#the last reset au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

firstelevens · 5 months

Note

#38 from the TS eras tour prompt list for sambucky, if you feel so inclined ♠️♥️♣️♦️

the BBC Musketeers Sambucky AU LIVES, y'all

38. clandestine meetings and longing stares

Bucky has never much been one for ballrooms. He’s only ever spent time in them in his capacity as a soldier, trotted out with the other Musketeers when the Crown wants to show off their own special regiment to visiting dignitaries. He imagines a ballroom would be stuffy enough without the cape and dress regalia that those appearances demand, and the crowds only make it worse.

He’s never liked this particular ballroom either. All those windows make for beautiful light, and they certainly show off the splendor of the gardens, but all that the sniper in him can see is a hundred thousand sightlines, few of them obscured by anything that would serve as a real obstacle.

He must have gone over his list of complaints a hundred times with Steve, and a hundred times again with Sam, but neither of them seemed to keep it in mind when they decided to pursue a suspected spy during a royal ball. It’s only the three of them, along with Torres, but in an attempt to be less conspicuous, they’ve rid themselves of their pauldrons. They still have their muskets, of course, and no shortage of knives besides, but Bucky worked hard to be able to wear the Musketeer crest on his shoulder, and it feels wrong to be without it.

Out of habit, he scans the room and finds the others again. Joaquín is dancing with a young woman whose mother is the premier source for gossip in the court, but it’s difficult to tell just who is plying the other for information at the moment. He’ll have to trust that Sam was right when he chose to bring Joaquín along.

He finds Sam next, charming the small Ottoman delegation that arrived earlier this week, undoubtedly impressing them with his command of languages. Everything about his posture is relaxed, and the diplomats around him all stand at ease, but Bucky can see the way his eyes cut to the windows and doors every so often, sweeping over the room and landing on the key players they’d identified earlier today.

Sam’s guard isn’t down, and he’s clearly taken to heart Bucky’s warnings about the windows as a vulnerability, and yet Bucky can’t help but watch him just a little bit longer. They’re soldiers and they’ve looked out for each other for years, but he’s not sure where soldiering comes into it when he finds himself glaring just a little bit in the direction of anyone who stops to admire Sam for too long.

“Make that face any longer and you’ll get stuck that way,” quips a voice from beside him, quiet but amused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rogers,” says Bucky, settling the same glare on his best friend. “This is just my face.”

Steve snorts. “That might work better on someone who hasn’t known you your whole life. I’m not a cadet; you can’t glower me into submission.”

“You’ll forgive me if I try anyway,” Bucky says, his voice flat. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching Her Majesty?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “No, I’m covering the Spanish delegation.”

“I know your assignment,” says Bucky. “I’m just wondering why you aren’t where you usually are when you’re told to be literally anywhere else.”

This time, it’s Steve’s turn to glare.

Grinning, Bucky pats him on the cheek. “Make that face any longer and you’ll get stuck like that.”

Which is, of course, when those windows that Bucky hates so much get blown in by a musket shot, directly lined up with where the Queen was standing not half a moment ago. Bucky looks up just in time to see Torres push his way through the nearest door, in pursuit of the gunman with a spate of palace guards.

Steve starts to move towards where the Queen was, but Bucky catches his arm and pushes him backwards, widening his eyes in warning. “Go check the other windows and start moving people out of here,” he says. When Steve opens his mouth to argue, he softens his tone and adds, “I have her.”

It still seems to cost Steve something to walk away, but he sets his jaw and does it anyway, calling out orders to the remaining palace guards.

Bucky turns and pushes his way through the crowd that’s formed near the thrones, relieved to see Sam and a lady-in-waiting helping Queen Margaret to her feet. She seems steady, if a little bit shaken, but then the lady-in-waiting gasps, pointing at the Queen’s gown.

“Your Majesty, you’re bleeding!”

The lady-in-waiting seems hysterical, but the Queen has always been made of sterner stuff. She frowns down at her skirts, where a dark red stain mars the cream and gold fabric.

“It’s not me,” she says, then immediately turns, wide-eyed, to Sam. “Captain Wilson! You said you were unharmed.”

Bucky turns to look at Sam again and realizes that there’s a singe through his sleeve, the white of his undershirt peeking through but stained with blood.

Before he can say anything, Sam is rushing to reassure the Queen. “It’s just a graze, Your Majesty. Hardly worth thinking about. I’m only sorry that it ruined your gown.”

“I don’t care about the gown, Captain. I care that you’ve been hurt, and in protecting me, no less,” says the Queen. Bucky’s always liked her. She turns to one of the courtiers standing around uselessly. “Fetch the physician, please. Wake him if you have to; I want the Captain’s injury tended to at once.”

If Bucky knows the Queen, she’ll want to keep apprised of how Sam’s injury is, which means she’ll be in and out of her apartments with the shooter still on the loose. “That won’t be necessary, Your Majesty,” he says. “He’ll be in very capable hands at the garrison.”

Sam shoots him a grateful look and Bucky knows he was worried about the same thing.

“Are you certain?” asks the Queen.

“My sister trained to be a seamstress before she took up nursing injured Musketeers,” says Bucky. “The only concern about her stitches is that they won’t leave a big scar for Sam to boast about.”

The Queen smiles a little bit at his words and seems placated. “Then you should escort him back to the garrison so she can see to him as soon as possible.”

“Others can do that, Your Majesty,” says Bucky. “I think the King would much rather see you safely escorted up to your apartments, if you’ll allow the guards and I to do that.”

The Queen only nods. If she’s at all fazed by Bucky’s contradiction, she doesn’t bat an eyelash, motioning for him and the guards to take up their places flanking her. When they pass Steve at the doors, he gives Bucky the slightest nod. Bucky nods back and keeps moving.

He doesn’t relax when the halls of the palace are clear, nor when a sweep of the Queen’s apartments reveals that the Musketeers who stood guard did their jobs and kept the rooms safe. He doesn’t relax once the Queen is safely ensconced inside and the guards downstairs give him word that Torres apprehended the shooter.

He doesn’t relax until he’s stabled his horse at the garrison and hurried up the steps to the Captain’s quarters, bursting through the door without bothering to knock and finding Sam seated by the fire, bare chested as Rebecca finishes dressing the wound on his arm.

Neither one of them seem fazed by Bucky’s admittedly dramatic entrance. His sister doesn’t even spare him a glance until she’s tucked away the end of the bandage, straightening up and leaving her supplies where they are.

“He cut his hand on glass, too,” she says. “I’ve already taken out the shards, but I trust you can clean and dress it.”

Bucky nods, stepping aside so his sister can slip out the door and latching it shut behind her.

Without turning to look at Bucky, Sam asks, “Should I even ask you where Steve is?”

“Considering how little you’d want to hear the answer, I think it would be best if you didn’t,” says Bucky. He crosses over to Sam’s chair, pulling up a nearby stool and moving Sam’s injured hand into his lap.

“Does he realize how dangerous this is?” asks Sam, sounding exhausted. He doesn’t even flinch as Bucky dabs at the cut with a brandy-soaked strip of muslin.

“Of course he does,” Bucky says. “When has that ever stopped him from doing anything?”

“There’s a difference between swinging at the biggest man on the battlefield and sneaking into the Queen’s apartments late at night. The first earns you a Royal commendation. The second gets you executed for treason.”

“The King’s mistresses go in and out of his chambers whenever they want,” says Bucky, just to be contrary. He knows that they’re not even comparable, as expectations go.

Sam sighs. “But she’s alright? The Queen?”

“Shaken but just fine,” says Bucky, as he begins to bandage Sam’s hand. “We did a sweep of her rooms before we took her inside.”

“Good.”

“But we did have to make a detour to bring the prince from his nursery into the Queen’s apartments.”

The curse that Sam lets out would appall both of his churchgoing parents.

“It made sense to have him somewhere safe,” says Bucky. “And I know there are guards at the doors of the nursery, but you know that no one will protect that child the way that Steve will.”

“If anyone finds out what Steve is doing–”

“They won’t.”

“But if they do–”

“Sam,” says Bucky, his voice firm, “the woman he loves almost died today. I’m not sure I can blame him for wanting to be sure that she’s alright.”

“Really?” asks Sam, raising his eyebrows. “Because you’re usually the first to do it.”

“I know,” murmurs Bucky, carefully tying off the dressing on Sam’s hand.

“I mean, I at least expected a plan to tie Steve up and put him on a ship bound for Corsica, or a list of all the ways we could get charged with treason.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

Bucky is pulling his hand away from the dressing when Sam turns his hand over and catches Bucky’s fingers with his own. For a moment, it seems impossible to lift his gaze from where their hands are tangled together.

“Bucky.”

“I can’t, is all,” says Bucky, absently tracing a scar on Sam’s wrist with his free hand. “Not today.”

“Okay,” says Sam, turning his arm so Bucky’s fingers can trail over the rest of the scar. “Not today, then.”

#sambucky #sambucky fanfic #resetting the 'time since our last unhinged AU' clock to zero #me: i'll just write a tiny fic scrap in this au!#also me: [writes 1800 words]#sesamestreep #shoutout to Emma for making this as possibility as usual #zainab does ask meme things #taylor swift prompt fics #apologies in advance for the other very silly fic that's gonna make it into the tag today #my fic

16 notes · View notes

elliesbelle · 6 months

Text

nobody compares to you

chapter 12

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, dealer!ellie, mentions of alcohol, descriptions of anxiety and anxiety attacks, allusions to toxic parents, description of murder (in a joking fashion), flashback scene, some descriptions from ellie's POV, descriptions of marijuana and marijuana usage, allusions to toxic ex-friends, slightly sexual behaviour, minors do not interact

word count: 9.2k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-if if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

“Oh, I don’t know, Abs…”

“Hey, like I said, no pressure at all.”

You’re sprawled out on your bed with your homework spread out on your sheets which you’ve completely abandoned as you’d spent the last half hour chatting on the phone with Abby.

It’s been exactly four days since your night out with her and her friends at the lesbian bar, Bow and Arrow. Exactly four days since unexpectedly you ran into your ex-fling from freshman year, Adriana. Exactly four days since you drunkenly rejected Abby’s sudden and attempted kiss. Exactly four days since you visited the same alleyway where you had your first kiss with Ellie Williams.

Being the perfect gentlemanwoman that she always was, Abby had insisted on taking you home herself that night. You’d reassured her that you could easily order a rideshare service to take you home if needed, but she argued that it was her fault that you had tequila in your system in the first place and that she’d feel much more at ease if she definitively saw you enter the front door of your apartment with her own two eyes. Her thoughtfulness and persistence won out in the end, and at around 2 A.M., she respectfully greeted you good night as you tipsily crossed the threshold of your apartment.

As you waved her goodbye, a sinking sense of shame settled at the seat of your stomach. Despite your brush-off to her advances, Abby remained completely sweet and amicable for the rest of the night. Her demeanour didn’t seem to change, though there were no more attempts to steal another kiss from you again. The feeling of remorse soberly persisted into the following day, and you’d remorsefully texted Abby the morning after to offer lengthy sorries for your rejection. Ever a well-mannered woman of honour, she easily accepted your many apologies and, in turn, apologized for attempting to kiss you while neither of you was completely sober. Your “friendship” with Abby remained untainted, much to your relief.

But now, exactly four days later, you’ve been once again placed in yet another uncomfortable predicament. Abby had just invited you out to dinner with her that following Friday night at a restaurant called Orchards. Though never having actually set foot in the place, you’d seen just in passing how extravagant and fancy the establishment was. It was never a restaurant you considered ever patronizing, and as Abby attempts to persuade you to accompany her for dinner, you feel your entire body begin to react in complete hysteria. You try to convince yourself that your rapidly beating heart and extreme nausea were merely nervous reactions to being suddenly asked out on an obvious date, not at all from the fact that Orchards is a mere block and corner away from the apartment that Jesse and Ellie shared.

“It’s not that I don’t want to!” You insist. “It’s just that… I mean, are you sure?”

“Sure about what?”

“I don’t know… that you wanna be asking me out on a date.”

“Doesn’t have to be an official date if you don’t want it to be,” She says. “It can just be two friends going out on a Friday night for a nice dinner together and having a fun time.”

“At a super fancy restaurant?”

“Hey, I’m a really good friend.”

You can’t help but giggle at Abby’s cheekiness.

From experience alone, you have a gut feeling somehow that if you were to decline Abby’s invitation, she wouldn’t hold it against you. You could choose to once again remain within the sanctuary of your platonic comfort zone, a sanctuary that you’d grown far too comfortable in for the past couple of years. But Abby was genuinely sweet and so thoughtful and incredibly handsome, and she’d been so very good to you so far. Suddenly, wise words from both Dina and Jesse come back to you and echo within your mind.

“Don’t let her stop you from enjoying your life.”

“I also think that you deserve to be happy. And unfortunately, that means putting yourself out there.”

Trying to hold back from letting out an audible sigh, you finally give Abby a reply.

“Alright.”

“Oh?”

“Alright.” You repeat, smiling slightly.

“Is that a yes?” Abby asks.

“It’s a yes,” You giggle. “Now whether it’s a friend date or a real date…”

“Hey, I’ll take whatever I can get,” Abby laughs. “You don’t have to decide now. Hell, you can even decide during dessert while we’re actually at the restaurant.”

“You’re cute.” You chuckle.

“Oh, I know.” You swear you can hear Abby’s cocky smirk through the phone.

“So, Friday at 7?” You confirm.

“If that works for you. Do you want me to come pick you up from your place?”

You seriously consider her generous offer. A small part of you knows that there is every chance that you would end up bailing in total anxiety if you weren’t essentially escorted to the date. Part of you also begins to worry that you’d immediately look out of place if you walked in alone without Abby and her usual charm & swagger by your side. But you then remember that Abby’s apartment is only five minutes away from the restaurant and yours was fifteen and in the complete opposite direction; your unrelenting unwillingness to inconvenience her ultimately makes the decision for you.

“Oh, it’s okay! I can just meet you there.” You exclaim.

“You sure? I totally don’t mind coming to get you.”

“Abby.” You say in a playfully stern manner.

“I know, I know,” Abby chuckles. “You’re a big girl.”

“Yes, ma’am, I am.”

Suppressing from loudly exhaling in both relief and tension, you finally remember and notice all of the unfinished homework still laid out right in front of you.

“Anyway, just text me all the details later. I’ve got a shit ton of homework that I’ve been procrastinating on, and you’ve kind of been sidetracking me from completing any of it.”

“My apologies, it was not my intention to be so distracting.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Okay, maybe a little.”

You both laugh.

“Alright, alright,” Abby complies. “I’ll let you get to it. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Don’t you have class at like, 8?”

“I can skip it so I can walk you to your 9 A.M.”

“Abigail, go to your classes.”

“Fine,” She chuckles. “I’ll be a good student, I guess. Always so eager to be rid of me.”

“Abby Anderson, I swear to god—“

“Kidding, kidding!”

“I’ll text you later, then.” You say.

“Sounds good. Good luck with your homework.”

“Thanks. Good night, Abs.”

“Good night, pretty girl.”

You tap the red button at the bottom of your screen, subsequently ending the call.

Sighing, you flop onto your back and stare at your prickly white ceiling. Your eyes zoom in and out of focus as your mind recaps the conversation you just had with the blonde, blue-eyed woman.

Did I just agree to go out with Abby?

Do I really want to do this?

This is gonna be so, so different from the other night. We were with her friends. She’s inviting me out to be with her and only her.

It’s going to be a date, no matter what she says.

I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing anymore.

Am I doing this because I want to do it? Or is it because I feel like I should?

She doesn’t even know what she’s taking on, trying to date me. She doesn’t know what she’s getting into. She’s way too nice, too sweet for me.

Can I really do this?

As your internal monologue quickly fatigues both your mind and your emotions, you nearly pass out before the panic of not finishing your schoolwork jolts you awake once again.

“What about this one?”

“No, it hugs my thighs really weird…”

“First of all, it does not. Second, why do you even have it in the first place, then?!”

“Sentimental value, D!”

You had invited Dina over that Wednesday evening to help you settle on an outfit to wear for your date-not-a-date in two days. You’d finally relented to telling Dina about your situation with Abby and how on the fence you’ve been in regards to starting anything romantic and real with her. To your surprise, Dina was a lot less judgier than you had been anticipating and much more understanding. She was just as supportive as she was the day she came over with the cup of coffee and advice regarding your messy situation with Ellie. She even enthusiastically invited herself over, accurately predicting that you were already far too hesitant and anxious to properly plan for Friday night.

You snatch the white dress Dina had been holding out for you from her hands and throw it onto your bed.

“If we can’t find actually anything suitable for me to wear, maybe it’s a sign from the universe that I should cancel on Abby.”

“The hell it is!” Dina scolds. “You are going on this date, even if I have to go out right now and buy you a whole new outfit myself!”

“I just don’t think I actually have anything good enough for Orchards! I’m gonna go there and look like a freaking shabby peasant, and Abby will take one look at me and immediately collapse on the spot over how disgustingly and horrifically ugly I look.” You flop onto your bed next to the pile of rejects you’d adamantly denied earlier in the evening.

“Did you really just say ‘peasant’? What are you, eighty?” Dina rolls her eyes at your dramatics. “And if Abby Anderson passes out on the spot for any reason, it’ll only be because you will be so stunning and gorgeous and ravishing and elegant that she just couldn’t consciously handle your natural beauty.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, D!” You laugh, picking up the white dress Dina was holding previously and lobbing it at her face.

Dina laughs as she effortlessly catches it before placing it back on top of the reject pile. She then saunters back into your walk-in closet to continue examining its contents.

“Maybe if we build your date outfit from—”

“Not a date.”

“—your date outfit from an accessory or a pair of shoes or something. Do you have a pair of heels that you were thinking of wearing?”

You give her an apprehensive look.

“What do you think, D?”

“Of course. Be helpful for two seconds, babe.”

“Ugh!”

You lift your head slightly to watch her venture further into your closet from the comfort of your bed.

“I have a whole bunch of other shoes on the top shelf over there,” You say, pointing in the direction of a wall-mounted shelf above your clothes arranged on hangers. “Some of them are still in their shoe boxes, though, so you better put them back properly after and line them up exactly the way I had them.”

“Anal.” Dina scoffs, smiling. “Why are they still in their boxes?”

“Some of them were stupid, impulse purchases that I immediately regretted but was too lazy to return,” You explain, dropping your head back onto your bed. “Others are a bunch of ugly and uncomfortable shoes that my mother bought me and that I have to lie about wearing regularly and that I’m definitely not allowed to get rid of, lest she murders me in cold blood with her own two hands.”

“So when are we going to finally end the miserable existence of that horrible woman again, exactly?”

“When I figure out exactly how to get away with murder.”

Dina smirks as she grabs a small step stool hidden in a corner of your closet.

“Hey, if Barbie Bear had actually come to life when I asked her to all those years ago, you would have been free from that witch’s clutches by now.” Dina huffs as she begins to peek into the shoe boxes neatly arranged on the top shelf of your closet.

“Speaking of Barbie Bear,” You suddenly segue, still staring up at the ceiling of your apartment. “I still want her back, by the way.”

“I told you fifty million times already that I don’t have her!”

“Bullshit,” You counter. “I know I left her at your house summer after freshman year I came home with you guys.”

“Babe, it’s been like, well over a year now. I promise that I don’t have her, and I seriously haven’t seen her anywhere in my house back home.”

“I’m planning on pressing charges against you for kidnapping my child and for causing such catastrophic emotional distress as a result of the trauma of many years of motherly separation from my daughter.”

“Such a fucking drama queen.” Dina chuckles as she continues her footwear search.

“Dinaaaa,” You whine. “You know that Raf gave her to me—”

“Uhhh…” Dina abruptly interrupts. “What the hell is this?”

“What?”

“What is this box?” Dina asks, climbing down the step stool with something in one hand.

“Hmm?” You finally rise from your position and prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at what she was referring to.

Dina slowly emerges from your closet holding something heavy in her hands. It looks like a shoe box at first glance; but upon further inspection, it looks quite different from the other containers that it was previously organized with. Dina reveals a dark blue memory box adorned with intricately drawn vines and flowers. On one side was a tiny strip of paper with the word “El” written in small golden ink.

Your fingers go cold, your jaw goes slack, and your eyes widen. The absolute panicked expression on your face complements Dina’s expression of complete astonishment.

“Oh, shit.” You mutter involuntarily.

“Sooo…” Dina begins. “You’ve got… an Ellie box.”

Knowing Dina very well, you figure that, at the very least, she already snuck a quick peek at its contents. You sigh, aware that lying to her face would be pointless.

“Y-yeah. I’ve got an Ellie box.”

Dina’s mouth drops open even further, and you groan in total embarrassment at her elated squeals of your name laced with amusement and intrigue.

“An Ellie box!!! Oh my god! Scandalous! Outrageous! Somebody call the Vatican!” Dina exclaims happily, a shit-eating grin wide all over her face.

“Dinaaaa…” You gripe. “Put it back right now!”

“Absolutely not, you slut!” She excitedly cries as she plops herself down next to you on the bed, carelessly pushing your pile of discarded clothes further to the side. “This is the best day of my whole life.”

“Dina!” You smack her arm but make no real attempts to pull the box away from her, knowing you wouldn’t win that very brief fight.

“You’re the one who still has it!” She points out smugly. “And after you swore to me the other week that you are definitely not in love with Ellie anymore.”

“I’m not!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah” She simply waves you off as she removes the lid. “Keep telling yourself that, babe.”

You fall back onto your sheets, shrouding your face behind your hands in shame as Dina giggles giddily to herself.

You try in vain to convince yourself that you’d completely forgotten you even had the memory box in the first place, that it was something you’d meant to get rid of ages ago but merely never gotten around to. It was shoved, after all, in between all the pairs of shoes you never touch, always closed and completely neglected. But the brutally honest part of your conscience knows that its continued existence in your closet is a representation of something you desperately try to keep buried deep within the corners of your mind.

Unable to help yourself, you cautiously peek behind your hands to observe Dina’s extensive inspection of your secret Ellie box. You watch as she picks up several pieces of paper: a faded ticket stub from a show Ellie once took you to of a local band whose music she wanted to introduce you to, a receipt from the time that you and Ellie attended a limited portrait exhibition at a nearby art museum, an unfinished charcoal picture Ellie had drawn of a small field of blooming daisies you’d spotted when you’d gone with her to the woods to freely smoke in secret.

You try to block out the images the box’s contents were involuntarily eliciting from memories you’d hidden long ago as Dina places the papers back in lieu of a stack of envelopes wrapped together with a thin piece of twine. A gentle smile appears on Dina’s face as she tenderly turns the handwritten letters back and forth between her hands.

“You know,” She says quietly. “Ellie used to really love whenever you wrote her these letters to her. Jesse and I used to catch her rereading them all the time, even super old ones you’d written her months before.”

You quickly feel your entire body burn hot with a sweltering sensation that you hadn’t let yourself fully feel in years.

Fall of Freshman Year

The university that you’d chosen to reside in for the next four years was chosen partially for its distance away from your hometown, from your parents in particular. Longing to be liberated from their tyrannical control, you applied exclusively to schools that were no less than a hundred miles away. Not a week into your freshman year, however, the guilt of choosing to be so far away from your favourite cousin ate at you every second you were apart. To give Rafael something tangible to consistently remind him of you, you’d send handwritten letters to him through the mail at least twice a month while you attended college. Though you’d chat with him regardless through texts and video on a regular basis, you enjoyed showering him with sisterly love in your own sweet and corny way.

Ellie was sprawled out on your bed one night while you sat at your rickety, battered student desk. She was busying herself by rolling a few joints, all packed with lavender buds you’d previously provided, and placing them in her metal tin. As she placed the last one next to the others and put another in between her lips, she hopped off your bed and came to hover nosily behind you.

“Are you really doing homework this late?”

“Shut up and go finish rolling so we can smoke already.”

“What are you doing?”

“Not my homework.”

“Then what?”

Ellie curiously leaned over your shoulder and watched the way your hand smoothly and speedily glided over your favourite piece of floral stationary, writing legibly your own blend of print and cursive. To the right of your paper was a small white envelope with both your name and Rafael’s written on the front accompanied by your respective addresses. To the left was a golden stamp seal of a sunflower and a tiny mason jar full of multicoloured wax beads.

“Are you writing a letter? With your hands?”

“I mean, how else are you supposed to write a letter, El?”

“What kind of nerdy ass nonsense—”

“Go roll our shit, Ellie Williams!” You interrupted, taking a pencil within your reach and flicking it at her.

She chuckled, blocking it in time before it hit her directly in the face. She placed it back on your desk before picking up the sunflower seal and examining it closely.

“You’re writing an actual letter, for real?” She asked, her lips still tight with the joint in between her lips.

“Mhmm.” You hummed.

“To your cousin?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel like it.”

“That’s some shit that only senile, lonely grandmas do on their grandkid’s birthday when they’re sending them fifty bucks in cash.” Ellie teased as she placed the sunflower stamp back on your desk.

“So, what?”

“So, you’re even more of a nerd than I thought.”

“Shut up!”

“Hey, not my fault that you’re an old lady.”

“Can you go finish rolling our joints so we can smoke already?”

“I’m already done, grandma!”

“Then go away and hush!”

Ellie chuckled as she leaned against your desk and took out a lighter from a front pocket of her jeans. She moved to ignite the tip of the joint, but you smacked her arm and pointed towards your bed.

“Sploof, sploof, sploof!!!” You demanded.

“What? Tara won’t care about the smell. She smells like weed half the time herself.”

“My RA will notice, though! I don’t wanna get kicked out in my first year of college just ‘cause you’re lazy!”

“Thought that the whole point of your lavender shit was to mask the weed smell.”

You didn’t reply and settled for looking at her with a stern glare. She laughed and mockingly held up both her hands in defeat.

“Alright, alright! Stick-in-the-mud.”

She walked over to your bed, plopping back down and reaching for the paper towel roll that she’d wrapped securely with duct tape and stuffed with several dryer sheets. After lighting the joint and taking a deep hit, she exhaled deeply into the cylindrical piece of cardboard. Her ocean green eyes remained fixated on you, fixated on concluding your letter.

“So why are you sending Rafael snail mail? Don’t you guys talk like, almost every day?”

“We do. But it’s just something I really love doing. Makes me feel connected with him in more than one way, you know?”

Ellie merely hummed in acknowledgement as you continued your explanation.

“I used to do it a lot back in high school for the friends I had at the time. Or at least I did until my parents made me stop when they complained about me using up all their stamps.”

“Dicks.” Ellie chuckled. “Did any of your friends ever write you back?”

“No,” You said simply. “I totally get it though. We saw each other every single day at school. It makes sense for them not to send some handwritten reply through the mail.”

Your expression looked completely and genuinely unbothered, but Ellie frowned.

“That was pretty rude of them.” She pointed out.

“Oh, it’s okay. I never thought it was. I didn’t do it to get anything back from them or anything. Just did it ‘cause I really cared about my friends and wanted to show that in my way. It was sort of like my own kind of love language.”

Ellie continued to watch you in total awe as you folded up the stationary and stuffed it into the envelope. You thoughtfully picked out a couple of wax beads from the mason jar, two violet and one silver, and placed them on a tiny spoon that you placed on top of a mahogany wax warmer. You turned around to face her, one hand held out in her direction.

“Can I borrow your lighter, El?” You asked.

Ellie, still mesmerized by your routine, blinked in disorientation.

“Wh-what?”

“Your lighter, dummy. Can I use it for a sec?”

“O-oh, y-yeah.”

She’d completely forgotten about the lit joint still placed between her lips. After quickly inhaling from the cigarette and exhaling into the sploof, she shoved a hand into her jean pocket once again and handed you her lighter. She ignored the subtle electricity that sparked between you when her fingertips brushed against yours.

She observed the way you carefully lit the white tealight candle inside the wax warmer and stared at the way the beads slowly melted inside the small spoon. Clearing her throat and finally handing you the joint, she leaned back onto your pillows and tried to lighten the mood.

“So, you’re allowed to a candle in your dorm room, but I can’t even smoke?”

“Asshole, I’m literally smoking with you right now.” You pointed out before bringing the joint to your lips and relighting the tip.

“I’m just saying, double standard.” Ellie shrugged.

“Wh—double standard? Does anything you say ever make any sense?” You asked with tight lips, hysterically flapping a hand in the direction of the sploof next to her on the bed.

She laughed and quickly handed it to you, once again ignoring that flicker of electricity at your touch.

“I love being an enigma to all human beings.”

“Fucking weirdo.” You replied after exhaling into the wrapped paper towel roll.

Ellie gave you a cocky wink, and you ignored the feverish burning of your cheeks.

“So,” She began as you suck from the joint once more. “Am I ever going to receive one of these fancy ass letters of yours?”

“What? What for?”

“I don’t know; just wanna see all the fuss is about.”

“I see you every day, El. We literally live on the same campus.”

“So, what? I still want one.”

“You just said it was an old lady activity.”

“It is.”

“You’re not helping your case by being mean to me, you know.”

You handed the joint and sploof back to Ellie and turned your uncomfortable desk chair around to lean back into it and face her directly.

“You wouldn’t want one, anyway. It’s almost always all corny and sentimental.”

“I mean, I expected as much. Have you met you?” Ellie gestured to you with the joint between her fingers.

You playfully stick your tongue at her.

“You are a rude and blunt asshole, El. Corny and sentimental aren’t really your thing.”

“Fine!” Ellie jokingly conceded after taking a huge hit of the joint. “I didn’t really want one, anyway!”

You rolled your eyes at her petulant and whiny expression. Ellie finished off the rest of the joint as you delicately poured the melted wax onto the envelope and sealed it with the sunflower stamp.

Despite having just made lighthearted fun of you for it, the small smile on Ellie’s lips contradicted her prior teasing. She adored watching you perform such a personal ritual, and she felt special to be given your natural, instinctive trust by comfortably allowing her to witness such an intimate act.

Out of sheer stubbornness and defiance on your part, you gave Ellie her very own handwritten letter the following day. You found some time during your day to slip it underneath her door in between your classes, and you quickly scampered off before either she or Jesse came home. You were still a bit huffy over her playful teasing the previous night, and you wanted to tease her back in your own way.

To your slight surprise, Ellie was completely amused and ecstatic by your act of indignation. She eagerly opened the small, white envelope with her name written in golden cursive on the front, carefully avoiding ripping the fancy seal you’d closed the letter with: a forest green wax seal with hints of gold, embellished with a pair of ferns that notably matched that of her forearm tattoo.

Inside the envelope was a simple, small piece of paper with only seven words written on it: “you are so, so mean to me,” followed by a tiny sad face.

You would have never guessed that her silly jabs at your sentimentality would establish a special ritual between you and Ellie. You were entertained by how truly thrilled Ellie had found her first letter that, on a frequent basis, you would sneakily slip formally sealed envelopes under her door or drop them inside her designated mail slot or hide them underneath her pillow with a short handwritten letter inside written in jest. But somewhere along the way, the little inside jokes eventually turned into genuine letters of you enthusiastically talking about innermost thoughts you’d be having at the time or words of loving encouragement when you knew she was having a particularly bad day. Your little confidences only for her eyes that were hidden by different wax seals, whether it be a bumblebee or a daisy or her token ferns, brought her a sense of comfort she could never quite comprehend.

During that summer after your freshman year, you’d continued to regularly write her letters. But as she began to pull away from you, they never reached her as you became reluctant to actually present them. She sequentially stayed ignorant of their existence after you’d broken it all off with her.

But despite how horribly heart-wrenching the end of the whole affair was, you kept the letters anyway. You’d even composed several letters in the months following as a sorry means to ease your grief, confessing all the sentiments and feelings you wished you could have fully expressed to her but never got the chance to.

Some were furious and indignant over how she had been treating you that summer; others were wistful and nostalgic over the connection you’d believed you had with her but lost completely; each just as miserable as the next. Just as you were so unhealthily attached to the letters previously written to her, you couldn’t bear to throw out these melancholy ones. You settled instead on hiding them away, never meant to be seen by anyone else.

You watch as Dina delicately runs her fingers over the different wax seals you’d used to close the envelopes, a kind but thoughtful look on her face. She sighs before speaking.

“I really wished things worked out between the two of you, you know. Still do.”

“I know, D.”

She turns back to look at you, a sad smile still etched on her lips.

“Still won’t tell me anything about what happened at the end of that summer? You still never told me and Jess. Hasn’t enough time passed?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, babe.” You sigh, shaking your head.

“I guess not,” Dina says, turning back around to place the letters in the box. “Just wish you’d talk to me about it, even just a little bit.”

Even now, you feel immense guilt over your unrelenting reluctance to reveal to Dina and Jesse what really transpired when Ellie dropped you off at home after your summer in Jackson. It had been consistently painful over the years not to confide in your closest friends, especially when you know just how badly they’ve always wanted to give you the comfort you so desired. But tarnishing the couple’s view of their childhood best friend after all this time feels pointless and immature, and you know you would never be able to forgive yourself if this subsequently caused a rift between the trio.

“I don’t want to have to bring it up again…” Dina asks quietly. “But I just feel like I need to ask you this once more.”

“What is it, babe?” You reply, already aware of the question that looms obviously and ominously.

“Do you really believe that you’re not still in love with Ellie?” She inquires.

“I only have that box in my closet because I didn’t want to keep it at home for my parents to find and make a big fuss over. They barely know of Ellie’s existence in my life.” You respond quickly, making a deliberate attempt to avoid giving her an actual answer.

“But why do you still even have it in the first place?”

“Just forgot I even had it in there, you know.” You shrug, getting up from the bed to approach your walk-in closet. “Like I said, it’s stuffed in with all this other shit I never touch anyway. Literally forgot it still even existed until you brought it out just now.”

Dina watches as you evade her probing gaze by getting up from your position on the bed to rifle through your hung clothes in the closet. She always had an uncanny way of reading people’s emotions, no matter how deeply others attempted to conceal them. Unwilling to let her delve deeper into whatever feelings you had in regards to Ellie, especially right before a date-not-a-date with Abby, you select several random articles of clothing from your closet and hold them up in front of Dina’s face to view.

“Okay, I feel like these are good contenders for tonight. Which one do you think is classy and fancy enough for Orchards?”

You take a nervous step through the cherry wood entrance that leads into Orchards, wearing a light purple dress with strappy, silver heels to match. You cling tightly to the tiny handbag between your hands like your life depends on it. Exhaling deeply with your old therapy breathing techniques, you approach the wooden podium stationed several feet from the doorway.

“Hi, umm,” You utter nervously. “I-I’m still waiting for the rest of my party, but the reservation should be under ‘Anderson’ for 7 o’clock?”

The host scans the booklet before finding Abby’s name on the list.

“I-I can definitely wait until she gets here, though! I can hang out in the vestibule. I totally don’t mind at all—” You stammer before the host interrupts.

“Oh, reservation for Miss Abigail Anderson? I see it right here. Your companion has actually already arrived just a few minutes ago..”

“O-oh, okay!” You say surprised. “I-I had no idea.”

“Not a problem, ma’am. She came not too long ago. I can show you to your table if you would like to follow me.” The host replies graciously, grabbing a menu from underneath the podium before escorting you further into the restaurant.

You tail after him, trying desperately to keep the sound of your heels clicking to a minimum but nearly tripping in the process.

The interior of the restaurant surpasses the quick glances you’d stolen in passing from the adjoining street. If you had been born and raised to be an upper-class socialite who frequented such fine dining establishments, you’re sure you’d have felt quite at home upon stepping into the place. The tables are all neatly set with white tablecloths and golden napkins folded precisely and neatly at the top of the plates. The maroon Fleur-de-Lis seating is all dimly lit by the modern beaded chandeliers hanging over the patrons. Servers skillfully weave throughout the place, all coordinated in their white button-down shirts and black slacks. Your tiny handbag nearly slips out of your icy grip from how slippery your fingers had gotten with sweat.

The restless intimidation that the establishment so easily oozed is slightly soothed when you catch sight of a familiar smiling blonde woman standing next to a table by the windows. The anxiety you have been feeling since entering Orchards is then replaced with a different type of tension as your eyes meet Abby’s piercing sky blue ones.

She’s wearing a muted green shirt with a pair of grey slacks. Her dirty blonde hair is in its usual braid, but it appears looser than it usually is. You try not to stare at the way her muscular arms bulge from her shirt, trying to avert your eyes elsewhere.

When you reach the table and whisper a “thank you” to the host as he places your menu next to your plate before he walks away, you return Abby’s winning smile with a flustered one of your own. She holds an arm out for you to give her a small, one-armed hug in greeting.

“Hey, Abs,” You say as you briefly embrace her. “Have you been waiting long? I thought you said we were supposed to be meeting at 7.”

“Well, I technically made the reservation for 6:45.” Abby replies, grinning at you unapologetically.

“What the hell, Abby!” You scold, playfully smacking her left bicep before reaching for your seat.

“I just like being prepared and being earlier than other people.” Abby shrugs, holding her hand out to help you into your chair as she pulls it out for you.

“Jesus,” You chuckle as you roll your eyes. “Has anyone ever told you how that’s kind of lunatic behaviour, Abigail?”

Abby merely smirks as she pushes your chair in for you, you murmuring a thanks in response.

“So, what do you think of the place?” Abby asks as she walks around the table to take a seat in her own chair.

“For a date-or-not-a-date, this is very extravagant.” You point out.

“Like I told you before, I’m a really good friend.” Abby shrugs again. “Am I not allowed to treat a friend to a nice, well-deserved dinner?”

“Abby.” You chide. “There’s no way that I’m letting you pay the whole bill by yourself. I know that this is a pretty pricey place.”

“Yeah, and I have the money for it. Get whatever you want, pretty girl. What’s the point of having money if you’re not going to spend it on other people?”

You don’t say anything, settling for merely pursing your lips as you take the neatly folded golden napkin off your plate and place it on top of your lap.

Orchards being a “four dollar sign” type of restaurant is a partial reason why you remained silent. Not coming from money as Abby does, you’d firmly decided prior to the dinner that you were going to order the cheapest appetizer on the menu as an entrée and that you’d drink nothing else but water. But knowing Abby, she’d order every single dish for you until you actually eat a proper meal, especially after her casual yet firm declaration.

But as you open up your menu and nervously bite the inside of your cheek, Abby’s last words begin to ring inside your ears.

“What’s the point of having money if you’re not going to spend it on other people?”

This was a sentence and philosophy that those around Ellie knew her quite well for. Every food delivery, every coffee order, every glass of vodka cranberry was paid for with Ellie’s hefty dealer income. You didn’t bother arguing with her when it came to it, not towards the end, because it was a pointless fight she would win every time. Despite every eye roll you’d throw her way, your heart would flutter every time you’d get a glimpse of the small, secret smile Ellie donned each time she’d spend her money on someone else. As long as those she cared about were happy, Ellie was happy.

To see the same kind of propriety in someone else disoriented you, especially someone who has been making her romantic intentions with you quite clear. It’s a trait you so admire in Abby, but a reminder of the auburn-haired woman on a date-not-a-date with another person still pierces something deep within your guts.

Adamant on keeping your mind off of Ellie for the rest of the night, you busy yourself going through Orchards’ lavish menu.

“Have you been here before?” You ask Abby as you scan the list of soups and salads.

“Once,” She replies as she goes through her own menu. “My aunt and uncle brought me here last year for my birthday, and I haven’t stopped thinking about their truffle parmesan tots since.”

“Yeah? They that good?”

“Oh, most definitely. I was ready to make love to it right there and then on the table.”

“Eww! Abby!!” You giggle, squinting your eyes and scrunching up your nose in simultaneous disgust and laughter.

You and Abby spend the next few minutes on small talk as you finish deciding on your order. Abby is in the middle of telling you about how she nearly elbowed a teammate right in the jaw during her last rugby practice earlier in the week when your phone begins to vibrate from inside your tiny handbag.

You keep your eyes focused mostly on your companion, intent on being present in the conversation, while your fingers silently fish your phone out of your purse. Your gaze briefly diverts to the lit screen, and your eyebrows furrow when you see that it’s Jesse who’s calling you.

Quickly pushing down your power button to reject the call for now while you make a mental note to call him back later, you shove your phone back into your handbag. You lean forward further and place your hands underneath your chin to make a show of being attentive, but only a few seconds pass before your phone starts to pulsate within your purse again.

Suppressing an obvious groan of simultaneous annoyance and concern, you attempt to ignore Jesse’s second call and instead try to listen to the rest of Abby’s story. But when her sky blue eyes distractingly fall onto your purse, you sigh dejectedly and reluctantly pull your phone out once again.

“Sorry, sorry,” You desperately utter as you reject the call again. “It’s Jesse. Not sure why he’s calling me right now.”

“You sure you don’t wanna pick up? Might be something important.” Abby asks, eyes full of honest concern.

“Oh, it’s okay. I’ll just call him back after—” You begin to say as your phone vibrates for a third time, violently begging for immediate recognition in your hand.

“Don’t worry,” Abby chuckles. “Go ahead and answer it. He’s your friend and I know he’s important to you.”

“I’m so, so sorry, Abby,” You say, awkwardly scrambling out of your seat with your phone in your hand. “He never, ever calls me like this, so I swear that I’m just gonna see what’s up, and then I’ll come right—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Abby interrupts, smiling. “I don’t mind at all, I promise. I’ll be right here. Take your time.”

“You really are the best, Abs,” You sigh. “If the server comes around before I get back, could you get me the Caesar salad with Italian dressing?”

Abby gives you another kind smile and nods. You give her a gracious look before dashing towards the direction of the restroom, purposely leaving your purse behind as an unspoken promise of your eventual return.

You let out a heavy sigh after having swiftly glided through the restaurant and shut yourself in a unisex stall. Getting more nervous by the second, you immediately call the raven-haired man back. His delayed response begins to worry you further while you listen to seven agonizingly elongated rings before he eventually picks up.

“Oh, hey, my dude! What’s up?” Jesse greets nonchalantly, slightly out of breath.

“Wh-what—” You stutter, completely befuddled by his casual, unbothered tone. “Is everything all good? Are you okay? Why’d you call me?”

“What? I didn’t call you.”

“Jess, you called me like, fifty times just now.”

“Wait, really? Hang on…” He mutters. “Oh, shit. Huh. I guess I did.”

“Jesse!”

“Sorry, dude! My fault for leaving my phone in my pocket while doing squats.”

“Oh my g—I thought you were dying or something!” You gripe, sighing both in relief and annoyance.

“Me? Die? Man, I’m indestructible,” Jesse proclaims. “No man can kill Jesse Chang.”

“Jesus…”

“Hey, I thought you were on a date, by the way?”

“I am.” You point out, irritated. “Well, it’s not a date, but… whatever! I’m on it now!”

“Then what are you doing calling me?”

“You called me!”

“Oh, yeah.” Jesse chuckles.

“Dude!” You huff, clicking your tongue in indignation.

“Hey, you’re listed as one of my favourite contacts. My phone was somehow compelled to communicate with you tonight for some mystical reason.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass.”

You suppress a chuckle at hearing Jesse’s genuine howls of laughter from his end of the line.

“Alright, alright,” Jesse eventually says. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re doing alright, though?” Jesse suddenly asks, his lighthearted tone shifting to a more sincere one. “You feeling nervous?”

“Always.” You admit.

“You got this, man.”

“I-I don’t know, Jess…”

“Hey, you showed up, which means you’re halfway there already anyway.”

“I know, I know. I just… I just can’t believe I’m on an actual date. I can’t believe that I’m actually doing this.”

“I can. You are one foxy, amazing lady who deserves to be properly wined and dined.”

“Okay, grandpa.”

“There she is.”

You allow yourself to chuckle this time, suddenly feeling grateful for Jesse’s accidental buttdials tonight.

“Thanks, Jess. Needed that a bit, honestly.”

“I know, bud. Call me or D afterwards? If Anderson isn’t too busy ploughing into you or whatever it is that you lesbians do in the LGBT community.”

“Shut up!”

Jesse cackles.

“Yeah, I’ll call you guys right after.” You promise him.

“Good. Now get back to your quote-unquote date and enjoy yourself.”

“I’ll try.”

“Do or do not. There is no—”

“Don’t you fucking quote Star Wars to me, you nerd.”

“Hey, but you recognized it. You’re the nerd.”

“Whatever! I’ll call you after, grandpa!”

“You better, young lady!”

You and Jesse share a laugh.

“Thanks, Jess. Have fun at movie night with D. Love you lots.”

“Will do. Love you too, dude.”

You murmur a farewell before ending the phone call.

Leaning against the door of the stall and sliding down slightly, the comfort of hearing Jesse’s reassurances slowly dissipates as you think about Abby patiently awaiting your return at your table. You’d been so preoccupied with the anxiety of how the date-not-a-date itself would go that you hadn’t even spared a thought about the aftermath: how is the night going to end exactly?

You gulp, suddenly aware of the way your silver heels are digging into your ankles. You feel guilty for even entertaining the thought of ending the night and running home to the embarrassing comfort of your bed.

Why can’t I just fucking give in? Why am I stopping myself? Why am I so scared about how this night is going to end?

The sound of someone else entering the restroom snaps you out of your thoughts and back into reality: the reality where you are on, what you need to admit to yourself, a date with an extremely handsome, charming woman who is willing to give you what you might just need from a romantic partner.

A couple more minutes pass where you heavily abuse your breathing techniques before you finally find the courage to pry yourself off the door. You emerge from the stall just as your nameless powder room companion exits.

You dare look at yourself in the mirror. Surprised to see a little bit of eyeliner smudged underneath your eyes, you quickly grab a paper towel to dab at it.

Did I really just cry while I was on that phone call with Jesse? Christ, what the hell is wrong with me?

You nearly poke yourself in the eye from frustration and stare at your tired reflection. The only thing that wills you to leave your restroom refuge is replaying Jesse’s supportive words of encouragement.

He believes in me. Dina believes in me.

With that and a heavy exhale, you finally depart the restroom.

As you finish off the last few crunchy croutons on your plate, you watch as Abby does the same with the French dish she’d ordered that you’d never heard of and had some weird-sounding name that you can’t pronounce.

“You sure you don’t want dessert?” She asks you, setting down her spoon.

“Abby,” You say sternly. “You already wore me down into getting an actual entrée and a glass of Moscato. You are not getting me dessert too.”

“Dinner is just not complete without it!”

“That is some rich people behaviour that I will not indulge in.”

Abby laughs as you give her a half smile. In the back of your mind, you’re relieved that Abby’s evening wasn’t spoiled by your impromptu phone call and your slight shift in attitude that followed. She thankfully hadn’t noticed your fingers fiddling with your dress in your lap or your quiet but involuntary tapping of your right foot underneath the table. The more the evening progressed, the more anxious you became about the possibility of her eventually noticing your fidgeting.

After the dessert flan she’d ordered is placed in front of her, Abby takes a small bite and lets out a moan of satisfaction.

“I love me a good flan.”

“That good, huh?”

“Fucking amazing. Here, try some.”

“Oh, no. You already tried to feed me your weird ass French dish from earlier. Besides, I’m way too stuffed already.”

“All you ate was a Caesar salad!”

“It was huge! It was Olive Garden-sized!”

“Just have a bit of the flan!”

“You ordered it! I don’t wanna eat something that you ordered for yourself!”

“Come on, pretty girl. Just a bite!”

You groan at her insistence.

“You are absolutely ridiculous, Miss Anderson.”

“Completely. Now open up.”

You lean across the table as Abby meets you halfway with a piece of flan on a fork. She delicately places it on your tongue, her sky blue eyes meeting yours.

Your throat swells up with nervousness and you feel short of breath as your chest tightens. You move to sit down from how dizzy you’re getting, but your eyes widen as Abby’s thumb suddenly brushes against your jaw.

“Hang on. Some of it is dripping down.”

Abby’s tongue involuntarily sticks out as she wipes away the syrupy caramel from your chin. Your eyes widen as your lips turn a shade paler than usual.

Oh, god. Oh god oh god oh god.

“U-uhh, um, th-thanks, Abs.” You stutter as you clumsily take your seat.

“No problem,” Abby says, a corner of her lip cocking up in a half-smile. “Don’t need you all sticky.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you feel a tingle travel from the crown of your head all the way down to your heel-strapped ankles. Abby smirks slightly as she sips from her Old Fashioned, smugly leaning back into her chair.

Oh, god.

Being the natural gentlemanwoman that she is, Abby holds the door open for you as you step out of Orchards and onto the street.

“Ladies first.” She says playfully.

“Oh, stop.” You chuckle.

Abby grins as she gives the host by the podium a parting, thankful wave.

Teetering back and forth on your feet and playing with the sound of clicking your heels were making, you nervously stare up at the night sky. When you had been making your way to Orchards earlier in the evening, the sun was still descending in the west and casting a beautiful, pink hue through clusters of cumulonimbus. Now, the sky is clear of any clouds, and the moon in its waning phase along with the constellations dimly light the quiet downtown area of this college town.

Suddenly spotting a few celestial patterns that looked all too familiar from a face you’d been trying to put out of your mind all night, you tear your eyes away from the stars to meet Abby’s sky blue eyes.

“H-hey,” You hesitatingly start. “Th-thank you for tonight. This honestly was really nice.”

“Oh, yeah? I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“I really did, Abs,” You smile. “I haven’t had a nice, ritzy night like this in a while. Actually, I don’t know if I’ve ever had a really fancy night like this before.”

“That so? Might have to take you out on dates like this more often, if that’s the case.” She pauses for a second, the usual confident expression on her face fading to be replaced with one of uncertainty. “Or… well, not a date exactly—”

“Abby.” You giggle. “This was clearly a date.”

“Yeah? So you finally decided?” Abby asks, her usual swagger back.

“We got all dressed up and went to a very nice, swanky restaurant. You insisted on paying the entire bill and everything.”

“Hey, that’s what friends do.”

“Are we?” You ask, turning to completely face her.

“What?”

“Friends? Just friends?”

“Hmm…” Abby hums.

She takes you by surprise as she pulls you closer towards her by the hips. You stumble on your heels, catching yourself by your hands on her sturdy chest. You look up, meeting her bright, blue eyes that contradict that of the starry, shadowy sky. Fingers involuntarily clutching at her shirt, you gulp an anxious whimper down your tight throat.

“What do you want, pretty girl?” Abby whispers.

Your fingertips grow cold against her chest.

“I-I-I’m— I don’t—”

“Oh, hang on. Hold still.” Abby suddenly says.

Her hand comes up to your face and her long fingers gingerly brush against your nose. She pulls her hand back, clutching something in between her fingers.

“Got a loose eyelash.” She says, holding up for you to see. “Make a wish.”

You entertain her and firmly close your eyes. You try racking your brain for a wish worth making to immediately come to you, but no desire materializes.

So instead, you ask the universe for a vague, ubiquitous wish: for it to divinely and kindly lead you down the right path.

You open your eyes and softly blow the eyelash out of Abby’s fingers. You lose sight of it instantly as Abby parts her pointer and thumb to release it into the open air.

Abby brings her hand up once more, this time to caress her fingers across your cheek. Every inch of your body suddenly goes up in flames, and you’re almost surprised that Abby hasn’t retracted her hand from the pure heat of it.

“Thank you for coming out with me tonight.” She says seriously.

“O-of course, Abs.” You whisper.

“I know you’ve been hesitant about things, and I won’t pry on why—”

“It’s really gonna nothing to do with you, Abs, I promise—“

“No, no, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything to me if you don’t want to. I don’t want to push you on it.”

You swallow.

“But I just want you to know,” Abby continues. “I do like you, you know. A lot. I think you’re seriously so smart and silly and so, so stunning .”

“Abs, be serious—”

“I am.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Yeah. So if you ever wanna give me a chance, I’m right here. I’m ready for anything you want.”

You gulp.

“I-I’m not sure… not sure if you’re ready for all this. All of me and my baggage.”

She takes your face between both her hands.

“I’m ready for anything, pretty girl.”

Before you know it, Abby’s mouth is suddenly on yours, enveloping you in a kiss. It’s soft and gentle, like she’s deliberately being mindful of how she touches you.

You’d expected this the second her skin made contact with yours, but your body still reacts in complete surprise. You don’t kiss her back just yet, everything in you completely stuck in place. Your hands have an impulse to push her away, but a voice inside you begins to cry out.

Kiss her! Kiss her the fuck back! Kiss her now!

Fingers finally moving from their frozen state and grasping at her chest, you begin to kiss her back with hesitant fervour.

The second your lips begin to move with hers, her delicateness turns into zeal. Her hands fall back down to your hips, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you even closer. You can feel her heartbeat pounding next to yours, drums sounding together unsynchronized but thundering. You let out a sudden and soft moan, and Abby deepens the kiss.

She parts her mouth slowly and you feel her tongue against your teeth. You whimper when she starts to suck on your bottom lip as a hand comes up to clutch your hair. As you wrap your arms around her neck, you open your mouth slightly to invite her in further.

After what feels like hours of you two intimately intertwined, you break the kiss to catch a much-needed breath.

You open your eyes to meet Abby’s sky blue ones, even brighter than they were before. Her smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it, emanating a radiant glow.

“Th-that was…” She began.

“Y-y…” You try to say, but you can’t seem to find your voice.

Her hand brushes against your cheek once more as you feel your throat begin to close up once more.

W-wait. My throat. It’s actually—

Before you can muster any words, you feel your breathing stop completely and the entire world suddenly goes black.

author’s notes:

BELLE FINALLY POSTING AFTER MONTHS OF NO NCTY?! A MIRACLE

thank you for bearing with me during these past couple of months. i know many of y'all have been waiting very patiently, and i hope this chapter was worth the wait!

in true belle fashion, orchards is named after a restaurant that already exists in the games

reader's ellie box is totally not inspired exactly by the box i used to have for my ex-girlfriend, described exactly the same way and contained a whole bunch of stuff like the tickets from when we went to moma and the playbill when we went to see waitress on broadway....

mentions of daisies is because they symbolize innocence (also one of my fave students is named daisy)

ahhh sploofs. such flashbacks to when i lived with live-in ex at her dormitory in college. those were so annoying to make.

reader's love for writing handwritten letter is inspired by my own love for it. i write my friends letters all the time and seal them with cute wax seals. i have like, at least 15 different wax seals and i love them all. yes i do have a fern wax seal too. also reader has a sunflower seal bc it is my fave flower

reader's dress is purple for symbolism cause purple sometimes represents anxiety which... mood

the truffle tots are just a fun little reference to these truffle tots that my live-in ex and i get every time we go to this one gay bar, that shit is so fucking good

more of reader and ellie's relationship bc i love jesse but also i think a show of a healthy, platonic relationship between a lesbian and a straight man is important

jesse's line about never dying is a little heehee reference to the game obvi but also him saying that no man can kill him is like that lord of the rings line where eowyn says "i am no man" cause abby is obviously a woman lol

abby is eating flan bc i love flan (leche flan to be exact)

heehee leave some theories in the notes or in y'all's tags on what happened to reader at the end

love y'all so so much. chapter 13 is mostly written so stay tuned for an upcoming update very soon...

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @ valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete

@ softbunlvr, @cherriesxinthespring, @amitycat, @thefishymissy, @yevheniiaaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam, @ elliesnumber1gf, @digit4lslut, @ tayyyystan, @emothurman

@ livvy-2000, @ abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky, @qtefolleunpez, @libr4sonsa, @robinismywifee, @ villainousbear, @ scarlettadore, @vianna99, @g0n3girls, @totheblood, @embermdk

@awyunh, @kenz-ee, @marvelwomen-simp, @eleactric, @simpforellie, @jade-posts-sometimes, @ anxiouso, @nyrastar, @lillysbigwilly, @hopeless-y, @elliesbabygirl

@alexpritch, @thestarsanctuary, @aethelwyneleigh27, @ cass00x, @mulan-but-gay, @carmellie, @destielcore, @ tfuuka, @ellielover69, @ewwitsbella, @ igoferalforelliewilliams, @kissesforells,

@ asteroidzzzn, @ 97cityy, @ joliettes, @ p1llowthoughtss, @ aouiaa, @ lez-zuha, @ ineffablefics, @ peepshake, @ lil-elliesgf, @ wex--12, @ ccinnamongrl, @ siriusblackrunmeover17, @ whenlostinthedarkness,

@ feelsoseencantdream, @ bellasfavepansexual, @ mina-281, @ harrysslutsstuff, @ lil-elliesgf, @ p4ison1vy, @ eurewili, @ miksde

please note that i am no longer accepting requests to be added to the taglist, so if you would like to be notified when a new chapter comes out, please follow @belleloves and turn notifications on!

#nobody compares to you series #ellie williams #dealer!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #ellie fanfiction #belle speaks #v #belle writes

485 notes · View notes