Intro: Happy New Year all! I hope this year brings you health, happiness, creativity and fics!

I am going to work my way through a list of one-word prompts I found on wattpad - just to keep my writing up!

This will be a mix of canon and AU, all Reddie of course!

Please leave me a wee review if you have the time!

x


1. FIRST

Who was your first love?

She says it so quietly, gently, like a tired child, from her position tucked against his naked chest. He cranes his neck to hear her, and smiles. It is such an inherently Rachel thing to say. Especially now, on this, quite possibly the best night of his life. She misdirects the focus, she tries to distract him from the wonder of her. It won't work tonight, he thinks, but he indulges her anyway.

Carly White. 1981. Tall, blonde, willowy girl. Played netball. I was obsessed with her for a summer.

She hums appreciatively, only briefly smiling before a hand snakes from her hip, up to the swell of his ribcage to caress the skin there. He catches it there, and entwines her fingers with his.

Tall? Blonde? Willowy?

It is his turn to hum, in amusement, at the brief flash of horror on her fatigued face. He can read the thoughts in her mind as if she were the page of a newspaper. The insecurity is endearing and a little invigorating. He lifts her inert hand momentarily to his lips; a kiss of reassurance.

Clearly I didn't know what I liked, back then.

He watches, mesmerised as her features mellow. And yet there is a darkness, a wetness to her eyes that is almost haunting. His free hand reaches up to thread through her hair, dancing across her scalp. He has come to learn that she likes this. It relaxes her. Yet tonight, even when she closes the lids of her eyes, her lips remain tight. With a start, he realises that this may be his opening. So he asks, albeit reluctantly.

What was yours like?

She arches her neck, demurely hiding her face in the crook of his. The word is muffled and comes out as hot breath on his skin. He hears it well enough.

You.

Me?

Yes.

He blinks. Once. Twice. She doesn't move.

How was he like me?

No, Eddie. He was you.

The answer he was primed to bristle at doesn't come and, for a naive moment, he relaxes. Good, he thinks. No competition, then. His eyes close and he rests back into the pillows. They sink back and his arms fold her into him. He could sleep in seconds, lying here, with her nakedness against him. But then his eyes shoot open in shock.

Hang on. I was your first love!?

He sits up, incredulous. Tutting at having been disturbed, she struggles not to smile at his hair, more haphazard even than normal. She shrugs.

Is that so strange?

You're saying that I was your first love? At thirty-nine?

Call it self preservation. She replies with a sad smile.

He blinks at her, eyes briefly watering. Then he smiles warmly and opens his arms back up to her and she leans back in, eyes closing with a satisfied sigh.

Sorry. I realise that's a lot of pressure.

Shut up.