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Hi guys, how are you doing? I bet great because it’s Friday, my dudes.

This one is a request from my amazing @lullabieswrappedinlies​. Thank you so much for requesting and always leaving amazing comments, I hope you like this one. Guys check her out because she has amazing stories too.

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Before you jump in:

. This is a Fluff story (because we love it)
. John Krasinski X Reader.
. The prompt: “You are the only one that I can trust.”

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(gif found via google search)

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Your back is against the mattress, and the only thing looking back at you is the ceiling. Your fingers are intertwined with his for the past 20 minutes, and there is silence, till the next song started playing, a familiar melody on the background of his question.

“Can I tell you something?”
John almost whispers. His thumb caresses yours slowly before turning to face you.
His hazel eyes hovered above your face, mapping your features carefully.
“Of course.”
Is the answer he waited for to continue. He is deciding the words, the corner of his lips curve a little before he could start.
“Sometimes, I have this dream that I’m flying, and I can feel the adrenaline, and the freedom, I feel invincible, safe as I get higher and further. I know I’m not transformed into a bird, I’m still myself, and when I recognize this, my arms starting to feel heavy and tired, but at this point, I’m too far up in the clouds. I can feel the fall starting, slow and then progressing very quickly, that cold feeling in the stomach is there and I hit the ground very aggressively, but I don’t die. I just keep trying to fly again, and I never can.”
He stops for a second before continuing. “I never told that to anyone before.”
“So I’m the chosen one.”
You attempt to lighten up, after absorbing what he told you, lighten up the intensity of how he gazed at you. John lets your hand go, and gets up from the mattress, balancing himself over you and plats a soft kiss on your lips, before parting them again to say:
“You are more than the chosen one. You are the only one I can trust.”
He smiles before approaching, little by little, making you count the seconds, he loved making you wait. Your hand found its way towards his neck, and his went under your back to pull you against his chest.
“Wow, you really got it bad for me, hun? I should have listened to your mom.”
“What?”
You laughed.
“Last Christmas, she kinda gave it away, said you called her and told her you were having a thing for me, but I thought she just had too much wine.”
He looks at you static.
“See, this is why I have trust issues, and also you didn’t tell me anything.”
“Like I was going to snitch on my future mother in law, you cra-.”
Before you could finish the sentence, his mouth shut yours up. He was hungrier, needier.
On the background, the final lyrics of “Your Song” by Elton John played.

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