her fingertips against his skin.

It’s pure torture.

Trevor has never felt more torn. He spent all of the last few days believing what Quinn said to him– that he doesn’t have a chance with Honey. He convinced himself to accept that he would only ever be her friend. Other than her dare last night, Honey made no moves to talk to Trevor or acknowledge him at all.

He’s confused. How on Earth can you go from ignoring Trevor to looking up at him, cheeks slightly hollowed as she laps up the whipped cream covering him, as if she were blowing his dick?

Fuck.

Trevor presses his palms to his eyes and leans his head back, causing the rocking chair he’s sitting in to wobble beneath him.

He was barely able to sleep last night and found that fresh air helped, so he sat out on the balcony. He watched the sunrise, barely conscious of the passage of time. He was trapped in an endless loop of Honey, on her knees. Honey, removing the cream from his nipples with a careful touch of her tongue. Honey, mouthing over his collarbones and sliding her fingers into his waistband like she wanted to touch him.

He’s helpless.

Trevor blinks and stares out into the woods, the dew from the morning making the wood of his balcony wet and shimmery. He feels… despondent, really. Like he’s tied to reality by a thin string of dread that accompanies his confusion.

The fact is, she doesn’t want him. Anyone would’ve gotten lost in the moment.

He knows that if any of the boys were in his position, they wouldn’t have been better off– Jack would’ve damn near come in his pants, Cole would have giggled because he’s ticklish and still would have found a way to get the girl to kiss him at the end, Luke would’ve frozen and would’ve spent the night in the same spot near the counter, replaying it over and over again.

Quinn might be the only one left who would have a shred of dignity after a whipped cream encounter, and only because he’s been keeping up with Bea so well.

Ugh, and Bea’s name brings another problem to mind.

Trevor can’t bail on the lake trip that Bea invited them on when she stayed over the other night. The boys have been so excited, so ready to rent out a boat and a wakeboard so they can surf. They’ve been planning the trip meticulously, down to the minute. Trevor knows that he can’t bail because he’s the only one with Bea’s phone number– something she refuses to give out to the other boys, for some fucking reason. She won’t even rattle it off for Quinn to put into his phone– it would make the light night booty calls a little easier, Trevor thinks.

Not that they’ve had that many. Just the two. Trevor was expecting a third last night, but with the way Honey ran out of the house…

Fuck, it was no surprise Bea went with her.

Honey looked rattled to her core, staring down at her hands and back up at Trevor like she had never seen them, or him, before in her life. She had guarded herself almost immediately, stepping away and flicking the whip off Trevor’s nose rather than licking it off and completing her bet.

It’s Cole’s fault, and yet Trevor can’t help but feel responsible for the panic in Honey’s eyes and the abrupt end of the night.

He can’t talk to her today. He can’t sit on the boat and see her in her little swimsuit. He wants her so badly– and not just to see if she really looks that ethereal when her lips are wrapped around his dick.

He wants to talk about Leaving Orbit with her, the book she recommended that he so clearly enjoyed, even despite his bad mood the other day. He wants to poke fun at the other boys with her, team up to get revenge for that dare that made the air so tense between them. He wants to cuddle up next to her on the couch, pull her into his lap, and watch Shark Week documentaries and the Olympics later in the summer. He wants to hold her hand.

He has never wanted anything like this from any woman before. It’s never been this bad.

But he can’t have it– Trevor can tell that there’s something nagging at Honey. Maybe he’s too similar to an ex-boyfriend, or someone else that she doesn’t have the fondest of feelings for. Maybe she truly believes her little quips about his California lifestyle, and she can’t see herself with someone like that.

God, maybe she looked him up. He’s never had the best attitude on the ice, especially when he gets frustrated. He knows he’s a good player. He wants to show that off. He knows that sometimes, it comes at the expense of his team. He’s heard it all too well from the staff, from his coaches, from his teammates.

He’s dreading today.

Trevor can’t even hide from it up on the balcony. Yeah, anyone who entered his bedroom wouldn’t be able to see him. His bed is perfectly made up, untouched from the night before. He was so frazzled last night that he cleaned his room, just to regain some order in his life. For all they would know, he disappeared– and yet, Cole manages to spot him below, from the chairs near the fire pit in the yard.

“There you are!” Cole exclaims, brandishing his spoon at Trevor. He looks down at his shorts for a split second. Trevor can only assume a drop of milk from his cereal splashed on his lap. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Yeah, you tried really hard,” Trevor replies, an edge to his voice. He still hasn’t forgiven Cole, or Jack for that matter, for their ploy last night.

Cole’s face falls, then he shakes his head. “Are you ready for the lake or what?” His voice starts to mirror Trevor’s.

“All I need to do is put my fucking swimsuit on,” Trevor snaps. He stands from the rocking chair.

Somehow, the meanest retort Cole can think of is “Don’t forget to bring your sunscreen!” like a nagging mother who’s just one complaint away from sending her child to his room. His words clash with the slam of Trevor’s sliding door.

Trevor grumbles to himself as he changes into one of the swimsuits he packed for himself, only ever really planning to use it in the hot tub. He’s excited, deep down, that they get to go to the lake and do some of the stuff that they usually do at the Michigan house. God, he can’t shake the Honey problem.

He does pack his sunscreen, the face lotion and body spray that he picked up last week at the grocery store when he and Jack wanted to lay out by the rink and tan. He even grabs the browning lotion he bought for pale ol’ Luke. It smells like bananas and coconuts.

Trudging downstairs, Trevor finds himself back at the scene of the crime. Instead of Honey on the counter, it’s the cooler, and instead of Trevor in front of her, it’s Quinn transferring beers from the fridge.

He chuckles when Trevor stops and stares at the cooler on the counter.

“Thinking about something?” He asks. Trevor scowls when Quinn’s eyes pointedly drop to Trevor’s crotch and the semi that he’s, once again, sporting.

“Shut up,” Trevor growls, adjusting himself in his swim shorts. He clasps his hands in front of him, shielding himself from Quinn’s knowing smile.

Quinn shrugs and goes back to transferring beers to the cooler.

Trevor steals a piece of ice and chews it, hoping to cool himself off. He makes himself a little bowl of cereal and scarfs it down. He checks the clock. It’s almost time to leave.

Fuck.

Bea’s picking them up in the truck she’s borrowing from Earl (only because Vera offered it up to them) in ten minutes. She and Honey are going to ride in the cab, while the boys are supposed to ride in the bed of the truck. It’s legal in North Carolina, apparently. Plus, it’s just a fifteen minute drive. The lake isn’t too far from their house. Trevor barely remembers reading about it on the AirBnB website when he booked the rental for the summer, but the host had referred to the place as a “reservoir” rather than a lake. Semantics. They don’t matter.

He takes a deep breath, still not sure how to feel about seeing Honey again. He answers a couple questions from Quinn about how many beers he wants (a lot), if he has a towel for the lake (no, but Quinn can grab him one from the hall closet), and why he’s sulking so much (he doesn’t want to talk about it).

The minutes drag on and Trevor is scalding his hands with hot water washing his bowl when Bea honks from the driveway. He’s the last to make it to the front door and he’s shocked when he’s whacked in the face by a stray pool noodle. Where did Jack even find that?

Quinn is standing with his arms against the window pane of the passenger door, his head dipped and Bea’s phone in his hand. She takes it from him and says something quietly, then brings her hand to his jaw to draw his lips to hers in a chaste kiss.

Trevor can see Honey’s silhouette behind the wheel, her hair knotted up on top of her head. There are flyaways everywhere, probably because of the open windows, but somehow it doesn’t look messy. Trevor can’t even see her face, but he has to close his eyes because she’s so pretty.

He climbs into the truck bed, Quinn following shortly behind him, and tucks himself neatly into the corner of the tailgate. He takes in the other boys– the gray trunks on Cole, the towel around Luke’s neck, Quinn’s terrible navy crocs that he’s had since he was in high school. They kind of don’t fit him anymore, but they’re molded to his feet and he swears that they’re still perfect. Jack is using his pool noodle– origin still undetermined– as a method of recreating a certain Drake video. It would have been more funny if the video weren’t old news by now.

Trevor still kind of feels the string of dread and uncertainty tugging at him, but all of that crumbles away when Honey takes the first curve up the mountain. She speeds up in the old truck, dragging the wheel. Jack falls off the hump of the wheel where he was sitting as she turns, yelping wildly and losing his pool noodle in the fray. Cole snatches it up and takes the chance to hit him with it.

With each curve, it only gets worse. She’s got the boys in a fit of shouts and giggles as they scramble to find purchase in the back of the truck. Bea is laughing from the front seat, turned around to look out the back window, to take in the chaos firsthand. Her left hand is reaching out the window and holds Quinn’s right, keeping him in place.

Trevor’s laughing too, especially when Luke starts to slide into a supine position, his knuckles white with how hard he’s trying to stay upright. He continues to laugh as he looks up, past Bea, and meets Honey’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

Her gaze turns from soft to wide and alert in an instant, returning to the road the second she locks eyes with him. He can only imagine his own eyes look the same when he turns to face the peeling paint at the bottom of the truck bed.

They arrive at the reservoir in due time, parking in the lot near the boat rentals. Bea and Quinn take care of that, having called ahead a few days prior to get one of the bigger boats that could fit their entire party. Quinn shells over a few dollars in thanks, the cash seamlessly transitioning to the worker’s hand.

The employee leads them to a ramp, where a boat not unlike the one they have at the Michigan house is parked. The boys climb on. Jack has reclaimed his pool noodle and has it tucked under his armpits, safely away from Cole’s grubby fingers.

Trevor finds a spot near the front of the boat, knowing that Quinn will want to drive and Bea will want to sit next to him. Or on his lap. Ew. He doesn’t want to see the blatant PDA from the two, but that’s not the only reason he’s strategically choosing his seat.

Honey’s going to do the same thing– she’s going to stick to Bea’s side, if Trevor’s gut feeling is right, and that’s going to be that.

He’ll avoid her, she’ll avoid him, and the day will be over before they know it.

Trevor pulls his shirt over his head and lays out on the cushions at the bow of the boat, covering his face with the item of clothing. He blocks out the sun and closes his eyes, feeling the sun prickle at his skin.

“Did you put your sunscreen on?” Cole asks, his annoying voice far too close to Trevor’s ear for his liking.

Trevor swings out with a hand, hoping to connect and clock Cole on the side of the head, but as he rips the t-shirt from his face, all he sees is the boy jumping back and laughing with the rocking of the boat.

“Why, do you want to help me?” Trevor retorts, frowning.

Cole smiles. The edges of his mouth quirk up in a mischievous way and Trevor gears up to snap his shirt at the boy. Whatever’s about to leave his mouth is just going to piss Trevor off more.

He doesn’t say anything, at least not until he’s skipping away towards the back of the boat. Trevor squints at his retreating figure, but relaxes his shoulders a bit.

“Honey!” Cole calls, dancing around the girl who has only just managed to get both feet on the boat. She watches him move around her, expression impassive. He extends a hand to help Bea onto the boat, to the chagrin of Quinn behind her.

Trevor’s shoulders snap back up towards his ears, the line of his spine long and tight. He looks around for something to throw at Cole, something harder than just his t-shirt, but there’s nothing.

Cole talks on. “Trevor needs help with his sunscreen and he was asking for you.”

Honey’s gaze turns to Trevor’s expectantly. Her lips are slightly curved and her eyebrows are raised.

“I wasn’t.” Trevor’s voice comes out strangled. “He’s just– causing trouble. Like yesterday.”

Immediately, he knows it’s the wrong thing to say. He shouldn’t have brought up what happened last night. It causes her lips to press into a thin line and makes her expression grow calculated. She’s scanning him like a robot would and it’s making his skin crawl.

She opens her mouth with a tsk and says, “I’ll do your back if you do mine.”

Cole and Jack hum and haw at that, dapping each other up. Bea finally flounces her way onto the vessel, creating waves and casting a spare look at Trevor.

“And Cole, you have to do mine,” Bea adds, blinking at the boy innocently. She smiles at him, not quite reaching her eyes. “Since you’re so concerned about sun safety.”

“I’m pale.” Cole shrugs. “Someone has to think about it.”

Bea’s attention has already shifted past Cole’s shoulder. Quinn and Luke have both shrugged off their shirts and twisted their Yankees caps so they’re backwards on their heads. Luke has laid the towel along the swiveling passenger chair behind the raised console in the middle of the boat, blissfully unaware of the five pairs of eyes gawking at him and his brother.

“You’re pale?” Bea asks, incredulous. She points at the Hughes boys. “Look at that.” She fishmouths for a moment before rediscovering her voice. “Quinn, you didn’t look so fair-skinned when I last saw you without a shirt. Luke, you’re like a beacon at a lighthouse!” She turns back to Cole, her finger finding its way to his face. “You, at least, have some pink undertones. You’re made to burn. These guys are made to tan and it’s clear they’ve been neglecting their time in the sun.”

“That’s what I said,” Trevor agrees. He remembers the tanning lotion, sitting in one of his pockets, and digs it out. He waves it in front of Bea’s face, then tosses it to her. “I even brought some tanning lotion for them.”

Bea catches it and her face lights up. She shows Honey the logo on the front of the bottle and grins. “This kind always smells so good,” she praises. “Good choice, Trev.”

She stomps toward the boys, intention written all over her face. Luke’s back is turned to her once again, reverting back to the way it was before she called his name, but Bea views it as a canvas. She clicks open the bottle and gives it a shake, squirting the cool liquid all over Luke’s back in curves and twirls.

Luke squeaks when she does it, lurching forward, but Bea chastises him and makes him hold still so she can rub it into his skin.

Trevor’s eyes move from that scene to the girl in front of him. She’s wearing a sweatshirt over her bathing suit, the cuffs rolled up above her wrist. It’s long enough to hide any shorts that she could be wearing. She’s looking at Bea with a tiny smile on her lips, head tilted to the side. Her legs are long and tan and she’s got a freckle behind her ear.

Trevor aches to press his lips to her skin. Her flyaways would tickle the side of his face, the shell of her ear would smooth itself against the tip of his nose, and he’d be able to wrap his arms around her to pull her against his chest…

That’s enough of that.

He wants to touch her, he does. He wants to put sunscreen on her back and let her return the favor. He wants to be the one to slide his fingers under the straps of her top and dip into the waistband of her bottoms, just to make sure all of her skin is covered. Obviously. Nothing more.

Nothing more.

Oh my God, he wants to touch her so bad.

Trevor has to tear his eyes from Honey and clench his jaw, biting his tongue between his teeth to bring him back to reality. He’s back to sporting a semi– if it isn’t the consequences of his own thoughts– and he knows that if he touches her, if she touches him, he won’t be able to control himself.

“Looks like Bea’s out,” Trevor says, thinking quick on his feet. “I think Cole’s sunscreen is more important than mine, since he’s ‘made to burn.’” He takes out his sunscreen and claps it into Cole’s palm. “You and Honey can do each other up. I’m going to take a nap at the front. Wake me up when we start surfing.”

His eyes slide over Honey just before he walks away, and she looks puzzled. Trevor swallows a smile and returns to the bow of the boat, laying out and dropping his shirt over his face.

He zones out, eyes closed and breath even. Someone joins him on the cushion at some point, just before the boat starts to lurch away from the dock. He feels the spray of the lake dampen his shirt and cool his skin. The sun is already starting to pick at his chest, his tolerance not as high as it is when they’re always on the boat in Michigan.

“You’re burning, Trevor.”

Trevor startles, sitting up and ripping the shirt away from his face. It takes a second for his eyes to adjust to the sun.

Honey holds out his sunscreen. The can is in one hand, the face lotion in the other. She’s biting the inside of her cheek and staring at him.

Trevor reaches out and plucks the items from her grasp, purposefully avoiding her fingers.

“Thanks,” Trevor says, looking anywhere but her face. He can’t look her in the eyes. He can’t touch her. He tucks them away, tying them into his shirt and tossing it to the side. He misses the way her eyes flash and fix on the movements of his fingers, her lips parting. He’s too busy making his way to his feet and turning away. “I think I’m going to borrow the tanning oil from Luke, though. I’ll probably get him to do my back. Cole already did yours, right?”

Honey just hums and nods. Trevor looks up just long enough to take in the tight smile on her face. He can see that her eyes are rimmed with sunglasses, so he’s safe from the look in her eyes.

Trevor raises his fingers in a half-hearted wave before he walks away, joining Luke and Jack at the back of the boat. They’ve each got a hand in Cole’s pockets, making sure he doesn’t fly away as he stands on a bench and ties the lead-ropes they brought to the canopy.

Bea sits on Quinn’s thigh as he drives the boat, arms around his shoulders and laughing at the boys. Her eyes flicker with alarm as Trevor approaches, and she turns to face the front of the boat, rising off Quinn’s lap slightly to peek around the console.

Trevor hears her scoff and hop off Quinn’s lap, pattering away with light steps. He pays her no mind– just gives Cole a lovetap on the stomach so he doubles over. Jack and Luke laugh and Cole glares at Trevor, but the bickering transforms their area of the boat into a bubble where only they live. Quinn visits sometimes, to switch out once they’ve got the surfboard ready, but the day belongs to Jack, Luke, Cole, and Trevor.

Honey and Bea tan in the front and Trevor misses every pointed glare from Bea and sneaking, evaluating glance from Honey that comes his way.

14:90 – HONEY

Honey and Bea are sitting at the picnic table in Honey’s backyard. They’re sipping tea and the sun is setting. Honey blows on the surface of her mug, keeping it raised to her lips to take a sip.

She and Bea have been hanging out all day.

Honey was in this position at sunrise, sipping coffee out of the same mug and looking at the same mountains.

They’ve mostly sat in silence all day, reading their books or scrolling on their phones. Honey finishes the book she had been reading, so they break into The Reading Nook as soon as Bea wakes up, and Honey borrows a new one. She’s over a quarter of the way through the new book now, but the sun has set too much for her to continue reading.

So, they drink tea. They drove to Bea’s house to get some calming tea, then back to Honey’s. Bea made the tea while Honey sat and breathed, listening to the birds sing their eggs to sleep. They sip their tea, but Honey knows that time is running out. Bea’s been patient enough.

“I think it’s time we talk about what happened these past two days,” Bea says, setting her mug on the flat of the table. “Really, really talk.”

Honey sighs, putting her own mug down. “Yeah, I know.”

“I only have two questions for you, Honey,” Bea says. She laces her fingers together and leans in, like a principal or a school counselor.

Honey wants to laugh. It’s like an intervention. “What are your questions, Bea-girl?” She asks with a breath of a laugh and a roll of her eyes.

“Question one,” Bea pauses for effect, tilting her head to the side and widening her eyes. “How did you feel about Trevor after you licked, uh, everything off of his body?” She gestures with her hand, waving it in a circle. She tilts her chin up and smiles, sarcastically in pain, at Honey.

“I was thinking–”

Bea interrupts. “Nuh-uh. I don’t care about what you were thinking. What were you feeling about Trevor? And not once you started thinking about home, or any of that. The second you looked at him: what were you feeling?”

Honey’s face twists, her nose crinkling. She hates when Bea plays therapist.

“I felt like…” Honey trails off, thinking back. She gnaws on her bottom lip, looking at the dark masses of leaves rustle on the trees surrounding her home. “It was warm. I felt… light. If Trevor hadn’t had his hands on my waist, I might’ve… been like that puddle guy… in Sky High.” Her voice gets quieter with every pause and Honey is very conscious of the fact that she’s referencing the cult-classic ‘DCOM’ Sky High in her therapy session with her best friend.

Bea’s conscious of the reference, too, staring at Honey. Her jaw is dropped and she’s filled with mild aghast, just like Honey. She shuts her mouth, closes her eyes, and nods to herself before opening them again.

“Question two. How did you feel after Trevor went to the back of the boat yesterday?”

Honey knew it was coming, but the memory still tugs at her.

She doesn’t get it. Trevor had been so… talkative, at first. He had sought Honey out and, as much as she hates to admit it, being chased was nice. Trevor had stood out from the first day, so much so that she wouldn’t even consider the other boys if they asked– and Jack did ask, that one time.

It was like a complete 180º after the dare. He steps away from her, he can’t meet her eyes, he found not one, but two excuses to get away from Honey after she offered to put sunscreen on his back. Yeah, she figured Cole was joking and setting them up for disaster, but she was ready to role with it after having that conversation with Bea on Friday.

Trevor froze when she was around and avoided Honey like a fucking. plague.

Honey’s silence speaks for itself, because Bea opens her mouth to continue.

“Maybe–”

Honey talks over her, squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t– think he likes me.”

She takes a breath before opening her eyes again.

Bea stares at Honey, her first two fingers covering her mouth.

Honey blinks and looks down at her hands, wrapping them around her mug to save them from the sudden frostbite spreading over her fingers. “If he felt like I did after that dare… he wouldn’t have ignored me yesterday.” Honey presses her tongue into her top teeth, clamping her lips shut. The edges of her eyes are prickling with wetness again.

Bea reaches across the table and takes one of her hands.

“If that’s how he feels, then he’s stupid,” Bea says, voice definite. “He would be an idiot to stop chasing you.”

“I wish it was as easy as you and Quinn,” Honey admits. She stares at the warped and chipped wood under their hands. She’s sick to her stomach for a second, having déjà vu of the same image five years earlier, when she and Bea left Charlotte and spent their first night here. They didn’t even have mugs yet. They just talked and held hands and took in their new home. It’s the same feeling.

Bea shakes her head. “It’s not the same. Quinn and I aren’t–” She pauses to scoff, a grimace across her face. “We’re hooking up. We both know that and we don’t want anything more. That’s why it’s so easy.”

“But you felt so bad when you had to tell him,” Honey argues.

“I felt guilty.” Bea shrugs. “It passed.”

They sit in silence for a little while longer. Bea drops Honey’s hands and returns to her tea.

Honey looks down at her tea and brings it to her lips, sipping. She takes a second sip, clearing her throat.

“I want to be wanted,” Honey says. She feels silly saying it, the phrase obvious. Everyone wants to be wanted. She’s not special. To make herself feel better, she adds, partially as a joke: “And I want to have sex.”

“It’s been a long time since you said that,” Bea replies and Honey’s heart soars. She always understands exactly what Honey means. She always knows exactly what to say. Honey covers her face with her hands, overwhelmed. Bea continues. “It doesn’t have to be silly old Trevor, since he’s a loser.”

“Yeah… I don’t want any of the others,” Honey laughs.

Bea scoffs, defensive. “Yeah, and I wasn’t gonna give you any of ‘em.”

They laugh together, heads thrown back. Bea’s foot stomps against the dirt.

When they quiet down, Bea adds with a grin, “I was just thinking that we could have a night out or something. Wilkesboro has to have something you can settle for. Just for a fuck, you know?”

Honey nods, smiling. She raises her tea to her lips and swallows the last of it. The mug clatters when she sets it down.

“Would it,” she starts, her smile breaking into a toothy, tilted beam. “Would it be so bad if I wanted it to be Trevor?”

Bea squeals and wiggles. She grabs Honey’s hands and squeezes, bouncing in her seat. She’s so excited that it causes Honey to break out into a fresh round of embarrassed giggles, shielding her face from the aftermath of her admission.

“We’re going on double dates,” Bea makes Honey promise, linking their pinkies. “We are. Just talk to him… tomorrow…” She wiggles her eyebrows. “And tell him that you want him to flirt with you again.”

“Well, it’s not that easy,” Honey denies, rolling her eyes.

“Isn’t it, though?” Bea squints one of her eyes shut and tilts her head, making a face at Honey. She smooths her expression and makes her eyes wide, blinking innocently as she mocks: “‘You know, you should really keep flirting with me, Trev. You never know when it’ll pay off.’ See?”

Honey laughs in disbelief. “Yeah, okay. I’ll say exactly that.”

“Fine, if that’s so hard, go find me a pen. Then I have to go home. It’s late.” Bea bosses, pointing towards Honey’s living room. When Honey stands, she smiles again, sickly-sweet. “Thank you, Baby-Honey.”

“Whatever,” Honey replies, standing and finding a Sharpie in her junk drawer. She overemphasizes the nickname sarcastically when she returns to the table: “Buzzy.”

Bea sticks her tongue out at Honey and holds her hand out expectantly. Honey clicks her tongue in annoyance, but puts her hand in Bea’s, her palm facing up. Bea leans over her, stretching Honey’s skin so it’s taut. She scribbles something onto Honey’s hand, at one point pulling out her phone to read a message. She nods when she’s done and reaches up to draw a little heart on the inside of Honey’s wrist. She blows a kiss at Honey and slaps the marker in her hand, closing her fingers around the marker. Bea stands, takes her mug, and drops it off in the sink before she walks out of Honey’s front door.

Honey raises her other hand in a belated wave, barely looking. She returns to her other hand, unfurling her fingers. Scrawled on her palm are ten digits and Trevor’s name.

It’s a phone number.

Honey pales. She can’t text Trevor. She has to tell him to keep things going in person, not behind a screen. That’s not who she is. She hasn’t acted like this in five years, and she’s not planning on reverting to old habits. No, she has to go see Trevor tomorrow.

Monday!

Tomorrow, the fruit stand is open. Trevor knows that Honey goes to the fruit stand on Mondays, and if he’s interested at all, he’ll show up. It’s, like, a ‘thing’ now, right?

Yeah. She’ll see him at the fruit stand tomorrow. If she doesn’t, then she’ll know how he feels for sure. She won’t have to text, she won’t have to go track Trevor down– it’ll be easy, like how Honey wants it to be. Quinn and Bea aren’t the only people who can have it easy.

#puck luck's fics #andy writes anything🍄#small town girl x tz #trevor zegras #trevor zegras smut #trevor zegras fanfiction #quinn hughes #jack hughes smut #luke hughes #cole caufield #hockey smut #hockey romance #nhl smut

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artisanalpeanutbutter · 5 months

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I'm so glad my friends are (mostly) not book lovers bc holy shit I hate she who became the sun so much and if I was surrounded by people who love it I would not be able to talk to them until they got over the hype. I only liked abt half of it and I would explain my feelings but I don't feel like doing that rn.

Tldr though: I didn't think it was feminist at all and going in thinking it was a feminist piece of literature made it a bad read for me. I liked how the author explored another gender class through the eunuchs though. Should've contested the other main character's misogyny & toxic masculinity (maybe that's not the right term here but idgaf this is just a tumblr post) though (can't remember their name bc i read it so long ago. The monk)

#same with iron widow and this is how you whatever the time war #so disappointed #they were hyped up so much but were riddled with issues #i liked all the other books i read last year though!!!#couldnt finish mexican gothic though bc i think it just wasnt the right vibe. i want to give it another shot though bc i usually love the #genre :3 #it wasnt bad i just wasnt in the right mood at ALL #OH also i think the bladerunner movie is leagues better than do androids dream of electric sheep but the book was still a good read yk?#i think there were additional elements in the book that just weren't tied together well enough #and didnt pay off well enough #like the religion payoff felt bizarre relative to the rest of the contents of the book. didnt feel fleshed oht enough #but perhaps that was the point and it just didnt click with me #no hate to the ppl who liked these books btw #oh i forgot about babel entirely. picked it up bc i was told it was like. decolonial magic and language but it sooooooooo wasnt. maybe im #just stupid or expecting too much idfk

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aroaessidhe · 20 days

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2024 reads / storygraph

The Sword of Kaigen

standalone fantasy set in a rural mountain village at the edge of an empire that still holds traditional values, with families of powerful water/ice magic warriors

follows a powerful young heir who begins to question his beliefs about the empire when a new boy comes to his village from the city

and his mother, a housewife who has tried to forget her youth as a warrior and vigilante in the city since she moved back home to a loveless marriage

when there’s a violent attack on their village that they’re unprepared for, everything changes, and she has to embrace her old skills to protect her family and people

#The Sword of Kaigen #aroaessidhe 2024 reads #I’ve been meaning to read this for years and I finally got around to it! a really unique fantasy novel #I had always assumed this was ur average pre-industrial high fantasy and then was immediately hit with video games/tv in the first chapter #lmao. But overall (aside from the broader worldbuilding/politics) it is closer to the average ‘historical’ fantasy narrative -#so I can see why I got that impression #Some really compelling characters and interesting narrative structure that went in some unexpected directions.#It really focuses in on one village and how devastating a single battle in a war can be to their people - and how much work the recovery is #I feel like most sff is more concerned with a single person and/or the whole war so this felt unique. did also mean that the pacing was odd #- it's a slow start; then there’s a battle that must be hundreds of pages. The last section of the book feels a little too drawn out #and brings up random hanging plot elements that don’t really go anywhere. But I think overall this works for the story.#also one thing I didn’t love - cool complex interesting female character MC sure but also there’s weird moments like:#the first scene we see her is all the housewives comparing their attractiveness; she keeps referring to herself as an old woman (when she’s #and oh so meek and useless etc. And some of this feels like it’s part of the broader portrayal of the misogynist society #but some of it felt clunky or unintentional?#And then especially the end - when she and her shitty husband finally confront each other as equals and he apologises #she basically immediately forgives him and is like oh I was equally at fault because I am a meek woman who didn’t try either #like him realising he was wrong (and her realising he had a reason for being the way he was) doesn’t negate the fact that he treated her li #she acts like it was her fault for not trying too - when we have numerous examples of him berating her if she spoke up about anything?#like im glad he’s learning. but also that doesn’t mean she needs to suddenly forgive and love him wtf #that's the only real thing that annoyed me though.#also btw that 5yo seems kinda fucked up. are you guys gonna do anything about that

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deus-ex-mona · 9 months

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dealing with assigned reading like

#[slams sop/risk assessment s h u t]#throwback to lit class from a g e s ago though… my year happened to be the last year that was assigned this book about two rivals to besties #but the assigned reading for lit from the literal ✨n e x t✨ year on was p e rc.y jac k son and i was l i k e (ʘ‿ʘ)#it wasn’t fair at all s o b s pj was my claim to temporary fame in school <-was that moron whom everyone borrowed the entire series from lol #i should reread that series soon… <-in the middle of reading/rereading many other series concurrently #i should be sleeping thoughhhhh. it’s like 3 in the am and i gotta get up in 3 hours for workkkk.#b u t i forgot how to fall asleep. sadge. so im just stuck watching puzzle/cube solving vids instead ig #to think that i used to be able to fall asleep standing up smh… how the ‘mighty’ have fallen #it is suiyoubi my dudes

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voulezloux · 1 month

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#idk how to tag this but it’s about my dad who i just went NC with bc he’s abusive and hasn’t changed #so if you don’t want to read keep scrolling i don’t care i just need to fucking do something #i’ve passed rage and now i’m just sad #and i feel bad about being sad bc i don’t want to be sad bc being sad SUCKS #i feel like i’m burdening my friends by telling them the shit my dad did to me #ik realistically im probably not but i just #only three people would truly understand the situation #my mom my sister and my childhood best friend #my sister is off limits bc i’m not putting her in the middle of this again #my mom was also abused by my dad and i don’t want to trigger her or make her feel bad so i don’t feel like #i can always go to her about this shit #and i don’t want to take advantage of my best friend’s listening ear even though she is being supportive of me and everything #like i just feel guilty and i feel like im burdening others with my burden #i want it to all stop i just want to stop being sad #i want to stop feeling like im 7 year old me hiding in the pantry from my dad #i don’t want to go to work i don’t want to do anything really #and it’s not like i want to die i just want to stop feeling like this #i want to stop feeling like i somehow fucked everything up when it was my dad’s fault #ik i should book another therapy appointment but i can’t with the way my week is next week #and idk i’m just #im not having a good time #i’ve taken an ativan every night this week bc of all this #previous to this idk when the last time i took an ativan even was #and i’m not trying to read into it too much but its hard not to when ive gone literal months without taking it #and now i’m taking it every night so i don’t stay up half the night bc my brain won’t shut up

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rubberbandballqueen · 2 months

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favorite part of work today was when i told the kids to get into two lines, n this one guy was like "i don't want to" n then started talking to his buddy in mandarin, n so then in chinese i was like, "hey, come here."

n he n his buddy looked at each other n then looked at me with like that faintly displeased expression that means they've realized they can't get away with not being that good at english (or feel terribly isolated from n indifferent to the adults bc they don't speak their language) anymore

and then when i told them to line up in mandarin they groaned abt it for sure but they did drag themselves into a line

#i walked in n this one kid handed me a book to read like a big hardcover graphic novel type thing n said i could look through it #so for kicks i started reading it out loud with all the silly voices n sound effects n blocking #and so then obviously the other children started to swarm me and god. kids have so much body heat #n you can feel it bc they have no personal space qwq #n anyway so i led them all to a different corner of the room and ended up reading 15 out of the 16 chapters of the book #out loud to a big chunk of the kids for like an hour w/a 5 min break halfway through for water #and when i came back the kids were organizing the chairs themselves into a semicircle to give me enough space to perform #i was sweating more than i have in Quite A While by the end bc again. children are So Warm n also being dramatic takes energy #the same kid who handed me the book today last year handed me some pokemon cards n i ended up spending all of spring camp #drawing pokemon from cards as references for kids to color n stuff bc i didn't want to go to the computer n print out coloring pages #so! i should probably stop spoiling/“yes and--”ing kids at work w/my nonsense but it gives them smth memorable at least #but also i am so fucking tired today lol i had to leave class as soon as it was done dash home to drop off my jacket n backpack #i didn't even have time to take off my shoes before entering the house so I Did An Unforgivable Sin (walked around w/shoes on)#n then put on my work jacket n dash out the door again to go to my 5.75 hr work shift o(--(#i don't regret it!! i did tell my boss i was free for afternoon camp shifts specifically bc i wanted these shifts even tho timing'd be tigh #successfully taught a kid to tie his shoelaces today though!!!!! what's w/kids n always using the very tips of their laces to mimic you tho #when you are very clearly handling the parts of the laces right next to your foot. it did click for him tho eventually #the worm speaks

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oh2e · 1 year

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The way we see flashbacks of what Button House was through the years reminds me of the Drumshee books. I’m not sure how popular they were outside Ireland but the general idea was a series of unconnected stories all about the same plot of land. The first one was called Nuala and Her Secret Wolf set in the Iron Age and the last one is called millennium@drumshee and is set in 2000. I know I’ve seen the Titanic one all over the place but the others not so much. It’s just such an interesting concept because while the characters are sometimes related distantly the important thing is their connection no matter how brief, to the land that is Drumshee or Button House.

#I think those are the first and last ones anyway. or at least they were the oldest and most recent of the ones I read #but it has been many years and I borrowed them all from the library so it mainly depended on what ones they had at the time #I’d say they were all published in the mid to late nineties? they’re definitely not new #Cora Harrison the author has done some other really good books since #there was two book series about Drumshee but the other one focused on the same characters at one specific time in drumshee’s history and I #didn’t like those ones though annoying they’re the ones I own #bbc ghosts #anywya just thinking about the flashbacks of button house/higham house/bone manor #and how so much changed but yet it ties them all together #my own post

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smalltownfae · 11 months

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Now I can sort of see what that person meant by The Remains of the Day and An Artist of the Floating World being similar. So far, I am still feeling 4 stars for this book but I am only halfway through.

I did fear I wasn't going to love it as much as everyone else. Also, I can see why so many people love this book and don't like other Ishiguro's works because it does have a different feel to it. It made me laugh too which I don't think it ever happened for me with an Ishiguro work. But, Stevens and the setting are quite different from what I am used to when it comes to Ishiguro. I do hope to love this book by the end, but it is also alright if it stays a 4 stars. It is still pretty good if not a favourite.

#andy reads the remains of the day #so far I prefer klara and the sun and an artist of the floating world...#an artist is a weird one though because I liked it more months after I finished it #I still think about it and I read it last year I think...#the person said that this book perfected the themes and character work done in artist of the floating world so I guess I will see #but honestly just the art part and the artistic struggle connected to politics is enough to make me like the other book more #but also I really like how stevens worshipped his father and the value he puts on being a butler #this has a downton abbey vibe too haha #it's very english I guess #which is also something that makes it very different from all ishiguro works I read #I guess klara and the sun was the closest in setting and given the uk vs us feel #with french mentions XD

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cj-kenobi · 1 year

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i just finished a book series for the first time in. a long time. I've been keeping up with it since i was like 13. what the Fuck do i do now how do i recover from this event what do i do with my life

#i havent read a new book in ???? probably years ???#amazing what getting out of the school system does to you #but now???????? how do I live with the fact there will never be any more of that universe other than just. cry #ive been reading these as they came out for so so so many years #and i put off reading the last one for maybe 3 / 4 years but now ive Done It #ans the author has a new series and its very good but its not the same at all #and yeah i could read fic but i dont feel like i want anything different or expanded on really #and also theres like 50 fics total its a surprisingly small fandom considering the absolutely tectonic impact the books had on me #im so ;-; rn #like unbelievably;-;#if youre this deep in the tags though i love u and u look good today #also you should totally read the long way to a small angry planet by becky chambers #and all the other books in the wayfarers series #theres only 4 and theyre all Stunning i promise #honestly the best sci fi I've ever read I'd say #books #wayfarers

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theinconveniencing · 1 year

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not to be dramatic but I literally feel like I’m going insane lol

#first of all I must acknowledge the percy of it all. I don’t know how many of you are reading those posts and honestly I’m not conveying #how I feel very well but I’m so deadly serious when I say I feel sick when I think about those books and not even in a bad way necessarily #just nauseous whatever. second most pressing issue is the whole “am I going to drop out transfer suck it up or kill myself”#okay I’m really not considering that last one I have to live to see dani in july but I haven’t the slightest clue what I’m gonna do next #year. on one hand I hope this school explodes on the other transferring sounds so unfun but back to the first hand I hate this city #and I hope it explodes to and I have nobody I know to live with off campus next year and tbh I would rather die than live w sarah suitemate #which brings us to sarah suitemate. how in the hell is my only friend in this god forsaken city like kind of subtly homophobic #In addition to kind of being a bad fucking person. like lol! yes ladies six months deep with no other friends and I Am that desperate #also it’s the very beginning of the quarter and I kind of hate all my classes. okay I know they just started and it’s very early to judge #but I already feel like I’m going crazy I preferred my other two quarters where I was eating literally 12 credits I was satisfied with that #I’m just scared and lonely can I say that outright is it embarrassing to admit that outright at 11am on tumblr #the only thing that gives me comfort genuinely is just repeating that “everything works out in the end” saying bc I really do believe that #even though I hope my closest friend within a reasonable radius of me drops dead and I’m directionless and I want to kill myself #whenever I think about the book I’m reading it will all be okay #anyways time to eat the pastry I got from the campus market is not a good time to tell you guys I didn’t eat breakfast or could you tell #carmen.txt

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senadimell · 1 year

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Okay, someone brought up Alice in Wonderland and Coraline as books of the same genre which is kind of blowing my mind.

#haven't thought it out yet or formulated the thoughts but they're right #i just don't quite know how this fits my schema of weird little girl books yet #unfortunately i quite detested alice last time i read and was wholeheartedly inside coraline's head last time i read #coraline was a very relatable protagonist and alice was kind of annoying #(i mean part of it is because i never liked alice whereas coraline lived rent free in my head for years #and also i liked coraline-the-character whereas i couldn't stand alice #though that might come from the fact that i read coraline in like second grade and AiW in probably sixth grade or later)#(the other part of it is that coraline is actually cool and alice cries a lot and all of my mental daydream characters #were super cool aloof awesome characters who never cried #unlike yours truly who was neither cool nor aloof)

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earthtooz · 4 months

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cw: arranged marriage, fluff, neglect at the beginning, ratio falling hard, pining, ratio being jealous of aventurine, unedited bc i wrote this with my heart not my brain

my brain has been thinking about an arranged marriage fic with dr. ratio...

he isn't kind to you at first, less than happy to share a life with a mere acquaintance. he's heard about you before in passing, noting your achievements with a grain of salt because nothing about you particularly mattered to him, irrelevant against the mass of scrolls and books he needs to read.

you don't really disturb his normal routine too much. you move in to his estate with a fair share of your belongings, but none of them crowd his house too much. you have your own room, pristine guest room unearthed by your artistic touch.

aside from dinners, you don't get to see each other too much. he starts his mornings early, getting up at the crack of dawn to exercise and start his day with a hearty meal. you wake up later, partaking in a slow morning, and if you glanced out the window, you might be able to see your husband running laps around the expanse of his gardens.

you admire his dedication and routine, it's fascinating to live beside a genius. everyday, the chest table that sits in the living room changes, the black and white pieces never remaining where you last recalled. the size of his blackboard is impressive, and yet too small to fit all of the formulas his brain remembers, hands effortlessly dancing along the surface to scratch number after number.

a frequent order of his estate is chalk. a new pile is delivered every three days, and he goes through them without fail every time.

during dinner, he tries to spare some conversation with you. you don't tell him too much about your day, not wanting to bore him with your menial chores. he's only half-listening either way, so you'll feign understanding about his work when he explains what he's up to.

ratio is not an attentive husband, but he doesn't mistreat you, either. he allows you to spend his assets without too much care, doesn't police your everyday tasks, and also doesn't bat an eye at other men or women. his pursuit of intelligence is important, and your wellbeing would not come in between that.

your monotonous, distant routine changes one autumn dusk. you're perched in the front yard with an easel set up before you, the sky in front of you now a blend of pink-purple hues. he returns home earlier than you expected, carriage stopping at the front of his estate, and he witnesses you in your tranquil state.

the paint strokes on the canvas before you are skilled, and show years of dedication to the craft. you're so invested in the piece before you, that you don't even hear him approaching until he calls your name.

"the night turns colder with each minute. shouldn't you come inside before you fall ill?" the scholar greets, and you're snapped out of your creative reverie, looking over at him.

"oh, i had not realised. let me clean up here, first." you take your canvas off the easel, but to your surprise, your spouse kneels down to organise your oil paints back into their box.

"make haste, then," he urges.

during dinner, he can't help but be curious over your hobby, the stubborn splotches of paint clinging to your hands visible to him. that night, you engage in uninterrupted conversation, and discover that he's an artist himself- a sculptor. it calms him, and all the statues reside in a removed room, adjacent to his study.

despite your years of matrimony, you had never once dared enter his study, but the design is so fittingly him. it is organised (well, as organised a genius can be), with shelves and shelves filled with books, discarded scrolls lay around the room, but even then, his taste for greco-roman aesthetics are seen. roman dorics act like stands for little plants, and his many certificates are displayed, along with other achievements.

(his study is overwhelmingly filled with them. though you knew of the merit of the man you were arranged to be married to, you had never known just how expansive the list is. perhaps, that only made him more intimidating to you, standing beside a genius does not feel so light to say anymore.)

he shows you his sculptures, and though many of them are... self portraits... the likeness is disgustingly accurate. it was as if he had casted himself in plaster and displayed it proudly. you wonder how long he must have stared in the mirror to perfect their appearance.

but, there are also various other formidable statues. some of people you recognise. you compliment his skill and don't get to see the blush that spreads along his cheeks.

it seems that you've chipped a way into his heart, because between brushstrokes and chiselled marble, he falls in love with you.

ratio knows he didn't start off being the best husband, but he tries to now, and begins by being present. asks you to dine together where possible, listens when you're talking about your day, and the two of you can be seen venturing downtown together; an unbelievable sight for those who believed that ratio was romantically inept.

perhaps, an even more unbelievable sight, was the soft smile on his face that glanced at you very adoringly, and how you remained unaware of his affections.

and, maybe a jealous veritas ratio is just as unbelievable.

he is practically glaring daggers at the side of a certain blond's head. ratio has never been fond of the scheming businessman, aventurine, and is even less so of the fact that you seem so close to him, more than you are with your own husband. you're speaking with him like how one would with old friends, a peaceful visit to the markets turned sour by his presence.

when you finally, finally, finally, bid farewell to aventurine, who gave ratio a look that signified he was up to no good, your husband held your hand in his gloved one with an unforgiving grip. his mood is dampened for the remainder of the day, and is only made better when you enquire about his sudden glumness, visiting his office to see if he was alright.

you leave him with a kiss on the crown of his head, and a whisper of 'goodnight', before retreating to your chambers, and the only thought that circulates in his head for the rest of the night is you, and how he's going to sweep you off your feet.

#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ earf's ideas that i'll never write #earthtooz: honkai star rail #dr ratio x reader #veritas ratio x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #ratio x reader #dr ratio fluff #dr. ratio x reader

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neil-gaiman · 22 days

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This isn’t a question, but I want to thank you for your books and how they’ve impacted my life.

Over thirteen years ago, I read Neverwhere for the first time and it changed what kind of writer I wanted to be. I went on to read more of your books—my other two favourites were The Graveyard Book and The Ocean at the End of the Lane.

About 11 or so years ago, I asked you on Twitter if I could read Stardust on a Twitch livestream, and you responded, “Fine by me”. It was one of my best streams, and while life got in the way of me doing more, I still remember it incredibly fondly.

Ten years ago I had a baby, and while he was an infant, I read him, Fortunately, the Milk, in an attempt to read him a book. He didn’t seem interested. I decided I’d try again some other time perhaps. But I did resolve to get him to read The Graveyard Book someday.

Nine years ago, when I was a mother of a one-year-old, I posted a status on Facebook simply saying, “We do not forget.”

Two years ago, I went on holiday, and I downloaded the audio book version of The Graveyard Book from our local library. My eight-year-old son listened to it as he fell asleep, though he ended up missing some parts, and we shelved it.

Last year, he read Coraline and didn’t like it. That isn’t your fault. He read Charlotte’s Web and didn’t like that either. He just didn’t quite have the understanding for them.

This year, he read Coraline and liked it. I told him it was from the same author as The Graveyard Book. He lamented that he never finished The Graveyard Book, and I said he could always download it from the library again.

Then about a month ago, he and I went through a tough time. I was really stressed about life, he wasn’t doing so well either, and our relationship got strained. I was angry with him all the time. I needed a break from him, or I thought I did. But one day when he was at his dad’s I realised that I wouldn’t get this time back. That I needed to fix it. So I asked him if he wanted me to read to him at bedtime. Just like when he was little. And we settled on The Graveyard Book.

On nights when he got to bed on time, I’d read a chapter. It often meant stretching past bedtime, but I could never stop halfway. It had been years since I’d read it too, and I found myself remembering things I’d forgotten. I’d watch his dark eyes widen whenever things got exciting, and I loved when he would interrupt me with an important revelation. “It’s Scarlett! His friend!” he’d say. “The dog! The grey dog!” “I know what Silas is!” He would tell me that I did the voices so well, that it seemed to match each character so perfectly.

We didn’t read every night, but it was a treat when we did. One night we had an argument and he told me he hated me. That he wished I was dead. And that he wanted to be with his dad. I told him to go take a shower, and that I’d ask his dad to come get him. His dad said no, but agreed to talk to him on the phone. After the shower, my son apologised for what he said. I said okay, and told him to call his dad to chat. After their call, he asked if we would still have story time. I asked if he preferred that or to have some space. He said he wanted both, but wanted story time more than space. So I read to him. It was the chapter when Bod and Silas argued, and then apologised to each other. Halfway through that chapter, my son asked for snuggles. I said, what happened to space? And he said, “I want snuggles more than space.”

We were sad when it ended. We finished it last weekend. I cried as I read it. But it was a beautiful sadness. We’ve talked about it a bit since then, to process it. He says he would like to read more about Silas and Bod’s adventures and asked if there was fan fiction about it. I told him to look, and to write some if there wasn’t. Perhaps I’ll write some too, just for him.

Last night he was at his dad’s and I was browsing Facebook and sent him a couple of his old pictures. Then I found an old post. From exactly nine years ago. And so I sent it to him.

It brought tears to my eyes. I did not remember making that post, and I’ve forgotten a great deal over the years, but I hope I do not forget these little moments with my son. But even if I do, I have them written down here to remind me again.

And thank you. For the words you’ve written and the impact you’ve had on our lives and hearts. I hope that your life holds the same amount of joy and love that you’ve given to others with your words.

That made me so happy. Thank you. I hope you and your son keep growing together.

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soaps-mohawk · 5 months

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 3 - Speak Their Language

Summary: You get something to aid you in your attempts to bond with your pack. Unfortunately, your ideas have consequences for everyone.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, some brief violent imagery but nothing worse than what's in the game, lots of military inaccuracies

Author's Note: Did you know there’s Scottish translators online? I do now lmaooo. Those military inaccuracies are really coming through in this one so...if you’re here for accuracy...I am so sorry. This one's a bit shorter, more of a filler for the next one but there's some important stuff that happens that you'll need for the next chapter. Also a lot of good ole easter eggs and references in this one. If you can find them all, I’ll give you a cookie.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

You perk up when a knock sounds at your door. You hop off your bed, eagerly swinging the door open. Price is standing there, a package in his hands. The corner of his mouth twitches as you smile, almost bouncing on your toes in excitement.

“Kate said you’d be expecting this.” He says, amusement shining in his eyes.

You nod, holding out your hands. “Yes, sir!”

You take the package, holding it against your chest. You had sworn Kate to secrecy about what was in it, after a long explanation of why you needed it and why you were asking her for it and not Price. She said she threw in a few other things, things you didn’t realize you’d miss once you moved to the UK. You knew she likely did that so she wouldn’t have to lie to Price when he asked.

“Don’t have too much fun.” He says, giving you a smile.

“I’ll try not to.” You grin. “Thank you, sir!”

You close the door, not bothering to lock it as you bound back to your bed. You open the package, digging through the snacks to the bottom of the box. You move the box to the floor, holding the book in your lap. You run your hand over the cover, excitement thrumming through you.

“The Powerful Omega.”

You’ve spent the last few days running through what you remembered from the book the last time you read it almost four years ago. There wasn’t much, only a few things sticking with you. Things you thought would be helpful.

You curl up on your bed as the others head out for the afternoon, the familiar sound of boots disappearing down the hallway fading into the background as you dig into the book. You’re determined to find some way to get Ghost to at least be tolerant of your presence. You don’t need him to want you, you don’t even need him to like you. You just know the entire process will be easier if he’s at least accepting of the fact you’re going to be part of the pack, whether either of you like it or not.

That was long before you knew you’d be placed in a military pack, though.

He’s a big, tough, military alpha who doesn’t like to show his face. There has to be something in the book that might help you, or at least give you ideas on what to try. You know the best you can do with Ghost is try. He’s an enigma on purpose, and it seems like he’s going to stay that way, regardless of how close you try and get to him.

You could use Soap to get close to him. Ghost’s protective aura practically envelopes Soap whenever they’re in close proximity, laying a claim without even having to touch one another. You know getting close to Soap could force Ghost to get comfortable with you, or it might make him more territorial.

But that scene at breakfast a few days ago, when he’d gotten defensive over that soldier staring in your direction.

You let out an exasperated sigh, opening the book. “Alphas are so infuriating for literally no reason.” You murmur to yourself.

You read until another knock sounds at the door, signaling lunch. You use your note pages as a bookmark, stuffing the book into the back of your underwear drawer before opening the door.

“Hungry, pup?” Price greets you as he usually does when he’s escorting you to a meal.

You nod, stepping out and closing the door behind you. “Always, sir.”

Like most omegas, you have a healthy appetite. It always gets bigger close to your heat, and you never quite feel satisfied and full during that time. You wonder how you’re going to manage on a military base with such a rigid schedule. There’s always snacks in the rec room, but you’re going to need a lot more than chips and protein drinks to keep you happy when the time comes.

You follow Price to the mess, his arm brushing yours as you walk. You’ve noticed them getting closer to you over the past few days, at least in the literal sense. It started with Soap and Gaz. They walk closer to you, sit closer to you. When you join them in the evenings in the rec room they’ve started putting you between them. Price has now started getting closer, walking closer to you, standing closer to you, often looming behind you like a shadow.

Ghost is the only one who hasn’t changed much, still regarding you with disinterest and speaking shortly to you when you’re forced to interact.

“Don’t worry about ‘im lass. He'll warm up tae ye.” Soap had reassured you after a rather cold shoulder from Ghost.

You’re not entirely sure that’s possible. You’re determined to at least try to get on amicable terms with him, and you’re hopeful the book will help with that. Even if he’s nothing more than just another alpha in your pack, if you can get him to stop being so icy around you, perhaps you’ll be able to settle in better.

And maybe you’ll be able to fix your lack of instincts.

Dr. Keller said there was nothing wrong with your lack of instincts at this point in the transition, but everything you had learned at The Institute goes against what she said. You’re an omega. Your job is to be obedient, to serve your pack, and follow your alpha’s commands. Good omegas do what’s asked of them without question, putting their trust in their alpha. No one knows what’s best for you like your alpha.

Your alpha hasn’t asked much of anything of you.

You don’t know how to feel about that.

“I’m startin’ tae think that sandwich insulted ye, lass.”

Soap’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. You have been sitting and staring at your sandwich for a while, lost in your thoughts. It’s not a terrible sandwich by any means, certainly better than the ones you got at The Institute.

They’re all staring at you, four pairs of eyes watching you. You’ve barely touched your plate, and you hardly remember going through the line.

You shake your head, picking up your fork to poke at whatever mushy vegetable Price had added to your tray. “No, it’s fine. I was just lost in thought.”

“‘Bout what?” Soap asks, taking a bite of his own sandwich.

You shrug. “Just something Dr. Keller said.”

“Ah, omega secrets then.” Soap grins. “I’ve heard rumors that omegas know the true meaning of the universe.”

“Yeah, it’s 42.” You say, earning a chuckle from Price.

If you hadn’t been looking, you wouldn’t have noticed the shift in Ghost’s shoulders, the slight softening of his gaze for a moment as he stares at his own sandwich.

He's laughing at you again.

He’s an enigma, a confusing presence in your life. You have no choice but to have him in your life, just as he has no choice but to have you in his life.

You finish your food quickly, wanting to get back to the book. You’ve already got some ideas floating around from it, things that might help you ease into their world a bit more.

Gaz walks you back to the barracks after lunch, the area between the two buildings more crowded than usual. You both slow a bit as a whistle sounds through the air, your head turning as a rather crude comment reaches your ears.

“Ignore them.” Gaz says, putting a hand on your back. “Bunch of cocksure alphas. They’re always rowdy after the weekend. They go out, surround themselves with omega barrack bunnies, make themselves feel important.”

“Have you...been with a barrack bunny?” You ask hesitantly, mostly out of curiosity. You know they likely have. They've had their entire lives they've been able to dictate for themselves.

“Not since joining the team.” He answers honestly. “None of us have. We don’t usually have the time, or the need. We have each other now.”

And now they have you.

“Do they, the other soldiers...do they know why I’m here?” You find yourself asking as you enter the barracks.

“Not specifically.” Gaz says. “Most of what we do is classified, even to them. I think some of them have begun to put two and two together. And before too long, they’ll be able to figure it out.” He says, giving you a look as you stop in front of your door.

“Yeah...” You say softly, your stomach churning nervously at the thought of your approaching heat. There’s still quite a bit of time before then, but you don’t feel ready. You don’t feel ready to spend a heat with an alpha, you don’t feel ready to be claimed.

“Don’t worry too much.” He says, pressing his finger between your brows like he might be able to smooth out the frown that’s formed between them. “Price will take good care of you. Besides, we’ve got plenty of time to work out the kinks.” He chucks you under the chin gently before he leans down, pressing a kiss to your rapidly warming cheek. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

You still feel a bit like you’re floating as you close your door behind you. Your face is warm, not just from the forwardness of Gaz’s actions but also his words. You let out a quiet sound as you fan your face, trying desperately not to think about how soft his lips are, how easily he had ignited a fire within you with some words and a simple touch.

Gaz is trouble, you think as you pull out the book again, settling down at your desk to read.

You open the book, starting at the next section.

Bonding With Your Pack.

This is what you need, ideas on how to do exactly that. Even though you’re already beginning to feel close to Soap and Gaz, you still feel as if there’s a chasm keeping you from Price, and an ocean between you and Ghost. You just need something, anything that will start building that rope bridge and maybe a boat.

Learn To Speak Their Language.

You pause at the chapter title, pulling out the notebook you’ve been taking notes in.

“As much as we want to think it can be, not everything can be about us all the time. Just like in any relationship, we have to put effort into others as well. If you find yourself struggling to connect with your alpha, the first step is to figure out something they’re interested in. Sports? Video Games? Food? Get to know your alpha, and make it a point to learn about something they’re interested in. Learn to speak their language.”

You read the passage thrice over, the realization dawning on you. You knew from the beginning that getting them to adapt to you was not going to be possible. You were going to have to adapt yourself to fit into their lives. Their lives of fighting and war and violence and guns.

An idea begins to form in your head as you brainstorm, scribbling page after page of notes. It’s not perfect, but you’re in no rush to perfect it. After all, you’ve got nothing but time.

You sit next to Soap at breakfast, close enough his arm is brushing yours. You wish you could see Ghost’s face, or, well, his eyes at least.

“So what do you guys do between breakfast and lunch?” You ask, all four of them pausing as they look at you. You continue to eat, pretending not to notice their looks. You know mornings are for their workouts before breakfast, but what they do between meals is almost entirely unknown to you. You assume it’s some sort of training, maybe meetings and briefings.

“Training, usually.” Price answers after a moment. “Running simulations, training courses, weapons training, hand-to-hand. Keeps our skills sharp. Today they’re running a routine course to make sure they’re not getting lazy in our time off.”

“Can I come?” You ask, their gazes snapping to you again. “To watch? I’m getting kind of bored sitting around.”

Price’s gaze burns into you as you meet it, not looking away despite the tickling at the back of your neck telling you to yield. Tough alphas like a challenge, the book said. Don’t back down, even when you want to.

“I don’t see why not.” He finally says, picking up his cup of coffee. “Give these muppets another reason to compete with each other.”

The table erupts in chaos as Gaz and Soap immediately start betting with each other. You can’t help but smile, used to their bickering and competitiveness after spending time with them doing literally anything together.

This is certainly going to be interesting, if nothing else.

“There’s two rules for you being here.” Price says as you walk with him down a line of hangars. “You do everything I say, and stick close to me. They’ll be using live rounds, and the last thing we need is you catching a stray bullet in some freak accident.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” You say, saluting him.

He stares down at you for a moment, amusement shining in his eyes. “Cute.” He leads you into the hangar, a sort of building made out of plywood set up inside. “Over here.” He leads you to where a sort of command center is set up.

There’s screens showing feeds from cameras set up inside the mock building, a timer and an intercom system set up. You look it over in amazement, Price coming to stand next to you.

“How does it work?” You ask.

“They enter there.” He points to what you assume represents the front door. “Work their way through both levels to clear the house.There’s targets in some rooms that pop up when certain pressure triggers are hit on the floor. Hit every target, clear the house, exit there,” He points at a spot on the side of the house in front of where you’re standing. “And reach that red line in 60 seconds.”

You blink in surprise. “How fast can they do it?”

“Gaz holds the record currently at 19 seconds, Ghost in second at 19.5, and Soap at 20.5.” He says.

“Wow.” You say under your breath, looking over the cameras again. “I’m not sure I could even think that fast.”

Price chuckles. “I wouldn’t expect you to be able to, sweetheart. We’ve had years and years of training and experience. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He says, heading back down the steps to where the others have gathered, wearing light gear.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen them all geared up, but the change is always palpable. Gone are the laid back betas and alpha, and instead they’ve shifted into battle-hardened soldiers. It’s almost mesmerizing how easily they can shift between the two.

And you can hardly handle your instincts getting a little twitchy.

Price joins you again, turning on the intercom system. “Alright Gaz, at my go sweep the house and clear the rooms.” You hold your breath as Price pauses, Gaz in place at the front door. “Go, go, go!” Price says, the timer starting as Gaz enters the house.

You watch on the cameras as he goes through the lower levels, jumping slightly as the first gunshots echo through the hangar. They’re louder than you had expected, even with the hangar doors opened partway. You feel a bit anxious as you watch the time and his progress, almost as if you’re watching an intense movie.

17...18...19...

Gaz slips through the side door, racing for the red line marking the end. You stare at the timer as Price hits the stop button. Twenty one seconds. You wonder how often they don’t meet their previous records, or if their break really is having that much of an effect on them. You hear Gaz curse quietly as he passes, heading back to stand by Soap as Ghost gets ready at the start.

The nervous anticipation doesn't lessen any as Ghost makes his way through the house, moving swiftly and silently as he always seemed to do. For such a large being he can move so quietly with an ease unlike you’ve ever seen.

You watch the timer as he crosses the red line. 21.9.

You catch a whiff of his scent as he passes, the hint of ozone burning your nose. He’s frustrated. They have to know they’re not performing as well as they know they can. Part of you wonders if it’s your fault they’re not even meeting their best times.

Soap is up last, moving with an ease and focus that you’re not entirely surprised he’s capable of. Though he tends to be the most lighthearted of the four, and the most unserious, he made it on the team for a reason.

Again you watch the timer, still held at rapt attention in the intensity of the moment as he crosses the red line. 25. He lets out a loud string of curses, most of which you don’t understand as he moves back to the start.

“Wait here.” Price says before descending back down the steps.

You’ve seen the change in him as well, a bit more subtle as he always seemed to be in the Captain mindset to some degree. You wonder if he’s ever not the Captain, if there’s a time where he gets to just be John Price. You wonder what he’s like when he doesn’t have the weight of his responsibility constantly on his shoulders. You wonder when the last time he got to let go like that was.

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” You say as he joins you once more. You’re beginning to think maybe you made a mistake in asking to come along.

“Most likely.” He says, resetting the timer. “But that’s something we need to know. This is the new normal. They need to learn to work through it.”

Especially if it’s you they’re trying to get to.

You knew there was a risk. Just being associated with them puts you at risk. They’re hidden, anonymous, deeply classified for a reason. You’d gotten that briefing during your time training with the CIA, after Laswell had told you where you would be going. Just knowing their names, who they are, where their home base is, is enough to put you in danger. You were hidden just as much as they were now, your entire existence now hidden beneath layers of security clearance.

You could still be a target, if anyone found out. They might think you have information, details about their missions, about the things they do.

The likelihood of that happening was low, but never zero. There was still risk involved in being around them, a risk you were assigned to take. It was your duty, though, as an omega. Do what you’re told, go where you’re sent, follow your alpha without question.

Institutes really are like the military, you think. Only you’re fighting a different battle than they are.

You’re seated on the couch in your usual spot, curled up with a book. Your pack was having some downtime as Price had an emergency meeting he had to attend. Your heart had jumped a bit at the news, at the thought that they might be pulled away early. They weren’t supposed to get called off on a mission until after your next heat to allow for the adjustment and claiming, but if they were needed...they could be called away before then.

So you’d settled in with a book in the rec room to try and calm your nervous energy.

“Mind if I join ye?”

You look up as Soap enters the rec room, a smile on his face. “No, go ahead.” You offer a smile back.

He joins you on the couch, lifting your legs over his lap. You flush a bit at the bold move, but you were growing used to his boldness. “What are ye readin’?”

“‘Lord of the Flies.’” You say, holding up the cover.

“Did ye finish the other one already?” He asks in astonishment.

“I’ve already read two books since I got here.” You say, laughing a little.

“Och, yer a bright wee lamb, aren’t ye?” He chuckles. “Ye like tae read?”

You nod. “Yeah. It’s good for passing the time.”

He hums, grabbing the remote. “Ghost likes tae read too. Dinnae tell him I told ye that.” He holds up the remote. “Ye mind?”

You shake your head. “No, go ahead.”

He turns on the TV, keeping the volume low as he sits with you. His hand is warm where it rests on your calf, his thumb absentmindedly stroking circles over the fabric. You try to focus on the book but you can’t help the fluttering in your stomach at the proximity of the beta. You keep catching whiffs of his scent, and you’re beginning to feel an urge to ask him about Ghost. If anyone can give you answers, it’ll be Soap.

“Soap?” You ask, closing your book.

He hums, turning to look at you. You stare into those bright blue eyes, your heart fluttering a bit. His eyes are so warm and expressive, shining with something you can’t quite put a name to.

“Does Ghost...hate me?” You ask quietly, knowing with your luck as soon as you start the conversation, the man in question would appear out of nowhere.

Soap’s lips tug up into a smile, a quiet chuckle rumbling through his chest. “Nae, lass. He doesnae hate ye. Ghost is...” He makes a face, trying to find the right words. “Ghost is very guarded.”

He slips his arms around you, lifting you into his lap. You let out a quiet sound in surprise, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders out of instinct. His arms wrap around you, his tactical vest digging into your side a bit, but you’re too focused on the sudden proximity to really care.

“He's no an easy man tae get close tae.” He continues. “I know. Couldnae stand me when we first met. I broke him down, proved myself. We spent enough time together, and that bond just formed naturally.”

“He sees me as a threat.” You say, voicing the opinion you’ve been coming to over the last few days.

“I wouldnae say a threat.” Soap grins, his hand squeezing your side. “A wee yin like ye. He just needs time tae adjust. He's gonnae dae it in his own way.”

“I don’t even need him to really like me.” You say, tracing the Union Jack on the front of Soap’s vest. “I just need him to tolerate me.”

“This is him tolerating ye.” Soap deadpans.

You give him a look. “Well he’s got a funny way of showing it then.”

Soap chuckles, the sound vibrating through your body. “Nah, dinnae worry too much about him, hen.”

You hum, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You’re right. It’s Captain Price I need to worry about.”

“I dinnae think ye need tae worry too much there either.” Soap grins. “The Cap’n is head over heels for ye already.”

You give him a look of disbelief, eyebrows raising. “What?”

Soap nods. “Oh aye, I havenae seen him smile this much in all the time I’ve known him.”

You continue to stare in disbelief. You knew Price at least tolerated the idea of you becoming his omega. He’s been nothing but polite, cordial even with you. In the traditional sense he’s already begun courting you, providing and protecting. You still have yet to move beyond the polite tiptoeing, even with how things have been shifting the last few days.

You have the beta’s approval, which you know is an important step in pack formation.

You bite your lip, your fingers curling around the edge of his vest. “You really think he...”

“Mhm.” Soap nods. “Cannae blame him, pretty omega like ye strutting around the base.”

He’s getting closer to you. You can’t do anything but stay still as his face lowers towards yours. Your stomach is fluttering, but you can’t tell if it’s nerves or excitement. His hand slides down your side, following the curve of your hip before it settles on your thigh. He’s so warm, his scent amplified with your close proximity. You feel a bit dizzy, your head spinning a bit. You understand now how betas can still win over both alphas and omegas.

“We all feel lucky havin’ ye.” He says quietly, his breath fanning your face. His forehead presses against yours, so close to you your noses are brushing.

You wonder what Ghost would do if he walked in and saw you this close to his beta. Would your body fly through a window or a wall? Or would he tackle you, wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze until your head pops or your airway collapses? Or, was Soap right and he would do nothing?

Or would he like it?

The thought sends a shiver down your spine. Soap likes you, both of the betas in your new pack like you. It’s good, you know, having the approval of both betas, even though you don’t technically need both. Price could claim you with only his and Gaz’s approval, though it would be easier if all four approved.

You wonder if Ghosts supposed tolerance of you is because of Soap. The alpha is very protective of his beta, though you don’t doubt Soap would go to bat for you if he needed to.

He might have already.

Soap hasn’t moved, both of you frozen where you are. He wants to kiss you, you think, your brain pulling up all the movies you’ve seen in your life. You’re gripping onto him tightly, your stomach fluttering. You’re nervous, unsure of how to move next. Do you let him kiss you? You’ve only been kissed once before, but that was hardly more than a childish peck on the lips. He wants to kiss you like they do in the movies.

Will Soap be upset if you pull away? Will he force you back and take what he wants? There would be no stopping him. Even if the others were in the building, even if they heard you, would they come to your rescue? Or would they let it happen because it’s your purpose? What would Ghost do if he walked in and saw you? What would Price do? Would Price be upset that he wasn’t the first to kiss you?

You are his claim after all.

You slowly draw yourself back, removing your arm from around his shoulders as you turn slightly to face the TV. You hold your breath, not wanting to catch the souring of Soap’s scent, the tell that he was upset at your decision. You wait for his grip to tighten, for his body to force you back onto the couch. His hand moves from your thigh and you tense, waiting for the reprimanding to come, but instead he simply wraps his arms around your upper body again, holding you like he had been before.

Your heart is still thudding in your chest as you quietly watch the TV, the silence in the room thick but not uncomfortable. You lean your head back on his shoulder, letting yourself relax into him. The almondy scent of beta is thick in the air, likely his doing to diffuse the tension he must be able to feel.

“British TV is weird.” You say, trying to follow along with what’s going on, on the screen.

Soap laughs, squeezing his arms around you for a moment. “Aye, it really is.”

You continue to sit with him, letting his scent relax you. You’ve given up following what’s on the TV, his warmth and presence slowly lulling you until your eyes are drifting closed.

The scent permeates the air everywhere he goes.

Caramel. Vanilla. Strawberries.

No amount of scent blockers can keep it from seeping under his mask, permeating his senses. He’d spray the scent blocker up his nose if he thought it might work. You’re stinking up the base, his beta, his life. Even now he can smell it, the sweet cloud of your scent wafting through the halls.

He can pick up the sharp tang of anxiety on the edge of it, a low growl rumbling through his chest in response. It burns his nose and he hates it. His boots are quiet on the tile floor as he makes for the rec room, following the cocktail of scents. Your pungent sweetness layered over Johnny’s warm spice.

Images flash through his mind of what position he might find you both in. He can smell the musky undertones of Johnny’s desire in the air, a scent he’s very familiar with. He knows how much his beta wants the new omega that’s been forced on them. They don’t need an omega. He knows how much Price fought against it, but even the Captain has begun to fall under your intoxicating spell.

You don’t even know you’re doing it.

His hands curl into fists as he steps into the rec room. The TV is playing some daytime rerun, but his eyes are drawn to the couch. Johnny is fast asleep, his head leaning against yours. You’re asleep in his lap, hand under your cheek, resting against his chest. You’ll have imprints on your skin from your hand and his vest. Johnny’s arms are wrapped tight around you, looking more peaceful than he has in a while.

He’s already comfortable enough to sleep with you.

“MacTavish!” He snaps, startling both of you.

The only thing that keeps you from flailing to the floor is Johnny’s quick reflexes, his grip tightening around you to keep you on his lap. Johnny blinks the sleep from his eyes, squinting up at him for a moment.

“Let’s move.” He growls, turning and leaving the rec room.

He refuses to look at you in your sleepy haze, not quite as quick to wake as Johnny. He doesn’t want to watch the way Johnny eases you to your feet, how small you look leaning against him as you grumble sleepily. He doesn’t want to watch as Johnny guides you to your door, easing you into the safety of your room while they leave to do their jobs.

He hates the way he turns back to look as Johnny speaks quietly to you, those big, shiny puppy eyes staring up at him. He hates the churning in his stomach as you soften at Johnny’s kiss to your forehead, the way you watch Johnny walk down the hallway. Ghost opens the door for his beta, letting him out, but he can’t bring himself to move until he hears the click of the lock on your door sliding into place.

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @hanellokey @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieeee @141trash @ghostlythots @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @thychuvaluswife @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @bisky-business @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @cadotoast @linaangel @rancid-wasp @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @puppyel @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #poly 141 #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #x reader

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bloompompom · 1 month

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Always the Quiet Ones*

*this is a revamped reupload of my previous fic

✽ summary: eren mistakenly took his new lab partner for being quiet, only to discover she was so much more than that. ✽ content: ~12.5k word count. eren jaeger x female reader, college au, one shot, mutual pining, smut, fluff, casual sex, praise, light spanking, explicit consent, alcohol, explicit language, explicit sexual content, reader discretion advised. 18+ ✽ a/n: i just really missed this fic </3

It was the honest-to-God truth when Eren said he wasn’t looking to catch feelings for anyone. But then you came along.

You were harmless enough—nothing more than his quiet lab partner in anatomy. He didn’t know what to think of you, other than you had a tendency to keep to yourself. On the rare occasion you spoke up, your words were always brief, pertinent to whatever assignment was at hand. But more often than not, you’d only address Eren with a cursory nod when he’d take his assigned seat beside you.

The class was awful enough, with two-hour labs being the worst part of Eren’s week because he spent them in a fumbling and awkward silence. But if you wouldn’t bother to glance up from your book when you talked to him, then he would treat you the same. He brought the bare minimum to conversations. He gave one-word answers; a specific grunt for yes, another for no, each you had to learn.

He couldn’t help but wonder why you were, for lack of better words, like that. Quiet. Standoffish. Withdrawn. He had a few theories on the matter—only because lectures were just that boring. His most probable theory was that you were shy. That would make the most sense, wouldn’t it?

Perhaps you were the type of student who took her classes way too seriously. He guessed you to be in your third year, like him. Maybe you were trying to get into a competitive graduate program. Or maybe you really liked anatomy. You seemed to like the textbook an awful lot, always reading far too closely in the way nerds do in cartoons. But other times, it was almost as if you were avoiding looking him in the eye.

Then there were the days—usually when Eren felt particularly disgruntled—that your quietness irked him to no end. He knew it was irrational to care so much, but damn it, why were you like that? And all the time, too. You must be stuck up. What else could he blame your perpetually cold shoulder on? He wasn’t proud of it, but sometimes he believed you were a bitch. Simple as that.

Eren’s theories could go on and on, but they all skirted the truth. At least, you didn’t think yourself a bitch. No, the reason behind your reserved demeanor was much more straightforward than that.

You had a stupid crush on Eren.

A girlish, twirling-your-hair-around-your-finger middle school crush. That made your stomach feel hollow and full, somehow at once, and had you gushing to your roommate despite knowing you’d never act on it.

It’d been like this since last semester, though you weren’t even sure Eren knew of your existence until Professor Hange partnered up the two of you.

God. Thinking about it now still riddled you with anxiety. You swore up and down that you were going to die that day. Like actually keel over from a heart attack in the middle of class and die.

In another universe, perhaps this forced proximity would have excited you. Maybe he would have given you his phone number to text about homework, and in that universe, you would have been giddy over it.

Unfortunately for you, in this universe, anatomy was far from your strongest subject. Very, very far.

You drove yourself mad over all the ways you’d inevitably embarrass yourself in front of Eren, lab after lab. It terrified you to where you wouldn’t dare ask him a question. What if you sounded dumb? So you’d press on without having him repeat himself and only scribble down what little you could manage.

It was despicable. It was despicable, and you knew it, and you still didn’t change a thing because it was much easier to pretend Eren wasn’t there to begin with. Even if it meant you’d started seeing your grade slip.

You hoped to keep that—and your crush—a secret, but there was one day he got a bit too nosy for your liking.

Professor Hange handed your lab report back, face down, like always. You knew professors did that for everyone, no matter the grade, but sometimes the rule felt targeted at you.

You didn’t want to, but you forced yourself to peel back the corner and take a peek. Unsurprisingly, a lousy grade met you on the other side. Again.

For someone wanting to hide their score, you weren’t as careful as you should have been when sliding the paper into your folder. Eren leaned back in his seat, just far enough to steal a glimpse from over your shoulder. For research, obviously. If you liked anatomy so much, then you must be pretty good at the subject.

But what he saw surprised him, especially when thought about his grade in the class. It slipped out on a chuckle when he said, “Wow. Are you even writing anything down?”

You startled, slamming your folder shut. “Huh?”

You couldn’t tell if Eren was joking or not. He was, but it didn’t come across as lighthearted as he had hoped. He often let his thoughts carelessly spill into words, but you didn’t know about that nasty habit of his. All you could think was shit, because he had finally figured out that you had no idea what you were doing.

Admittedly, Eren felt a little guilty once he saw the panic wash over your face. He cracked a smile at you, maybe for the first time. Still, his eyebrows furrowed in pity, like he couldn’t hold it back.

“The lab,” Eren clarified. He pointed to the crumpled paper, half in the folder, half poking out. “We do them together every week. How are you screwing up that badly?”

What kind of question was that? You gave him a hard frown and regretted thinking he’d be anything more than curt with you. Pity brows or not, you weren’t feeling much sympathy from him.

You didn’t reply, just stared past him blankly as you imagined how this horrible moment would torment you as you tried to fall asleep that night. You only snapped from it when you heard his chair drag against the tile. He sighed—a bit too loudly for you to consider natural—then started putting his belongings into his backpack.

“Look,” Eren began. He glanced up at you once he’d zipped his bag shut. His eyes made you flighty. “You don’t have to get stuck with a shitty grade. I bet I can help.”

His voice was flat, and you didn’t like his delivery much, but beneath it, there was a glint of kindness. You weren’t sure where it came from, and frankly, neither did Eren. He attributed it to his guilt for speaking so thoughtlessly. It was hard not to, what with the way your face—always so stoic that he’d think you were made of marble—turned sullen. He didn’t like how it made him feel. More than that, he disliked knowing you could pull such a reaction from him.

“You still have my number, yeah?” Eren asked.

You nodded. You did, in fact, still have his phone number. It was in the top corner of the first page of your notebook. He wrote it down after your first class together like you hoped he would. You decided not to do anything with it. You didn’t even save it, too worried about the possibility of drunk texting him.

“Good,” he said. “We can meet up sometime to study together.”

“Okay, yeah. Thanks,” you said, quietly at first, but your confidence grew with each word when you realized this might not have to become one of your top ten most embarrassing memories.

“Sure.” Eren stood up and swung his backpack over his shoulder. He smiled at you again. It was real this time, big enough to make your stomach flip. “I can’t let my lab partner flunk out on me.”

So that was where everything began. And by ‘everything,’ you meant how you and Eren would study together occasionally. Nothing more. Definitely not the fun sort of studying—you know, like having him study your anatomy rather than the pictures in his textbook. Oh, well. You could still dream.

It took two study dates (your term for them) before you didn’t sit on the edge of your seat around Eren. As lame as it sounded, he made you incredibly nervous, more nervous than you felt around him in class. And like in class, you tried your hardest to keep your eyes on your text. You knew if you looked at him, you’d turn into a pile of goo before you could even look away.

It was shameful to admit, but you’d catch yourself stealing glances at him, but only when you were certain he wouldn’t notice. The times when he was jotting down notes because you liked how he looked when he was pensive. His dark brows would sit low over his eyes, and his bottom lip would jut out ever so slightly. And sometimes, only when truly stumped, he’d run his fingers through his hair in thought. You liked that, too.

By the time midterms had come and gone, you started seeing Eren more and more, meeting outside of class twice a week—a third if you had a report due. By then, it was impossible to allow your heart to flutter every time you were around him, otherwise it was bound to give out.

What you wanted to call study dates quickly became what felt like tutoring lessons. And just to be clear, you were not the tutor. But after Eren had you convinced his willingness to help was genuine, you didn’t worry as much about sounding dumb. He never seemed bothered when he had to explain a topic, even if you went overboard with the questions.

It was nice to not have to think so hard around him. He’d poke fun at you because you always mixed up dorsal and ventral, and you never let him live down spelling ‘brain’ as ‘brian.’ “It was one time,” he’d always complain back to you.

After getting scolded one too many times in the library for goofing off, other spots around campus had to make do. Then that turned into you going to Eren’s place, just a five-minute walk from your lab building.

Eren lived in a house with three other boys. Jean, Connie, and Armin. You found Jean and Connie to be nice enough based on the handful of conversations you had with them. But Eren blamed them for the reason you didn’t study at the house often, accusing them of being too distracting to think straight.

Eren wouldn’t ever tell you this—hell, he couldn’t think of anyone he’d confess this to—but the real reason he didn’t like to study at his place was Armin.

Armin. Eren’s blonde best friend for the last ten years. His roommate that you would describe as cute as a button and sharp as a tack. He knew much more about anatomy than you and Eren. When Armin was bored, he’d join you on the couch and answer the questions Eren couldn’t.

He couldn’t pinpoint why it bothered him so much. He always knew Armin was smarter than him; it had never been a problem before, but now it irked him ceaselessly. Instead of trying to sort it out, he decided going to your apartment was the better solution. Your roommate, Hitch, was more tolerable.

It was near final exam week when it hit you, a smack-across-the-face reminder that you still had a crush on Eren. It happened when your study dates became less of a one-on-one thing and more like a group hangout.

You were friendly, something between classmates and acquaintances, with the peers sitting around you. One girl, Mina, told you she, Thomas, and Samuel were getting together to prepare for the upcoming final. She insisted you and Eren should join.

You didn’t respond right away. You couldn’t, not with the way your stomach churned when Eren answered for you.

“She needs all the help she can get,” he said, giving you a playful pay on the shoulder. He was only joking, but you wished he didn’t sound so eager. You especially wished his hand, innocently placed on your back, didn’t make your face burn.

You got over it quickly. It was difficult to stay bitter at people you got along well with, so much so that you’d accomplish more chatting than studying. Luckily for the rest of you, Eren and Thomas knew enough to help you skate by.

But when Eren began texting in the new group chat more than he’d text you, you weren’t afraid to say you noticed a sting. It felt like you’d let your chances with him slip by because, next semester, you wouldn’t be his lab partner anymore.

You left the exam feeling okay at best. You walked out with your head down, not paying any attention as Mina caught up to you. She invited you to come by her place that Friday night, that some of your classmates would be there to celebrate the end of Professor Hange’s pop quizzes. You thought little about it when you said yes.

You were at the get-together for an hour, maybe longer, when someone was drunk enough to start a game of Never Have I Ever. After your second beer, you felt just adventurous enough to play.

Mina’s living room was on the smaller side for hosting, but it was nice enough. She had everyone crowd around, sitting where they could, whether it was on the sofa or the floor, and in the center was an old beer. It’d warmed from sitting out for a few hours, according to Samuel, and chugging it would serve as punishment for putting the last of your fingers down. And while you were tipsy, you certainly hadn’t drunk enough for that.

You would, of course. But you didn’t know it then.

You sat on the floor, legs folded to your chest, with your hand growing tired in the air. Only your index finger remained standing when Mina shouted it was her turn.

“Never have I ever had a body count higher than five,” she announced.

A few people put a finger down, but it didn’t matter. You let your forehead drop to your knees in defeat. Everyone started laughing, hounding you to drink the beer when you whined, “Do I have to?”

If you weren’t busy downing that lukewarm can, pouting as you went, and your audience wasn’t too busy heckling you, maybe someone would have noticed how Eren went quiet, how a firm crease formed just between his unsettled brows.

He couldn’t articulate the feeling, but it reminded him of the one he got when he saw you laugh with Armin. Some strange burning, uncomfortably deep in his stomach. It made him not want to look at you any longer.

Your body count didn’t offend him. After all, he had to put a finger down for the same reason. Though you surprised him, he had to admit, but that wasn’t new. The more he learned about you, the more he realized his assumptions about you couldn’t have been more off—specifically the ones about you being a bitch and good at anatomy.

Eren studied you from across the room. Your nose crinkled; giggles spilled from you as you tried, for the second time, to finish the rest of the beer. Eren had heard you laugh—many times, actually—but something about it always made his chest go tight.

His thoughts ventured further, wandering, wondering if you crinkle your nose the same way when you come.

He could see you beneath him, naked. Brows pinched together cutely, teeth dipped into your swollen bottom lip. He could feel your thighs under his hands, soft and giving under his palms as he slipped between—

It was so wrong of him. To be in a room full of people and pretend as if you were the only two people there. The only two people to exist.

That swarming in his gut burned hotter. He took another sip of his beer like it would dull it.

There was a moment of doubt. Almost like a hangnail, he could pick and pick at it until he created a wound of his own making. What was so wrong with him that made you uninterested?

He could deny naming the sick feeling as much as he wanted, but Eren knew what it was: insecurity. He was jealous of people he didn’t even know, for no other reason than they had the chance to be with you in all the ways he craved.

He felt fucking pathetic for it.

Eren didn’t stay at the party long after that. You left Mina’s just before midnight and didn’t think of much of that night, or Eren, for the rest of the weekend. On Monday, you checked your final grade for anatomy, and by some miracle, you passed the class.

It was well into winter break when you saw Eren again. You bumped into him at a house party, when there was about a week left until classes started and everyone was trickling back to campus to celebrate the new year.

You didn’t expect to see him this soon—actually, you weren’t so sure you’d ever see him again. Anatomy was the only glue holding you together. You wished you could say you had more faith in the friendship, in him, but he hadn’t talked to you since Mina’s party. You thought he would have at least been curious to know how you did in the class.

It was probably better this way, you told yourself, considering you nearly failed the class because of him. Well, you technically passed because of him too, but you wouldn’t have needed to worry about failing if he wasn’t your lab partner.

All that for a silly crush.

You stumbled into Eren toward the end of the night, the time when parties turn spacey and liminal; the limbo dividing night and day. A few lights were on now, and whoever was in charge of the music had clearly given up a while ago. Everything was a not-so-subtle sign pointing toward the exit.

Believe it or not, you wanted nothing more than to go home. You would have been out of there thirty minutes ago if it weren’t for Hitch. Your loveable, yet self-proclaimed ditzy roommate had disappeared.

By the time you thought to search for her, you had already drunk past your limit. You were dizzy, starving, and having poked your head into every room and around every corner. No Hitch, but you walked in on a lot of dry humping.

The last time you saw her, she was one of those dry humpers. She was all over some guy you guessed to be the reason she wanted to come to the party. Anyway, you were sure you’d catch his name tomorrow morning.

You were too distracted, too bubbly from the leftover New Year’s champagne, to see what was in front of you—even if he was rather tall, broad, and hard to miss. You didn’t even look twice as you walked past Eren. He’d only grabbed your attention once you heard your name, disappointed that the voice was too deep to belong to Hitch.

You spun around and the floor tilted with you. It took you a few steps to straighten back out, but once you did, your vision settled on Eren.

He gave you a lop-sided smile, serving as nothing more than a hesitant greeting. He only made it more awkward by throwing in a cheeky, “Long time, no see.”

You offered a chuckle that was only half-forced, the other half genuine simply because it was easy to impress anyone after they’d spent the night drinking.

And because you’d spent the night drinking, you felt all weird when you looked at Eren. You weren’t upset with him—maybe disappointed. Not disappointed in him exactly, he never owed you his kindness, but disappointed by what could have been.

But now that he was here, getting shoved closer and closer with each passerby, you didn’t know what to think other than you should’ve skipped that last drink. You’d hoped to feel more like yourself the next time you saw Eren. The last thing you wanted was to get tangled up in him again; you weren’t sure you’d be able to unravel yourself a second time.

Eren took a willing pace toward you. Your gaze was boozy, eyes hazy and distant. He recognized the look and had a feeling you wouldn’t speak first, so he asked, “Were you looking for someone?”

“Hitch,” you said. There was a pause. You weren’t sure if he remembered he’d met her. “My roommate.”

“I know.”

“We were supposed to leave to get food, but I think she took a guy home,” you told him, for no reason in particular. “Last time this happened, I walked in on them doing it on the counter.”

Eren laughed, harder once your face winced at the memory, a sight seared into your brain, for sure. “You should really consider finding a new roommate.”

“And in the meantime?”

“You come back to my place,” he said, so casually that you were positive you didn’t hear him right. Your face must have given you away, and he tried to play it off with a shrug. “What’s the big deal? You’ve slept on my couch before.”

He was right. You’d fallen asleep on his couch while studying once. Okay, twice. He teased you about it, saying you got drool everywhere.

“That’s different,” you said sheepishly. “That was an accident.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place,” he teased.

“Maybe you shouldn’t make your flashcards so boring!”

Eren liked his simple flashcards. He actually preferred them. Not everyone needed to spend more time color-coding and highlighting their flashcards than studying them.

He tilted his head with the sort of look that said, stop being so stubborn. "Fine. Then how about you tell me how to make them look nicer on the way to my place? I was just about to leave, anyway.”

He took a step backward, daring you to follow, and then another, until he turned on one foot and headed for the front door. He knew you’d follow him, and thoughtlessly, you did, trailing right behind.

You called out to him, “You don’t really need them now, do you? The class is over.”

“I just thought you might need ‘em.” Eren bounded down the porch steps, tossing a glance over his shoulder, ready to catch the expression you’d make when he said, “Figured you had to retake the class.”

You wished you had shoved him down the steps, but he had already crossed the lawn. He walked with longer strides than you and didn’t seem concerned about whether you could keep up.

“Thanks for that,” you replied begrudgingly.

“Anytime.”

It didn’t take long for you to near campus. You walked along the main drag, lined with various bars and late-night bites that thrived in the college town’s nightlife. It made it impossible to tell the time, what with every club still playing music loud enough to thrum in your chest, its beat perfectly in tempo with your every step—those of which were still struggling to match Eren’s.

“Did you still want to get food?” he asked.

“Hm?” You couldn’t hear him over your shuffling, your feet dragging against the sidewalk. They’d started hurting hours ago, and this jaunt certainly wasn’t making it better. You really shouldn’t have worn the new shoes you received over the holidays.

“You never listen, do you?” Eren didn’t say it with annoyance but with a laugh. “I’m surprised you’ve made it this far.”

“No, you just mumble a lot,” you defended. “And for your information, I’m not retaking anatomy. I passed with a C.”

“A C-plus or a C-minus?”

“Plus,” you said with inflated, drunken confidence.

“I’ll alert the media,” Eren replied. You stuck your tongue out at him, though you knew he wouldn’t see it. “Now tell me, did you still want to get food or not?”

“I didn’t think it was still an option.”

“‘Course it is.” He finally looked back at you from over his shoulder, just in time to watch you stumble over a crack in the sidewalk. “I think you could use something to eat.”

Eren rounded the next corner, a block short of the street he lived on, and led you a few doors down to a diner, breakfast served 24 hours. You expected to flag down a street vendor over sitting down to eat, but you couldn’t complain about some drunk pancakes.

Eren chose the booth in the back after the hostess instructed you to seat yourselves. The place was small and smelled of stale coffee—just as any diner would at this hour. And stale or not, you knew you’d need to down a mug or two if you wanted to sober up.

The server flipped your ceramic mug over and filled it to the brim. If it were nine in the morning, steam would pour out like it did in the movies, but you didn’t want to know how long this coffee had sat out.

You took it with cream, then dumped some sugar in, too. Reaching for a second packet, you caught Eren staring as you tore it open, hands folded around his mug.

“Something the matter?” you asked.

“Want any coffee with your sugar?”

“Ha-ha.” You added the sugar, now out of spite. When you took your first sip, it tasted as bitter as you expected.

Now that you were off your feet, the pain gnawed at you. You wiggled your shoes down, just enough for your heels to slip free from the backs. But it wasn’t enough. You couldn’t bear to keep them on another second—the diner was empty anyway. Once they were off, your feet pulsed as if they had their own heartbeat.

The server took your order before disappearing again, only making rounds to offer a warm-up here or there, one of which you accepted. This time, when you added another packet of sugar, Eren kept his comments to himself. There was a lapse in conversation, one you spent fiddling with the paper scraps.

“You know,” he started. You peered up from the wad you’d rolled between your thumb and forefinger. He sat back in the booth, looking out the window with a quiet sort of chuckle. “I thought you hated me when we first met.”

You matched the laugh, yours more disbelieving. “Hated you? I don’t think I knew you enough to hate you.”

As if he were thinking aloud, he said, “You were always so quiet.”

“Being quiet doesn’t mean you hate someone.”

Eren’s eyes flashed from the window to you. “Then what does it mean?”

It was easier to talk to him when he wasn’t looking at you. His gaze felt smothering. You avoided him, your attention retreating down to the spoon you twirled anxiously around your mug. The clanging of ceramic was the only sound between you because you still hadn’t responded.

“I don’t know,” you said, hoping you would have come up with a more profound answer by now. “It just means you’re quiet, I guess.”

A short stack of pancakes interrupted Eren, slid right between the two of you and decorated with a gooey scoop of butter. He’d only ordered a coffee, even after you insisted on paying as a thank-you for tonight, so once the server left, Eren was quick to jump back into the conversation, much to your dismay.

“But you’re not quiet, and you’re not all that shy either,” he told you like he’d caught you in a lie. You urged him on with a raised brow. He scoffed. “Don’t give me that. I know that’s not you. I saw you dancing tonight.”

Your hand stalled as you reached for the syrup. “You saw me dancing?”

He played it off with, “Well, yeah. My so-called quiet lab partner actually knows how to dance? It just surprised me, that’s all.”

“If you saw me earlier,” you said, forking a slice of pancake, “why didn’t you come and say hi?”

Strike that—Eren almost played it off. He couldn’t hide his shifty eyes, or how long it took him to excuse it away. “Oh, I think someone grabbed me for a game of beer pong or something. I don’t remember.”

That never happened. Eren knew it, and it looked like you knew it, too. The truth was he didn’t go up and talk to you because he’d spent the last two weeks convincing himself he wasn’t into you. The party turned out to be the ultimate test of willpower, which he so evidently failed.

Eren even went as far as reinstalling all the dating apps he’d long sworn off. He dumbly assumed if he went on a date, maybe even brought a girl home, then he’d be in the clear; he wouldn’t think about you anymore. But by the time dinner was over, Eren knew there wasn’t any use in taking things further. He’d spent the evening comparing her to you, finding himself every time she laughed because it didn’t sound like yours.

Then he saw you tonight. Of course, he had to see you tonight. And of all the things you could have been doing, you were dancing. Having fun, enjoying yourself. He favored you like that, when you were carefree. You were nothing like the girl he thought he met in class.

And when Eren heard your laugh—strangely more remarkable than any other, like he’d gone deaf to anything but you—he couldn’t even remember why he tried to stay away from you.

But here you were, seated across the booth from him, cheeks stuffed with pancakes, and he had no clue what he was supposed to do next. He’d spent the entire walk wrangling with himself, scared that if he had you, even in the most innocent of ways, he wouldn’t be able to get enough.

Eren knew he shouldn’t be thinking like this, not yet, because—fuck, what if you still didn’t want him back?

Eren only lied about beer pong because he couldn’t outright confess to needing a drink before talking to you. He was so close to getting away with it, too. If you’d gone for another bite a second earlier, if he’d thought to take a sip of coffee to cover his face, maybe you wouldn’t have spotted the flushed bridge of his nose. So subtle yet telling enough that you had to bite your inner lip to prevent a smile.

You held your fork before your face, inspecting the square of pancake as a string of syrup dripped onto the plate. You were rather flippant about it when you finally told Eren, “It’s because I had a crush on you.”

“Huh?”

You plopped the pancake into your mouth, chewing so slowly that it nearly killed Eren. Once you swallowed, you finally said, “I had a crush on you. That’s why I was so quiet.”

Eren said nothing in return, even with you staring him straight in the face, expectant. You waited—for what felt like an eternity but was more like a second—until you couldn’t take the ambivalence any longer.

Your half-laugh fell flat as you went on to explain, “That, and you always got better grades than me. I didn’t want you to think I was dumb.”

Almost as if he didn’t hear it, still fixed on what you’d said before, he asked, “Do you still?”

It was a simple question, just three words, yet he said so much more than intended.

You knew what he was asking, but you played dumb. “Still what?”

“Have a crush on me.”

You thought it over while you took another bite, eyes on him like he already had the answer. He did. You both did. Still, you let the question hang heavy between you for another moment. You weren’t entirely ready to lay your cards on the table. Yet.

You tossed him a small smile as you answered, “To be determined.”

Eren nodded once, lips folded together in a similar sort of grin. “Got it.”

That didn’t mean your answer satisfied him, though. He watched as you took another sip of coffee, then immediately reached for another sugar packet. Before you could pour it in, he shielded the mug.

“But you better figure it out before all that sugar kills you.”

You swatted him away. “Yeah, it’ll definitely be the sugar that kills me, not the keg stand I started the night with.”

“You did a keg stand?”

He said it like he didn’t believe you. You giggled, “Only because Hitch talked me into it.”

Eren laughed with you despite shaking his head. “See, what did I say? You surprise me.”

You had only taken a few hobbles out of the diner before your heels started hurting again. The pain intensified with every step, and you sucked your teeth sharply. You noticed two fresh blisters, one on each heel, when you put your shoes back on before leaving, but thought you could handle the short walk to Eren’s house. But now, you wished you were still drunk enough to ignore the burn.

“Everything okay back there?” Eren asked.

You were behind him again, but not because of his long strides. “Yeah.”

He thought it sounded unconvincing. He looked back to confirm his hunch just in time to see you stumble.

“It’s my shoes,” you said. “I’m sorry.”

He stopped walking, turning to you. “Why are you apologizing?”

You stammered, “I don’t know.”

“Just take ‘em off.”

“I’m not going to walk around barefoot.”

“Didn’t say you had to.”

You didn’t get what he was saying, even less when he turned his back to you. Then, when he bent slightly at the knee, it made sense.

He couldn’t be serious right now.

“My house isn’t that far. I’ll carry you there.”

Okay. He was being serious. He was ready and willing to give you a piggyback ride.

You didn’t intend to laugh, but it was only because this situation was so ridiculous—and partly because of your own anxiety, fizzling at the thought alone.

Eren took it differently, shooting you a playfully offended look when he said, “What? You think I can’t carry you?” He straightened out, shoved his hands into his pockets, and began walking away. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

“Wait!”

You wanted to blame it on your feet or because you didn’t want to slow him down, but you had to be honest with yourself—aching feet or not, were you really going to pass on this opportunity?

Eren flashed a smile over his shoulder. “That’s what I thought.”

Ignoring his boasting, you ripped off your shoes. He took them from you in one hand, and then let you hop onto his back. His body didn’t give like you would expect, and his arms felt sturdy as they looped around your thighs.

You hadn’t had a piggyback ride since you were probably eleven years old, but you didn’t remember them feeling anything like this. Eren’s neck was warm against your arms, exceptionally so in the crisp night air. His hands were even hotter, having you convinced they’d sear themselves into the backs of your thighs.

He jostled you forward, higher onto his back. “Hold on tighter or else you’re gonna fall off.”

You hugged him, pressing your chest against his back. You’d never been this close to him before, close enough that his hair, only loosely tied back, brushed against your face. Faint notes of his cologne—warm like amber, but there was something you found refreshing about it—tickled your nose. You drew in closer, inhaling the scent, him.

Eren worried you might have felt the roll of his throat when your breath broke over the nape of his neck. How embarrassing that something as innocent as a piggyback ride could send his heart racing. As if suddenly, he was back in junior high, and it was his first time holding a girl’s hand all over again.

If this was all he’d have of you tonight, or ever, he’d be happy with just that. Even if it meant he’d wake up with a sore back. He wanted to earn your heart, even if he wasn’t so sure your crush had ever gone away.

The house was too dark for you to make out a thing. You stilled in the entryway, just behind Eren, and waited for him to walk ahead.

Not a second later, he flipped a light on from the kitchen. Your eyes adjusted after a few blinks, and he appeared again from around the corner. He wore a look of trepidation, staring at you like you were a lost puppy he’d taken in and didn’t know what to do with.

“Can I get you some water?”

“Sure,” you replied. “Thank you.”

He waved a hand toward the sofa, saying, “Make yourself at home,” before disappearing again.

You’d hardly made yourself comfortable by the time he returned. You didn’t even realize how rigid your arms were until you uncrossed them to reach for the water bottle Eren handed you.

He sat on the other side of the old couch and it squeaked beneath his weight.

“I imagine you wouldn’t want to sleep on the couch in a house full of guys,” he started, settling into the couch. “Take my room, if you want. I can sleep out here.”

You almost choked on your water, immediately shaking your head. “I’m not going to take your bed.” You couldn’t, possibly. You’d never even been in his room before. “You didn’t even need to go to the trouble of letting me stay the night.”

“Out of all my troubles,” Eren said with a certain warmth to his face, “you staying the night is the least of them.”

You smiled at him. You smiled at him, and you had no clue how it pulled at his heart. It was shy, no greater than a curl of the very corner of your mouth, yet he craved nothing more than to feel the shape of it under his lips and memorize the taste.

“Okay.” You finally gave in. You could have ended it there, and you probably should have, but you nervously rambled on, “But, really, if it’s too much—if you want me to go, I can call a—”

“I don’t want you to go.”

You stammered, opening and closing your mouth as you pretended you had any clue what you’d say next. Something changed; you didn’t know what. An energy shift, a new glint in his eyes—that look he was giving you.

Maybe it was more accurate to say that everything had changed.

There wasn’t much air to your voice when you said, “I don’t want to go either.”

Your admission was barely a whisper. So delicate that Eren wasn’t even sure you intended to say it aloud. Your eyes were big and genuine, like you had revealed some vulnerable part of you. He couldn’t look away, risking losing what little composure you hadn’t stolen from him yet.

You liked him like that—getting to witness such an unguarded look on a face that was always hardened. Soft and electric, all at once. You never thought he’d look at you in such a way, only in your dreams, and you didn’t want it to end.

Now or never.

“Eren?”

“Yeah?” His voice was just as taken as yours.

You knew yourself as anything but bold, but right then, you were. Purring your words when you asked him, “Why are you always so nice to me?”

The distant light from the kitchen cast shadows along the angles of his jaw, highlighting how it tensed.

“Am I?” Eren asked. His voice had gained a new rasp.

You nodded.

“How so?”

“You know,” you said slowly, knowingly, leaning into him. “You walk me home when I’m drunk. Carry me when my feet hurt.” You tucked your legs beneath you, sitting back on your calves, knees bumping up against his thigh. “You let me spend the night, even offer me your bed.”

Eren thought you might kiss him right then, but you only giggled. “Not to mention, you tutored me in anatomy for an entire semester without complaining once.”

You rested a daring hand on his leg. He looked from it to you before teasing, “I think I might’ve complained once.”

He moved with you, at your pace. He cupped your cheek, and you tried not to melt into him.

“But I can’t help myself.” His thumb traced over your skin. “You’re very cute when you’re drunk and when you’re proud of yourself for passing a quiz.” He unexpectedly grins. “And when you hold your book too close to your face when you read.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do.”

You didn’t press the subject any further because it didn’t matter; you were so close that the tips of your noses were nearly brushing against each other. With your face still in his hand, he swiped his thumb along your bottom lip. Unwittingly, you wetted them like you wanted a taste.

Neither of you wanted to be the first to crumble the wall, the one you spent a semester building together, so tall that there were times you couldn’t see over it.

You might have been feeling courageous, but you knew you’d regret it the next time you saw Eren on campus. You could see it now, the smug smile he’d give you from across the hall, or the far side of the green—wherever you’d inevitably bump into him again. He’d turn you into a puddle right on the spot.

That didn’t concern you. Not after you heard the needful groan he stifled from the very back of his throat, and you desperately wanted to hear it again.

Eren caressed your face. You tilted into him until your forehead pressed against his, and you could feel his breath on your lips.

“I still have a crush on you,” you whispered.

“Yeah, I know.” He wasn’t cocky about it, but soft. He sounded relieved.

Your hand left his thigh, traveling higher until you had it splayed against his chest. The muscles twitched beneath your touch. Eren couldn’t help but wonder if you knew what you were doing to him, how insane you’d driven him. You had to.

“So,” you said, long and drawn-out.

Your fingers toyed with the fabric of his shirt, the tips of them grazing and pinching like you wanted to yank him to you.

“Are you going to do something about it?”

Spoken like a true temptress, like a lioness playing with her food. You let your gaze linger intentionally long before locking onto his eyes.

Eren nearly gulped. “Fuck—c’mere.”

The hand he had on your face slipped higher. His fingers wrapped around the back of your head to pull you to him.

What you thought would be a crash of lips was much more affectionate. Instead of kissing you as if he believed he could make up for lost time, he kissed you softly, thoughtfully, like he knew he had all the time in the world with you now.

Your lips parted to invite his tongue in, hot and licking against your own. Your head spun, but not because of the alcohol. Attempting to ground yourself, you snatched a fistful of his shirt with a trembling hand. But the longer he made out with you, taking his time with seemingly no destination in mind, the more helpless you became.

“Eren.” It left you in a gasp, swallowed up before it had the chance to meet the air.

He angled your head slightly, exposing your neck for him to explore. He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek. Then you felt his lips at the hollow below your ear, gasping as his teeth skimmed lower.

“Hm?” he hummed, unbothered. Like he was oblivious to how turned on you were, how just his breath against your skin had your thighs clenching.

“That’s why you didn’t want me to leave, right?” Your voice warbled as you spoke, eyes fluttering shut as he began mouthing along your neck, sucking like he wanted to leave a bruise.

You palmed lower, over the front of his jeans. He was hard, straining against them, and you massaged over his length a few times. You waited and listened for his breath to falter before reaching for his zipper.

“Because you’ve thought about this before,” you murmured. With his jeans undone, you snuck your hand inside his boxer, wrapping your fingers around his cock. You nuzzled your face just below his jaw, peppering kisses, noting his quickening pulse as you began stroking him, base to tip. “Because you were hoping this would happen.”

“Yes,” Eren groaned. He would have tried to hold it back, but he was already staving off his urge to rut into your hand.

“I was, too,” you confessed.

That broke him. Before he knew it, he had you pinned between him and the couch.

Your back hit the cushion with another whine from the springs, louder and more obnoxious than before. When Eren kissed you this time, he didn’t want to take his time with you anymore. Not after hearing that you wanted him in the same ways he needed you.

The couch quickly became too cramped for your liking, with limbs slipping and spilling until you thought you might fall to the floor. Only when your kiss broke—because your head was dangling over the edge of the sofa—did you have a moment to catch your breath, or at least try to.

“You said,” you panted, collecting yourself. “You said I could sleep in your room.” Eren nodded, eyes hazy as he looked down at you. “Maybe you should show me to it now…”

He stalled, his brain short-circuiting for the obvious reason before he picked up on your heavy-handed implication.

“Yeah, okay.”

Eren helped you upright before you untangled yourselves from one another. You climbed the stairs in a hurry, tripping over your feet because you couldn’t imagine keeping your hands off each other. You followed just behind him, your hand in his, as he led you to his bedroom.

His hands were reckless as they pawed over your body, anywhere they could. Yet his touch maintained a certain firmness that had you weak in the knees, struggling to suppress your whimpers. Each tiny sound seemed to encourage him, riling him until he had you braced against the door, slamming it shut with your combined weight.

Eren caged you in place, with forearms planted on either side of your head. But you would have stayed there, willingly. Forever, if you could.

You almost hated yourself for how submissive you felt to him. He kissed you commandingly, yet gently enough that he could take you anywhere he pleased.

You hated yourself more for getting turned on at just the thought.

Taking his loose, unzipped jeans between your fingers, you tugged him close, hooking a leg around his waist. You felt his cock pressing between your legs, ground against it because if you didn’t, you thought you might explode; you were only human, after all.

Eren’s hands gripped your ass, helping you roll against him a few times before mumbling, “Bed?”

His voice was shallow, all breathless, like his lungs were running on empty. You liked this version of him—when he was needy for you.

“Bed,” you affirmed with a bob of your head.

That was all it took before Eren scooped you into his arms, whirling you around until he had you collapsed onto the bed.

You sprawled out with a stretch of your back. It felt so good to lie amongst the billowy comforter, off your feet. You nestled around, almost like you could have lulled off right then—almost.

Eren turned on his bedside lamp, and though the light was dim, you felt keenly aware of his gaze on you as you peeled off your shirt. It bunched as you snaked it over your head, its slinky fabric hugging your body, revealing your bra with a subtle bounce of your tits. Every part of it, of you, was so shamefully sexy, Eren couldn’t get enough.

His hands closed over yours when you reached for the button of your jeans as if to tell you, let me do it. You allowed it, watching as he opened the front of them. His fingers glided along your stomach until he reached your hips. From there, he pulled the fitted denim down your legs. You kicked them to the side once they’d reached your ankles.

The sight of you, ready and beneath him, had him overwhelmed, to say the least. He didn’t know where to look—he didn’t even know where to start.

His fingertips, though lightly calloused, felt exceedingly gentle as he trailed them over your bare skin. So softly that if you closed your eyes, you might not even know he was there. He started just beneath the underwire of your bra, then down the length of your stomach. At your hip, his touch tickled, and you squirmed so cutely beneath him.

Eren wanted to say something witty, but the sight of you stirring below him had him spacey, leaving him quiet. Even the chuckle he gave was practically inaudible, just a huff through his nose.

Despite the fog, Eren had a fleeting moment of lucidity. He blinked, hard, like it would clear his head. You struggled to read him, staring at you like you’d given him reason to be suspicious.

Then he asked, “How are you?”

You mirrored his suspicion, eyebrows knitting together. “I’m good. Um, how are you?”

His face scrunched like he was about to say, not good. It made you nervous.

You perched on your elbows, interested, waiting on him. He ran his fingers through his hair, the same way he always did when he was trying to concentrate.

“We’re a little past exchanging pleasantries, don’t you think?” you joked, mainly because you didn’t know what else you were supposed to say.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Eren brought his hand to his forehead like he could capture his thoughts before they slipped away. “Like, I mean—” Coherency was hard, especially with you laid out before him, head tilted with curiosity, staring up at him through pretty, heavy lashes. Had they always been that long?

Finally, he blurted out, “Are you still drunk?”

You were relieved to learn nothing was wrong. You thought over your answer, taking inventory of your body, every fiber of your being only wanting him.

“Not really,” you said with a slight shrug. “Those pancakes were a real lifesaver.”

He still looked hesitant. You took his hand, giving it a small squeeze before smiling at him. “I want this. Like really, really want this.”

Eren let out a short laugh that softened you up even more. With your assurance, his fingers began dancing along your skin again, pulling lightly at the band of your underwear. He played with it, his once-boyish expression turning more brazen as he asked, “Then is it okay for me to touch you here?”

His voice was gruff, the timbre of it still ringing between your ears. You couldn’t help the sound it pulled from you. A sweet little moan, so delicious that Eren felt his cock twitch before he could even remove your underwear.

“Yes,” you murmured, eyes fixed on him, on his fingers. They pushed beneath your panties despite your hope that he’d simply take them off.

That single, breathy word gave Eren the go-ahead. He crawled over you, holding himself up with his free hand. Propped on your elbows, your face was inches away from his. So close that with just the tilt of your head, you were kissing him again.

Eren’s fingers ventured lower, sweeping between you teasingly, but it was as if he was teasing himself.

"You’re so wet,” he groaned, still playing with you. He’d circle your clit until your jaw went slack, then remove the pressure just to trace your entrance. “All for me?”

“Mhm.” You exhaled indulgently when his fingers returned to your clit, rubbing languidly. When you lifted your hips for more, his circles became tighter, quicker, giving you exactly what you needed. You let go then, allowing your wobbly elbows to give out.

Eren chased after you, nipping down your neck until he found the spot he’d learned you liked best, especially when he sucked on it. He yanked a sharp whine from you, another as he continued leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat.

Eren, Eren, Eren. You were consumed by thoughts of him, only him. Consumed by how good he made you feel and every place you wanted him.

And when you cried out, “Ah—all for you,” you certainly weren’t thinking about how desperate you sounded for a guy who’d been nothing more than your lab partner until tonight.

That did it for him. In one impulsive motion, Eren stood up straight, hooked his fingers around the band of your panties, and tore them off with ease. Once they were out of his way, lost amongst your other garments, his hand was rightfully back between your legs.

He pumped his middle finger inside you first, curling it just right to have your back arching, your breath already hitching in your throat.

You thought he’d be arrogant about it, how he already had you, quite literally, bending to his will. But he’d already lost himself in you, every bit of you. Your tiny gasps, spilling from kiss-swollen lips. Your bra and the way its straps had limply started falling down your shoulder, exposing the supple skin of your chest. How pretty your cunt looked, taking his finger.

His pace ignited that familiar feeling within you, but as quickly as it started burning in your stomach, you’d lost it just as fast.

With a frustrated sob, you opened your eyes to see why he’d rudely edged you like that.

Eren yanked his shirt over his head and threw it aside. “I wanna go down on you.”

You felt his words hot at the back of your neck—either that or it was the sight of his deceivingly toned stomach. Whatever it was, you couldn’t decide before Eren started stripping from his jeans. And if you were still unsure why you’d clammed up, the tent in his boxers, large and threatening to undo you, was most certainly it.

You tried your best to look at his face when you asked, “Don’t you think we should be fast? All of your roommates are home.”

That was the last thing Eren wanted. He wanted to have you, all to himself, for as long as you’d allow. But that was easy for him to say now; his willpower had already started waning.

“They’re sleeping. Don’t worry about them.” Eren thumbed circles against your inner thigh encouragingly, making it difficult to say no to him. At least until he cracked his usual devilish smile. “I thought you said you were quiet.”

The daggers you shot him said enough. You had only started to quip something back when Eren shut you up. He leaned over you, encasing you in his warmth. You felt his lips, his tongue, at your neck, running along the silky skin.

He sucked at the lobe of your ear, and the airy giggle you gave traveled straight to his cock. He kissed your collarbone as he tugged down the cups of your bra. Though his breath was warm, it sent goosebumps scattering across your chest. His tongue flicked over one of your perked nipples, and you rewarded him with a moan—even louder once he took it into his mouth.

You were so, so sensitive. All for him, too. Eren craved to discover every nook on your body he could kiss and every sound you’d make in response. He wanted to learn every last part of you, especially the ones that would have you wrecked.

He continued kissing down your stomach, with him lowering to his knees on the ground. Taking your legs, one in each hand, he pulled them back to make room to settle between. He placed them over his shoulders, bringing you in until your bottom half hung off the side of the bed.

Eren palmed over your thighs. He left kisses there, too, his lips so close to where you wanted him the most.

“Let me taste you.” His voice was a quiet plead. He pressed a kiss against your inner thigh, then another, with his eyes fluttering shut like he wanted to savor you. “Please.”

You’d lost your voice somewhere in your throat. You could only nod in response—a bit too eagerly, perhaps. Eren gleamed up at you. He clearly wanted to smirk but was smart enough not to risk it this time.

You’d felt only his breath at first. It quelled the chill bedroom air. Next, it was the very tip of his tongue. Pointed, it ran through you, painfully slow but still enough for you to suck in a breath between your teeth.

“Spread your legs wider for me.” You did as you were told, completely at his mercy. It must have pleased him because you swore you felt him grin against you as he praised, “Good girl.”

You made an embarrassing sound at that. One you didn’t expect. Eren surely didn’t expect it either, but it excited him, knowing how you were weak to his words, to his voice. To him.

With you now fully on display for him, he couldn’t resist burying his face into you, even if he had fully intended to tease you longer. His tongue flicked your clit, sending pulses of electricity shooting up your spine.

You shifted your hips, raising them to meet his mouth. His tongue was steady, never slowing once as he leaned into a rhythm you liked, that had your fingers laced in his hair and undoing his bun. With just a little more, angling and guiding his tongue to just the right spot, it was like you suddenly saw sparks of white behind your eyelids.

“Eren—ah,” you panted frantically, “right there.”

He had the flat of his tongue against your clit, lapping in tandem with your rocking hips until your thighs began shaking.

“I got you,” he said, wrapping his arms around your legs and locking you into place. “Just relax for me.”

Eren continued having you feverishly, filling the bedroom with a mixture of your wispy cries and groans of his own. It was as if he was just as desperate for you to come as you felt, worshipping every squeak and squirm he could get from you.

“I-I’m—”

His eyes meet yours. You looked breathless, your mouth hanging open in a vain attempt at pulling in tattered breaths. When he let go of your thighs, they dropped to his shoulders.

Not breaking his pace, his thumb replaced his tongue so he could ask, “You need more?”

You swallowed hard and nodded.

“You want my fingers?” His thumb left your clit. You mourned the loss only for him to trace a finger down your entrance before dipping it inside you.

“Oh, fuck.” You writhed in response. “Yes.”

He used two fingers this time, collecting his spit and your slick before pushing them inside you. There was little resistance as he worked his fingers in and out of you. He returned to tonguing your clit, giving it a few kitten licks before picking up right where he left off.

You were getting close, so close, and if time could allow for it, you would have stayed like that forever, just shy of becoming entirely undone.

There were many times, admittedly, when you imagined Eren having his way with you, wondering what it’d feel like for him to finger and fuck you. But never did you think he’d beg to have you like this, nor did you imagine the sight to absolutely ruin you.

Eren’s face flushed a blossomy pink, spanning across his cheeks. You were so wet; he was so wet. Soaked, actually, in your arousal—a mess you might have cared more about if you weren’t about to come.

His green eyes, darkened like you’d never seen before, found yours, and he moaned. He felt pathetic for it, but what had him feeling even more pathetic was how he couldn’t stop himself from shoving his boxers down his thighs. He took hold of himself, seeking any semblance of relief because you were possibly the hottest thing he’d ever seen. But he knew you’d look even better coming on his tongue.

You whimpered when you saw him fisting his cock, nice and fast. He was so hard for you, and you weren’t shy about staring. You couldn’t even fake it, too curious to see exactly how he liked it, watching him fuck his fist with quick breaks to give extra attention to his sensitive tip. You thought about how he’d fuck you, how he’d like it then, and it sent you over the edge.

Your cries came out choppy and strained until your voice cut out entirely. You sobbed silently, carelessly, rolling your hips over Eren’s tongue and using him. You wanted to drag out the feeling for as long as you could. By the end, you were quivering, exhausted, and could no longer keep your eyes open.

Eren had to stop pumping himself, or else he would have come from that alone. He sat back onto his calves, one of his hands palming over your thigh while the other soothed your clit, just to ease you back down. You looked like you needed it, all wrecked, legs limply spread for him, just like he hoped.

God, he annoyed himself for pretending he never wanted you because you—you were a dream.

The only thing that could wake him from such a dream was your voice.

“Eren?”

He loved it when you said his name.

You sat up to look at him properly, but it felt like there were a ton of bricks on your chest. Eren appeared quite the opposite, entirely unfazed. He had his cheek smushed against your thigh, staring unabashedly at the finger he lazily pushed back inside you. You jolted at the intrusion, still sensitive; he could tell by the way your muscles spasmed around his finger.

The feeling mesmerized him: you sucking him in for more. He didn’t even look at you when he replied, “Hm?”

You would’ve thought knowing his eyes were on you would embarrass you, but you were still so touchy from your orgasm that the winding feeling had already returned. It coiled in your stomach, begging to be snapped again.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Eren loved hearing that even more.

He finally looked at you then, and you imagined that if he were a dog, his ears would have perked up like you said the magic words.

“What was that?” he asked, more playfully than you expected. You didn’t like it, not with the grin he wore to match. “I couldn’t hear you. You were mumbling.”

“You heard me the first time.”

He ran his finger teasingly up the crease of your thigh. “Say it again.”

It tickled. You fussed, “Eren, come on—”

“No, I don’t think that was it. I think you said something else.”

“Just—” You sighed dramatically before giving in. “I want you to fuck me. Please fuck me, Eren.”

He beamed at you, proud of both you and himself. He grabbed his boxers, still sitting mid-thigh, and removed them entirely.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Eren stood up and didn’t give you the chance to respond before flipping you onto your stomach. You felt his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. His fingers skated lower, down to your bra before undoing its clasp. When you pushed yourself to your forearms, you felt your bra fall, its straps hanging loosely around your arms.

“You look so pretty like this,” he told you as he grabbed your hips, raising you to your knees. He stroked himself a few more times with one hand and smacked your ass with the other.

“Eren!” you yelped. “Roommates!”

“I thought I told you not to worry about them,” he said, punctuated with another smack.

The print of his hand still stung when you heard rustling behind you. You peered over your shoulder to see him tearing open a condom. He rolled it over his cock, and all the while, his eyes kept you—naked and with your ass in the air for him—pinned to the bed.

He flattened a hand against your lower back, putting an arch in it. With the other, he spread you, aligning the tip of his cock with your entrance.

Eren guided himself in more slowly than he wanted to, listening to you whine as you adjusted to his length. It was a bit of a stretch, but it was easy enough for him to push inside, having already prepped you with his fingers, leaving you aching for him to fill you with more.

When his pelvis was flush against you, he felt your walls flutter around him, squeezing his cock so perfectly he thought you must be made for him. A groan bubbled in his throat, low enough that it was nearly a growl. The sound made your heart skip, right between your lungs, so you clenched again to encourage another.

“You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that,” Eren hissed.

“Doing what?” you asked innocently. Then you did it again.

Despite the warning, he didn’t protest it. Instead, he started moving, thrusting into you leisurely. He was self-indulgent about it too, spreading you with his hands so he could admire how well your cunt looked with his cock in it.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he muttered, quiet enough that it was as if he were talking to himself. “So fucking good.”

“Eren.” The whine in your voice drove him crazy.

His hands, large and demanding, curved over your hips. The blunt end of his nails dug into the fat of them as he pulled you back to meet every snap of his hips. The indecent smacking of skin-on-skin bounced off the bedroom walls. You didn’t complain this time, only let your head drop between your shoulders. Your eyes screwed shut as you became lost in the throes of pleasure all over again.

“Eren,” you cried again.

He didn’t stop fucking you to ask, “What is it?”

He folded over you, his hand snaking up to your neck and taking hold of your chin. He turned your face to look at him, so he could see what you wanted. You couldn’t form anything other than wimpy chants of ah, ah, ah, sounding mangled as he squished your cheeks.

“Tell me how you want it.”

His words alone made you bite back a moan.

Finally, you managed to say, “Harder.”

Eren smiled, all slack-jawed and toothy. You would have found it irresistible, yet totally ill-fitting if you could have seen it. But how else was he to react?

He placed a kiss on the back of your neck, then another on your shoulder. It was unexpectedly doting, until you felt his fingers curve around your throat. Though you knew what was coming, you still squealed when he hoisted you upright, with your back sealed against his chest.

Eren held you there, fucking up into you, harder, like you asked him. Your flimsy bra flopped around your arms with each of his thrusts. He groped at your breast, taking your nipple between his fingers, rolling and pinching at it until you were mewling.

He continued taking you as if you’d always been his, and you let him have you. You let him use you like you only existed for his pleasure, with your head feeling heavy as it lolled back against him.

But you were so much more than that, and Eren was determined to make you come again. He wanted to feel it.

“Touch yourself,” Eren breathed, right into your ear. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. “I want to hear you when you come this time.”

Your hand slithered between your legs. The very tips of your fingers bumped into Eren’s cock as you got yourself off. Legs wavering at the added pressure, you were practically vibrating when you came, your heart pounding in your ears. There was no doubt he heard you this time around.

It was difficult to remain upright. You fell from Eren’s hold, landing on the bed forcefully with him toppling right over you. You were still riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm as he fucked you into the mattress, and it had your thighs squeezing together so nicely for him.

“I’m—ah, fuck—I’m close,” Eren grunted.

It surprised you when he pulled out, but it didn’t take long before you realized he was rolling you onto your back. Eren manhandled you like you were weightless; he had your arms tossed above your head, pinned in place with a single hand around your wrist. He pushed back inside you, hard and fast, with a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead.

“I need to see you.”

Your stomach flipped at his words like they were poetry. Fuck. He had you so irrevocably wrapped around his finger. And maybe you were merely lovelorn and looking for something that wasn’t there, but you swore he looked as though he were just as ensnared as you.

Your mouth sought out his in a sloppy kiss. It was suckling lips and colliding teeth, smothered grunts and groans as you ground against one another, but you didn’t care; you enjoyed every messy, frantic minute of it.

You wanted to touch him, wriggling until he released his hold on your wrists. You took his face between your hands. His eyes were moony and heavy-lidded and had you swooning.

“Fuck, Eren—I want you to come,” you gasped.

Easy enough.

He came hard. As perverted as it sounded, you wished you had a camera. You wanted to remember how his eyes snapped shut, to record every sound. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hips stuttering against you as if he could reach any deeper.

His breath was hot against your already sweltering skin. It was hard to breathe, especially under his weight, but you wanted to hold him for a little longer.

Neither of you spoke for a while. You didn’t realize you’d been grazing your fingers up and down the back of his neck until he lifted himself off you. He let his gaze linger on your face, like he wanted one last look, then nudged his nose against yours before getting up.

You laid still, only watching while Eren straightened out and disposed of the condom. Your legs felt too soft and lazy to move, so you only let your eyes follow him as he stepped into a pair of sweatpants.

"The invitation to stay the night still stands, right?” you lightly sassed.

“No, I was actually going to call you an Uber home.” Eren rolled his eyes. “Of course it does. What kind of guy do you think I am?”

You giggled as you pushed yourself up. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Down the hallway, last door on the right.” He took one look at you, then started digging around in his dresser. He tossed something at you, aiming it at your head by the looks of it. You snatched it just in time. It was one of his T-shirts. “You can wear that.”

You held it by the sleeves, inspecting it. “Is that weird?”

“It wasn’t until you asked that.”

You pulled the tee over your head before adjusting it. Your underwear came next, but you felt more hesitant about the jeans.

Eren noticed, assuring you, “They’re sleeping, I promise,” as he put on a shirt of his own. “Just be quick.”

“Okay.” You left, but poked your head back in to say, “I’m leaving the door cracked so I know which room is yours.”

He laughed. “All right.”

You followed his instructions, even trying to be quick about it, too. You peed, washed your hands, and only stared at your bruising collarbone for ten seconds before rushing back down the hall.

Eren was in bed when he saw the door swing open. “Look at you, Ms. C-plus, not getting lost.”

You pulled a face. “Whatever, Brian.”

Right on cue, he complained, “It was one time.” You mouthed it along with him.

For whatever reason, you didn’t crawl into bed with him right away. You felt a bit like a deer in headlights, blinking at Eren as you waited for something. You didn’t know what. He looked sleepy, with his hair still unkempt from your fingers. Seeing him like this, with you dressed in his shirt, about to curl up under his sheets—were you supposed to go along with this like it was normal?

When you finally thought of something to say, Eren cut in first. “You can’t seriously try to take the couch after that.”

That was exactly what you were about to do. He chuckled, knowing he was right by the purse of your lips. He lifted the blanket for you—once again, like this was entirely normal for you—and said, “Get over here already. I’m cold.”

Eren was extremely difficult to say no to, but you knew that already. You got into his bed with no contest and let him lay the comforter over you.

Either his pillows were just that soft or you felt that exhausted because your eyes went heavy almost immediately. Eren reached over you to turn out the light, but let his arm fall on top of you. He hugged your waist, not hesitating to pull you into him.

He nuzzled into the back of your neck, pulling a giggle from you. “Are you always this clingy after sex?”

Eren hummed an affirmative sound, tickling you again.He was most definitely never this clingy after sex. But there was no way he could keep his hands to himself, not with how good you looked in his shirt, just barely long enough to cover anything. Maybe his intentions in lending you a shirt weren’t entirely pure—so sue him. You wearing his clothes was a sight he could get used to. One he had a feeling he’d get to see much more often.

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #eren fluff #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader

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