#This fic is completely ridiculous in every possible way

[summonsunmoon]

Today’s fic is Moondrop Beats you to Death for Tax Evasion. The title alone should tell you that this is a must read. Originally a oneshot, the fic surprise updated twice with increasingly baffling chapters.

What it’s about: Moondrop beats you to death for tax evasion.

Why you should read it: Moondrop beats you to death for tax evasion.

Notes: This fic contains dirty jokes, but nothing explicit actually happens between the characters.

#Completed work rec #This fic is completely ridiculous in every possible way #fnaf #fnaf sb #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf security breach #fnaf daycare attendant #moondrop beats you to death for tax evasion #turbotax #Y/N rec

[just-jordie-things]

crushing - takuma ino

word count: 3k warnings: i think none summary: ino's not great at making moves and you're not great at picking up on them. either way, you're undeniably crushing on each other. a/n: this is my first ino fic! i don't usually post something immediately after finishing it but i really wanted feedback on this one before i wrote bigger n better fics for him :3 ___

Takuma Ino was not a desperate man.

At least he hoped he didn’t come off that way whenever he crossed paths with (y/l/n) (y/n).  He really hoped he didn’t.  Because every day he spent at Jujutsu Tech, he went out of his way to ‘accidentally’ bump into her as many times as possible.  

His personal best was twenty-five.  That day he’d stayed well past sunset to finish the paperwork he’d neglected, but he still stands by his choices.

Nanami claimed that if he had a crush on the young manager, then he should just ask her out already, but Ino didn’t think it was that easy.  Not because he was  nervous- of course not! He just wanted to be certain that she would agree to go out with him before making a move.  That wasn’t a ridiculous notion, was it? 

It wasn’t ridiculous.  It just meant things moved… slowly.

“Ino, hey,” 

(y/n’s) drawn out of her conversation with Maki when she sees the Grade Two Sorcerer approaching in the hall.  There’s a soft smile of familiarity on her face, unlike the student beside her who rolled her eyes and slumped against the wall, knowing that it would take twice as long to have her paperwork looked over.  This wasn’t the first time Maki had witnessed the perfect distraction that was Takuma Ino.  It was already the fourth time this week, and just like every other time, (y/n) fell for it right away.

Just as he approaches the both of them, a look of confusion flashes across (y/n’s) face, and she tucks the forgotten paperwork against her chest as she tilts her head at him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to Yokohama? I thought you were assigned to that Grade One curse with the whole…” She pauses as she makes an indefinite shape with her hands, “Explosive thing?” 

“I’m about to head out for it now, but, you know,” He shrugs his shoulders, a smile forming on his face the longer he looks at her.

The first time he’d laid eyes on her he’d done a cartoonish double take, which unfortunately Nanami bore witness to.  She’d been walking and chatting animatedly with Ijichi- who seemed less passionate about the conversation but was an attentive listener nonetheless- and every time he’d seen her since, Ino felt the same lurch in his heart that was the desire to linger near her just a little longer.

Before he could finish his thought, Maki was speaking up first.

“You just wanted to show up late?” She asked dryly, her expression anything but amused by the sight of young love.

“I’m not late,” He chuckles nervously, shaking his head.  “I just wanted to stop by my good luck charm before I left” He claims with a little more confidence before he grins at (y/n).

She laughs at the comment, and Maki can’t help but roll her eyes just a little bit.  Typical.  Surely she’d swoon over the flirty comment and then drop it completely, just like she always did.

“Yeah yeah,” She mused, just like Maki expected.  “Go, don’t get yourself in trouble again.  I don’t think Nanami will keep vouching for you” 

“Sure he will,” Ino waves a dismissive hand, but judging from the way he’s already turning away and breaking into a jog, (y/n) and Maki can see through the nonchalant act.  “But it’ll be quick! I’ll have the shortest report ever for you!” He hollers from down the hall.

(y/n’s) still chuckling once he’s out of sight.  Maki huffs in aggravation.

“I can’t believe you lead that guy on.  You’re gonna have to let him down easy if you don’t want him to have a stroke”

“What?” (y/n) shakes her head at the student’s accusation.  “I don’t lead him on, we just get along” 

“You lead him on” Maki deadpans.  (y/n) holds her paperwork a little tighter against herself, and the defensive action doesn’t go unnoticed.

“This isn’t appropriate, I won’t allow for this to be a silly rumor of some s-” 

“Gojo Sensei says that he’ll never make a move unless you do it first” Maki shrugs.

All professionalism flies out the window in an instant as (y/n’s) face goes blank, her eyes blinking wide as she stares back at the student in utter disbelief.

“He did?” She mumbles.  

Maki nods in confirmation.

(y/n) glances around herself to ensure their conversation would be a private one, before shuffling forward and lowering her voice.

“Well… what else did he say?” ___

To say that (y/n) had a bit of a crush on the Auspicious Beast Summoner would be an understatement.  From the day he’d fallen in front of her- literally, he fell down half a flight of stairs and she’d rushed to make sure he was alright- there was something exciting about him.  He was so kind, and funny, and he so obviously went out of his way to talk to her that she slowly found her heart fluttering more and more whenever he was around.

All this time she’d thought he was just friendly, and was eager to have a companion at Jujutsu Tech that was his age.  Why else would he spend so much time around a manager when there are much cooler, much stronger people around? It was no secret what he thought of Nanami, and while (y/n) was proud of her work, she simply couldn’t compete with the skill of a sorcerer.

Usually she wasn’t one to listen to rumors, especially from a source like Gojo Satoru.  He may have been a friend-of-sorts to her, but that didn’t mean (y/n) trusted him for a second.  Gojo was a good guy, but he was the kind of guy to stir the pot when he was bored, and playing matchmaker was just a game to him.  So despite everything Maki had told her, she didn’t necessarily believe it.  She was just curious, that’s all.

And the only reason she was headed off to Ino’s office after being notified he’d returned from his mission was just to address the rumors, that’s all.  She was doing him a favor by letting him know what the other sorcerers were gossiping about.  There couldn’t possibly be an ulterior motive laced in there as well.

His door is open when she reaches the small workspace, but he doesn’t seem to notice when she appears there, leaning into the door frame while she takes in the crude office.  

Calling it an office didn’t even feel correct.  There was a desk and a computer, and a semi-comfortable looking rolling chair that Ino was sitting in.  He hadn’t realized there was a visitor at the door seeing as he had his head hanging over the back of it, his mask pulled down and his hands pressed into his face.  (y/n) had to bite back the chuckle that threatened to come out of her, assuming there was more to report in his paperwork than he’d assumed and was now overwhelmed by it.

With a soft tap of her knuckles on the doorframe, (y/n) makes her presence known.

“Need some help?” 

Ino jolts up so suddenly his chair is sent backwards, rolling away from the desk and tipping out of balance too, but he’s quick to steady himself, staring at her sudden figure at his door with wide eyes.  It’s the only part of his expression she can make out, seeing as he’s still got his mask pulled over his face.

“(y/n)!” He greets her louder than he intended, but he had yet to shake off his surprise in seeing her.  A fond smile tilts the corners of her mouth, unable to be helped as she watches him awkwardly scramble in his seat.  “How long have you been standing there?” 

“Long enough to consider leaving if you were crying under there” She teases, finally stepping foot into the room.  Her eyes wander the bare gray walls, a slight frown taking over at how empty the whole space feels.

“No, I’m not-” Before he continues, Ino’s quick to yank his mask off his face, pulling it off his head completely and dropping it on his desk.  “What brings you here?” He changes the subject completely, his eyes never leaving her figure as she wanders around the room as if looking for something.

He realizes then that she’s never seen his office- not that there was much to see, as she was coming to find- but nonetheless it’s odd that she’s the one approaching him for once.  It was always Ino searching around the halls of Jujutsu Tech for her, not the other way around.

“So empty,” (y/n) comments quietly, and he’s not sure if she was talking to herself or him.  “You don’t like to decorate?” She asks, this time turning to him.

“I’m not in here very much,” He admits, a sheepish smile on his face.  “I take most of my paperwork home.  If I’m here I’m not usually in the office” 

“Yeah,” (y/n) smiles softly, ducking her head to hide the way her face warms up.  “That’s cause you’re usually trying to bother me” 

She doesn’t see it, but Ino’s face lights up.  He bears a wide grin and his eyes gleam with excitement.  She was acting quite out of character today.  Usually he was the one teasing her.  This was a real treat.

“Bother?” He repeats, standing up from his chair and rounding his desk to lean against it, completely ignoring the half-written report on his computer that he hadn’t hit save on in a while.  “I don’t seem to remember ever bothering you” 

She rolls her eyes, finally looking up at him, and Ino thinks he could combust from excitement.  She’s blushing, which he’s not sure he’s ever seen before, and he can tell she’s fighting back a bigger smile behind the small one she shows him.

“Well what would you call it then?” She asks, still struggling to bite back a grin that mirrors his.  So much joy poured out of him it was difficult to fight the way it took her by the soul and forced her to feel nothing but warmth and butterflies.

“Obviously I was romancing you,” Ino replies without missing a beat, surprising even himself with the blunt truth.  Besides the way her eyes round into saucers, (y/n) doesn’t really react to the statement.  “Not my fault you’re a hard person to flirt with sometimes” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, and then tucks his hands into his pockets.

(y/n) blinks a few times, staring him down like she was suddenly an expert in body language.

“I am?” She asks, a small laugh escaping her at the suggestion.  “Because maybe I didn’t know you were flirting” She says with a shrug of her own.

Ino gapes back at her, unable to keep up with the chill facade when she says something so ridiculous.

“What do you mean you didn’t know?” He asks, and she laughs again, finally losing the battle to the grin on her face.  “Was I not obvious enough? You know that even Gojo was trying to get me to-” 

“Yeah, I know,” (y/n) says quietly, but it’s effective in getting him to shut up.  “One of his students might’ve told me some rumors they heard from him” She explains.

“What!?” Embarrassment floods his features.  “Who? I want names-” 

“Can’t, teacher-student confidentiality and all” She teases.  

She’s learning it was quite fun to not be on the receiving end of the playful banter.  In the past it was always Ino with the perfect quip or joke to have her flustered for the rest of the day, even if she wouldn’t show it.  Knowing he was actually incredibly easy to mess with felt like knowing his weakness.

“You’re not a teacher” He deadpans.  She laughs again.

“Well, I actually came to let you know that certain sorcerers here were spreading rumors to slander your good name,” She tells him matter of factly.  “But it appears those rumors are actually true, so they’re not really rumors, huh?” 

Ino rolls his eyes, but it’s in no way directed at her.  He makes a mental note to bring this up to Nanami to add to the very long list of grievances caused by Gojo Satoru.

(y/n) steps close to him, linking her fingers together behind her back as she finds the courage to hold eye contact with him.

“Why didn’t you just ask me out?” She asks.

He hates that she tilts her head to the side just so.  She did it on occasion when she was confused about something, and Ino’s sure that she’s not even aware that she had that tendency, but every time she did it he was so overwhelmed by the urge to kiss her that most of the time he had to completely walk away from her.

But they’re in his office, having a conversation he really didn’t want to walk away from.  If he ran now, there would be no coming back from it, and his intrigue in how she felt about him outweighed the aggravation she caused him when she looked that pretty.

He’s staring at her without saying anything, and he knows it’s been a few seconds too long to be comfortable, but it’s hard to care.  She’s close enough to him that he can smell her perfume and see how every strand of hair falls over left shoulder and he can’t help but take in every pretty sight of her.

He once swore he wasn’t a desperate man, hence his patience in waiting while he tried to figure out how she felt before he made a move, but standing here now, what’s one promise in the grand scheme of life? 

So he leans forward off his desk a bit, desperation getting the best of him.

“Would you have agreed?” 

She raises her chin, the apples of her cheeks getting rosy in color despite her trying to play it cool.

“I asked you first” 

“I asked you second” 

That had her bursting out in laughter, hands falling to her hips.

“Oh, real mature!” She says through a fit of bubbly giggles.

It’s cute.  It was so cute in fact, Ino just couldn’t take it anymore.  The fun banter he’d tried to establish had now warped into his own personal hell.

And hell didn’t even have any boring office decorations, no succulents, no photo frames, not even a calendar.

“Just answer the question,” He says, and it comes out as more of a plea than he means for it to, but he doesn’t bother trying to compensate for it, or taking it back.  “Would you have agreed to go out with me?” 

He has a hopeful look in his eye that only seems to gleam more with every second that passes without her response.  (y/n) softens, the warmth in her chest spreading throughout her entire body and making her melt like putty.  It was almost pathetic, how quickly this little crush she’d harbored for the sorcerer had grown into something more genuine than she’s ever felt for anyone before.

“Yeah,” She answers simply, quietly, barely nodding her head along with her confirmation.  “Yeah, I would have” 

The smile he wears is so sweet and pure that she’s mirroring it in a heartbeat.

“Okay,” He thinks he’s going to pass out if he doesn’t hurry this up, so he rushes the next string of words out so fast (y/n’s) lucky she managed to understand him.  “You wanna go out then? Tonight? For drinks? And then maybe dinner?” 

She’s laughing as she nods, her hands nervously fiddling together.

“Okay,” She repeats, rocking back and forth on her feet just once.  “But you should finish your report first.  So, call me when you’re done?” 

He wants to protest, but he knows she’s right.  So as he hands her his phone to add herself as a contact, Ino mentally starts going through what he has to finish so he could get through it as quickly as possible.

She’s still grinning when she hands him his phone back, already eager for the day to be over.

“I’ll be quick, promise” He beams back at her as she makes her way out of his office.

“You pick where we go for drinks, and I’ll pick where we go for dinner,” She decides, lingering at the doorway for just a moment longer.  “Sound good?” 

“Sounds perfect” He’s back in his chair and clicking away at his keyboard as he writes nonsense into his report.  

(y/n’s) gone with a little wave and a blush that only burns brighter the further away she gets.  She just hopes she doesn’t run into anyone in the meantime.

Ino tries to work on his report after adding some meaningless fluff of things that didn’t really happen, and weren’t really necessary for the report.  He really does try.

For five whole minutes.

But then he can’t help but open his phone to check on the contact (y/n) had just made for himself, and seeing the little orange heart emoji she’d added next to her name has him swooning way too hard- over an emoji, at least.  But that’s what she reduced him to, mush.

(y/n’s) just reached the front steps of Jujutsu Tech when her phone starts blaring her ringtone in her pocket.  She makes a face at the unknown number calling her, but it’s washed away as soon as she picks it up.

“Would you believe me if I said I finished already?” Ino’s speaking right away, without so much as a greeting.  

She giggles into the receiver, because no, no she doesn’t.

“That’s quite impressive work” She praises.

“I think you’ll come to find I’m quite an impressive guy!” He responds, and then quickly follows it with, “Not in, like, a douchebag way though!” 

She fights the urge to laugh any harder, not wanting to put him through any more embarrassment than he’s already suffered today.  They still have an entire evening ahead of them, after all.

“Of course not,” She murmurs softly.  “Meet me at the front steps, then? We can go into town together” 

And when Ino’s there in under a minute, trying desperately not to show how out of breath he is, she doesn’t tease him for it.  Not until later in the night after a few drinks in, anyways.

___

xoxo ~ jordie

#pls give me feedback on this <3 #takuma ino #takuma ino x reader #takuma ino imagine #ino x reader #ino imagine #takuma ino jjk #ino takuma x reader #ino takuma imagine #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagine #ino takuma fluff #takuma ino fluff #takuma ino x reader fluff #jjk x reader fluff

[tinyavenuesailor]

Crack Fic! Where Everyone thinks Merlin is the reasonable one.

Everyone loves Merlin and thinks he’s the sweetest person, who couldn’t hurt a fly. So, they’re all annoyed when they see how Arthur treats him. The King is constantly overloading his manservant with work, ordering him to do massive tasks and coming up with ridiculous excuses to keep Merlin from taking a break. So, the knights and others constantly try to find ways to pull Merlin away from Arthur’s side and give him a break but Arthur always finds a way to mess up their plans.

Gwen and the other maids sometimes try to help Merlin with his chores

Gwen: Arthur you can’t actually expect Merlin to clean the entire throne room by himself

Arthur: *shrugs* Yes. I’m hardly asking him much

Gwen: It usually takes five maids to thoroughly clean the throne room. It’s ridiculous to ask one person to do so much work and then, to place Lancelot as a guard to make sure none of us can help him. 

Arthur: Lancelot wouldn’t have to guard anything if you all weren’t so ready to disobey my orders. I said Merlin will clean the throne room ALONE and that is final

Gwen: I never knew you could be such a cruel person and to Merlin of all people

*Gwen storms off*

Gwaine, Leon, Percival, Elyan and some of the other knights try to steal Merlin away to the tavern to relax

Gwaine: Come on Princess. I’m sure you can survive one night without Merlin 

*Gwaine tries to pull Merlin to their side but Arthur grabs hold of Merlin and pulls him back*

Arthur: Need I remind you, Merlin is my manservant and doesn’t have time to play around. He still has very important duties to complete

Elyan: What could he possibly have to do at this time? Most servants have gone home for the day?

Arthur: Well Merlin is the King’s manservant as I keep reminding you and still have very important things to do

Gwaine: Like what?

Arthur: *pauses* For one, he needs to clean the mess he made in the closet

The knights: *trying to process the bullshit Arthur just told them* 

Arthur: *crossing his arms, 100% serious, daring them to challenge him*

Merlin: It’s fine guys really, probably next time *pulling Arthur and himself back into Arthur’s chambers and locking the door*

Or when something terrible happens to Merlin like the time he got kidnapped and everyone went into full panic

Arthur: *staring hard at Lance* Merlin’s been kidnapped?

Elyan: They ambushed us out of nowhere and before we knew it they were off with him.

Leon: Don’t worry sire, I’ll gather a search party immediately to have him found.

Gwaine: We’ll make them sorry they ever thought to mess with our Merlin

Arthur: *holding up a finger and turning to Lance again* Merlin’s been kidnapped?

Lance: ..... That is the story

Gwaine: Princess, have you not been listening. We need to hurry every second counts. 

Arthur: I heard, just wondering why he couldn’t have chosen a better day to get himself kidnapped

*Everyone gawks at Arthur in disbelief*

Basically, everyone thinks that Arthur doesn’t appreciate Merlin and that their cinnamon roll deserves better and formed a protection squad to help Merlin get the treatment he deserves.

Meanwhile in Reality....

Arthur knows about Merlin’s magic. He is fully aware of how powerful Merlin is and finally sees that his manservant isn’t an idiot. He’s just a bloody madman.

===In the throne room=== 

*Arthur and Merlin both staring at a dark purple swirling vortex on the floor*

Arthur: *takes a deep breath* Merlin, why is there a hole in my throne room?

Merlin: Well, it's not a hole. It’s a sort of gateway to the dark dimension.

Arthur: Oh, okay. Why is there a gateway to the dark dimension in my throne room?

Merlin: ..... I can fix it

Lancelot: Arthur, I heard you- *looks down at the menacing purple gateway on the floor and then back to Arthur and Merlin* 

Lancelot: Should I go guard the door?

===After Gwaine, Elyan and Percival tried to take Merlin out for drinks===

Merlin: You know we both could use a break. I am a bit hungry. Been a while since I had a drink too

Arthur: Well maybe, we can join them after you explain why my Uncle is tied up in my closet

*Arthur opens his closet doors revealing a tied-up and gagged Agravaine making muffled noise*

Merlin: You told me to get evidence that he was working with Morgana

Arthur: And your solution to that was to kidnap him?

Merlin: What better way to hear it than from the man himself? 

Arthur: What’s going to happen when people realize he’s missing

Merlin: Don’t worry, one memory wipe spell and he’ll be back tomorrow in his chambers like nothing ever happened

Arthur: You told me those spells were dangerous

Merlin: *laughs* Well, yeah, I’m not using it on us

Agravaine: *making muffled and panicked pleads to Arthur*

Lancelot: Sorry, Arthur, Gaius told me that Merlin needed m- *sees a tied-up Agravaine* 

Lancelot: *nods* I’ll go stand guard

=== Arthur, the first to find Merlin after his “kidnapping” ===

Arthur: *folds his arms and looks behind his manservant to see a trail of bodies* Kidnapped?

Merlin: Well they did try to kidnap me. I just decided not to resist. 

Arthur: *sighs* Is everyone dead?

Merlin: I was supposed to leave someone alive?

Arthur: *rolls his eyes* Come before I have to explain how my “innocent”, “weak” manservant took out a group of mercenaries.

Lancelot: *already standing guard* 

#merlin bbc #merthur #merlin #Arthur Pendragon #chaotic merlin #arthur knows #and he's the reasonable one #featuring doesn't ask questions but always completes the mission lancelot #arthur having to listen to someone complain that he needs to be more considerate of Merlin for the fourth time that week #While he watches Merlin and Lancelot in the background carry around a bag the size of a human body #Arthur: Sorry to interrupt you but I suddenly need to go check on my uncle to check if he's still breathing

[hard-core-super-star]

make you mine this season [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x barton!reader

summary: a badly timed snowstorm leaves you unable to make it to the barton farm for christmas. thankfully, a certain archer shows up to keep you company.

warnings: none, i think? just really cheesy, holiday rom-com type of fluff [i say this as if i've watched any holiday rom-com besides happiest season and the holiday 😶]; kate's a dork [wow, what a shock]; idiots in love; past mentions of bishova; bad jokes?; snowstorm; cheesy gifts bc kate can't talk about her feelings

wordcount: 1.5k

a/n: HI, EVERYONE, I'M ALIVE! and it wouldn't be a rubix fic if it WASN'T posted a little late 😅 i hope you all had a fantastic holiday season and that you'll accept this very cheesy Christmas fic <3 [and maybe that last line is very self-indulgent but that's none of your business, if you know you know]

* * * * * * *

You’re no stranger to loneliness but things were bordering on ridiculous. Not only have you spent the past two years ridiculously in love with a certain purple-loving archer, you’re also on the verge of spending Christmas by yourself thanks to the worst-timed snowstorm of all time.

And maybe the first part of your unfortunate situation is your fault but that doesn’t stop the waves of disappointment from crashing into you.

This year was supposed to be different. 

That’s what you had told yourself in an effort to convince yourself to tell the young archer about your feelings for her. It was a strategy that almost worked…until a certain blonde decided to accept Kate’s offer for drinks…which turned into a date…which turned into a second date…which turned into the longest four months of your life.

You could never be one to be mad at someone else’s happiness but that didn’t stop you from feeling absolutely defeated every time you saw them together. There was no one to blame except you for the brunette’s lack of knowledge about your feelings and that only made everything worse.

It was impossible to ignore the ache in your chest when your eyes met Kate’s or the heavy jealousy that clouded most of your interactions with her. Maybe if you had been less into your head about the whole thing, you would have realized the way the archer’s smile never seemed to reach her eyes. 

Eyes that followed you every time you walked away.

You never noticed the traces of darkness that clung to her usually radiant persona but you were the first person at her side when the break up happened. She offered little to no details besides an awkward joke about the relationship ending almost exactly where it started right at the Rockefeller tree.

It was messed up in a way that made Kate want to make as many jokes about it as possible which resulted in you laughing at things that definitely weren’t funny and were just sad. Not as sad as spending the holidays completely alone and hopelessly in love with your best friend, though.

You were sure the archer was already well on her way to your dad’s farm which leaves you completely unprepared when the door to your apartment swings open to reveal her. She almost drops the key in her hand the second she realizes you’re home.

“What’re you doing here?” You question, doing your best to pretend you don’t see the gift bags she tries to hide behind her back.

You can practically see the wheels turning in her head before she’s finally able to respond. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at Clint’s?”

It’s hard not to laugh at the incredulous look on her face. No matter how many times you see it, it’s still as endearing as the first time. Back when she was just your dad’s protege and you hadn’t spent so many of your days learning the ins and outs of her complicated personality.

“Did the incoming snowstorm happen to slip your mind?”

“No, I just thought you’d want to go anyway,” she replies with a small shrug. 

“I’d rather not crash, Lila will never let me hear the end of it.”

Your words make her tilt her head to the side, the slightest hint of a pout on her face. “So…what, you’re just going to spend Christmas alone?”

“Yup. Kate, I’m not a kid anymore, nothing will happen if I spend one day by myself.”

“But it’s Christmas!” She exclaims, looking borderline offended that you’re so comfortable spending the holiday alone. 

“Is that why you’re breaking into my apartment?” You ask in a foolish attempt to stop yourself from asking her to spend the day with you. 

Just because she thought about you long enough to come drop off her, no doubt ridiculously expensive, gifts for you does not mean she wants to spend the holiday with you when she could easily spend it with anyone else.

The pink hue that overtakes her cheeks is a better gift than anything that could be inside the bags in her hand. “Well, uh…maybe…”  

She finally gathers enough courage to get rid of the distance between you with a bright, albeit nervous, smile on her face. You half-expect her to launch into some long ramble about why she just couldn’t stop herself from buying an insane amount of gifts for you this year but she doesn’t. 

For once in her life, Kate Bishop makes things easy for herself.

“I didn’t think I was going to make it to the farm on time so I was just going to drop these off for you…” She holds out the bag for you and you do your best to calm the rapid beating of your heart as you take it.

“Can I open it right now or will you get embarrassed?” 

“Both,” she replies through a chuckle. “I would leave but I don’t want you to be lonely.”

“Right, because I’m the one who gets lonely.”

“Shut up.”

It’s both a blessing and a curse to have broken through the archer’s defenses and right now, her cute reactions are beginning to feel like a curse. Although, that might just be your unrequited feelings talking.

A slightly awkward silence settles over both of you while you rifle through the overwhelming amount of purple tissue paper until you find your gift. You’re expecting another expensive necklace, maybe a bracelet this time, but what you’re met with is the most thoughtful gift you’ve ever received…and probably the most thoughtful gift Kate has ever given.

What you end up pulling out of the bag is a leather journal with a beautiful engraving of yours and Kate’s initials. “Kate…is this-”

“Yeah, I, um…I couldn’t find a photo album that I liked so I sort of…made my own.”

You can’t stop yourself from flipping through the first couple of pages, caught somewhere between the euphoria of being given something so beautiful and the disappointment that comes with knowing it all only serves to fuel your love for the archer. 

Love you can’t express the way you want to.

Love that’s hidden between the pages of the journal you hold in your hands. 

You don’t notice and Kate isn’t really in a hurry to watch you read the series of rambles that make up her overdue confession so she lets the moment fade like she always has. It’s not like you can blame her for wanting to move on to something else, her lack of focus isn’t necessarily a secret, and you let yourself get carried away by her jokes and her stubborn need to make mac and cheese for you.

The archer manages to cook without setting your kitchen on fire and the two of you settle on your couch to watch the first cheesy Christmas movie you find. In all honesty…the movie is awful but the corny jokes make Kate laugh so you can’t find it in yourself to be too grumpy about the shitty writing.

Until the scene in front of you reminds you of the archer and her ex. You’re unable to hold back the jealousy-tinted snarkiness said reminder brings out of you. “I think Yelena watched this movie and then decided to be a dick just like the main character.”

Kate instantly turns toward you, staring at you with wide eyes that barely hide her amusement. “What?”

“What?” You feign confusion to avoid having to repeat yourself.

“You know what,” she replies with an eyeroll. “If I’m the one who got broken up with, why are you the one that’s still upset?”

“Because- wait, why are you not upset?”

Your uno-reverse of a response leaves Kate speechless for a few seconds and you prepare yourself for the series of jokes that will no doubt leave her mouth next. 

But Kate’s never been predictable.

“Because…she didn’t break my heart. She didn’t even own it in the first place.”

Her words spark the low flames of hope hidden in the depths of your heart. It feels impossible and if you were a believer, you might even say Santa’s on your side, helping to give you the one thing you’ve wished for more nights than you can count.

And yet you hesitate.

“What are you trying to say?” You ask, your voice so soft it borders on cautious.

“That I’m an idiot,” she replies with that same bright smile that made you fall for her so long ago. “And…I’d really like to kiss you.”

The world seems to slow down to a complete stop at that moment. 

You almost don’t even know what to do with yourself. Thankfully, you manage to kick yourself into action before the moment passes.

Kate’s awkwardness seems to disappear into thin air as she leans in toward you, meeting you halfway for the softest, sweetest, kiss you’ve ever had. And maybe nothing about it is perfect but it’s you and her and that’s all that matters for now.

#kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x barton reader #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop x you #kate bishop fic #kate bishop fanfiction #kate bishop fluff #kate bishop #hawkeye #hawkeye fanfic #clint barton #hailee steinfeld #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu fanfiction #wlw #wlw fic #writing #merry christmas

[duckweave]

Another Gale Romance headcanon: Wedding Edition

How would Gale be at wedding planning?

I feel as though he would get so excited that he’d have full involvement on everything, but whenever Tav expresses their wants, he’d break down into his “So long as it’s with you, I’d be fine without such ceremony.”

Which makes Tav melt but also it frustrates the hell out of them because once he’s given the chance he will take over planning again.

Because it’s Gale. And he quite literally planned out your first night together, as well as your future date night in his tower, so gods know the kind of man he’d be during his wedding.

More elaborate headcanons below….

Gale wedding planning banter:

G: “Tara, you must wear this robe and flower crown if you’re going to take part in this wedding. I insist!”

T: “Mr. Dekarios, I look absolutely ridiculous. Look how much it covers my ears! How am I going to be able to hear for pigeons with this thing in the way?”

AND

Gale [writing his vows and reading them out loud]: “My dearest love, I promise to love and cherish you to the outer planes and beyond. By Mystra’s will, I-“ *realizes what he just wrote and frantically erases it*

BUT ALSO

Gale: “Tav, you are everything. You complete me in every possible way. I love you and I can’t wait to marry you.”

Tav: “If you loved me, you’d let me pick at least one song to be played for us to dance to.”

Gale *awkwardly*: “Right, yes. Forgive me.”

ONE MORE

G: “Lae’zel cannot bring her dragon. Waterdeep could never handle such a beast. She will have to find another way here.”

T: “She has no other way to travel to our dimension, Gale.”

On the day of, he keeps trying to check in on Tav. He sent a simulacrum to look after Tav but also to make sure Tav arrived and is on time (his anxiety was telling him all night that Tav would get cold feet.)

He’s also frantically running around to make sure everything is running smoothly and all is in order. He’s dressed to the nines, as you’d expect from him, and the venue is extravagant and lavish. And purple. Everything is purple.

He uses the weave to set a stunning backdrop behind them as the ceremony takes place. Most likely an Aurora or a galaxy.

Tav and Gale fought over who should officiate (he wanted Elminster but Tav said no), however they settle on Withers.

Everything goes beautifully, it is a night to remember and their friends didn’t embarrass them too much.

Astarion attempted to make a speech, but he was a little drunk so Gale told him to sit down and behave.

Karlach’s dance moves were so fire that the bard playing the music literally caught fire. It was frightening until Gale conjured a gush of water over the bard to extinguish.

Gale finally relaxes at the end of the night, hand in hand with his beloved. Watching the party dwindle down, he remembers the orb, the tadpole, the Absolute, and every hardship he endured in life that led him to this point - and he cries from how lucky he really is.

Ok maybe I need to make a fic of this lol.

#bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #bg3 #baldurs gate gale #bg3 tav #gale romance #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 romance #bg3 headcanons #gale bg3 #galemance #gale fic #gale headcanons #gale x reader #tav x gale

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yandere König Headcanons

Warnings: Some 18+ Moments (Nothing Explicit), Social Anxiety, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Acts of Revenge, Gaslighting, Kidnapping, Underwear Stealing, Possessive Behaviour, Yandere Behavious, Toxic Behaviour, Intimidation, Social Sabotage, No Pronouns used for Reader Except 'You', etc.

Wordcount: 14,544 words

A/N: Hey Guys, Happy Valentine's Day <3 ! Thanks for stopping by to read my fic ! Much love and wellness to you all :-). I've had to split the bulk of the text and the ending into two posts because Tumblr will not let me keep them in the same post - it just won't save or post. A link will be provided below the main body of text to take you to the ending post <3

You and König became friends the very same day you met.

You were a new student to the school that König called Hell; not yet alive – conscious – to the incessant bullying and ignorance that occurred there.

Upon seeing you for the first time, feet pointed in, shoulders rigid, lunch pail squeezed – compressed – tightly between your tiny fingers, König felt… strange.

He’d never met you before, but he already felt that there was something to be done in the way of you.

As to what that ‘something’ was was completely lost on König.

But alas, he tore his resting head from his palm, his senses sharpening as he was drawn from the fantasy world he’d crafted for himself, becoming aware of his surroundings,

He watched you, for the first time, a child no older than himself, nigh-quivering under the curious gazes of students.

As if by instinct, König’s gaze drifted to the table that housed his tormentors.

And, sure as ever, their eyes held nothing less than malice. Intent.

Something in him told him to sit up straighter, to get his hands off the desk – anything to appear bigger than how he did now.

He recognised this feeling. Though, he’d never felt it towards a person.

In König, it only ever manifested whenever he happened upon some small, injured creature.

Despite being just children, König was already a little taller than everyone else in the class; foreshadowing of the monster he’d become, whose horns just peeked through his skull, made him an inch or three taller than the rest.

And yet, he was still the butt of every joke, the object of needless ridicule.

Little did he know that would all change the very same day he met you.

Something in him prompted him, told him, to talk to you, to find out as much about you as he possibly could.

An impulse he had never known until today.

Though, as to how he’d initiate conversation was tricky.

He could barely talk to his own parents, let alone a complete stranger.

As you peeked up from the floor every now and then, scanning the room and all its pieces, its players, your gaze fell upon König.

His heart fitted, adopting an irregular rhythm – a genre of music he’d never heard before.

Usually, he’d tear his gaze away, look down or out the window.

But he couldn’t.

With you, it was impossible.

The seat beside him was empty, a sliver of mercy his favourite teacher had imparted on him.

The possibility that you would be seated next to him – that you might choose to sit beside him of your own volition – filled König with a dangerous sense of hope.

He found himself clenching his fists when you made a move to go to him, taking but a small step in his direction. The right direction.

Before the teacher pointed to another seat halfway across the classroom.

König deflated, his shoulders sagging, his mood dampening as if sodden with tears.

He looked upon your reluctantly retreating form, your friendship withering away with each step you were forced to take.

König looked upon his teacher that day with something he hadn’t felt for them before.

Contempt.

The lesson dragged, yet playtime loomed.

It was less of a break for König than it was an opportunity for his bullies to find him. Capture him.

Yet today, he was the one seeking them.

He’d seen the way they’d looked at you, leered at you, repeated your name in mock mimicry when the teacher called on you for attendance.

König’s heart thrummed in his chest, an off-key harp.

He swallowed thickly, trying to hear over his internal symphony’s failing orchestra.

He almost considered calling off the search and searching for a teacher to help when he heard it.

You.

A sniffle. Then, insults.

Hissed and seethed and quiet, just below the radar of the adults ‘watching over’ the students.

König turned, only to find a long corner before him.

He pressed himself close to it, and listened.

Another sniffle, verging on a cry. Then, more insults.

The Cycle.

König’s fists clenched, his heart flared with the anger he’d felt many a time when he’d been on the receiving end of such torment.

Yet somehow, now that it was you receiving it, it was as if the cap König had set atop his anger, to prevent himself from doing something drastic, or displaying too much emotion, had blown off.

The anxiety that occupied König’s every waking moment boiled with his growing fury, a chemical gas that threatened all life that came into contact with it.

Without thinking, blinded by something greater than his limitations, he embarked the corner.

There you were, surrounded by four boys, each as diabolical as the last.

Devils in cherubs’ clothing.

König’s shadow descended upon the scene, covering your cowering frame.

The leader turned around.

He gave a sly grin, and turned partially from you.

He didn’t even have the courtesy to face König completely.

“Oi, oi,” he said, voice shrill and piercing. König stood his ground.

“And what’d’you want, König,”

König said nothing still, though the expression on his face was twisted, a far cry from the doe-eyed boy he was just two minutes ago.

The leader, when König didn’t answer, abandoned you, leaving you to his lackeys.

He approached König with a walk too old for his body, a cheap imitation of intimidation.

He only came up to König’s chin.

“I said–” he poked König’s chest, punctuating each word with a demeaning splinter.

And yet, König wasn’t paying attention to him.

He was looking at you.

You, having your hair pulled and your shirt practically torn.

König’s eyes narrowed.

“What. Do. You. W–”

Everything happened so fast that König scarcely thought it happened at all.

One minute, the bully was barely chest-to-chest with him. The next, he was on the floor, wailing, clutching his nose in his hands.

König almost couldn’t look away as a thin trickle of blood seeped between the boy’s fingers, staining his hands, and the concrete, a dark red.

König’s body shook, much like that displayed in starvation. He caught a glimpse of red along his knuckles.

And then, looking up from the bully, to his dumbfounded lackeys, he found you.

The lackeys were slowly backing away from you and making their way around König, as if he were a tiger, to their leader.

“Leave (Y/N) alone.” he said to the group, his shoulders heaving with his fresh victory.

The odd few nodded, mouths agape as they watched the leader struggle to get up onto his feet.

König walked past them and, taking cautious, slow steps towards you, stopped just shy of three feet away from you.

You were still shaking, your eyes wide as you craned your neck to look up at König’s face.

König felt giddy. A bubbling feeling welling up inside his chest.

Though, something caught in his throat. Something uncharacteristic of this situation.

“Hey–” König said, coughing, clearing his throat, when his voice cracked.

His face began to heat up, and he tried again.

“Hey,” he said, quietly.

You, awe-struck, with your mouth hung open, said nothing.

“I’m (Y/N)–...wait, no…I’m– König–”

König’s stilted introduction, and the fumble he made of it, was cut short with a soft, almost invisible feeling.

You’d thrown your arms around his middle and buried your face in his chest.

He looked down at the top of your head, only your hair visible.

The warmth on his face multiplied, growing hotter by the second as the gratitude in your muffled words – your ‘thank you’s – spilled from between the fabric of his jacket.

And, that feeling from before, the one that told him to act, returned; prompted him to do that which he thought best.

He put his arms around your shoulders and held you.

Only a moment later did you look up at him, eyes reddened with tears.

“I’m (Y/N),” you said.

König smiled, his teeth crooked.

“Hello, (Y/N).”

Immediately after the incident, a swarm of students gathered where the bully lay, ultimately unable to peel himself from the floor, his lackeys too frightened to turn their back on König for even a second.

The incident was passed around the playground like folklore, and König, and yourself, never had any trouble from those bullies again.

They’d all but discredited their leader, claiming that he’d “Tripped and fallen on a  rock,” and hadn’t finally gotten what was coming to him.

They could hardly say otherwise when König was staring them down with the look of hatred they’d all so mastered.

The group was disgraced, some of the boys eventually refusing to come to school altogether, transferring.

And all the while, you and König became inseparable.

That was the day you learnt what true friendship was.

Your parents came to know König very quickly, as his family came to know you.

You both walked home together every day, memorising the paths to each other’s houses “In case aliens invade and I need to find you!” as König justified his vested interest.

The first time he visited your house was like visiting another country.

You were much different at home than you were at school.

For one, you were more vibrant, more prone to voicing your opinions rather than keeping quiet.

And König found this quality to spark something in him.

The fact that he had gotten to know this side of you while no-one else had felt like an accomplishment.

Whenever you had anything to say, he was listening.

Regardless of how menial it was, how borderline unexplainable or just plain complex, König tried to make sense of it every time.

The two of you would spend every waking moment together, never apart for a second save for sleeping and the singular day of the week when your family would take you away somewhere; and even then, König was often invited to go along.

You had sleepovers as often as you could manage, exchanging stories like currency in a continent where only you and König lived.

König’s favourite to recite was Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart, which, the first time he relayed it to you, had you peeking out from beneath your bed sheets, shivering.

That night, as König tried to sleep, he heard you whisper his name in the dark.

He spared no hesitation as he answered.

“König,” you said. “Will you…” your tiny voice barely permeated the suffocating dark.

“Will you sleep next to me ?”

König froze, then, as understanding gripped him, he thawed.

He clambered out from his sleeping bag and onto your bed, unsure of where to look or what to do once he got there.

He rested his arms above the sheets and stared up into the abyssal ceiling, hearing your breathing next to him.

You shifted closer, wrapping an arm around his front.

König became a corpse.

He stiffened, his breathing stopped, and he dared not move a muscle for fear of doing something wrong.

“Thank you,” you said. König could feel your smile against the fabric of his shirt.

"Goodnight, König,” you whispered, your face buried into him as it had been the day he confronted your bullies.

Swallowing thickly, and, sliding an arm around you, König shot a reply into the darkness.

“Goognight, (Y/N).”

After that night, König began to feel…different where you were concerned.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it would hit him whenever his mind drifted back to you, which he found himself doing much more often than he already did.

Considering you were his only friend, you already occupied a good portion.

König always shelved the feeling, promising to try and make sense of it later.

Later, later.

He tested his tolerance for physical contact again one day when you were both walking home.

He’d calculated what he was going to say, to do, and, taking a deep breath, he grasped your hand in his.

His palm was sweaty, the anticipation of this action weighing on him all day.

He couldn’t even bring himself to look at you – to see your reaction.

His heart spasmed.

With nothing to say, to rebuke, you just smiled and squeezed König’s hand.

He felt a weight fall from his shoulders, the sky clearing, his face heating with that feeling of butterflies rather than crushing doom.

You would walk hand-in-hand everywhere you went after that.

Eventually, when all the stories you each had to offer were spent, you found another way of amusing yourselves – of remaining connected regardless of how far away the other was.

The Bestie Bible.

A scrapbook, patchwork, Frankenstein’s novel of shared memories, diary entries; testaments of the people you were.

The book would be passed between you each week; a ‘safer’ alternative to sending letters where your parents were concerned.

An encyclopaedia of your lives right at your fingertips.

You got to know things about König that not even his own family knew, details that he was too shy to tell you, causing him to write them to you instead.

Like his hopes to become a ‘protector’ when he got older.

Little did you know, he wanted to do it for you – to protect you.

That part, he kept to himself.

And vice versa, König got to learn of your life, too; everything from your second favourite colour, bands you were into at the time, your favourite foods, shows - anything.

And he’d feverishly consume your every entry, committing them to memory.

Bible verses.

Whenever he was with you, he felt as if his whole world got brighter, that he could see a clear future with you and him in it.

And that feeling would always come with you. That damned feeling.

It only strengthened the older he became, heating his cheeks and knotting his words in his mouth.

And he’d shelve it, every time.

Because his time with you was precious.

That much was innate; he just knew.

He didn’t have time to understand, only to enjoy.

You celebrated birthdays together.

Every year, without fail, König would buy you a present that remained as timeless as your friendship.

And you’d always thank him the same way; a bone-crushing hug, a squealing “Thank you!”, and a lifetime of gratitude.

That, and one birthday, you kissed his cheek, sending him bright red, making both your families point and coo and stare.

A social nightmare for König, one which you rescued him from by finding a table to hide beneath and sit with him.

You apologised. He told you that you’d done nothing wrong.

You didn’t kiss him again after that.

Which, little did you know, evoked something from within König that was stronger, more potent, poignant, than the feeling he’d felt before. Its predecessors.

At what point König stopped seeing you as just friends was clear to him, yet the shift in his behaviour was subtle enough to be a snake hidden in the grass, a knife slipped between the mattresses – the ribs.

Or, perhaps he had always been that way. Completely and unequivocally in love with you and simply unaware of it.

Or, as close to love as one as young as him could interpret his feelings to be.

But that didn’t mean he understood what he was feeling.

It was light yet strong, a great army pounding on the walls of an even greater empire. A takeover.

He’d lay in bed most nights, hands clasped over his racing heart, as he thought of you, your smile, your everything, and he’d hope beyond hope, pray beyond heaven, that this feeling would last forever.

At first, he’d condemned it, and while he continued to shelve it, he couldn’t deny the butterflies you made him feel.

The warm jitters you’d give him whenever you’d hold him.

One day, sat in the tunnel of your favourite slide, in the local park you and König had claimed as “ours”, you sat together, waiting for your mothers to pick you up. König sat close beside you, almost fused to your side.

His hands shook in his lap, his gaze drifting to yours in a similar position, just lacking the jitters.

He wished he could be calm like you, to not be plagued with the mental anguish that he was born with.

He’d rehearsed this many times the night before, speaking with himself in the mirror – the only person aside from you he felt comfortable talking with – and prepared himself.

He took a deep breath, and before he could think about what he was doing, took your hand in his.

König waited a second, then two, before looking to you and gauging your reaction.

You didn’t even flinch, instead looking back at him with a small smile.

You squeezed his hand as you had done many times before.

So why did this time feel so different?

“What’s wrong, König ?” you said, tilting your head.

Wrong wasn’t even a word when König was with you.

König stifled the urge to withdraw, to retreat to his bedroom and hide beneath the covers of his bed until the day melted away and began anew, wiping your memory of this ever having happened.

But, again, König ignored the impulse.

He breathed deeply, hoping you wouldn’t notice as he tried in vain to placate his racing heart.

“Do you–” he swallowed, looking away, into the skyline of the fading sun, a sun set, then returning to you.

“D’youwannakiss?”

It came out so fast that even König had a hard time understanding what he was saying.

Your eyebrows crumpled, and you looked down in thought.

König’s heart stopped.

Had he said something wrong ? Had he offended you?

He thought his body would just seize up and release his soul to the heavens right then and there.

You turned to face him, your previous expression dissolving.

“König, we’re twelve. We don’t know how.”

It took König a second to understand what was happening until, yes, of course, the answer came to him.

Come to think of it, he’d only just realised.

His, and your, only knowledge of what ‘kissing’ was was something that people did when they loved each other.

He knew he loved you, though he knew the love he felt for you was different from the love he felt for his parents, or other family members.

He was rather sparse on the friend front, so he had little to compare you with there.

He bit the inside of his cheek, and, thinking, found a solution.

He said nothing as he placed his forehead to yours.

You seemed confused for a minute, before you understood and applied equal force, your forehead resting against König’s.

And you stayed that way. Just you and König sat in a kaleidoscope of childhood with your heads pressed together; two halves of an arch way, one side meaningless without the other.

Act 2

Your childhoods came and went, a flambaic fanfare of hopes, dreams, and cartoons. And your teen years gave way to feelings you’d never felt before.

And throughout it all, König was at your side.

Even now as he shot up in height, you lagging behind in that same department compared to him, he would gladly bend the knee to take your hand in his.

As was the case on your first day of high school, where you and König hurried down winding, identical corridors that you could only ever have hoped to be liminal; too many people existed here for them to be so.

Eventually, you found your classroom, miraculously having an identical timetable – at least for now.

And as you sat beside each other, your knee bouncing, watching the students filter in, König squeezed your hand in his, casting you a small, quivering, nervous smile.

Your shared anxieties would continue on from this day forth, solidifying as, just as you had been in elementary, you and König seldom spoke to anyone outside your duo, having created an impenetrable wall through which nobody could enter and neither of you could leave.

Your habits from elementary continued on, too; you both completed homework together, you had sleepovers, you continued the Bestie Bible.

But something was…amiss.

This feeling, this loss of something, grew as you did, and by your early teen years, you realised what it was.

It was around every corner, at every block of lockers, leaned against them, gazing into the eyes of the most wanted.

Love.

Sure, you knew what love was, hypothetically. You could identify it on paper, sense it between two people you’d never even met. But you never felt it.

Not the kind that you observed, anyway.

Perhaps it was your young curiosity.

Perhaps it was simply a longing for something new.

But you wanted to feel what everyone else seemed to feel.

What on-screen heroes and heroines so easily attained.

And thus began your pursuit of that which would be your downfall.

Your gaze would begin to linger more on boys in your classes who you could see yourself liking.

Prospectors, you called them to König.

Your first mistake had been ever trying to like someone in the first place.

At your sleepovers, your homework and study sessions, your park wanders, you’d spill your heart to König.

Just not in the way he wanted you to.

You’d tell him of guys you thought you may, perhaps, just a little bit, be interested in.

The first time you told König, he almost laughed.

He cast you a doubtful look, only to unfurrow his brows, unhook the smiling corners of his lips when he found you to be dead serious.

That night, König went to bed with what you could characterise as indigestion of the heart.

What you’d said didn’t sit right with him. Stirred a storm in his chest.

And he hadn’t even interpreted your words correctly.

He thought you just wanted to be friends with other people.

More people.

The idea made him anxious, made his nerves light with doubt.

And he calmed himself, looking upon your Bestie Bible, reminding himself that your friendship was God, stronger than all the forces that kept the earth together.

Or so he believed.

One evening, weeks later, during one of your routine visits, König sensed a shift in you.

You were quieter, almost as if you had clouds drifting around your crown.

Over time, as your desire to experience more, do more, grew stronger, your gaze began to wander to your classmates.

One in particular.

Just some boy, really nothing objectively noteworthy about him at all, save for perhaps his kindness, his wit, and another benign personality trait you could romanticise.

Initially, you thought little of him.

But as the weeks crawled by, and you had extra time in your classes to simply retreat elsewhere, into another world, he would be there, smiling, waving.

And you would speak with him, imagine what his opinions would be, what his voice would sound like up-close.

Fleeting instances of a desire for friendship.

That’s what you thought they were.

What else could they be ?

Meanwhile, you and König still shared as much time together as you could, even when school was becoming troublesome. Difficult.

You’d study together, have sleepovers, write in your Bestie Bible and exchange it like a letter, a story almost as old as you were.

Whenever you’d fall asleep, König would watch you, unabashed and unfettered.

An identical habit to that he’d created during childhood, with a similar goal in mind; to protect you.

Though, that was not his only motivation now.

König would watch you, watch over you, and look for as long as he liked upon your sleeping features.

And, as he advanced into his later teen years, he couldn’t deny that he found you to be very attractive.

Anyone with eyes and common sense would !

He always found his heart stuttering, his breath catching, his body heating at every docile gesture you made.

Not that you knew this, of course.

He’d studied, learnt enough from watching failed couples and friendships in school to see where mistakes were made – where friendships ended due to another’s impatience. Lack of restraint.

He made sure to avoid them at all costs.

And so he fed from you as you slept, unawares, your vulnerable state further motivation for him to protect you.

From what ?

He didn’t quite know yet.

But he held an answer, and it hung in his mind, a constant.

Everything.

During your study sessions, König began to notice that your attention seemed to be elsewhere.

Let me rephrase that; he’d noticed weeks ago that you seemed taken with something, but König couldn’t tell what.

He’d studied your Bible many times over, trying to find something indicative of your newfound interest.

And yet, nothing struck him.

Nothing new, at least.

And now, sitting here with you, König grilled you. Politely, with enough characteristic fragility in his tone that made him sound endearing enough to be spared any wrath you’d think to impart on him.

“Nothing’s wrong, Köni,” you assured him, smiling.

Your words were clear, but your eyes held a dream in them, a haze which settled over them like clouds before the moon.

König’s eyebrow raised, and, with a playful lilt, pressed further.

“That’s not true,” he said. He put his pen down and rested his hands upon the table.

“Something’s occupying your mind – I can see it.” He took a shallow breath, trying to keep his mouth stretching into a smile for as long as he could.

The fact that he didn’t know what was causing you to be this way killed him.

He recognised it in you, much as he recognised it in himself.

Love.

Or the infantile beginnings of it.

And yet he knew not from what it was borne.

You shrugged him off again, smiling, returning to your work.

“Really, König, it’s nothing !” You made mindless markings on your paper. “Now come on, drop it. We have a history test tomorrow.”

That night, König couldn’t convince you to stay over.

You both knew the evening would drag on ‘til the early hours of the morn, and neither of you wanted to fail this test.

As König embraced you, his giant form eclipsing yours, he saw the back of your bag unzipped.

He knew exactly how many seconds he had until you’d pull away.

Without a sound, he slipped his hand inside and withdrew the paper you’d been scribbling on earlier.

For once, he withdrew first, though it pained him to do so.

That night, he looked upon the paper.

There was little he could decipher from the obsolete doodles and scribbles, but something did stand out to him.

A name.

Nothing more.

The name of a boy.

It was given neither ceremony, nor decoration, simply slapped onto the paper as if it belonged there.

Looking at it made bile churn in his stomach, so he folded it, tucked it away somewhere he didn’t have to think about it.

The next day, it was his turn to receive the Bible, his makeshift friend, to give a near-identical account of experiences as you.

Given how you were both attached at the hip, there was little fluctuation in your day-to-day encounters.

In all honesty, he’d hoped that whatever had been plaguing you last night would emerge in the pages of that book, somewhere between the Frankenstein’s monster pages of glitter and brightly-coloured card paper and receipts from shops that exposed a most ambitious fashion sense.

And, like an answer from God, it did.

Laying in bed, leafing through the shared history book you and König shared, he sought your latest entries.

His heart burned as he discovered them, and, enthusiasm unmatched, he consumed every word.

He’d initially suspected that perhaps you’d taken up a new hobby, was maybe, in even a miniscule capacity, planning a gift for him, what with all your secrecy and all.

But König could read you like the book in his hands, and though he wanted to believe anything that crossed his mind, he knew any answer he came up with wouldn’t be the right one.

He truly had no way of knowing what was making you tick.

And then, he saw it.

A needle in a haystack; a whimpering puppy in a darkened alleyway.

A name.

A confession.

König’s body seized, his heart palpitating, his mind beginning to burn.

His throat tightened, and his stomach clamped shut, causing an immediate sickness to shoot through every nerve in his body.

The corners of his vision darkened, as if a cloud – or the cape of a villain – had settled over him.

And for a second, König thought that this was death.

There, in your handwriting, your letters, your words, was the cause of your distractment.

‘I like someone,’ you said, and König heard your voice in his ears, his head, as if you were speaking these words to him now, tearing his heart out now. ‘A boy from our class – the one who sits at the front, with the vintage biker jacket.’

König’s mind acted of its own accord, searching every frame of memory from the beginning of your school career to now to find the perpetrator.

All the while, König’s throat stung, the antiseptic truth bleaching, purging, the hope that had grown there over the years, a feeling which had persevered above all others.

The tightness in his chest gave way to a smouldering, burning, second death, the peeling of his heart in two, acid poured into the separate halves to be drunk by you, disintegrating the cumulative joy he’d felt there. Once.

The pages of the book tore in König’s hands, his grip on the edges enough to give the impression of a seizure, or some primal, uncontrolled bodily spasm.

The searing behind his eyes gave way to tears, an onslaught that choked him, choked him as the fiery clump in his throat burst into a sob.

König threw the book aside, feeling minimal relief from having done so, instead simply discarding the cross from his Hell-skin.

It hit something, unknown damage being done.

It would not compare to the damage done to König.

His hands clawed at his chest, pounding against the skin as if to search for the stolen heart beneath.

No words could, or would, leave König, no language of anguish or despair elaborate, violent, or loud enough to express what he felt.

On his knees now, König keeled over himself, compacting his large frame to a ball, as if to disappear entirely.

His mouth hung open, moulded to The Scream’s tune of horror, saliva stringing from within and onto the sheets.

He sobbed, convulsed, the same, nerve-frying stress that turned one’s hair white crushing him.

He knew now.

He knew what that feeling was, all those years ago, as another, younger version of himself lay in the same bed he wept on now, the agony his older self was benign subject to unseen by him, merely a pin-prick in the fabric of the universe, a bout of sadness, brief and fleeting, the desire to mourn, if only for a second, yet not knowing what for.

That feeling he’d felt…

It was love.

In all her most glorious, radiant terms, what he’d felt since the beginnings of your friendship, to the tumour it had developed into now, malignant and all-consuming, was love.

König wanted to part from it. To tear its parasitic tendrils from his mind and erase it so thoroughly from the universe that none should ever know it again, not its name, nor its face. Neither its feeling.

König’s face, pressed into the sheets to stifle his cries, to block out external stimulus, was scrunched in a portrait of terror, mid-scream, mid-death.

Eternities passed. The infernal suffering encapsulating König in its current made him break out into sweats, soaked his shirt and his body.

Through the dense thicket of heartbreak, König saw a thinning of trees, a glimmer peeking between distant gaps.

He searched for it, sought it, followed it blindly – anywhere but to be here.

An idea was brewing. A dangerous one.

König fled to the treeline, tangling in the vegetation and clawing his way free, sacrificing whatever material sentimentality he had to propel himself to freedom.

Body shaking, trembling, König threw himself into the light.

He shot up from the sheets, still clutching his spectral heart in his hands, breathing heavily, panting.

The idea settled, nestled in the forefront of his mind, incubated and basking in his attention.

König’s eyes darted from one dark corner of his room to the other, only the lamp by his bedside enough to fend off the monsters.

That, and the demon which sat upon his shoulders, bringing with it a weight which did not crush König, but grounded him, anchored and committed him to the plan festering in his mind.

If I can’t have you, he said to his two selves, the spirit of his innocence watching helpless and fraying from the sidelines.

Then nobody can.

Every time you returned with your findings, of guys you thought were nice, of those whose personalities you analysed and decided would be optimum for your first relationship, König felt his blood start to simmer.

Anything to get you away from those Prospectors.

You were slipping away from him.

He knew it.

Especially when you started liking that guy.

König never bothered to learn his name – not properly. Even after he’d seen it square on your research paper like it was printed there intentionally.

And besides, it seemed to please you greatly whenever he’d get his name wrong, making you laugh.

Every night whenever you and König lay parallel, one on the floor and one on the bed depending on whose house you were staying at – since when did you stop sharing a bed…? – all you could seem to talk about was this feeling your whatever-he-was gave you.

And König listened, albeit unwillingly.

Though, even as he lay, fists clenched beneath the bed covers, his ears would prick as you relinquished something new, something palpable, taintable, to him.

Like how he drove a car, how he was an athlete, how he was tall – “Not nearly as tall as you, though, Köni~” – and how he’d be taking you to the school dance.

König felt his heart seize.

Oh no.

That wasn’t right.

Everything faded into white noise after that, König’s head burning with a thousand ways to separate you and your “crush”; how to remove him from your portrait and replace him with König.

But, having been willfully confined to the incredibly small circle that was only you and König, your social skills left… a lot to be desired. Made it easier for König to keep a closer eye on you without you flitting off to your other ‘friends’.

And whereas König never even thought about trying to alleviate his affliction, the “curing” of yours was all you ever thought about.

Each night, as you lay in bed, you dreamt of another you who was unafraid of public speaking, of private speaking. Of interacting in even the most broad or minimal of capacities.

Of talking to him.

And whenever you’d wake from those dreams, your chest puffed with the remnant confidence your alternate self gave you a sample of, it would deflate, crumble into ash the second you set foot over the threshold of the classroom.

People casting you a passing glance, the close proximity to others in a packed classroom…

It shot you straight back to square one.

And each time, you’d sit beside König, shoulders slumped, hands clasped in your lap, eyes devoid of any semblance of hope.

König wasn’t an idiot; he knew what that look was.

He’d encountered it many times in his youth before he’d grown comfortable with the uncomfortable; laid to rest his desire to remove the enemy and instead just live with it – anything for an easy life.

But with you…it was different.

He could tell.

And as he watched your mind become filled with calculus and angles and the dates of histories that barely sounded factual, something, a wicked little thought, crossed his mind.

You were going to be difficult to break.

The idea cracked in his mind’s eye, a flash of lightning against the clouds.

It shocked him, made his heart stammer.

He wondered where it had come from, and he glanced over his shoulder, as if to find the person who had put it there.

When the blazing cold panic fizzled out, calmed and quelled, he gave a glance to the thought, which hovered just out of reach; a legendary sword – antagonist – with not enough room in the inventory to keep.

And so König cast it into the Memory Pit, to die and to fade, while he returned to the lesson.

But it never left him.

It clung to the sharpened cliff edge, giving way to a bottomless pit.

The wright remained the day after. And the day after that, and the day after that.

Weeks passed, and König continued as normal.

Normal to you, at least.

He had another set of eyes now, up above him, behind him, wherever he needed them.

His intuition sharpened, a cat in all but disposition, as he discerned the most miniscule of gestures in the most benign of people.

All excluding you, of course.

Knowing what he did now, König could see what you were thinking and when, especially whenever your attention turned to the boy at the front of the class with the decrepit cyclist’s jacket.

One time, you’d actually gone up and spoken to him, coincidentally on the one day König was off school ill.

Beginning a dark descent into something you couldn’t even fathom as of yet.

A ‘secret’ friendship that, when you’d tell König of it, excited and overjoyed at your progress, his face soured, his mood darkening.

And yet his demeanour remained unchanged.

König had pretended not to have seen your entry, pretended not to have actually had the book at all, but to suggest that someone may have stolen it, or that it had been thrown out when his parents were cleaning his room.

You found it difficult to believe, but what other alternative was there?

Trust your best friend or the possibility of pure, freak chance?

You chose the latter.

König neve let you out of his sight for a second.

Whereas he could trust you before, to handle yourself, to be loyal to his friendship, he could no longer.

Even when you were separated by timetable differences, he still had eyes on you.

A well-timed bathroom break, the revelation that he’d left his textbook in his locker – anything to slip out of his classroom and glide past yours, his eyes on you all the while.

Even if you’d caught him, you’d have assumed he was simply being humorous, as all friends were, or, again, pure chance.

He’d work harder than all other students, earn the teachers’ praise and trust, all to worm his way out the classroom a few minutes early to ensure he could pick you up from your class whenever you were separated.

In the corridors together, König would watch your line of sight carefully.

He’d see who you were looking at, who was looking at you.

Luckily, he never had to do much to deter others from interacting with you.

His rapidly growing height did that for him.

By his mid-teens, König towered above everyone else, giving an unsuspecting you scary dog privileges, and giving everyone else a heart attack when they caught sight of the well-dressed Austrian constantly at your side.

Given his stature, König could cast rotten looks to those who seemed even marginally interested in you, completely unbeknownst to you.

And besides, you wouldn’t believe anyone who told you as much.

König, the shy, quiet, socially anxious boy shooting daggers at another student ? Preposterous !

With this crush of yours, König already had enough to deal with. He wasn’t about to relinquish you to the throws of another person’s friendship as you seemed to already have done with your heart.

The one person König could never seem to do away with was your crush.

He truly was fearless. Or arrogant. Or braindead.

Not that you knew, but König would catch his eye in the hallways, see him stare at you for a moment before the reaper beside you caught his eye.

He looked away, and König hoped that was the end of it.

It was not.

The boy would look at you again.

A feat not yet coined by any.

Except for him.

König knew he was losing you.

Or, losing what part of you was meant to be his.

And so he brought you to where you’d frequent as children, where you scarcely came to now ever since life had become so much more complicated.

The playground was desolate and empty, void of distractions save for the equipment – rides – which seemed too small for you now.

That didn’t stop you from trying to squeeze down the straw-thin slide, though, or into the seats of the roundabout.

König only watched, knowing he wouldn’t even have a chance of fitting like you would.

His palms were sweating, the script he’d rehearsed laying in some crevice in his room, ink smudged with anxiety and sweat.

König clambered up onto a climbing frame, the one which you had occupied when you ‘kissed’ for the first time.

The memory warmed König’s cheeks. But he couldn’t lose focus now.

He called you over, his voice deeper than it had been then, all those years ago.

And you came, bounding over to him, a labrador or a kitten.

You clambered the frame and came to sit with him.

He offered you his hand. Wordless. Intentionless.

(Or so he would seem).

And, wordless, equally intentionless, you faltered, just for a moment, then took it.

He pulled you into the tunnel, the tube wide enough to support König’s staggering height.

Comfort wasn’t the goal here; not for him, at least.

You fit perfectly, a perfect, perfect, perfect specimen as ever in König’s eyes.

That word reverberated in König’s soul, the only sublime measure capable of describing you in your purest form.

Now, hand-in, hand, you and König sat in silence.

Geese called somewhere in the distance, flying through the sunset gates in the sky to a land unknown, collecting passengers on their non-stop express to salvation.

The wind blew the trees as night began its slow descent, ink hands reaching down from the top of the canvas to transform this half of the world into its playground.

Much like the one you and König inhabited.

König looked down at your conjoined hands.

He ran his thumb across the back of yours, your knuckles.

He saw – felt – you wince, flinch. The beginnings of doubt, of retreat.

He knew he had to be quick.

The crippling anxiety that had shadowed from childhood sat with you in that tube now, your Venus, your evil twin.

It was you, who spat at him, at his attempts, and fed him tales of rejection and deceit, of your loyalty to that boy instead of him.

And yet here you sat, eyes wide as ever, curious and ambient, an ocean of possibilities.

The demon on König’s shoulders growled, its claws taking König’s heart in its clutches, knives to your feather-touch, and squeezed it.

König gave a cavernous, inward sigh and returned to you.

It’s now or never.

“(Y/N),” he said, timid, lamb.

He tried looking into your eyes. Peering into them as if they were the future.

You leaned in, swearing you could hear his voice twice.

One which spoke the truth, one which spoke a darker truth.

You listened for your friend’s tone.

“Yes, Köni ?”

God, that nickname.

As old as König himself.

Stay focused.

König swallowed. His throat prickled.

An oncoming sickness. A nestled affliction.

Lovesick.

“Do you remember…when we were kids – and we…”

He faltered. His gaze dropped.

Keep going !

He cleared his throat again.

Your hand lay limp in his.

”And we…we did that…thing?”

Your head tilted and your gaze flew to the sky in remembrance.

Your nose scrunched.

“König…that doesn’t particularly narrow it down,” you laughed, returning from the Heavens to him once again

König swallowed, thickly. He gave a wavering chuckle that barely reached his chest.

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right.”

With his free hand, he rubbed the back of his neck, only to mortify himself when he found sweat collating there. Colony.

He slapped it back down on his thigh, desperately, discreetly, trying to wipe the sweat off.

He returned. Head above water, bobbing.

“I– what I’m trying to say…is…”

He shuffled closer. You mirrored him, ear-first, trying to catch his words, butterflies in a net.

“What I want to say is…”

He looked at you, dead in the eyes.

He was partially hunched, giving his tilted face a menacing, sharp look.

It almost took you aback.

His free hand, puppeteered by his demon, snaked past your body, fingers crocheting through your strands. Fusing you to him.

Your breath hitched, your guard defiled, as he placed his hand firmly there, the cold tips harsh against the warmth of your scalp.

“König–” you said, as if trying to identify the person in front of you.

König – or what he was now – didn’t listen.

He pulled your head closer, braced your hand in his.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, your nerves beginning to spark with…something.

You didn’t know what it was, but you knew you’d never felt it with König before.

You couldn’t place it, tried as you may.

It was only when König’s forehead kissed yours, his skin scorching, his eyes puppy-like and pure, that you found the answer.

It was the same feeling you felt for the boy with the vintage biker jacket.

You felt frozen, breath stilted, thinned with revelation.

And, with your forehead to König’s, a mirror image of the past, you were flooded with an ocean and all its creatures.

Confusion, apprehension, affection, and…disgust.

You’d never viewed König like that, not once.

And even now, it made you uncomfortable to feel this way.

And so, with the vigour of one escaping a trap, your eyes squeezed shut and tore yourself away, past König’s grip, his hold, and landing a foot or two away.

The umbilical cord, his hand in yours, was cut.

Your body felt cold, a phantom gust of wind prickling the skin, your heart.

König looked at you with wide eyes, pleading eyes, and a hole in his chest.

You looked upon each other, trying to find an answer, trying to see what the other would do.

Swallowing, breathing uneven, you crawled out from the tunnel, not looking back at König as he all but whimpered in your absence, eyes stinging, throat singing. A familiar condition settled upon him.

A paroxysm of his loving sickness, seeping deeper into his veins when you’d done your part in trying to uproot them.

Neither of you spoke about the incident after that.

It took a week of wavering smiles and faltering waves, of a wince or a jump when one of you spoke to the other, for you to eventually put it behind you.

Even with your minimal experience in Romantics, you knew something about the way König held you was different from every time before.

Or, maybe, you had only just awoken to the fact that such intent lay in all his actions towards you.

You tried not to think about it.

And besides, it made no sense to.

Since your crush had asked you to the school dance !

You’d made an effort to conceal that information from König, but he was fluent in the language that was you, and all its most obscure dialects.

You knew he’d figure it out sooner or later, whether you told him or some Rogue of Fate did.

But you wanted to live in this bubble of possibility for a bit longer.

Sure, you didn’t know your crush to a degree that you could call him as close a friends as König, but you’d done something to make him want you.

Your heart soared, chest swelled, the pit of pride held within.

And you waited.

And waited.

Your face grew sourer over time, the dripping of wax work, as realisation crossed your mind.

You didn’t want it.

This ivy – creeping – dread lacing around your heart, chains.

You felt your eyes kindle the embers of tears, your shoulders lowering yet remaining rigid, deflating.

And you jumped as a hand found your shoulder.

You knew who it was.

You could feel his fingerprints against your skin. Distinct as he was.

You turned, a sliver of relief finding you, nesting between the cracks in your chest as you set your eyes upon him.

He wore a dark suit, altered in the sleeves and legs to accommodate his height.

He’d gelled his hair to appear as one would in a romance film. At least, that was what you thought.

The very incarnation of a classic heartthrob.

Just for a second did your mind dare to tell you that this situation would not have happened if König had taken you to the dance.

The thought left you as you faced him fully, your hand coming atop his.

You squeezed it.

“Here all by your lonesome?” König said, voice low, a hint of humour within it, just short of malice.

You nodded. Dropped your head.

You went to talk, to say whatever came to your mind, when your voice gave way to tears.

König didn’t even flinch, even as your grip on his hand tightened.

Instead, he offered himself to you, bringing you close to him by your waist and holding you to his shoulder.

Bystanders would give a glance and König would give them death in a stare, and they quickly turned away.

The material of König’s jacket felt lavish, a far cry from the polyester of the other boys’ outfits.

You couldn’t place it. Not as your head panged with an oncoming headache and your heart burst with a reddening ocean, fire beginning to spark at the edges, boiling it.

You couldn’t help but go over every interaction you’d ever had with your crush, analysing it, scanning it, identifying any and every discrepancy that could have caused him to leave you this night.

And each time, your heart was heir to the shocks and bolts of despair, a palpable, gaseous substance that burned each time you inhaled, each time you thought

And as he held you, felt you shudder, quiver, into his shoulder the weight of your rejection bearing down on you, a far greater weight rested on his.

His demon sat there, smiling, grinning, the ghost of god.

He already had you flush against him, two cards packed tightly into the same pack.

“What’s wrong, Engel?” he said, softly, quietly. He rubbed your back, squeezed you.

“I am certain that whatever has you so upset is not worth your tears.”

And that just made you want to cry more.

The fact that König always knew what to say and when made the doubt from before – the regret – materialise.

König wouldn’t have done this to you. He wouldn’t have even thought about it.

“Come now, (Y/N),” he moved, his hand on your shoulder trailing the length of your arm and taking your hand.

You made no attempt to move.

He sighed, though you knew it was not of frustration. It was…something else.

König went still, then, his arm from your waist disappeared.

You nuzzled closer, an unconscious practice, as cold air hit your back.

“Listen !” he said, enthusiasm uncharacteristic of this situation laced in his tone.

You risked a glance, sniffing as you looked up at König.

He had a hand cupped over his ear, a makeshift megaphone. His gaze was occupied elsewhere, over your head.

“Do you hear that ?” he said.

Your chest stuttered with the remnants of your upset, and you strained to cease, to hear.

Music drifted over the sound of both idle and excited chatter, of the hazy, dusty, dusky layer of first love that had encompassed all.

All except you, it seemed.

You nodded into König’s chest, giving a cracked hum.

He finally looked down at you, both hands coming to yours.

He held them. Squeezed them once.

“It would be a waste for this song to go unremembered,” he said.

You gave a smile, strong as you could, yet it still turned out watery. Incomplete.

Something about König was…different.

You couldn’t quite tell what it was, but you knew you’d never seen it before.

His vehement denial of attending events such as these in the past had led you to the assumption he’d have stayed well away.

Now, you were glad he hadn’t.

Still, the prospect of König even existing in a roomful of people, nevermind being watched by them, stunned you to the extent that you were sure it usually would have König.

You gave a short nod, and offering you his arm, you rested your hand upon it.

That night, König kept you close to him, sheltering you from everything.

When you were at your lowest, he brought you cake and a drink, watched over you as you tried to make sense of it all.

Then, he encouraged you, slowly, softly, to dance a few steps with him.

It started with him taking your hand and pulling you, like rope, up from your chair.

You resisted, initially, terribly invested in the comfort and protection of the corner you’d both taken up.

You felt as if everyone else knew of your predicament – like they were aware of your suffering.

Were somehow party and privy to it.

It took König’s reassurances, his placating tone as he promised he’d “Let nothing happen to you,” and “you’re safe with me, Little One,”

And, on your knees, with nothing else filling your head save for the crushing defeat of a love you hadn’t even had chance to know, König was your only salvation.

At first, dancing was the last thing you wanted to do – especially when it was what you were planning on doing with the person who had ripped your confidence out.

Other couples melted into the atmosphere, the ambience, becoming the backdrop to this milestone in your life, making the experience feel somewhat…less lonesome.

That, and the gentle grasp König had on you.

He was particularly agile as he kept you both in time with the music, setting a gliding rhythm and spinning you in his arms.

Initially, he was slow, despite the upbeat music not permitting such.

It shocked you how little König cared about the million ways he himself would have identified his actions as making him ‘stick out like a sore thumb’.

And yet, his confidence reassured you.

Created a buffer between you and the rest of the world.

Though the sting of rejection followed you from each scene of this tragedy, its bite dulled, grained and blunted by the sheets of film placed over it, filled instead with the growing phantom of König, and you.

Little did you know that, inside, König was dying.

This place, this event, was a composite of all his worst nightmares, you being stolen from him included.

But, he knew that if he were not to face his demons – at least the ones that held him back – tonight, he’d lose you forever.

A sacrifice he’d make any day.

He only hoped you wouldn’t hear the clattering of his heart, feel it amid the plush layers of his suit.

Amidst the streamers and music and sticky scent of perfume and the slice of cologne filling the air made your mind hazy.

The music slowed the deeper into the night it became.

You swayed with König, your head against his shoulder, eyes shut. A glint of the dimming, pink lights reflecting against the disco ball pierced your eyelid, making you squeeze your eyes tightly, rub your face into the confines of König’s jacket.

He resisted the urge to let out a yell of victory.

The evening was drawing to a close, and König knew that, now, he had you.

Both mentally and physically.

He knew how untrusting you’d be towards your crush if you ever saw him again – if he ever dared to exist near you again.

And he knew how likely you were to take things like this – no matter how minimal the inconvenience – to heart.

König rested his chin atop your head. And, when you didn’t move, not one muscle, he relaxed onto you.

His mind and body had been a firework of nerves all day, waiting for even a second of doubt to cross your eyes, or your crush to come staggering out of the bin König had hidden him in.

But, here he was, the person he loved most in all the world with him and him alone.

Yet, despite his victory, he knew he couldn’t have you fully.

Not yet.

While no longer children, you both still had a considerable amount of time to change your minds, your mindsets, and so acting now while your life would be at its most volatile would be a wasted opportunity. A dangerous opportunity.

No, König knew when he had to act.

For now, he would abstain, take to your hand holding and secret sharing and forehead kissing until, one day, your eyes would open as his were, see the world with him as he did with you.

Pink. Rose-tinted as the very hall you occupied.

Act 3

König’s inclination of ownership over you did not cease with the coming and going of age; not as he advanced from teenhood to adulthood, nor as he outgrew his parents’ house and moved into his own.

If anything, it grew more palpable, yet not stronger.

It was already at its most imposing height, its final form, as König thought it.

The demon on his shoulders had retired to the corners of his mind since Prom night, surveilling everyone and everything that it thought a threat to your relationship with König.

And all the while, König kept it concealed from you.

König’s inclination of ownership over you did not cease with the coming and going of age; not as he advanced from teenhood to adulthood, nor as he outgrew his parents’ house and moved into his own.

You both ended up moving within close proximity to each other, though, given his occupation (which you’d vehemently warned and even denied him of doing) kept him away for many months of the year.

Resultingly, König could think of no-one better to guard his house and all its worldly possessions than you.

“What’s mine is yours,” he told you, handing you your very own set of keys.

“So you’ll see no point in stealing my shirts again.”

“Oh my god, that was one time! I was cold and it was just there !”

“Just say you missed me and save us both the effort.”

But seriously though, König almost died the first time he saw you in one of his shirts.

He leaves them strewn about in easy-to-reach places in the hopes that, one evening, he’ll come home and see you bundled up on the sofa, wrapped in one.

He gets a little frisky when he sees you in them.

First time, he thought you were adorable, pint-sized in his clothing.

And then, once the initial shock had worn off, his mind began to wander to…places.

He himself was rather taken aback by the ferocity of these fantasies, now breaking through the surface of his dignity to plague him.

He knows you have a preference for one of his hoodies, and he’s seen you wear it enough times to know that your birthday present this year was going to be very easy to choose.

He could have wept for the joy that spread across your face when he gifted you the hoodie, watching you wriggle into it before the wrapping paper had chance to fall to the ground.

He had to excuse himself to the bathroom soon after, though.

You honestly spent as much time at König’s as you did at your own home.

Watering his plants, dusting the shelves, cleaning before he returned home; König found it all to be quite domestic.

Especially whenever he was ill and you were always there to make him feel better.

Like one time, when he was hit with a  particularly bad cold, and was bed-ridden for three days.

You came and cared for him, cooked for him, catered to his every need with neither hesitation, nor complaint.

During his delirium, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you around like this all the time – to have you as his housespouse.

The thought, to König’s heavy, weary head, was particularly appealing, nigh euphoric, and when he slept he dreamt of you, serving him as you did now.

And he’d return the favour, of course.

It was in times like these that König’s mind began to…degrade, one might say.

More so than it already was.

Whether it was delusion or a sheer desire to have you, König began to try and make these scenarios a reality.

Make no mistake, he’d had similar ideas when he was younger, but now he had both the means and the time to actually do it.

And König’s mind had no qualms with exploring the darker avenues of this possibility, of the methods of how to enact it.

In the meantime, he was perfectly content with keeping you close to him while you watched films together, your head on his chest, arms wrapped around him.

“My big bear,” you called him.

And a bear to most, he was.

Ferocious and positively massive, his mere presence was enough to frighten off potential suitors.

And friends.

That, coupled with his often silent exterior made for a terrifying experience to all that were not you or the handful of allies König had.

Often, you’d call him whenever you were frightened, or anxious.

Especially if you were out in the evening.

Not that König ever left you during those hours; regardless of the time of night or day, he’d accompany you anywhere and everywhere, your shadow.

But, on the rare occasion he was kept away, you’d call him, ask him to talk to you, keep you grounded.

One evening, you’d made the mistake of not telling König you were leaving to go out, and when he woke up at some odd hour of the night to find you gone, his first, soldier instinct was to panic.

He swept the house, found you nowhere, and began calling your phone so many times it very well could have exploded.

And when you answered, voice laced with sleep and heavy without judgement, König had to resist the urge to cry out in relief.

“(Y/N), where are you?”

“Corner shop. Had to get some snacks.”

Had he not still been coming down from the panic high, König would have considered being angry.

“All right, just stay there. Don’t leave the store until I find you.”

“How do you even know which store—”

Needless to say, König was not best pleased to find you practically putting your life on the line for a bagful of crisps, a chocolate bar and…a toy fish?

“Impulse buy,” you told him.

König sighed.

“Next time, try not to act on your impulses so quickly.”

Like me, the voice told himself.

Your hand was shackled in his for the duration of the walk home.

And the whole night as you slept together.

Though, despite your blatant lac of self-awareness or judgement, König couldn’t help hut find you endearing.

The chocolate in your bag was his favourite brand, one which you couldn’t stand.

You’d gone out to do it for him.

He pulled you into his chest, practically purring as you nuzzled into his chest, enveloped completely by him.

“I’ll always protect you, Y/N,” he said, running a hand through your hair. “I promise.”

Even during those moments where you were at your most intimate, regardless of how innocent your intent.

The first instance of this, a most shocking development, occurred when you and König had visited the beach.

It was a few months before his deployment to a far-away military base to train.

The two of you, as was to be expected, wore swimsuits.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

It was only when you’d shed your thin jacket that König was affected.

His gaze fixed on you, unable to be torn away as he took in the silhouette of your body.

He’d never had an innate desire to see you partially, or fully undressed, even when he was at his most hormonal.

His love and appreciation for you had been based purely on you, your demeanour, your personality.

So to now see you having shed your fledgling body in return for one that was more mature, more defined, König couldn’t take it.

Sure, he’d seen people scantily clad before, though that was in magazines and shopping catalogues and movies that never quite took his fancy.

Not real life.

And they had never been you.

König felt a familiar tightness forming in his swim shorts.

He swallowed thickly, the sun suddenly too hot, the sand suddenly too sharp.

And then, you had to bring him closer to ruin.

“Köni,” you called, melodic, a tune König would fall for every time.

“Would you help put this sunscreen on my back?”

This was all moving so fast.

Sure, he’d had thoughts of being intimate with you before, but they’d only been thoughts, hallucinations, even.

And he knew they weren’t real, weren’t palpable.

Unlike this.

Hesitantly, fearing his secret would become apparent to you, he sat beside you, legs clasped together as he tried desperately to keep you oblivious to the growing issue.

He’d lathered the cream between his waiting hands, and his breath shuttering, placed them upon your skin.

You were soft. Tiny in König’s giant hands.

He’d have cursed his genetics for making him so adept at this practice – for making it pass too quickly – was he not fighting every moral and ethic he had yet to break.

You purred as his hands slid from the to the bottom of your back, your unintentional mewls destroying König’s resolve.

His hands dipped, slowly, fractionally, down your sides, close to your front, your chest.

He wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

But he knew not to risk it.

Abstain. Abstain, the voice told him.

He resisted, took in your body feverishly one last time before he got up, finished, his hulking figure blocking out the sunlight.

“Be right back,” he’d told you.

And off he sped to the nearest bathroom, where, whimpering into the jacket he’d balled over his fist and put to his mouth, he apologised over and over to you, his toes curling as he brought himself to a reluctant conclusion.

He returned soon, just as he’d said.

You smiled back at him from your shallow edge of the ocean, waving him over.

He declined, instead hiding beneath the shade of the umbrella.

He was still sensitive between his legs, as was his mind.

He wouldn’t risk compromising himself again. Not when he was so close to having you.

Or so he thought.

After that first encounter with his own beasteous appetite for you to a more…carnal degree, König had begun to indulge in some personal delights.

AKA, stealing your underwear and using it to get off during his long trips away.

And, whenever he stayed over, he’d take his opportunity to rifle through your drawers, gather intel (as he was so trained), see what new clothes you’d bought (why – and who for?).

You and König took to sharing a bed again.

Perhaps it was the false assurance of maturity that stopped you from realising – from seeing – how König felt about you.

Whenever he would come and pay you a visit, the afternoons would transform from a dusk-ridden sky to a languid black wine speckled with the universe’s offspring.

And there you and König would be, in bed together, talking for what would always be hours about anything and everything.

Much like that time in the tunnel, neither of you spoke of your time at the dance, though rather for you it was a source of hurt, whereas König, proof of conquest.

Regardless, you’d both matured, left school, and had pursued your own paths.

All while remaining as close as you had since childhood.

König’s decision to join the military had been one you’d discussed at length.

Or rather, you’d tried to convince him of staying.

He won that particular argument.

Not that he’d have let you stay mad at him, anyway.

“I can handle myself extraordinarily well, mein Maus.”

Your eyebrow quirks up.

“König, I’ve never seen you hurt a fly, nevermind a person.”

His stomach dropped when he remembered that you didn’t know about his…altercation with the boy who almost stole you from him all those years ago.

And the odd few he’d instigated whenever a potential suitor walked onto the scene.

He gets called away on business a lot, so you find other ways of communicating.

He’s not permitted to use a mobile phone since it serves as both a distraction and a vehicle for tracking, and the last thing König would do is put you in harm’s way.

Instead, you send each other letters, from addresses different to your true ones, of course.

You often send him books you know he’ll like, going through and annotating all the parts you found funny, sad, or profound.

And there was always a heartfelt note trapped within the pages, pinned to the paper in ink.

He has a limited edition copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart and a body of his other works that he keeps hidden beneath his bed.

‘Limited edition’ because you’d gone out of your way to print out each page of the book when you were just children, unable to purchase the book for both a lack of personal finances and not wanting to get König into trouble for reading such dark material.

Perhaps that had been some precursor to what your lives would become – a foreshadow over you.

The copy König had was worn, despite his best efforts to preserve it.

Dog-eared corners, blunted edges and yellowed, softened paper.

Some of the ink had scratches through the letters, faded.

And between those pages, a picture of you was held.

Each night, König would hold that photograph between his fingers, sometimes quivering with adrenaline, other times numb with the same affliction.

And, without fail, your visage brought him to sleep, to slumber, to a recreation of your domestic future that played behind his eyelids.

Your letters kept him more than excited, too.

When he’d be gone for months at a time, you’d update him on your life occurrences; birthdays, anecdotes, work complications; König lived for it all.

All, except, for one sliver of news which you’d so foolishly told König.

And, as he held your letter between his clenching, grasping, white-knuckled hands, his teeth gritted, his eyes going wide, breath billowing from his nose like steam.

You’d started to fancy someone at work.

König did something he’d never done with your letters before.

He crumpled it between his fingers, his every nerve ablaze with the need to do something, to intervene.

König knew he wasn’t thinking straight, but he didn’t care.

This was different from Prom; he couldn’t reach you here.

That day, König’s kill count far exceeded that of his peers, many bodies ravaged with enough stab wounds to think them sacrifices for some angry god.

His teammates seemed a little reluctant to cooperate with him this time round, and steered clear of him for the duration of the mission.

Days later, König was home.

His fury remained with him, that demon he’d harboured for so many years now emerging from the corners of his personality.

But he knew to conceal it from you – knew how to.

He arrived at your doorstep before he’d even gone home yet.

To him, you were his home.

And as you invited him inside, his mask no longer an instigator of fright to you but of your best friend, your soulmate in another life.

König took little time to settle in your living room, putting his overnight bag somewhere, all the while his mind still rubbed raw with the mission.

And you.

Seeing as he’d been gone for some months, he knew he’d need to be attentive to the way you spoke of this new ‘crush’ of yours.

I’ll crush him, all right, he said to himself.

He couldn’t be sure how serious you were about him.

How deep a threat he was.

You’d cooked König’s favourite in anticipation of his arrival, having developed something of a sixth sense when it came to his making an appearance.

And as you brought him his fresh, spare clothes from your wardrobe, König couldn’t help but let a comment slip.

“We’re like an old married couple,” he said, stitching a laugh between his words to give the illusion of jest. Of humour.

An easy deflection tactic.

You gave no indication of rejection.

No idea of disgust.

You only laughed.

“Yeah,” you said, placing König’s meal down in front of him.

“I suppose we do.”

And, as you went to pull away, König took your wrist, gently, in his hand.

He dwarfed you in every aspect, and this was no different.

But something that was different that you’d picked up was his stare.

It was deep, almost half-lidded in its demeanour.

König’s hand slipped from your wrist into yor hand, holding it, gently, like porcelain.

You squeezed his fingers.

“Something wrong, König ?” you asked, turning to give him your full attention.

He paused for a moment, then two, then three.

“No.” he said, final and certain. He let you go.

“Nothing at all.”

König began showing up to your work.

Since you stayed at each other’s houses as much as you did as children, König found it almost frighteningly easy to make you blunder.

He’d take your lunch out the fridge and hide it, only to deny ever having seen it when you searched for it in the morning.

Later that same day, König would come and pay you a visit, dropping off your lunch, claiming it to have “been in the back of the fridge. Must’ve missed it, Silly,” and he’d give you a smile.

The first few times, he’d treated your artificial oblivion to your surroundings as ‘cute’, ‘endearing’.

Then, when you began ‘misplacing’ your keys, your phone, everyday essentials, König would shoot you a concerned look.

“(Y/N), Sweetie–” he’d look in the cupboards with you, a look of concern laced into his features.

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right ? You’ve been losing track of your things for quite a while now.”

At first, you could only give him quick reassurances before rushing off to work.

Rushing off to see him.

And König would remain.

Searching the house not for your lost items, but for those he could hide next.

You’d never find them again.

You’d have to get copies of your keys, a new phone – replace all the contacts you lost,

And even then, König made sure you’d have to work for the ones he didn’t want you to have.

Like His.

Eventually, three months into this plan, this scheme, König made a proposition.

He sat you down at his dining table, his hand atop yours, holding it.

He appeared genuine.

True.

“(Y/N),” he said, almost exasperatedly.

“I’m…concerned about you.”

He gave you a second to consider what he was saying, wanting to give you the illusion of verbal freedom.

When you only nodded eyebrows knitted together in mirrored concern, he inhaled deeply.

“And, considering how…” he pretended to rummage around in his mind for the right word. “Forgetful you’ve been recently…” he watched you. Tried to gauge your reaction. Something flickered behind your eyes.

Annoyance.

König began to tread carefully.

“I thought that, perhaps, just for a week or so, you could try…living here.”

He waited in silence, for your confirmation.

Or denial.

You sniffed, rubbed your eye, and settled your weary head into your hand.

König pushed further.

“Unless…” he cast his gaze down, to the oak table.

“You don’t think I’d be able to care for you.”

At that, your eyes widened, and you clasped König’s hand between yours.

Desperate.

“Oh, no, Köni !” You exclaimed. “I-I can think of no-one better to look after me than you !”

König cast you a doubtful look.

“But…?”

You swallowed.

“But…” you retracted. König had to resist the need to pull you back into his arms.

“But you’re just so busy. I don’t know if… I’d just be a burden to you.”

König almost let out a snort.

“A burden ?” he said, leaning back in his chair, as if taking an arrow of offence straight to the heart.

“My dear, you would never be a burden to me.”

He leaned in, took your hands in his again.

His voice lowered. Soft. The flight of a bird across the ocean’s face.

“Ever.”

You looked up from your lap.

Your eyes were glassed. Doll-ish.

You sniffed. Sniffed again.

A tear fell onto the hoodie you wore. The one König gifted you.

“Okay.” You relented.

The shark tore the bird from its glide, dragging its corpse into the abyss.

König squoze your hands.

“You won’t regret it,” he assured you.

You were his prisoner from then on.

You just didn’t know it yet.

König left on official business not long after you moved in.

You still had you other apartment, but the way König spoke of it, using ‘was’, ‘were’ and ‘used to be’, gave the impression that it was off-limits to you now.

Lost.

You were allowed time off work after explaining your predicament to your boss.

She was supportive, told you to take as much time off as you needed.

As you bade König a farewell at the door, something about him felt…different.

You could feel it in the way he gripped you, pulled you up to him, his arms around your waist, hanging lower than usual.

His breath hot against your neck, the phantom brush of his lips against your most sensitive part.

And when you withdrew, König imparted only a sliver of advice to you.

“Don’t go into the basement.”

The look on your face implored ‘why?’, yet your lips did not.

König set your mind at ease regardless.

“There’s a bit of damp down there. Don’t want you getting sick–” He looked at you, smiling. “–er.”

And he bore himself into the night, shedding König and becoming a killer.

That night, when the TV had little to offer in the way of entertainment, and your phone offered little incentive to play games or socialise, your mind began to wander.

Through meniality, then obscurity.

You thought about your old home, and everything in it you loved.

Your heart ached for it, for everything you’d left behind there.

I’m sure König wouldn’t mind if I…just had a little time at home.

You consorted with your mental audience.

After all, he’s going to be gone for at least a few weeks.

Standing from the sofa, legs wobbling with inactivity, you hunted for your keys.

König kept his on a hook by the door.

But when you checked it, yours were nowhere to be found.

You searched your shared bedroom, the drawer.

You found something…peculiar.

You lifted a pair of underwear from within that you swore you’d lost months ago – before you’d ever moved in with König.

Perhaps I’m mistaken, you thought.

Rationalised.

I probably just packed these without thinking. Found them in the wash bin and threw them into a suitcase.

And you continued your search.

Soon, however, you were beginning to run out of rooms, and you were growing restless.

The longer you were forced to abstain from the outside world, the more ants felt like they were crawling under your skin

Eventually, despite König’s warning, you had no choice but to descend into the basement.

And you did so.

Quietly.

The feeling of having König over your shoulder didn’t leave with him.

Not this time.

And, as you clambered the newly-cleaned stairs down, you saw a dim light peeking out from beneath the door frame.

You reached for the handle, breath bated with the hope of discovery.

Your keys had to be here, right ?

Reaching for the handle, you opened the door.

And everything stopped.

For a second, you didn’t believe what you were seeing.

The source of the light had been candles.

Many, many candles, varying shades of your favourite colours, blended into a macabre rainbow over a horrifyingly familiar artifact you’d assumed had been lost to time.

The Bestie Bible.

Mounted on a makeshift pillar and aged with childlike handling, though it was noticeably pristine.

Stepping back, you hit something.

A wall that hadn’t been there before.

You gasped, turning on your heel.

A man stood before you, but it wasn’t König.

It couldn’t be.

Though identical in build, in height, and in the way he stood, this veiled man was not your König.

At least, not the König you’d grown up with.

He took a step forwards. You scrambled back.

Ending...

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist

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#mw2 #mw2 x reader #mw2 x you #yandere mw2 #yandere mw2 x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig modern warfare #konig x you #konig x y/n #konig x yn #yandere konig #yandere konig x reader #yandere könig #konig headcanons #mw2 headcanons #yandere

[strang3lov3]

Joel Miller, Spider Getter

Joel Miller x Reader

Fluff, no smut

Summary: Joel Miller, harboring quite the crush on Reader, takes his role as protector very seriously, except when it comes to harmless little bugs that threaten his girl.

A/N: We all know Joel to be a ruthless, cold blooded killer, but when it comes to innocent creatures, I like to imagine he shows some mercy LOL. Also, this is my first fic, like ever. I was inspired to start writing by some of my favorite writers @swiftispunk​ and @forever-rogue​ so please be gentle with me! 

Warnings: Spiders! But that’s it, really.

Word Count: 1.6k

Domesticity is nice after nearly a year on the road with Joel and Ellie. You and Ellie are sitting at the kitchen table in your shared home playing a game of scrabble while Joel cooks dinner. You’ve grown very close with Ellie. In every way, she’s like your little sister. She’s sweet, caring, and a great friend, but she also drives you crazy with her silly jokes and teasing. You wouldn’t want your relationship with her to be any other way.  

Joel is a different story. You’re close, yes, but you have a relationship you can’t quite define. At first, he was quiet and standoffish. Still is, sometimes. But now, after your time spent together, Joel is much warmer and welcoming. Possibly even flirty? Maybe, you’re not sure what it is. He looks after you, wraps his jacket around your shoulders when you’re cold, and walks you to and the different places around Jackson. You’ve asked him why he continues to keep such a close eye on you when you’re all safe and sound in Jackson. Joel, ever the southern gentleman, explained to you that where he’s from, men always make sure to take special care of the women in their lives, no matter where they are. Women, he said, deserve to feel safe and welcomed everywhere they go. He takes his role as your protector very seriously, even though he knows you’re well equipped to take care of yourself. 

Except for one thing. He takes his role as your protector very seriously, except when it comes to bugs. He knows that part of his duties as your closest friend and protector is to take care of the bugs that cross your path, but goddamn if it isn’t the funniest thing to him. You, being the strong, brave, beautiful woman you are, can’t handle a little spider or insect? Now that’s just ridiculous. But, everyone has their weaknesses, right? Indiana Jones, snakes. Superman, kryptonite. Your weakness is bugs, as silly as it may seem. 

Despite the silliness of it all, Joel obliged to take care of bugs and spiders for you. He doesn’t entirely know why he does this silly little favor for you. Does he really need to do this for you? You should be able to handle a little bug or two every now and then. You’re a capable, strong, and smart woman! But all Joel knows is that he hates to see your pretty face upset and afraid, and he wants to be the man to make it all better. So, he’s your spider getter. 

Joel is all too familiar with your arachnophobia. The first time he saw you panicked after seeing a creepy crawling spider, Joel was completely amused. He had known you for a few months at that point, and he knew you well enough to know how brave you are. Clickers, raiders, and the other evil things of this world were nothing to you. But heaven forbid an eensy teensy black spider cross your path while sitting around a fire. So the moment you saw a spider get a little too close to your feet, you frantically sprinted ten feet away while screaming bloody mary.

“Really?” He and Ellie shared an amused look, giggling at your little show.

“Get it!” You commanded him. 

“It’s a harmless little spider, just nudge ‘em away from ya,”

“And get bit? No thanks. Please kill it, please, just, I’m freaking out here,” you begged, your fearful eyes pleading with his own unimpressed ones. You looked to Ellie, “Help me out here?” you asked her. 

“This is way too entertaining. Nope!” Ellie grinned at you, then at Joel. He smiled right back at her as they chuckled at your paralyzing fear.

You let out a deep groan. “Please,” you begged them. “I really fucking hate you guys right now.”

“Jesus, girl. You’re somethin’ else,'' Joel grabbed a nearby leaf and scooped underneath the spider, gently placing it among the trees. “You know, he’s probably more afraid of you than you are of him, the way you were stompin’ all around him. Coulda’ smushed him.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re supposed to smush spiders, Joel. Why didn’t you kill him?” you questioned him, moving back to your place at the fire. “And I am way more afraid of him than he is of me.” You sit back down, pouting at the spot where the spider was before.

“Spiders ain’t done nothin’ wrong. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, now why should he die for that?” He got you there. If you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, you would hope a scary stranger would show you mercy. But this was different. You know spiders are essential to the ecosystem, but they’re creepy and ugly! Why should you care about whether an insect lives or dies? It’s just a bug, after all.

Joel sees the expression on your face, a mixture of disgust and fear. He notices your eyes go blurry as tears form in your waterline and feels a little guilty for teasing you. He moves over to you, offering a comforting squeeze on your shoulder. His deep brown doe eyes and tanned skin are illuminated by the golden light of the fire, and he looks so gorgeous like this. His eyes meet yours as he whispers “It’s alright now, sweetheart. Spider’s back with his spider family, he’ll leave ya alone now,” 

A tear falls from your eye, and Joel understands. He may be bad at dealing with his own feelings, but Joel can be very intuitive to others’ emotions. He knows you’re feeling embarrassed and spooked, so he runs his hand down your arm and to your hand, rubbing gentle circles into your soft skin. “I’ll take care of the spiders for you, don’t you worry,” he promises you. And he kept good on that promise after that night, but never missed an opportunity to tease you a little. 

Ellie picks out three letters to place on the scrabble board. Using an F from a different word, she spells out ‘FUCK’ towards the edge of the board, scoring herself a triple word. “Ha!” she yells, “Fuck, for 39 points!”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re fifteen and you know the word fuck. Ha. ha. ha,” you laughed sarcastically. “My turn now, you little shit.” 

You place your letters on the board, spelling out some mundane word. You count up your points and mark the score on the scorecard. Then, you reach into the letter bag and pull out some more. Feeling something strange in the bag, you hum. “There’s something in there,” you say to Ellie, grabbing the strange item along with your letters. As you pull your hand out of the bag and reveal the strange item, you realize the horror. You drop it and pull your hand away quickly. A big and black spider crawls on the table, and you’re done for. Letting out the most ear piercing shriek man has ever heard, you stumble quickly away from the table, flipping the scrabble board and knocking over your chair. Little wooden letters go flying as you sprint to the other side of the dining room, still screaming. 

Joel turns around immediately and looks over to you, cowering in the corner of the room. “The fuck is the matter with you?” he asks. 

“Joel, my god, get it, get it, get it, PLEASE!” you cry to him.

“Get what?” Joel pretends to be clueless to egg you on, but the mischievous glint in his eye tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“THE FUCKING SPIDER, JOEL!” you wail, shaking your hands and running to the sink. “I fucking touched it!! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” you scrub your hands with soap and water furiously. 

Joel walks over to Ellie at the table as she’s giggling and picking up the pieces of your mess. The spider isn’t crawling around very fast, it seems to be struggling he notices. It’s ugly as sin, but he knows it’s not dangerous. “This lil’ thing?” he asks you.

“Joel, I am not kidding,” you beg. 

“Me neither. Come on, honey. Looks like it’s hurt. You probably smacked him or somethin’,” He squints at the being, observing the way it moves rather exhaustedly. “It can’t hurt you, you know.”

“Who gives a shit?”

“Look, sweetheart,” Joel says to you as he grabs the scrabble dictionary and a glass cup. Your heart flutters and the endearing pet name. He places the cup on top of the spider and gently moves it towards the thin book at the edge of the table. Once he has the spider trapped between the cup and the dictionary, he brings it over to you while smirking. He lifts it up to your eye line and wiggles it towards you. “He ain’t gonna hurt you.” 

“Ugh, gross,” you flinch as he sets it on the counter next to you. You observe the creature a little more closely, that familiar look of disgust settling on your face again. Joel chuckles to himself, and then picking up the book and cup once again, he walks to the door. He opens it, crouches down and moves the spider to the grass. “Off you go,” he whispers to the being.

“Thank you,” you say. 

“It’s no problem, sweetheart,” Joel whispers to you, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple and pulling you in for a hug. “I’ll never let any bug get you ever again, I promise.”

You melt into him, accepting his comforting touch. Joel may be an ass, but you know he doesn’t like to see you in distress. He pulls you in tighter, pressing another kiss to the crown of your head. He loves this, being your source of comfort and safety. He vows to himself that one day he’ll deal with the feelings he has bubbling inside of him for you, but for now he’ll do this. Keep you and Ellie safe and comfortable, and take care of any spider that dares cross you. 

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #tlou #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #i am completely new to fanfiction i am really nervous about this #joel miller spider getter

[i4bellingham]

hi! if you are taking requests:

could i ask for an angst of jude and the reader getting into a fight which results in the reader leaving the house? but jude gets worried about them?

thank you!!!

i also love your fics so much

I LOVE YOU, I’M SORRY : jude bellingham x reader

cw: cussing, misunderstandings, jude being an asshole in the first half but don’t worry because he redeems himself :P

i need to recover from my writer's block some more, i am not a fan of how this piece turned out 😭

You're not sure if Jude fully understands your argument, or if he does, there is a possibility that he deems it unnecessary to recognize the weight of your worries because he just do not give a single fuck about it.

Instead of trying to see from where you're coming from, he does the opposite and tries to divert the entire conversation happening in a different direction. Point-blank counters, shifting blames and the refusal to look into the bigger picture of what's happening around him becomes his defense mechanism.

Worst of it all? This has been going on for two weeks now, and he's never once acknowledged your worries let alone ease them down. And quite frankly, you're just tired of it all.

You love Jude, that's an irrefutable fact but just because you love him doesn't mean you'll continue staying with him unless something changes. Especially how he treats your current concern in the relationship.

“You’re being ridiculous. She’s part of the team, she treats everybody like that.” Here goes his usual counter attack, rapidly shrugging off your uneasiness just as fast as you've voiced them out.

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips, you know this conversation with him will end in the same way it had just like yesterday; unresolved and thrown out of the window.

“‘She treats everybody like that’? So she goes to wipe every player’s sweat off their bodies too Jude? Is that it?” You sarcastically ask. “Funny how I’ve never seen her do it once or did she do it in time when she knew I’d arrive?”

Jude looks like he's trying to hold himself from screaming at you to understand his point; a pointless argument one both of you can't win unfortunately, as he too grits his teeth and the inevitable shutting of the television off is drawn as he stands up from the couch.

“I’m done here. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He says before making his way towards the stairs.

“You never want to talk about anything if it comes to her. I don’t know why but you're awfully protective of her Jude.” Your own words bring a sting to your chest. You know you're just pushing him to his limit at this point but recalling all those times since last week that he's evaded any talk about her or your worries that she's crossing a professional line with him, you yourself is barely hanging on a thread from snapping.

Jude stops and whips his entire body to face you. There is a tight frown on his face, brows pulling in a scrunch before a scoff leaves him. He walks back on the first level of the stairs, crossed arms and frowning face.

“Are ya hearin’ yourself right now?” He incredulously asks you. “You’re soundin’ ridiculous with thisㅡ this accusations that you have-”

You stand up from sitting on the couch. “They’re not accusations Jude. Merely something that I noticed since you've refused to talk to her about setting boundaries especially in a professional setting like that.”

“It’s weird to talk about it with her considerin’ she’s not doing anything wrong-”

“Oh so invading my boyfriend’s personal space, being a complete bitch when I’m there and being awfully comfortable with touching you is not wrong!?” You cut him off, the rise and fall of your chest apparent as you spoke from your voice raising. “I’m not even asking you for something big Jude, all I want is for you to settle a boundary with her because as your girlfriend I feel disrespected by her and her actionsㅡ and you're not making me feel any better by taking her fucking side every time we talk. I’m so tired of having this conversation all the time just for my worries to remain unresolved, I’m just so fucking tired of you Jude...”

Swiping off your phone and car keys from the table, you left a stunned Jude at the bottom of the stairs as you drove off and away from your so called home. If he can't get a grip and start acting like how a boyfriend should, then you don't have anything to stay for in this relationship. Not even the love he proclaims he have for you.

ㅡ

You don’t know how long you've been sitting here. With your phone completely shut off and the silence inside the car being your only company, there was nothing else for you to do but wallow in self-pity and self-hatred.

You don't understand why it was so difficult for Jude to have the talk that you've asked him for since last week. Why he was so bothered by the idea of setting a professional boundary with one of the team’s new athletic trainers was beyond you.

He had always hit you with the same lines that she wasn't doing anything wrong, that she's part of the team and that it was awkward to have that kind of talk with her yada yada. Honest to God if you didn't have this much trust on Jude, you're near to thinking and convincing yourself that he's probably cheating, and that thought alone makes you wanna hurl the content of your stomach from tonight's dinner.

You've had countless of talks about him and setting boundaries, you've had multiple fights because of her but never once were your worries ever acknowledged by your own boyfriend. And it pains you more than anything to go through such a situation where you feel like your feelings are being invalidated in the relationship that you try so hard to understand and have patience for.

It wasn't a huge request. You didn't ask him to move the moon for you, fix the climate change or explore the entire ocean floor but to merely establish a limit and an extent to where she can act out in her comfort. But unfortunately things just doesn't work in the way you wanted them too so now you're here, sat inside your car with the heater blasting on in the outskirts of the city alone.

And you stay there for a few more hours just until the sliver of sun peek through in between the mountain ranges. You think you may have dozed off in your seat at some point during the entire night you were there but you don't dwell on the thought for too long, not when you have to drive all the way back in the city to face another dreaded day with the possibility of yet another fight happening.

You purse your lips, recalling the last time that either you or Jude went home and there was no worries for things like this. It seems almost so long ago when the both of you were reveling in each other's presence, finding comfort in one another as you do the most mundane task in existence.

It just feels so nostalgic, almost like you have completely lost whatever comfort you found in your relationship once when it's being challenged right now by factors that shouldn't even be treated as a major threat to your relationship right now. Only if Jude knows how to listen and acknowledge and you to be more patient and level-headed.

You stop by a local cafè where you and Jude used to stop by during the early mornings before, only halting the visits when he gifted you a coffeemaker for Christmas last year. You got yourself yours and Jude’s usual drinks before purchasing a few pastries and treats before you're driving back to your shared home.

You were in the process of locking your car door when the door to your house opened, and came rushing out was Jude still in his pajamas, phone in hand before he's wrapping you in his embrace.

“Where have you been? Do you know how worried I am? I’ve called your phone a million times and you weren't answering. I called your friends thinking you were there with them but they told me that you haven't gone by to visit for an entire week. I drove in the city looking for you for hours and I couldn't find youㅡ Do you know how worried sick I am? Where have you been the entire night Y/N?” He continues, reprimanding you as he guided you back inside the house with a grip over your shoulders. “Have you got your phone with you? You've got it with you haven't you? Why didn't you answer any of my calls-?”

“It was turned off the entire night Jude.”

Jude scoffs at your passive tone of voice, watching as you drop the bag of pastries over the kitchen counter along with his coffee before your walking up the stairs with an obvious sag on your shoulders.

“You could have called me and told me you were safe no? I was worried sick about you.” Jude follows you to your bedroom as you went inside the en suite bathroom to wash up. “Seriously Y/N you should've at least texted me.”

“Right. Apologies, won’t happen next time.” He hears you reply just before the door to the bathroom shut close.

Alone in your shared room, Jude becomes heavily aware of your nonchalance, the thick wall of ice separating you both. He noticed that you never once look him in the eye upon arriving home, opting to fix your gaze on the monochrome walls of the house than to look at his face entirely.

You never pushed him away from touching you, but by the slight adjustments you made while being in his hold, Jude knew he fucked up big time. He knew that he did even last night, the moment you told him that you were tired of him.

Jude isn't sure if you realized the words to leave your lips last night but nonetheless, Jude knows he deserves them. Heck he doesn't even deserve to be in the same house as you right now let alone be in the presence of your tempering patience especially with how badly he had acted for the last two weeks.

He doesn't know where you get the patience for him from but he knows he needs to change and make some adjustments. In order to keep you from walking away from his life, Jude knows he needs to change some things in himself in order to not make the same mistakes again. God knows what will happen to him if he loses you, he doesn't even want to know.

Jude waits patiently as you wash up, picking up some undergarments from your wardrobe before lining it over the bed with one of his oversized jumpers and shorts. He sits by the bed, resting his back against the wooden headboard as he waits for you to finish, fiddling with his phone as he sends a last text to someone before chucking the device on the pillows.

You leave the bathroom with a steamy smoke from your shower, pausing on the doorway to stare at the clothes all laid out for you on the bed and the (most likely) perpetrator of it who sat awkwardly on your side of the bed, mouth slightly open as he softly snored with his arms crossed over his chest.

You took the clothes he prepped for you, turning to change in the bathroom before throwing away your dirtied clothes in the hamper.

You give one last glance at Jude before gently closing the bedroom door behind you as you walk downstairs and into the kitchen. You'd rather be here just in case Jude wakes up on the bed, it would be awkward and a little difficult for you to be in the same room as him right now with no clarity or any sort of proper conversation happening in between the two of you.

You’re not by any means raising your pride up in the ceiling but you certainly are a bit hesitant at the thought of letting Jude talk to you just easy as that after the way he treated you. You'll talk to him yes but he'll have to earn the rights again after being a complete ass for more than two days.

Fetching your pastries and the remaining of your drink, you began munching on your food as you scrolled through your phone. You know you should be taking some rest and sleeping after an entire night out but you couldn't bring yourself to sleep. You think it's not exactly the time for you to sleep when you have your head filled with a magnitude of thoughts about where you'll be picking up your relationship with Jude. You yourself know you'll get zero to none wink of sleep even if you lay down on the soft cushioned couch you have in your living room, you know even that won't suffice and you normally are able to sleep there after a few minutes of laying down. That alone says something.

Speaking of Jude, your boyfriend walks down the stairs with a small frown on his face. He silently takes the stool next to you, letting you have some peace and silent that lasted shortly after you've gotten it.

“Y/N... Love, can we talk?”

You continue scrolling through your phone, not once passing him a glance.

“Oh? I thought you don’t want to talk? You told me that just last night if I recall correctly-”

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean it.”

“Didn’t you?” You scoff.

Jude heaves a deep breath in, trying to calm his nerves from the nonchalance and passiveness that's coming from you. “Can we talk? Please?”

You didn't respond. Not immediately, at least.

You let him sit there beside you with nothing but the sounds coming from your phone serve as the only source of noise from your sudden silence. You let the silence drag on until Jude himself couldn't take it anymore.

“Okay... you don't have to say anything but please listen to me okay?” Still no response. Jude sighs yet again before bracing himself for his explanation. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I acted like a complete arse to you and disregarded your worries in our relationship. As your boyfriend I shouldn't have done what I did, I should've been better. I should've listened to you and done exactly what you asked of me because I don’t want you to worry about anything in this relationship. And I failed to do that. I’ve been a shitty boyfriend to you and you don't deserve that. You don't deserve to be treated in the way that I treated you and I know I can't take back what fuck-ups I did but all I can do now is to make up for it. If you can give me another chance to be a better boyfriend to you, I’ll be better. I will try to be better, for you.”

Jude takes one of your hand, noticing you staring blankly at the screen of your phone and fingers paused midway from scrolling through another tiktok.

“I’m so sorry love, I promise to better. Please forgive me...”

You close your phone off, gaze landing on the apologetic gaze Jude had as he held your hand against his cheek.

“I’m not entirely forgiving you. You hurt me too much-”

“I know love I know, and I'll take what you can give me... If I have to work for your forgiveness I will.”

You slowly nod your head with a soft exhale, watching how Jude’s lips pull up into a smile as he thanks you underneath his breath for countless of times.

Jude takes his phone from his pockets before he slides the device to you, and in the screen is a conversation he's had with the girl whom you're not really fond of. He’s just basically asked her to fuck off of text from the chain of messages she's sent him, and by his rather rude way of wording in his texts which you were about to point out, Jude chimes in.

“I’m planning on talking to her during training too.” He tells you sheepishly as you scroll through the one-sided conversation of his messages with her. “And I want you to be there... as much of an arse move that is, I want you to witness the conversation with her.”

“Jude I just want you to set boundaries with her-”

“And I will.” Jude interrupts you. “I will love, but I just don't want you to overthink things so I want you to be there when I do. This is just one step of me asking for your forgiveness. I still have a long way to go and I’m gonna do them in my own pace to not mess things up but I will work on them, and I will show you that forgiving me won’t be for nothing.”

You wrap both your arms around his neck, burying your face on the crook of his neck as Jude pulls you close to him.

“I’m so sorry again love, for everything.”

“You’re not entirely forgiven but at least you're a step in being forgiven.”

Jude chuckles against your hair, planting a kiss on your temple.

“I know... I know, just wanted you to know how sorry I am. I love you, and I’m really sorry.”

#not proofread #☆ i4bellingham writes. #☆ jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham fanfiction #jude bellingham x fem!reader #jude bellingham #☆ i4bellingham asks.

[piscespetals]

Ruin the friendship

summary: you question ellie's feelings + best friends to 'lovers'

word count: about 11k.

content: angst, slow burn, college au, rich!ellie, fluff, mutual pining

this fic was 17k but i just finished editing it after two days, so i hope that it’s pretty decent. happy reading!

You cursed yourself for the feelings you had grown for your best friend, Ellie Williams.

You were fully aware of how inconvenient it was. 

However, you couldn't help it.

Ellie often kept her feelings boarded up, not divulging much of that side of her unless she felt truly comfortable with a person. Therefore, her vulnerability was something that you cherished. She trusted you. A part of her had to care for you, to some capacity, in order for her to be so candid in your presence.

But in addition to the vulnerability, you also appreciated the connection that you fostered with Ellie. It went beyond any typical friendship; it went beyond any relationship that you ever had with anyone. You couldn't help but love that you could be completely vulnerable with Ellie without shame. You loved the way that she stared intently when listening. It didn’t seem to matter how silly your conversations could sometimes be–Ellie was always there to listen.

She had a way of making your worries fade away. Whenever you two spent time together, nothing else was possibly worth your attention. So, of course, you eventually forced yourself to acknowledge these feelings. Because said feelings were not emotions that you usually had for your other friends.

You sometimes believed that you were silly for having hope. 

There had been moments when you felt as if Ellie was staring longer than necessary, or touched you a bit too often—and certainly more intimately—than normal friends would. But that thought was always discarded when you two were no longer alone—when you were shoved back into the world of Ellie’s friends—and you remembered that she was quite affectionate with every platonic connection that she cared deeply for.

You would be lying if you didn't admit that you often grew jealous. You wanted to be the only person that held Ellie's attention in a special way. It was ridiculous and selfish. But it was true.

You didn’t personally have anything against Ellie’s friends. They couldn’t help their charisma and nepotism status. They couldn't help their tall height, gazelle-like legs, and international fame.

They couldn't help any of it.

But just because they couldn't help it, didn't mean that you didn't feel any less threatened. You weren’t as graceful as them and certainly didn't feel as magnetic. You liked normalcy and everything that came with it. 

Most importantly, you were the opposite of what they were. Frugal, sarcastic, mostly indifferent, somewhat cynical and (as your sister liked to say) 'annoyingly aloof'. You liked keeping a low profile—again, quite the opposite of Ellie’s crowd—and to go with the flow.

The first few times that you hung out with Ellie’s friends, you overheard them voicing your behavior as “arrogant” and “stiff.”

"She's just quiet." Ellie had said in defense. "She only speaks if she’s close to you or if it's absolutely necessary."

And it took a while for her friends to believe that. 

You didn't think that this was because you were some extraordinary person who was different and 'not like the others'. In fact, it was the complete opposite. You were quite ordinary, and content with how average you truly were. But because of this, there was a cultural difference between you and Ellie’s friends. The two worlds were so different, that it was hard to bond. You all were merely acquaintances, connected by a mutual friend. 

You couldn't help but ponder over this as you arrived at Ellie’s home and rang the doorbell.

The door swung open, creaking because the rusty bolts had yet to be fixed. Ellie was wearing a pair of sweats and a gray cotton t-shirt. She was languid, a sign that she'd just woken up, with sleepy eyes and a lazy grin.

"How many times," She drawled slowly, voice thick with sleep. "...Do I have to tell you-"

"Not to ring the doorbell." You mumbled, bored by the same conversation that repeated every Sunday. "Well, judging by your appearance, it seems like a doorbell is the only way you would have answered." You sent your friend a level glance. "It's 3 pm. How much longer were you planning on sleeping in?"

Her grin widened. "Until you showed up."

You hummed lowly, already allowing your attention span to drift away as you stepped through the doorway. Ellie barely moved to the side, causing you to brush against her, which sent an electric jolt through you.

Just when you felt yourself recovering from her touch, you were overwhelmed by the familiar smell of her. Her natural scent was always comforting; a smell of peppermint and soap, an indication that Ellie was becoming deeply domesticated. 

Soon enough, she was locking the entrance door, which caused you to snap out of her thoughts. Feeling incredibly hot in that moment, you heaved a sigh, slipping off your jacket and shoes immediately.

The slight hum of the T.V filled the atmosphere, along with the distant whooshing! of the dishwasher from the kitchen.

"El," You mumbled.

Her hand rested on your lower back, ushering you down the entrance hallway and towards the living room. You shivered at the touch. 

"Hm?" Ellie answered, breath tickling your ear. 

"Why am I here?"

"It's Sunday."

"Yes." You nodded slowly. "But I mean," You swallowed, trying to sort through your thoughts. "You have so many other friends you could spend your Sundays with."

"I don't want to spend Sundays with my other friends. I want to spend them with you." 

Ellie’s hand was slipping from your lower back as you finally stepped into the living room. You left her in an attempt to control your racing heart, grabbing a folded blanket before plopping onto the couch. 

"What's all of this about?" She continued. "I always spend Sundays with you."

You nibbled on your bottom lip, thinking deeply about what to say, how to form it into correct sentences, before finally deciding to give up.

Ellie tried to ignore the flutter in her heart as she stared at you. She knew that you'd established their friendship long ago, but she couldn't help but let her mind drift when you looked the way that you do. 

Friendzoned or not, there was no denying that you were beautiful. Your skinned glowed in the hues of the sunlight, eyes tender and observant, plump lips pulled into a pout—and slightly raw from your constant biting.

There was so much that Ellie wanted to do to you. It made her core stir, tugging at the explicit thoughts that ran through her mind. It took great difficulty for her to gaze at you without feeling inappropriate. 

"If you take a picture, it’ll last longer." You placidly stated, finally breaking the silence. You blinked at her through thick lashes, expression bored.

Ellie’s gaze lingered on your lips before trailing to the rest of you. She wondered how someone so gorgeous could possibly be walking around on Earth without anyone worshiping you. But a wave of appreciation filled her as well. You weren't taken—not yet. She had time. 

You were sporting dark gray leggings and a yellow top. The shirt was one of Ellie’s favorites, something that was accidentally mentioned in passing during a night of movie marathons and endless wine. 

The stretchy, cotton material hugged your legs tightly, highlighting the curve of your hips and thighs. Ellie didn't want to stare too long—she tried her best to be polite with you—so instead, she looked away.

You felt like you could breathe once her gaze was elsewhere. Usually, you loved to have Ellie's undivided attention. A lurch always appeared in your gut and your palms would clam up. However, Ellie had a way about her that could be intense. It was hard for you to read her at times; to understand what she was thinking or why she analyzed you so deeply. So instead, you were often left feeling self-conscious and flustered, which were emotions that never sat well with you.

Your mouth watered when Ellie finally plopped down beside you. You got another whiff of her scent, which caused your eyes to flutter and your heart to jump in your throat. 

You just loved how fresh her entire being was.

Ellie never smelled like a particular perfume. Just newly washed linens and soap, and a hint of peppermint that would waft in her home. She also had an appearance that made her appear fresh. Her skin was always smooth, makeup minimal to highlight the freckles that dotted her face. Her nails remained perfectly trimmed. Overall, Ellie just looked neat and clean; simple. It was attractive.

She was pretty organized. By all means, Ellie's place was never spotless. But her mess was an organized mess. She kept everything folded; dirty clothes designated to one area, comic books stacked in another. The air was always being cleansed with purifiers and fresheners, candles constantly burning, carpet soft and vaccummed. Ellie was the sort of person that kept the pillows fluffed and encouraged coaster usage. She liked to “neatly” pile the dirty dishes in the sink by way of a special order. And she never liked anyone to step inside her home without removing their shoes.

Ellie didn't say anything further on the subject as she momentarily lifted the blanket off of you, crawling under and scooting close.

"It's cold." She mumbled, keeping her gaze on the television.

You smiled softly, heart erupting when her delicate fingers played with yours, before she finally intertwined your hands.

~

"Is that Ellie?" Danielle asked, nudging you. You both were at your campus cafe, sitting comfortably at the lounge with your school work and iced coffee. You were dressed in cotton sweats and a navy blue crewneck. The pants were rolled up to your knees, a makeshift pair of baggy capris, as you absentmindedly tugged at the collar of your crewneck sweater, peering down at your psychology homework with furrowed brows. 

But your attention was diverted the moment that Danielle mentioned Ellie. You snapped your head up, scanning the room lazily before your eyes landed on her. 

There she was, walking towards you both in dark washed skinny jeans, a black tee and worn converse. The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, displaying her tattooed forearms.

"She’s hot." Danielle added, gawking at your friend. "I always forget how good looking she is."

You snorted at that, but deep down you couldn't help but agree. 

You knew how attractive Ellie was. Hell—you wish that you could just forget about her looks for one single second. You missed the early days of the friendship, the days when you could glance at her without wanting to kiss her breathless. The days where you didn't feel the absolute need to always have her skin against yours. Those were the times of simplicity; of ease. 

“Now I won't be able to focus.” Danielle whispered. You threw an amused glance towards her, suppressing a giggle. "She’s kinda intimidating." Danielle voiced. "But mean women are hot as fuck. So."

Your lips pulled together at the comment, trying to ignore the thick rush of jealousy that filled you. 

But you couldn't really blame Danielle.

Ellie was always prancing around with the aesthetic of a Vans poster model; sporting her button-ups and undershirts and beat up sneakers. 

And her jeans.

God—those jeans.

Not a day passed when they didn't hug her thighs in a way that had your mouth watering, wishing you were kneeled in front of her. Ellie had a habit of rolling up her sleeves, showing off her ink-filled forearms that were constantly decorated with veins. She was a fucking dream.

When Ellie arrived, she pecked your cheeks in greeting. Then she turned to Danielle, kissing her cheek as well which caused a flustered expression to fall over Danielle’s face.

"Being a good student, I see." Ellie observed, plopping down on the couch. Her thigh brushed against your right. You became painfully aware of her close proximity and wanted to do nothing more than sprawl out and lay your head in her lap. But Ellie wasn't the type for PDA, and you knew doing that probably wasn't appropriate anyways.

"I have an exam coming up." You sighed, glancing down at the bulky textbook in your lap. 

Your mind felt overloaded with facts. You didn't know how much longer you should study. It was important to take breaks and not over prepare; this was something that you were aware of. But your test-anxiety always caused you to stress over school material more than you should.

Ellie hummed, grabbing the textbook and closing it. "You look like you're going to pass out so enough of this." She set it on the coffee table a few feet away.

"I've been trying to stop her," Danielle interjected. "She gets paranoid during exams."

"Yeah, I know." Ellie chuckled, shooting you a small smile. 

"I can't afford to flunk anything." You countered. "I need to keep my grades up for my scholarship."

Ellie looked at you, gaze unwavering. "You're a smart girl. I'm sure you'll be fine."

Your mind swam at the compliment. You knew her words shouldn't hold much significance, but you couldn't help feeling slightly light headed whenever Ellie complimented you.

You forced your gaze away. Nervously, you played with the hem of your shorts, mouth pooling with saliva and heart hammering in your chest. What exactly should you say?

It felt silly to be so speechless.

"Well, I have to go." Danielle announced reluctantly.

"Are you sure?" Your eyebrows knitted together.

"Yeah, I have a crap ton of errands to run." Danielle began throwing her textbooks into her backpack. "I'll see ya later. And nice running into you again, Ellie." Danielle made a show of her departure. When she picked up her bag, she leaned over in a way that caused her cleavage to pour out of her shirt and for her ass to round in Ellie’s view. Her fingers wiggled as she waved at Ellie, eyelashes batting and smile coy.

You tried to contain your smile, seeing straight through Danielle’s ruse. If only you had as much confidence as her...

Soon, it was only you and Ellie on the couch. Ellie blinked in amusement, registering the pass that Danielle had openly made. She only met Nicole a handful of times and each encounter seemed to become more flirtatious than the last. Maybe if Ellie wasn't already interested in you, things would be different. But Danielle certainly wasn't you, and the simple reality was that you took up a considerable amount of Ellie’s heart. 

Meanwhile, you found yourself worrying about the opposite. Did Ellie like Danielle? Of course you didn't want to have these thoughts infiltrating your mind. But that was the problem with crushes; they caused you to overanalyze everything.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you blinked solemnly. Dread planted a seed in your gut, growing with each passing second.

Now, you were disappointed and even a bit sad.

Why couldn't you fall for people that returned your feelings?

~

"I did it." You mumbled, voice thick with disbelief, as you stared down at your phone screen. A bold 88% sat in front of you, causing your lips to pull into a proud smile.

A shocked exhale escaped your lips, eyes staring at the website that showed your final test scores—scores that you were incredibly proud of. 

Ellie shuffled beside you, pausing the TV show with a frown. Her heart jumped out of her chest as she continuously asked you, “What’s wrong,” yet received no reply. 

Did something bad happen?

"I did it." You parroted, this time a bit louder than before and with more confidence. A surprised laugh left you, breathy and short, as you willed yourself to hand Ellie your phone. "I aced all of my finals." You explained.

Slowly, her features morphed into realization. Her eyebrows shot up, a soft grin appearing as she dragged her green eyes to you. "That's great! I told you, didn't I?” Her grin widened. She swiped through your phone, glancing at a few more scores. “I’m so proud of you.”

Oh…

Fuck.

You shifted your weight. There was a sudden desire to leap forward and kiss her until you couldn't breathe. Your thighs clenched and your blinks were becoming rapid. You didn't know what to say without making it awkward—because you could never take compliments well—and also not wanting to make a fool of yourself. 

You laughed instead, trying your best to ignore your stuttering heart. Ellie tended to lay her compliments on thick, so you should be used to it by now. But you still stirred with delight nonetheless.

"I don't know. I mean, now that I think about it, not all of them are perfect scores."

"That doesn't matter. You should be proud of yourself. College is fucking hard." Ellie rubbed a palm against her forehead. "I always think about an alternate universe where I might have gone. But then again, I was never really passionate about dreadful schoolwork and the possible debt so who knows. Maybe it's best that I've taken a route like this."

You tried to picture Ellie in school, or at least a younger version of Ellie there. 

You smiled, "I think you would have done just fine." You admitted honestly. "The younger you probably would have liked the parties and sorority girls a little too much though."

"Yeah?" She laughed, eyes crinkling and laugh lines deepening. "What about me now?"

You paused, trying to filter through your thoughts. You hugged your legs to your chest, resting your chin on your knees as you hummed absentmindedly. Ellie thought you looked exceptionally cute while doing so.

“I could see you as an Engineering major. Or maybe Computer Science?" You observed. "....There's a few men I know with that major—kinda cocky, pompous, annoyingly charming and whatnot. You know....sort of like you."

"Hey!" She laughed breathlessly, slamming a pillow into your face.

"Don't take offense." You giggled. "I was just kidding about the charming part." 

“Fuck. You.” She laughed harder, ramming you with the pillow again. This time, more aggressive.

You stifled your cackles, biting down on your lip. Ellie found herself focusing on them, and how lovely it would be if she could kiss them. She wanted to lean forward and crash her lips against yours with bruising force, to make you squirm for air and cause your lips to swell. 

But she behaved herself, chewing the inside of her cheek instead.

Out of a state of pure adrenaline, you allowed yourself to say, "You're Ellie fucking Williams. You're way cooler than anyone that goes to my college."

"Except for you." Her lips stretched into a cheeky grin. Before she could stop herself, she brushed her forefinger against your chin endearingly. "You’re more brilliant than I’ll ever be."

“Very smooth.” You mused, rolling your eyes as you tried to shake off the compliment. But internally, your insides were knotting with agonizing pleasure.

~

You didn't usually do this.

You tried to deal with problems on your own. You tried to stay silent about them and fight through your emotions in silence. But you were tired of always being 'strong'.

You were tired of never asking for help.

Sometimes, you needed people to lean on. Sometimes, it was okay to let others comfort you. So this was why you showed up to Ellie's home late in the night. 

You suffered from insomnia. You always had it since childhood, and there were certain times throughout the year where it got really bad. It seemed to be exacerbated now since this was your fourth night going through hours without any true sleep.

Your heart was racing, overworked and tired from your lack of rest. A tightening began to form in your temples, alerting you that a migraine was about to creep up, and your eyes were dry. Your body moved languidly and with an alarming rate of exhaustion. You could sleep for eons if only you were given the chance.

You just wanted to be able to rest without a care in the world. To get through your day without terrible bags and heavy eyelids.

So when your clock struck 4am, your first instinct was to call Ellie. You didn't give yourself enough time to think about it or to even negotiate the consequences of calling her so early. 

It took her a while to answer, but when she did, her voice was thick and raspy.

Ellie sounded as if she’d just woken from a deep slumber; voice cracking and speech slow. "What is it?" She mumbled, exhaling softly.

Your brain was running a mile a minute as you talked to her.

"No, you're not a bother. It's okay, I promise it is." She reassured, interrupting your string of apologies. She talked to you for a little while longer, about everything and nothing at all, before she finally said, "Come over. You can sleep with me. Hopefully, it'll help…for tonight, at least."

You were hesitant. You didn't want to impose and it'd been a while since you and Ellie had slept in the same house.

But Ellie wasn't back down and with the passing seconds, she was becoming increasingly adamant about you coming to her. You finally gave in.

Fifteen minutes later, you were standing on her porch, opting for a knock instead of the jarring doorbell that you normally rang.

A few seconds passed before you heard the sounds of the bolts unlocking. Then the door was swinging open. Ellie stood before you, wearing boxers and a tank top. Her hair was messy and sticking in different directions, and her eyes were halfway closed.

"Hey." She whispered, stepping to the side and allowing you in. 

You were relieved to see her, finally feeling at ease for the first time in days.

That's what you loved about Ellie. Her presence always seemed to calm you.

Immediately, you slipped off your shoes, allowing her to grab your hand.

"I'm so tired." You replied, wanting nothing more than to close your eyes and stay asleep for eternity.

When you glanced at Ellie, you noticed the concern that filled her features. Her lips were pulled into a frown, faint worry lines becoming prevalent on her forehead. "I know." She sighed, not happy by her confession.

Ellie wished she could take away your struggles in times like these. You’d briefly opened up to her before about your insomnia. 

Silently, Ellie guided you through her house. The lights remained off, the pathway being illuminated by night lights and the glow of the moon. 

Your tongue was heavy in your mouth. You didn't have the energy to participate in conversation, especially if it was just empty words to fill the silence. You simply wanted to enjoy Ellie’s presence and the feeling of her firm grip around your hand.

You could sense that Ellie was exhausted too by her lack of communication. You felt bad for waking her up at such an ungodly hour, and made a mental note to thank her for everything. She truly was the best friend you ever had. 

~

A sigh escaped your mouth as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, rubbing your skin gingerly with a face wipe.

You tried to get all of the sleep out of your eyes, feeling a bit groggy from the deep slumber that you’d just woken up from. You were sitting on the carpet in front of Ellie’s full body mirror, trying not to look gross for the sake of sparing her eyes. You had just showered, wearing a pair of Ellie’s shirt and boxers, and tried not to become extremely giddy at the fact that you were wearing her clothes. 

But every few minutes, you would be reminded of it and your heart would perform a short dance break.

Even though this was simply another sleepover, it still caused a wave of excitement to fill you. You liked mornings like these; mornings with Ellie.

You rubbed your lips with chapstick, blinking lazily until something caught your attention.

Ellie was still in bed, trying not to be too obvious about watching you, who could easily pass for her girlfriend right now. She wanted to wake up next to you everyday.

She struggled to tear her gaze away from your face, whose eyes were glazed over and half closed. It was apparent that you were still adjusting to being awake.

This was a dream come true for Ellie. You just spent a night in her bed, and now you were wearing her clothes while getting ready in front of her mirror. You looked completely domesticated at this moment. 

Even though she knew it wasn't true, and that you didn't feel that way about her, it was still nice to pretend sometimes that you were hers. Especially during mornings like this.

You were so beautiful that it physically hurt her. 

"Did I do something wrong?" You grumbled, still a bit slighted due to waking up from such a good dream. You peered at Ellie through the mirror, noticing that she’d been observing you for quite some time now. A small part of you was thrilled and wanted to jump for joy. 

Right now, Ellie seemed to be completely transfixed with you and you were loving every single second of it.

But there was also a part of you that was growing self conscious. Ellie was in one of those moods again. The kind of mood that was slightly unnerving because she was picking apart every one of your features without shame. You knew that she probably didn't mean any harm by it, but Ellie wasn't aware of how intimidating her stare could truly be. 

"No." Ellie smiled. "You're just pretty."

You managed to hold her gaze for a few seconds longer. You felt like your breath had been ripped away from you. Goosebumps formed on your skin and a slight shiver ran down your spine.

"Yeah, well,” You cleared your throat, searching through your purse. “If you take a picture, it’ll last longer." You didn’t know what encouraged you to say the next part, but you chalked it up to the weird morning air that was lingering in the room. "....Actually, I’ll take some specifically for you. Since you like to stare." 

Ellie was aware that you were joking. But it still made her heart race. The image of you taking pictures for her burned into her brain. The context seemed to be pure on your end, but her thoughts traveled to a land of the filthiest scenarios. 

Ellie's lips parted, body washing over with a searing heat. Her hands itched to touch you, and ears longed to hear her name fall from your lips as well as a string of other sounds.

But this was completely inappropriate.

Here you were, looking as innocent as ever, and yet she was dreaming about some raunchy sex scene and tasteful photos of you.

Definitely inappropriate.

Your smile faltered at the weird expression that spread across Ellie’s face. You noticed the veins bulging through the skin of her arms as her hands clenched into fists. Her piercing gaze lingered on you unabashedly, landing on every inch of your features before returning back to your eyes.

You cleared your throat, feeling a warmth pool in between your thighs as you pulled at your shirt collar.

Shit. You were ruining Ellie’s boxers.

"I’ll hold you to that,” Ellie finally replied. “You just have to let me know when and where.”

You blinked in surprise as your lips pinched together, breath catching.

Did you just hear her correctly?

A second passes.

Then two.

Then three.

Ellie forced out a laugh, breaking the silence and trying not to cringe. Oops. Coming on a bit too strong. "Well, gee, don't look so excited." She’s such a fucking idiot. "I was just joking."

Your shoulders relaxed. You swallowed thickly, not failing to notice the aftertaste of disappointment. "Oh." 

Of course it was just a joke. How could you ever allow yourself to believe that Ellie would ever be remotely interested in you?

A small piece of your heart chipped away as you turned back to the mirror.

~

You didn't understand why Ellie was being like this.

You tried to ignore the sound of soft clicks and her pressing gaze. Instead, you busied yourself with socializing. Your toes were dipped in Ellie’s pool, sunglasses resting in your lap with a glass of wine in your hands. The water was heated to accommodate the weather and you were a bit too tipsy to slip into it altogether, but it did feel nice against your skin. Your eyes cut to Ellie who was holding an expensive camera. 

She focused on you without any shame, chewing her lip thoughtfully. She clicked away with the camera and captured countless candids. Ellie had a habit of doing this with other friends but she always wanted to specifically take photos of you.

There was a phase during Ellie’s adolescence when she was constantly capturing memories in a photo, and this hobby seemed to have trickled into the time that she now spent with her friends. She had taken numerous photos this past summer, which sat on her computer, ready to be edited and printed so it could be compiled into a scrapbook that would feed her nostalgia in future years.

But tonight was different, because she had never done this with you before. It held a different sentiment that didn't exist with others. Somehow, because of you, it made everything more intimate; more personal.

Ellie struggled with nimble fingers as she clicked a few more pictures, capturing the way you glanced over with surprised eyes and parted lips. 

"I'll be right back." You stammered, turning to Rachel. 

Rachel nodded knowingly while glancing at Ellie. "She can be a bit annoying with that thing—always trying to capture memories and whatnot."

You hummed in agreement, stepping out of the pool and standing to your feet. You kept your gaze locked on the floor as you made your way over to Ellie, not having the courage to meet her demanding gaze.

The chair scraped against the concrete as you pulled it out and sat in it. Silence filled the air, your thighs slightly trembling before you crossed your legs.

Ellie took this as an opportunity…

Click!

The sound broke the atmosphere, causing your head to snap up. Your jaw fell slack, before a fit of giggles escaped your lips. "Ellie!" You reprimanded, trying to reach forward and grab the camera.

She tutted her tongue, smiling ruefully. "Don't give me that look."

"You're being annoying!" You squealed. She was far from annoying. "...At least capture my good angles."

Ellie held the camera out of your grasp. "You always look good."

"You're supposed to say that, dummy. We're friends."

"Let’s be real,” Ellie muttered, sending you a level glance. “No matter the angle or time of day, you’d look fine.”

You puffed out your cheeks as you shook your head. You were averting your gaze, trying to suppress a smile—and failing. "You're really annoying." You grumbled, folding your arms across your chest.”You know that, right?”

Ellie grinned, bringing her camera back up to her face. She didn't say anything further.

The clicking resumed.

~

"Will you do the eyeliner?" Rachel asked, turning to you. "Brittany is calling me for something."

Your lips parted as you blinked in a drunken state. "I'm not good at makeu-"

But Rachel was already walking away, "Thanks so much!" And then she was shutting the door on her way out, leaving you and Ellie in the room.

You sighed, taking a sip of your wine before setting it down on Ellie’s bedroom dresser. Your eyelids felt heavy. You tried to walk but nearly tripped, forgetting that you had clunky heels attached to your feet. Groaning, you kneeled down to slip them off, almost toppling over.

A hand wrapped around your waist firmly, steadying you as you tried to gain your bearings. 

"Careful there." Ellie murmured, voice low. Her touch left a tingling sensation against your skin. 

You clenched your jaw, attempting to ignore your shudders as you stood upright.

Then you glanced down at Ellie, who was sitting in one of her chairs, peering back with amusement.

"You're drunk." Ellie analyzed. 

"You are too." 

She hummed. "Touché."

You reached over and grabbed a tube of liquid eyeliner. You didn't trust yourself to use a solid pencil; you had never done this before and didn't want to hurt Ellie.

"Just..." You breathed. "Try not to move or blink as much." You rested the ends of your palms against her temples before starting. Your hands trembled and the lines were nowhere near straight. You felt the urge to wipe it all off and start over. You remembered the dot technique that you learned years ago, but it almost felt too late to retry.

"Are you having fun?" Ellie asked. Her breath was cool. "Everyone seems to be warming up to y-Ow!"

Your heart stopped. You dropped the pen, allowing it to fall to the floor as you reached forward, "Oh, I'm so sorry!" You winced. 

Ellie’s eye was already beginning to bloodshot as it poured with instinctive tears.

"It's fine." She tried to reassure, squinting her eye shut.

"Clearly it's not." You frowned, dipping down closer. "I knew I shouldn't have done this. I'm really sorry." You blew on Ellie’s eye, trying to dry the teardrops and ease the pain. Why were you always screwing things up? A frown formed on your lips.

"Don't beat yourself up. It was just a few pokes. I'll be fine eventually." Ellie reassured. She fluttered her eyes open, trying to readjust to the throbbing pain and sudden silence.

You then noticed how close her face was. One simple move could cause her nose to brush against yours—could make your lips meet. The sparkle in Ellie’s eyes was undeniable. 

You didn’t think you’d ever been in such close proximity with your best friend. This was making your stomach turn.

Without thinking, Ellie grabbed a hold of your chin, acting on impulse. Her gaze narrowed to your lips. She grazed the lower one with her thumb, pressing gently; feeling your cool breath against the pad of her finger.

Your breathing faltered. You couldn't help but lean into her touch, sighing at the contact.

The both of your foreheads met, noses brushing and lips only millimeters apart.

Ellie’s other hand found its way to your hip. You complied immediately, straddling her in a way that left the both of your chests touching.

Your hands trembled nervously. You swallowed, "Are you going to kiss me?"

Ellie licked her lips, admiring how delicate you seemed in this moment. 

"I want to." There was a pause. "But it's best if we wait."

Your mind swarmed so much that you had to remind yourself to respond. "I guess you're right."

There's a lapse of silence.

One second passed. Then two.

Then three. 

By the fifth, you had noticed a slight shift in her expression. Her jaw was locked, nose flared and eyes fixed completely on you. She was restraining herself and you couldn't figure out why—you didn't allow yourself to accept the glaringly obvious reason.

You didn’t want to give into the false hope.

You couldn't.

You shouldn't…

Ellie was shaking her head.

Why the fuck was she shaking her head?

She was inching forward. Coming closer. Too close. Much too close.

“Ellie…” You whispered, eyes widening. 

She stopped, eyes trailing up to meet your stare. “I won't if you don't want me to.”

You swallowed, mouth dry. Your heart felt like it was in your throat, unprotected—entirely too vulnerable.

Her grip on your hips tightened, thumbs rubbing into the skin; reminding you that the ball was in your court. 

You leaned forward and closed the distance.

Ellie’s mind fell blank when your lips pressed against hers. She tried to ground herself—to remember how real this actually was.

It wasn’t a dream.

She melted when you sucked her bottom lip with expertise. Her blood rushed, toes curling at the exhilarating feeling of your mouth claiming her.

The kiss turned hungrier, becoming a mixture of heavy breathing and forceful tugs. 

Ellie's mind reeled at this position; the fact that you were in her lap and doing something that she never thought was possible. 

Her mind became hazy as her stomach pulled. Then, almost as if she had been slapped back into reality, you broke away, allowing you both to catch your breath.

It was quiet for a few moments as you came to a realization of what just happened.

You felt yourself sobering up, eyes widening in afterthought.

Ellie gazed back, heart hammering as she struggled to think of what to say.

Holy shit. 

Oh god.

Oh god.

She opened her mouth before closing it. She opened it once again, closing it seconds later in apprehension. Her hands fell from your waist, allowing you to stand with shaky legs. You blinked in bewilderment, trying to come to your senses. But it was a bit harder than usual after what had just occurred.

"I-" You stopped yourself, exhaling softly.

"We just..."

Her eyes kept zeroing in on your lips. Your soft, gentle lips. 

“Come back.” Ellie whispered.

You didn't have to be asked twice.

Without any hesitation, you were grabbing a hold of Ellie’s neck, leaning in for another kiss. It made the position a bit awkward, forcing you to bend down and hover slightly over her. But Ellie didn't mind. She didn't mind this at all…

Ellie relished in the sound of your delicate sighs. She loved the way that you were falling apart in front of her. She clinged to you tightly, pressing you further into her lap, which created the perfect amount of friction. She was determined to not let go. She didn't want to ever let go. 

You whimpered, allowing her to guide you as you grinded against her.

Her lips refocused on your neck, biting and licking softly as you cooed. It was becoming harder to breathe, harder to think soundly about everything that was happening. Wine drunk was one thing but this kind of intoxication was unreal. You were completely high off of Ellie.

Your mind reeled at this predicament—at the fact that you were in her lap, getting each other off in the most premature way possible. You felt like an adolescent who was stupidly hormonal with your girlfriend. But you couldn't complain, because it beat daydreaming about Ellie’s hands in your panties.

Your mind became hazy as a pressure in your gut built. Ellie’s hands, and Ellie’s lips, and Ellie’s smell, and Ellie’s breath.

Ellie.

You’re best friend, Ellie.

Your Ellie.

"Okay, I'm back! Sorry about that, I..." 

You breath hitched. You pulled away immediately as Rachel stormed into the room. Shit.

Ellie’s hand fell into her lap. She flushed at the sudden interruption, averting her gaze to the floor and cursing Rachel internally. Why did she always appear at the worst times?

"Oh!”  Rachel grinned, looking at the both of you with a smug expression. She laughed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Sorry, did I interrupt something?"

Ellie's jaw clenched. She cut her eyes to Rachel irritably, which caused Rachel to become even more amused.

“No,” You replied. “It’s—”

“Should I come back later?” Rachel added. Her grin had widened, voice thick with amusement. She was enjoying this a bit too much.

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Yes. You absolutely should fucking come back late-”

“It’s okay.” Your hands were trembling, an overwhelming sense of doom settling over you at the situation you were now in. “I was just leaving actually.”

“So soon?” Rachel raised an eyebrow. You ignored Ellie’s pressing gaze. “I don’t mind leaving-”

“That’s not necessary.” Your voice was breathy and rushed. 

Ellie called your name. You ignored her.

“I’ll see you guys later,” You added.

“Wait, are you sure?” Rachel sounded more alarmed now. “Seriously, I can step ou-”

But you didn't stay to hear any more, rushing out of the bedroom and away from Ellie as quickly as you could.

~

You didn't want to admit that you’d been avoiding Ellie. In all honesty, you usually were never the type to dismiss awkward situations. You liked to handle them immediately and move on with your life. But that wasn’t what you were doing now.

You spent a few days trying to process it all. You didn't think you were completely oblivious. You may have had your moments, but for the most part you liked to believe that you could pick up on romantic cues. So if you weren't mistaken, it almost seemed as if Ellie was interested in you. But you also weren't sure how to feel about it because the both of you were drinking, and alcohol could make you act like an entirely different person. 

A sigh escaped your lips as you stared at your phone, analyzing the text thread between you and Ellie for the nth time today. You missed her.

Going from consistent communication to none was a lot for you to deal with. But you just weren't sure you could handle a conversation with her right now.

You didn't want to do anything to jeopardize the friendship. So, needless to say, you’d been stressed about where the two of you stood.

After a few more agonizing seconds, you finally had the courage to turn your phone off.

You didn't need to be tormenting yourself like this.

~

Ellie missed you.

She missed your daily good morning messages and infectious laughter. She missed your dry humor and warm hugs.

She knew that she’d have to clear the air about what happened a few days ago. She understood that she shouldn't ignore what happened that night. It was just that she didn't want to talk about this yet. Not now. She wasn't ready.

She was still trying to process it all; how eager you were—the fact that you seemed to want the kiss as much as she did.

But Ellie also had to acknowledge the fact that you both were drunk. Hormones and alcohol can sometimes be the worst combination. 

Too many thoughts ran through her mind, leaving her groaning in frustration as she dragged her hands down her face.

She felt an urge to call you; to invite you over for dinner. To hold your hand and joke about whatever predictable soap opera you liked to watch.

But Ellie didn't do that. Instead, she grabbed her songbook and walked over to her guitar, beginning to play a melody on the strings that had been repeating in her head for days.

~

"Hey."

Your mouth felt dry as you shifted your weight, blinking at Ellie with expectant eyes. Like always, the both of you hugged before stepping back into Ellie’s house.

You slipped off your sandals immediately, arranging them neatly by the coat hanger before shrugging off your purse.

Ellie smiled at the small habit, already feeling her heart constrict despite being in your presence for less than five minutes. 

The television was on and playing one of your favorite Soap Operas. It helped relax your nerves. You plopped onto the couch and grabbed a blanket before wrapping it around yourself.

Ellie settled on a nearby cushion, eyebrows furrowing as she tried to think of a way to smoothly approach the conversation. She didn't want to scare you away or make you feel pressured during any of this.

Thankfully, you beat her to it.

You peered at her under your lashes, pleased to see that she was already staring at you. You pulled at your fingers, tangling and untangling them, as you grew the courage to say what was on your mind.

"I don't want to lose you as a friend." You started. Your gaze traveled down to Ellie’s lips, which triggered a distinctive memory of that night. Before your thoughts could get carried away, you blinked and diverted your gaze.

"I don't want that either." Ellie agreed.

"Right..." You nodded, clearing your throat. "Well, I know that we were drunk that night and we both value our friendship, so I'm hoping that we can..." You paused, not wanting to say this. 

But there was no other option. 

You had to.

"I think we should act like it never happened." Ignoring the way that Ellie stiffened, you shifted your weight. "And I hope we can still be close friends."

It pained you to come to this conclusion, but after debating for a few days, you felt like this was for the best. You didn't want to get your hopes up and ask for something more because what if Ellie didn't feel the same way? So it was better like this. No feelings would be hurt, and there wouldn't be a chance of ruining something great that you two already had.

Blood rushed in your ears as anticipation built up. You couldn't bring yourself to meet Ellie’s gaze, staring at the carpet instead.

"Um..." She hesitated. The silence was heartbreaking. Oh no.

Was she…

"Okay." Ellie’s voice cracked. She bit the inside of her cheek, hoping the ache would replace the one in her chest. She wanted you to speak more, to change your mind—to do something. But that didn’t happen. 

You nodded, stunned and unsure of where to go from there.

Instead, Ellie just grumbled, "Fuck. Well..."

You blinked in frustration, already feeling the regret gnawing at your subconscious. “Is that okay with you?”

Ellie’s head snapped back up, eyes boring into yours. “Does it matter? You’ve already said that this is what you want.”

“I-I don’t know. I thought…” Your throat was tightening. “Is it not what you want?”

“I…” Ellie was tugging on her shirt collar, voice thin. Her face was becoming red—eyes swimming. Fuck. She looked like she was going to cry. “Look, I respect your boundaries. Thank you for telling me. I’m comfortable with staying friends.” 

A chilling realization was settling within you.

This wasn't the reaction you had anticipated.

This was the opposite.

You may have done more damage than you thought. “Ellie-”

“You're right. We shouldn't complicate things,” She tugged on her collar—harder this time. Your eyes widened at the discolored circular blotches on her neck. How on earth could you forget about any of this when your hickeys marked her skin? 

Your jaw clenched, mouth watering at the delicious memory that had been plaguing your mind since Saturday.

“It’ll be like it never happened,” Ellie finished, standing to her feet. 

You wanted to say something—to stop her. But the words were caught on your tongue, too heavy to leave your mouth.

Too risky. 

Ellie walked out of the living room without  saying anything further.

This was going to be harder than you originally thought.

~

"Shit." Danielle cursed, her features scrunching as she slapped the shot glass back on the table. She shuddered. "That's gross."

You chuckled, swiveling wine in your glass. Personally, You loved the taste of wine. You had champagne a few times as well and didn't mind the aftertaste that it left in your mouth. You believed that it's all about the type of alcohol that you choose. You weren't the type to like hard liquor, so you could understand where your friends' disgust came from. You preferred to keep your taste buds intact while you drank, hence the bottle of red that you ordered.

You were currently at a nightclub, deciding to let loose after a hard week of lectures. You felt a bit stressed. You had a group project that was due soon and you were currently the only one that seemed to be contributing. It had been making you tense and more crabby than usual. Which was exactly why Danielle brought you here.

"...Ellie and her friends showing up?" Danielle asked.

You shrugged. "I thought so. But she was supposed to be here an hour ago."

You also may have been bummed that you hadn't seen your best friend walk through the entrance doors. You’d been waiting all day to see Ellie. Excitement has been building in your gut along with anticipation. 

"Hm. Bummer. I was beginning to like your friend." Danielle sighed. "...Was even contemplating asking for her number."

You shoved your jealousy away with a chuckle.

It wasn't your place to say anything.

You told Ellie you wanted to stay friends.

You weren't allowed to be upset.

You busied yourself with people watching. The air loomed with the smell of sweat and smoke. 

This was an environment that you grew accustomed to during your early college days. Now that you were in the last year of your college career, you’d shifted to partying at your friends' homes. But you still thought it was nice to go out to a club every once in a while.

There was a specific woman that had been glancing at you for a while now. She was cute with a charming smile. Her eyes were kind, and she always seemed to spare a looks towards you while searching the club. You noticed that the girl was with a group of friends, leaning against the bar with one hand holding a beer and the other tucked in her pocket.

You knew that this woman went to the same university because she was wearing one of the student hoodie's. She was also sporting a pair of dark washed jeans and the sort of combat boots that were loud and clunky; scraping against the ground every time that she shifted her weight.

"That girl keeps staring at you." Danielle announced. "And she's cute."

You smiled, tearing your gaze away.

Yeah, she is.

But where the fuck was Ellie?

Danielle raised her hand, waving in the girl's direction to catch her attention.

Your smile dropped, eyes widening as you reached forward and smacked Danielle's hand away. "What are you doing? Are you kidding?"

"Count this as a favor. You two have been ogling each other all night. Oh, look! She's coming over. You're welcome."

Your jaw set. Then you glanced over your shoulder and noticed that the woman was, in fact, making her way over to you. You glared at Danielle coldly. Well, fuck.

Danielle took no offense, finding the entire situation amusing and laughing instead. "You'll thank me later."

You folded your arms across your chest, huffing. "I highly doubt that I will."

Danielle giggled, covering her mouth with her hand to stop a hiccup. You rolled your eyes in annoyance.

"Hi." A voice interrupted. You looked up, facing the woman who had been staring at you all evening. She had an outstretched hand and a smile. "I'm Julia."

You took her hand, returning the grin and introducing yourself.

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

Julia turned out to be a sweet girl. She was a pre-law student and a year younger than you. She looked extremely pleased when she found out that you attended the same school.

"Do you stay on campus?" You asked.

Julia noded. "I do. And you?"

You shook your head no. "I have my own apartment."

Julia's eyebrows raised at that. "That must be nice. The dorms can be annoying with the partying and all." She made a funny expression.

You laughed. "Yeah, I bet."

The both of you talked about numerous things. During the brief pauses, you tried to ignore the suggestive glances that Danielle would send your way. She was purposely being obvious about her teasing, so it was only a matter of time before Julia would notice.

For the most part though, you surprisingly seemed to be enjoying yourself. There was a short lapse in your mind when you weren't thinking about Ellie—thank god—and just enjoying yourself. 

Because of this, you didn't notice Ellie’s arrival. You were too busy laughing at a story that Julia was recounting about your first week of college. 

But Ellie saw you immediately.

~

Ellie felt weird when she observed you laughing with another girl. There was a strong sense of jealousy that was present. Especially when you placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, throwing your head back slightly and laughing at whatever she was saying.

But she didn't want to be that person, not after the agreement you two made a few days ago, so she tried her best to behave. 

"She's over here." Rachel said, pointing in your direction.

Ellie had only brought a few friends, extending the invite after she asked you if it was okay. She ended up being late because Damien lost his dog. How he lost his pet, Ellie would never know, but after thoroughly searching and comforting a sobbing Damien, she found the poor poodle sleeping in the basement diner. 

Reluctantly, Ellie made her way over to your table. She really wanted to turn around and go back home, especially after seeing you look so cozy with someone else. But she knew that she couldn't, so she opted for lingering behind her friends instead.

You didn't notice Ellie’s presence at first, and was startled when Rachel surprised you with a hug.

"Long time, no see." Rachel grinned.

You let out a shaky laugh. "You scared me."

"Oh, sorry! We were calling you, but I guess you didn't hear."

Naturally, your gaze fell to everyone else. You said hi to Damien and Nina before peering at Ellie.

"You're here. Finally." You grinned. "What took you so long?"

Ellie noded in acknowledgment, lips holding a ghost of a smile. "We uh-"

"Who's this?" Rachel interrupted, wiggling her eyebrows as she tilted her chin towards Julia. Julia took that as her cue, holding out her hand with a smile. She gave her name, along with a few other pleasantries, to which Rachel nodded impressively.

"You're quite the charmer." Rachel stated.

Julia laughed. "I try."

You stood to your feet, allowing everyone to climb into the booth. You grew anxious when Ellie didn’t join, taking a seat across from you instead. 

Disappointed, you sat back down. It was odd to be facing Ellie directly while having Julia by your side.

Almost as if it was an instinct, you found yourself nudging Ellie’s leg. You grazed your foot against the inside of her ankle, leaning forward in hopes to grab her attention. She glanced at you momentarily, eyes softening before hooking your foot with hers.

Hi, you mouthed.

Ellie’s gaze lingered on your mouth, noticing the curve of your lips.

…Your lips.

You were wearing a shimmery lip gloss tonight. The kind that made your smile so beautiful that it physically hurt Ellie everytime she thought about it. 

Ellie didn't know what she was expecting tonight. She felt silly for not remembering the previous times you went clubbing with her—you loved dressing up on those kind of nights.

Ellie should have prepared her heart to better withstand your beauty. Because God were you beautiful. You were wearing one of those white summer dresses that hugged you just the right way and a pair of sandals. 

Suddenly, she felt silly for being jealous of Julia. Why wouldn't anyone want to be with you? It only made sense. 

Ellie was simply gutted that the lucky woman could never be her.

She wanted to scoop you away from here, to leave all of this behind. But she knew that wasn't possible, not after you both established remaining friends. Not after you admitted that you didn't have feelings for her.

"I heard you own some property in New York?" Danielle inquired, pulling Ellie out of her thoughts.

Ellie took this as her opportunity to look away from you, refocusing her gaze on Danielle, who was staring back with curious eyes. 

"Um," Ellie racked her thoughts for an acceptable answer, trying—and failing—to erase you out of their mind. "Yeah. I do."

Danielle was scooting dangerously close, sporting a shit-eating grin. "That's nice. I've never been to New York."

You rolled your eyes, gritting your teeth at the interaction.

"Do you want to dance?" Julia interjected.

You diverted your attention, growing hesitant.

You felt guilty for completely forgetting about Julia's presence. There was an impish twinkle in Julia's eyes that nearly caused you to grimace. The guilt multiplied. 

"I'm not..." You faltered, voice dropping into a whisper. "Julia, you're a nice person. But I don't think I'm necessary looking to be with anyone toni-"

Julia laughed, "It's just a dance. But it's completely okay if you don't want to."

As if on cue, Danielle laughed obnoxiously loud. 

Your pinky twitched. You were struggling to ignore the pressing thought of Ellie and Danielle. 

Feeling annoyed and slighted, you nodded, wanting to separate yourself from the table as soon as possible. "As long as it's just a dance." You replied.  "Then I'd love to."

Julia grinned.

~

You felt ridiculous.

Julia was with you on the dance floor and none of it felt as enjoyable as you initially thought it would be. Because Ellie was all you could think about.

Your mouth became dry and the heavy realization of it all threatened to come crashing down any second. So you turned to Julia, stating, "I'm going to get some water and head back to the table." You had to lean in closer than you would have liked, due to the loud music.

"What?" Julia frowned, not hearing you.

"I should head back to the table!" You repeated, jutting your thumb behind you in the direction of your friends.

Julia's features morphed into realization and she nodded. It was almost as if it all dawned on her at that moment that you weren't enjoying herself. "Well, it was nice meeting you." She concluded, with a wink and warm smile, "I think I'll head back over to my friends anyway. Take care of yourself, alright?”

“You too.” You nodded, sighing in relief.

“And you should tell her how you feel,” Julia added.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Who?”

“Your friend…back at the table.” Her head tilted in the general direction of where Ellie was. “The one you can't keep your eyes off of.”

Your breath hitched, hairs standing on the back of your neck at Julia’s exposé. You opened your mouth to reply, but she was already giving you a goodbye hug. Then she shoved past a group of people to make it to her own destination, leaving you alone on the dance floor. 

Subconsciously, you walked over to the outside bar, sitting down on one of the stools and ordering a water.

While the bartender grabbed your drink, you tried to allow your muscles to relax in the stillness of the night. Faintly, you could hear the booming bass from the music inside. But besides that, it was far more quiet.

Your eyes stung as memories of tonight's shit show replayed in your mind.

You were kind of mad at Danielle.

In actuality, you knew that you didn't have much of a reason to be upset with her. You hadn't told any of your friends what happened between you and Ellie, or even admitted to them that you had feelings for her. It wasn't Danielle’s fault for not knowing where you stood with it all. It was on you—which made you more frustrated. Danielle was a pretty decent human and would never go after Ellie if she knew how truly you felt. You were just projecting your anger because deep down, you were mad at yourself.

Your reverie was broken when a hand slipped around your waist, lips brushing against your temple and whispering, "Where did that girl go?" It was Ellie.

"What girl?" You asked, playing stupid. You pursed your lips, not bothering to face her. 

You didn't want to admit it but you were also upset with Ellie. You couldn't erase the image of Danielle flirting with her out of your mind. It infuriated you.

You and Ellie were just friends, it was something that you both agreed to. Ellie could do whatever she wanted with whoever she wanted. But it still didn't make you any less upset. Because you were jealous, and that's what jealousy did to people sometimes.

"You know who.”

You frowned. "Go back to flirting with Danielle."

There was a hesitancy before she mumbled, "Are you like, upset with me or something?"

You rolled your eyes, guilt and shame and all things bad bubbling up inside of you. "Just go, El."

You knew you were pushing her away—this wasn't fair.

You weren't being fair.

But you needed her to go away before you say something you regret; before you ruin things.

Fingers wrapped around your elbow gingerly, dragging you off the stool and away from the bar. Ellie brought you over to a more discreet section of the patio, away from wandering eyes and eavesdropping bartenders. Once you both were a considerable distance from surrounding people, she let go of you.

With each passing second, her shoulders began to deflate more. She was drinking in your features with worry lines in her forehead. Then she was sighing, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. Her eyes shut momentarily, but she didn't say anything more, hesitant to address the elephant in the room.

You bit the inside of your cheek, tearing your gaze away from her as your mind swarmed with countless apologizes. You should be saying many of them right now. But your tongue stayed planted in your mouth as the hammering of your heart kept you from uttering the words.

When you glanced back at Ellie, you noticed that her eyes had opened.

"Don't do this." She muttered. Her eyes were overwhelmingly vulnerable. "You don't get to do this. Not after saying you wanted to be friends."

I lied, You wanted to reply. I thought you wouldn't feel the same so I got scared. I chickened out. I ran.

But you couldn’t say anything. 

Ellie’s shoulders were rising and falling more sporadically as time passed by. It looked as if she was trying to catch her breath, eyes never failing to leave your face. There's a hint of panic in the way that she was observing you…searching for an unknown answer. Her mouth opened—an attempt to break the painful silence that was brewing—before she clamped her lips shut, rolling them inwards. 

You watched her step back as she ran her hands through her hair.

“I don't want to play games with you.” She confessed. Her voice sounded unnatural to your ears. Strained. "I deserve better than that."

You shifted your weight, growing uneasy by the way your muscles were screaming to step closer to her. You wanted to tell her about the way your soul yearned for her.

But you were scared.

So fucking scared.

Your mouth betrayed your wish. Instead, they formed to utter, “I understand,” and nothing more.

Ellie swallowed audibly and the lines above her brows deepened. You could hear the instability of her inhales as she looked at you with a question in her gaze.

“That’s all you have to say?”

It was far too devastating to hold her stare. You made yourself look away. “I...”

Ellie inspected you with such intensity that you practically felt your face melting off. 

She didn't speak and she didn't move.

The whistle of the wind was the only distraction from the agony nestling inside your heart. Your eyes began to sting, lump lodging in your throat in a way that made it unbearable to speak.

You tried to listen to the chirping of crickets; anything to convince you that staying silent was the better option—the only option.

But then Ellie took a step forward and your resolve cracked instantly. Before you could stop yourself, the smallest sliver of vulnerability urged you to look into her eyes.

She was beginning to notice your inability to hold a proper conversation and took another step closer.

“God, you're so…” This time, she was quieter. “I can never understand you.”

You swallowed thickly. “Ellie…”

She looked down, pressing the heel of her combat boot into the tile floor. In doing so, she rocked her weight backwards and then forward. The motion of unrest caused her cologne to waft towards you.

It'd been a while since you’d seen her so ungathered. 

“Listen,”  She said. The sound of it vibrated low and powerfully. It sparked a part of your soul to jump. “I lied. I can't just be friends with you.”

You took a step back.

She took another step towards you.

“What?” You faltered.

“You heard me.” Unshed tears pooled into her green eyes. “I’m telling you that I need you. In every sense. Does that hold any significance for you?”

You found interest in the buttons of her tan button up, forcing away the part of yourself that welcomed her confession. 

You were struggling to fully understand her. Your hands trembled.

“Will you look at me?” She urged.

You could only bear to keep your gaze on her shirt. 

A thumb came in contact with your lower lip. It was a slight graze but managed to leave a trail of fire in its wake. The rest of her fingers soon followed, brushing along your jawline before tucking underneath your chin. She nudged you to lift your head, willing you to peer at her. 

She was so painfully close. 

“You can't say stuff like that,” Was your response.

“Why can't I?”

Because you were scared. Because you didn't deserve her. Because you had already hurt her—already ruined everything. “Because I’ll want you back. And I can't want you. Because…” You exhaled shakily. “I can't risk the possibility of losing you altogether if this were to end badly.”

Ellie sighed softly, squeezing her eyes shut for a few seconds. 

“Our friendship is something I’d never want to ruin. It's safe and it's what we know.” You continued. “Why risk losing you to feelings that I wasn't sure you even reciprocated? How could I live with myself if I ruined everything by telling you how I really felt?”

Ellie’s eyes opened, her cheeks beginning to flush pink. "Oh. That's not..." Her expression had transformed into a mixture of understanding and something strange. “Baby-"

Her other hand managed to find its place at the nape of your neck. Your knees buckled at the pet name.

“You could never lose me.” She added. Her thumb caressed the apples of your cheeks. Those words alone caused you to become completely undone. 

You felt like your lungs could finally break open from their cage. Your exhale was heavy, delight crashing into you like tide waves.

It was too wonderful to believe.

“You drive me mad, you know.” Ellie continued, sucking in a breath. “I want you, all of you, everyday. I have never ached to be near anyone so much until I met you. I can accept it if you still want to stay friends after this. If that's truly your wish, then so be it. But I had to tell you. I couldn't let you walk away tonight without letting you know that I’m deeply, desperately, in love with you.” Her lips trembled. “You're so scared about losing me, but have you ever thought that I’ve been feeling the same? I fucking need you.”

Tears began to stream down your cheeks. You soon realized that you were trembling because you were crying. 

Without any more reservation, you allowed yourself to grip both of her forearms; mostly to steady yourself but to also have another semblance of closeness to her.

“Tell me again.” Your voice was nothing but a warble. You sniffed, tightening your grip around her forearms in hopes to stay grounded in what seemed like a cruel sweet dream. It didn't matter that you were at a bar, outside of a nightclub that was full of rowdy college students. It didn't matter that your friends were probably wondering where the hell you and Ellie disappeared to. The only thing that matter was Ellie. Your Ellie. “...Tell me that you love me.”

Ellie’s features softened. A tear spilled from her eye, trickling down her cheek. She managed to scan every inch of your face, a slow smile curling onto her lips. “I love you.”

The sound that came out of you was an ugly combination of a sob and laugh. 

Ellie swallowed thickly, wetting her lips as she unabashedly looked directly into you. “I’m asking you to give us a try. To give us a real chance.”

All of your doubts crumbled and was replaced with a fiery certainty.

“Ellie, I love you.” Your voice trembled with thick emotion. “Of course I will. I’ve just been so scared, I thought it would be better for us to-”

Before you knew it, Ellie was leaning forward and crashing her lips onto yours. 

You sighed at the contact, gripping both sides of her face feverishly. Her chest pressed against yours, causing a gasp to escape you.

Kissing Ellie was effortlessly sweet. She was gentle and passionate, yet able to exhibit incredible vigor that made your stomach flutter. Her hands traveled away from your cheeks, bunching into the material of your dress and holding you with immense regard. 

And just when you felt as if you were about to burst, she became agonizingly tender. Your mind buzzed at the feeling of her lips; it was like floating weightlessly in water. You longed to give her more of you; even though it couldn't be possible to give her any more than what she already had. 

Then she pulled away. You noticed that you two had quickly fell into a rhythm of panting, catching your breath from the sublime moment that you had just shared. 

Ellie wiped your last few tears and kissed you again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again. 

Until you knew for certain in your heart, that there was no other place in the universe that you were meant to be. 

#au writing #fanfic #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x reader #ellie x you #tlou2 fanfic #ellie tlou2 #college #piscespetals writing #ruin the friendship #friends to eventual lovers #besties #fluff #light angst #gayyyyyy #mutual pining

[bellaxgiornata]

Break the Tension [Chapter Two: "The Rehearsal Dinner"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.7k

[Full summary and series chapter list can be found here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+; Enemies to lovers, sexual tension, smut, semi-public sex, light angst

a/n: So this fic won the poll for which one I'll update today! I also feel like this part really sets the tone for this series... Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @mattkinsella @danzer8705 @pazii @paracosmic-murdock @xxdrixx

It had been years since Matt had last been around you. Graduation day at Columbia, to be exact. And yet from the moment you'd stepped into Fairfield Manor and made your way down the hallway towards him with Marci at your side, he'd known one thing remained true.

You still drove him absolutely crazy. 

Though not in the way you'd probably always thought. Matt truthfully never meant to be the way he was with you–harsh and teasing–but for some reason every time he got the taste of your pheromones on his tongue, his sexual frustration came out in the sharp way he spoke to you. He figured it was a sort of defense mechanism, one he hadn't initially meant to implement. Especially since it made him feel like a ridiculous school boy pulling his crush's ponytail because he couldn't just use his words.

Matt had picked up on your physical attraction to him from the very first day you both had met in the lecture for Critical Legal Thought. And back then, he'd always been terrified that if he flirted with you–even just a little bit–and you became the least bit aroused around him, he'd lose his mind completely. He didn't think he could handle the smell of your arousal mingled with your natural pheromones, not without pathetically throwing himself at you in Columbia's hallways. So he'd been crass and rude instead, still craving your attention but unable to handle you being further attracted to him. But to his surprise, you always held your own against him, which somehow only made you more attractive to him. 

But for some damn reason when you'd shown up tonight, he'd found himself initially torn between wanting to keep you at a distance and wanting to finally have you. Admittedly he'd forgotten just how good you always smelled because no one else ever had quite the same effect on him. It was like your particular pheromones were crafted specifically to drive him wild. 

You were Matt’s weakness and he so desperately wanted to be yours.

Earlier tonight, back at the venue for the rehearsal for tomorrow's ceremony, things had gone fairly uneventful after the initial interaction Matt’d had with you. Though he had noticed the way you'd reacted to his fingers barely grazing you below the hem of your dress. He had reveled in the way your skin had prickled with goosebumps, your heart accelerating in your chest as your face heated. His cock had stirred awake in his dress pants almost immediately, the faintest hint of your arousal hitting his nose and then his tongue. Your response had shown him that you still found him attractive, possibly even more than he remembered you being back in college, even if you still seemed incredibly annoyed by his presence. 

But Matt didn’t care about that. He’d find a way to change your opinion of him this weekend, at least enough so that his presence didn’t frustrate you. Because knowing you still found him attractive after he’d gotten a taste of your pheromones once more ultimately had him deciding that he was going to pursue you over the course of the wedding weekend– relentlessly . Matt refused to end the weekend without ever having a taste of you. Without ever hearing the soft, breathy moans he always imagined you'd make when he dove between your thighs. Without feeling all the soft, sweet lines of your body beneath his fingers– and his tongue. Without burying himself deep inside of you, fucking you so tenaciously that you could barely hold onto him, clawing at him as your your smart mouth moaned his name instead of cursing it for once.

Fuck. If he kept thinking like this he'd be needing to excuse himself to the bathroom just to take care of himself in one of the stalls. 

Shifting under the table, trying to alleviate the sudden uncomfortable strain of his dress pants against himself, he attempted to focus on his dinner. On either side of him sat Foggy’s brother along with a few of Foggy’s cousins that were also members of the bridal party, but directly across the table from him was you. And the scent of your perfume mixing with your pheromones wasn't helping his situation right now.

For most of the rehearsal dinner you'd been focused on your own food shortly after everyone had been seated and served. Though you’d chatted with the bridesmaids around you until Marci and Foggy’s parents had given their toasts before the meal. Oddly enough you didn't seem as conversational as he usually remembered you being tonight. Instead, you'd kept your head ducked over your plate, eating your food and occasionally responding to comments.

Frustrated because you’d stayed true to your earlier words, not making conversation with him anymore than you had to, Matt's foot slid forward underneath the table. He knew this would probably irritate you further with him, but he also didn’t know how else to catch your attention. Anytime he’d tried to start a conversation with you this evening, you’d answered in clipped replies, quickly pulling others around you into the conversation when possible so you wouldn't have to converse solely with him. 

He noticed your foot tapping anxiously in your heels as he slid his dress shoe forward until it finally bumped against yours. Across the table you stiffened in your seat, your foot halting its movements instantly. Bringing his fork to his mouth, he slipped the bit of steak between his lips as his head rose, his covered gaze focusing on you as he chewed. He could hear the tension growing in your muscles as your head rose marginally from the table, probably looking at him from across it and wondering if that had been an accident. Seconds later your foot slid a few inches backwards from his and resumed its anxious tapping.

Swallowing down the bite of food, Matt’s resolve didn’t disappear. He cut off another piece of his steak, spearing it with his fork and slowly drawing it up to his mouth. At the same time, he slid his foot forward again, bumping his into yours for a second time. This time he heard the way your hand tightened around your fork, your head rising up fully as you looked at him from across the table. He sent you a smirk before he took another bite from his fork.

“Goddamit, Murdock,” he heard you mutter under your breath. 

His smirk only grew wider as he chewed, his focus on you while the rest of the table remained oblivious to the silent interaction. Though in that moment, Matt would’ve given anything to hear you moaning out his first name instead while he felt your cunt tightening around his cock.

Entering your room in an irritated huff, you closed and locked the door behind yourself. For a few minutes all you could do was pace the room in frustration, walking back and forth as you ran your fingers through your hair.

Matt had gotten under your skin and you hadn’t even been here a full day yet. And tonight Marci and Foggy were having a fire out in the courtyard for anyone who wanted to join them for the evening. You’d wanted to go, hoping to catch up with some of the girls you’d met through Marci and become friends with over the years, but the thought of running into Matt and dealing with his strange and annoying flirtatious teasing had you considering staying in tonight. 

You didn’t understand what had gotten into him. He must’ve heard from someone after graduation that you’d once drunkenly called him attractive and he was now trying to make you admit it. Either that or he’d found out and figured it would be funny to tease you because of it, to make you think that you could ever draw his attention. Either way, you weren’t thrilled with his unwelcome flirting. 

But that weird game of footsie he was trying to rope you into at dinner had been so odd. It was almost as if he knew how much it was making you mad. Which was strange considering he couldn’t see your reaction each time he touched his foot to yours. 

With a sigh you told yourself you needed to stop thinking about Matt for the evening. You’d just stay in your room, clean off your face, and maybe get to bed early. That way you’d be rested for tomorrow. Admittedly the couple of glasses of wine from dinner were making you a little tired, anyway.

Heading back towards your bed, you picked up the clutch purse you’d brought with you to the restaurant. Opening it up, you reached inside for your phone, but your fingertips only brushed along your lipstick, your ID, and your debit card. Panic shooting through you, you opened the clutch wider and peered inside. Your phone wasn’t there.

A surge of fear raced through you as you tried to recall when you’d last had it. You know you’d used it at the rehearsal dinner tonight, but you could’ve sworn that you had put it back into your purse before you’d left. With a groan you realized you must have left it somewhere at the restaurant, which meant you were now going to have to borrow someone’s phone to call a ride back there just to pick it up.

“Great,” you grumbled to yourself.

Two brisk knocks at your bedroom door startled you, causing you to jump on the spot as the sound broke through your thoughts. Turning, you made your way over towards the door, wondering who it could be and also hoping they had a phone you could borrow. But when you unlocked and opened the door, you were vexed to see Matt standing there in the hallway. That stupid smirk was on his mouth again, too.

"What the hell do you want, Murdock?" you ground out. "I'm sort of in the middle of something right now."

"Oh?" he asked, his brows rising up high over his glasses. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing that concerns you," you answered. 

Peering around him in the hall, you searched for signs of anyone else you could ask to borrow a phone from. Unfortunately the hall was entirely empty except for Matt.

"Well, does the something wrong happen to do with you accidentally leaving your phone at the restaurant?" he asked. 

Your attention swiftly returned to him, watching as he reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat and slid your phone from within it. Relief flooded you instantly at the sight of it, a soft sigh escaping you. Though when that smirk grew on his lips at the sound of your relief, your left hand balled into a fist at your side. You didn’t like that he was pleased at having helped you.

"Heard you'd left it on the table from one of the bridesmaids," he explained. "So I offered to bring it back to you, considering we have rooms next to each other." 

"How very gallant, Murdock. Thank you," you said in a clipped tone, accepting the phone from his outstretched hand. "But now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get ready for bed."

Before you could close the door more than an inch, Matt’s hand darted forward. Your eyes widened in shock, staring at his large palm as it spread wide over the wooden door, halting its movements. 

"You aren't going to the fire tonight?" he asked, head tilting curiously to the side. "With everyone else?"

“If it means interacting with you? No, I’m not,” you replied bitterly. “Can you please let go of my door now? I think we’re done here.”

Matt said your name, the sound of it coming out low and sultry from his lips. Your hand gripped the door tighter in response, your eyes fixed to the red lenses of his glasses. It was as if his voice had suddenly put you in a trance and you couldn’t look away from him, your heart speeding up just a little faster in your chest.

“Why don’t you just admit it?” he questioned softly, taking a slow, calculated step into your room. “Just admit you want me. That you’ve always wanted me.”

Brows jumping up onto your forehead in surprise, your mouth fell partially open. Taken so off guard by his words and his boldness, you didn’t have the chance to stop him from further entering your room. Blinking rapidly a few times in shock, you took a step back from his imposing form passing through your door. Someone must have told him that you’d once drunkenly admitted to finding him attractive and now he was being an asshole about it. That had to have been the reasoning for his behavior so far.

“I’ve always thought you were a conceited asshole, actually,” you shot back.

You hoped he hadn’t caught the tremble in your voice as he continued to close the small distance between you both. For some reason you found him more attractive than usual advancing on you like he was; you couldn’t exactly explain why it was beginning to turn you on. He looked intimidating and strong with those broad shoulders tugging at his suit coat, the buttons of his dress shirt pulling beneath his tie which was askew along his chest. He looked good–better than he ever did at Columbia–but you did not want to be feeling that way. Not for Matthew Murdock. Because he was an asshole .

“And I think you should go,” you ordered, finding your voice again.

“Is that what you really want?” he asked, voice dropping an octave to something deeper as he took another step towards you. “Because I’m not buying it, sweetheart.”

Matt continued to gradually stalk towards you, one hand reaching out behind himself and pushing your door closed. It shut with a soft thump and your heart stuttered in your chest at the sound. Because you were alone with him in your room now, and for some reason that was having an effect on you that you’d rather never admit to him.

“I think,” he continued in that gravelly, deep tone, “that you’ve always wanted to know what it would be like with me.”

“That’s what you think, is it?” you questioned weakly.

“Mmm,” he hummed out, lips curling upwards. “Mhmm.”

Unable to move, your eyes fixed on his smirking lips, Matt closed the remaining distance between the pair of you. His hands very gently landed on your hips and your breath hitched in response, catching in your throat under his touch. In all the years you’d known Matt in college, he’d never once touched you. Not once. Not until that brief graze of his fingertips along your thigh earlier at the rehearsal. But right now it felt like the heat from his fingers were searing into your skin beneath the thin fabric of your dress, burning you from the inside out. It felt far too good, especially when his hands tightened further on your hips, gripping them more firmly as he balled your dress in his fists, pulling the fabric higher up.

Still transfixed by his face, you could see the sharp flare of his nostrils as he repeatedly expelled harsh breaths from his nose, his chest lightly heaving each time. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as his head tilted to the side, almost like he was studying you in the silence that had fallen. Even behind the dark lenses of his glasses that he wore you could see that he was focused on you.

And that’s when a thought struck you as you took in the sight of him, trying to keep your knees from quivering at his proximity. He didn’t seem like he was remotely teasing you right now. This didn’t feel like the Matthew Murdock you’d known in college who’d taunted you and made jabs at you. He wasn’t here doing any of that.

No, it seemed like he genuinely wanted you. 

Something stirred low within you at the thought, a heat beginning to grow inside of you. One you’d never anticipated when it came to this particular man, no matter how attractive you’d found him over the years. Because he’d always been such an asshole to you. But yet…

“Except,” you found yourself saying, surprising even yourself with the way your tongue had been loosened by the glasses of wine you’d had with dinner, “I’m pretty sure it's the other way around. Because looking at you right now, Murdock, I’d say you’re the one who wants to know what it would be like with me.”

You saw the moment his jaw clenched, the muscle jumping agitatedly in his cheek. He bit down harder on his bottom lip, his shoulders tensing at your voice. 

A jolt of curiosity sparked inside of you at his reaction, your nerves dissipating. Had that been it all along? Had Matthew Murdock actually wanted you back then? Was that why he was being an asshole to you now, coming into your room uninvited and making these flirtatious advances? Because he still wanted you?

Oh that was an unexpected twist indeed. One you were going to enjoy in more ways than one this weekend. Because maybe you’d thought about fucking Matt in college, back before he’d become quite so mean to you that you couldn’t bear the sight of him, but now you considered taking what you wanted from him. Maybe you’d find out if he really was as great in bed as everyone praised him to be, but that’s all you’d do. Take what you wanted from him. And you weren’t going to make this easy on him in the slightest–he was far too cocky to begin with.

Consider it payback , you thought. You beautiful asshole .

When he hadn’t denied your comment outright, you figured now was as good a time as any to test your theory. You took a step closer to Matt, leaving the pair of you now only inches apart. Immediately you heard a rumbling within his chest at the movement, the noise something almost animalistic that sent a shudder straight up your spine. A pleased smile grew wide across your lips when he fisted the fabric of your dress even tighter in his hands.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” you murmured, tilting your face up towards his. “Tell me, Murdock,” you whispered, bringing your mouth closer to his as you spoke, “how often did you think about fucking me?”

“You’ve got a mouth on you, sweetheart,” Matt shot back.

“And how often have you thought about it on you, hmm?” you countered.

Matt’s bottom lip rolled out from beneath his teeth, his lips twitching as they thinned out along his face. It looked like he was struggling before you, torn between making a snarky comeback or fighting the urge to kiss you. Especially with how you’d leaned up towards him, your mouth only the slightest distance from his. You could feel his warm breath brushing over your lips as you stood there, the rush of adrenaline from having such an unexpected effect on him easily going to your head–and your cunt. 

Almost as if in slow motion, Matt dove forward to press his mouth to yours, but you abruptly stepped back from him. He immediately froze in place, head canting to the side as his dark brows knitted together beneath his glasses. His lips pressed firmly together as his expression shifted to one of confusion, and the sight left you grinning in satisfaction once again. 

Reaching out, you placed your hand against Matt’s chest, noticing the way his lips parted and a faint whine barely spilled out between them. With a gentle push, you nudged him backwards. Surprised, Matt stumbled back a step, his hands releasing their hold on your dress. The fabric unbunched, sliding back down your legs.

“I’m not going to kiss you, Murdock,” you stated. 

“Oh come on, you clearly want to,” he snapped. “I may be blind, but I can’t be the only one seeing the sexual tension here. Just admit you want me. That you want me to bend you over your bed and fuck you senseless here and now.”

Eyes narrowing, you shook your head. “No,” you answered.

“No?” he questioned, surprised.

“No,” you repeated. “I don’t want that, Murdock.”

He huffed out a laugh, that stupid, smug smirk spreading back across his lips. “Now, I’m not going to believe that for a second.”

“Believe what you want, sweetheart ,” you replied, tone intentionally condescending, “but if you want me, you’re going to have to beg for it.”

Matt openly scoffed, shaking his head as he let out a humorless laugh. “Absolutely not. I’m certainly not one to beg, and I sure as hell won’t beg for you ,” he ground out. “You’ll change your mind real soon, sweetie. I can tell you want me. Then you’ll be the one coming to beg me to fuck you and it’ll be that much sweeter .”

“Tell yourself whatever you want,” you told him. “Just do it out of my room that your desperate ass barged into. I need to get ready for that fire.”

He pulled a face at your words, his mouth opening and closing for a moment. The sight almost had you laughing but you bit your tongue, trying to fight it back. He somehow looked even more confused.

“I–I thought you said you weren’t going to that?” he asked.

“I changed my mind,” you answered with a shrug. “Might be fun to watch you squirm now that I know what you’re really after.”

Matt shook his head, turning around and heading back towards your door. You almost offered to help him as he felt around in front of himself for a second, but then he’d grabbed the door handle and twisted it open. He took a step out into the hall, grabbing his cane that he must’ve rested against the wall out in the hallway. Before he left, he turned over his shoulder back towards you.

“You have absolutely no idea what I’m after,” he told you.

You watched as Matt unfolded his cane, making his way next door to his own room. Standing in the middle of your room, you were left staring out of the open door wondering what the hell he’d meant by that.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock smut #matt murdock angst #matt murdock

[joels-shitty-puns]

The Key To Your Heart - Track 2

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Musician!Reader

Series Summary: After writing your feelings for Pedro into a song, it gains a lot more popularity than expected. Ultimately it brings both criticism and support, with new possibilities around the corner.

Series Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Potential for puns/dad jokes (name of my blog, and the fic) should give that away. This is my first fic which should be its own warning, lol. Also some cursing. Mentions of masturbation (f) maybe more smut later idk. Sadness, reader is pretty depressed. Poor body image. Rude people. Bullying-ish and just lack of support? Anxiety. Age gap! Reader is in her mid 20's, Pedro is current age (48).

Other stuff: Reader is plus sized. AFAB. Inexperienced. Also has a dog, but you can pretend it is another creature probably. Further, in case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

Word Count: 2.8K

Series List: Here!

Miss last chapter? Here!

I had a real rough time figuring out the proper voice for Pedro's dialogue and I hope I did him justice. Either way, the support I received for part 1 is astounding and completely unexpected! Thank you all for reading and let me know what you think :) I plan to continue until the story wraps up, but I don't know how many parts that will be. I hope to post every couple days, but with my work schedule it may be less speedy. Here we go!

You walk in the door, unclipping Skip's leash, slipping off your shoes, and dropping your keys on the countertop before flopping onto the couch and unlocking your phone. No. Fucking. Way. 

Pedro Pascal (pascalispunk) replied to your message. 

You dissected each letter of the username, assuming it couldn't possibly be THE Pedro Pascal… but it was. It really, really was. You clicked the message, holding your breath.

Pedro Pascal replied to you: "Hey, you don't need to thank me. I didn't say anything that wasn't true. That guy was out of line. You deserve happiness and I'm sorry for the harsh words you've been hearing. I appreciate you sharing your vulnerability with the world and hope that you will continue to be your genuine self and ignore the comments trying to make you be someone else. Don't listen to those people."

You stared in disbelief at his words, once again wondering why he would ever be so kind to someone he doesn't even know. Someone so childish and stupid to write a song about a man she doesn't know. I can't imagine he'd think these things if he knew it was about him…

You: "Thank you Mr. Pascal. I'm a big fan of yours and hearing that you're in my corner has me completely at a loss. I can't imagine why you would risk damaging your image by defending a girl…" No… don't say girl, it makes you sound like a child. You want this guy to like you! You backspace with a slight feeling of ridiculousness over the whole scenario. Ugh it's all wrong… calm down... calm down… it's just a conversation. He doesn't know you. He doesn't like you. Don't make it weird like you always do.

You try again.

You: "Thank you Mr. Pascal. I really admire your work and for you to say such kind things to me… to think that you're in my corner, has me completely at a loss for words. I don't know what I did to deserve this treatment when you don't even know me, especially when coming to my defense could potentially harm your image… but thank you."

He read it almost immediately. Your heart was beating out of your chest and you felt like you could throw up from the anxiety and adrenaline. After a few seconds, those stress-inducing dot-dot-dots appeared to show you he was typing.

He's actually replying to me?? Again? Doesn't he have better things to do? 

Your mind wandered to what he might be doing while he's messaging you. Sitting at his home, relaxing, taking the time to reply to you? Why? Maybe he's on a plane or waiting for something and killing time. Maybe he's- *ping*

Pedro Pascal replied to your message:

"Please, you can call me Pedro.. and as far as defending you, it doesn't matter to me that we don't know each other personally. You seem like a woman with a good heart, and all you did was share your true self. Nobody deserves to be talked poorly about for something harmless that they feel. If something like that hurts my image… then my true self wasn't being represented. I think we all just want to be seen, and I hope that you will feel comfortable to be yourself and show yourself more."

You don't know when you started crying, but you hiccupped with the overwhelming wave of emotions. He sees me.. you had just scrolled to the bottom of the long reply, when you noticed the "..." of typing again. He has more to say?!

Pedro Pascal: "As far as the subject of your song.. whether you choose to reveal that to him, or the world, you deserve love and respect. Being vulnerable and putting yourself out there is a terrifying thing to do, and I myself tend to close myself off from relationships to avoid that potential for getting hurt. But if that's what you want, you've already taken a big step and you should go for it. I hope that whoever he is gives you the respect and love you deserve."

Holy crap…

He doesn't… he doesn't know it's him right?? No. There's no way. He's just being nice… he's too nice. He's too genuine..??

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, doing a little dance in the air, pondering what to say. How much can I share with this man? Between this crush and his kind words, it's feeling tricky to hold back from spilling too much information.

You: "Thank you Pedro. You're too kind and I can't properly explain how much I really appreciate it. I'm having trouble coming to terms with all the sudden attention, and finding it hard to ground myself. But your words are helping me a lot. I - "

You hesitated over your next words, wondering if you should open up or just leave it. Don't be weird… don't scare him away like you always have with everyone else. As much as you think of disclosing your hesitation and lack of experience with relationships, as well as your reasons for trepidation, you decide to spare him of your self-hatred. Instead, you delete that last letter and hit send. 

Then you send another message, like he did. "And as far as the guy… I know I don't know him personally, we've never met, but I can already tell he would treat me right. I just hope maybe someday he will love me back."

Immediately after sending it you regretted it. That felt way too open and vulnerable. What are you thinking!?! Shit… what if he sees through you!?

You hold your finger down on the message, ready to hit unsend before he sees it. But it's too late. He's already replying.

Pedro: "He would be stupid not to love you back."

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

You: "Thank you, Pedro. 🥺" Play it cool… Play it cool…

Pedro: "Of course, sweetheart. Feel free to message me if anyone else gives you trouble or you just want to chat. I enjoyed talking with you."

???!!!!!?????!!!!! SweetheartSweetheartSweetheart

You grabbed your nearest pillow and screamed into it. "SKIPPPPPEERRRRRRR!!!!!! I JUST HAD A CONVERSATION WITH PEDRO AND IT WAS MAGICAL AND AAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!" You squealed.

Skipper lifted his head at you and sighed before setting his head back down. He was no stranger to your shenanigans. Napping after a good walk was a better use of his energy than to deal with your drama. He closed his little brown eyes again.

You lay back on the couch, kicking your feet and squeezing your pillow to your body.

Fuck, this is going to hit me like a truck if it goes sour. If he even realizes it's about him, probably. Crap… what am I going to do?

The next day, you woke up and checked your emails before work. Thankfully nobody at your workplace has seemed to place your singing voice to your speaking voice, or pieced together the fact that several people know you have a crush on a certain celebrity and are a musician. Thank goodness. That’s the last thing you need.

You closed your eyes for a few minutes, trying to calm your breathing, your nerves, and your heart rate, before relaxing and shaking out your body. Finally, you decided to get ready for bed and see what tomorrow brings.

Your emails come in, one by one, with one intriguing email at the top, from a well known pop-culture show called The Jazz & Ally-Kat Show. They want to do an interview with you, live, as soon as possible. 

Great. They probably just want to see what I look like or have me spill my guts about my crush. You roll your eyes, and you can’t help but feel like the Mandalorian with his lack of face reveals. If only you had a cute little space baby to accompany you. I guess Skip is my own precious cargo in a way, you think, while looking at your still sleeping pup. You're being silly… Not everything needs to relate back to Pedro, you think with a sigh to yourself. 

Yet despite your anxiety, you agreed to their interview, with the exception that it was done as a podcast style interview, where simply your voices are featured. Surprisingly, they agreed. I guess everyone likes some drama, and what better way to get views than by having a little mystery.

The interview was scheduled for three days from then, and in the meantime you focused on work and your album, which was mostly finished after years of writing songs. All it needed was some editing.

As the days went by, you wanted desperately to message Pedro again. You wanted to tell him your feelings. Have him confess that he loves you too. Ask him about his family, his friends, his favorite things. Meet him, kiss him, fall in love, and finally be happy. But ultimately you knew that was silly. You had one little conversation, and although it was nice, you still didn't know each other. There was no way he loved you back. Yet…? you asked yourself, hopeful, almost asking for permission to let yourself try and earn his love. 

Despite Instagram drawing you in like a magnet, you held back from messaging him. You didn't want to come on too strong. You messaged him first last time. He doesn't know you. Literally… he doesn't even know your real name, or what you look like. But maybe that's a good thing…

_____The day of the interview:_____

You woke up around 9:30 in the morning; nervous, slightly nauseated, restless, and jittery. Why did I agree to this??! 

You decided to pass on the coffee this morning, figuring it would make things worse, and instead decided to take Skipper for a walk. After some fresh air followed by a refreshing shower, you looked at the clock. 11:30 AM. With the interview at 1PM, you still had some time to kill and sat down at the piano, letting your mind wander to Pedro while you plunked chords out with nimble fingers. I wonder if Pedro has ever wanted to learn any instruments… I could teach him, you daydream.

Your hands dance across the piano while he reads through a script in the other room, eyebrows furrowed as he highlights another line. You look up over the grand piano and see his soft brown curls blowing under the fan haphazardly. The sun is shining in through the window, which Skip bathes under, and reflects a golden brown undertone with gray streaks in Pedro's hair. He really is beautiful, you think. His tongue swipes across his lips as he makes notes and erases, before finally feeling your eyes on him. He glances up from the script, giving you a soft smile and a wink; with those chocolate brown eyes that frequently cause you to lose your train of thought. Your eyes drift down to the keys again, feeling a soft blush creep over your cheeks. 

"That music sounds beautiful, baby.." he says softly while padding up to you behind the piano. He places his large hands on your shoulders, sweeping them down over both your arms before settling on your hands, still resting over the black and white keys. You look over your shoulder and he leans in, closing his eyes as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. Just like that scene in Narcos… you think. Yikes, I really am obsessed… anyway… you think back to your daydream…

He sits down at the chair next to your piano bench, kissing your lips again gently, then the corner of your mouth, your cheek, and your jaw. Your stomach gives a wave of butterflies and you lean in more to kiss him deeper, tugging on his hair while his hands find the small of your back, gently running his palms up your spine. A chill overcomes you and he-

~Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.~

Fuck. You snap out of your fantasy and turn off the alarm you set to go off ten minutes before the interview. At least I gave myself time to use the restroom and wash my face, you think, hoping to clear your head a bit now that you're slightly frazzled.

Unfortunately the feeling that replaced it was nerves as you sat down at your desk, typing into your keyboard, turning on your mic, and hoping that Skipper doesn't throw a fit over the wind or something while you're on this call.

Jazz: "Hi there listeners! We're joined by the artist of the moment, our favorite lovesick lady, the singer responsible for "Imaginary Love!"

Both women on the other end of the call applaud.

Well… not sure I like being called a lovesick lady but what else did I expect, really?

You: "Thank you guys for having me, I appreciate you wanting to get to know me better."

Despite the rough start, the ladies turned out to be really respectful and fun. You think that if the circumstances were different, you could actually be friends with them. You discuss casual things like your dog, your favorite activities and favorite pop culture topics (careful to avoid mentioning Pedro or any other actor that could be perceived as your lyrical subject), and they even mention celebrity crushes they've had growing up. 

At the mention of their celebrity crushes, you can feel the interview funnel into a dangerous alley with little to no escape. Jazz was the first to broach the subject. "So… we've just discussed our celebrity crushes, and I think I speak for all of us here when I say we're all very curious to know who-"

-an air horn blares-

What the hell is that? You wonder, both thankful for the interruption, yet startled by the disruption.

They both chime in: "Viewers!!! Do you all know what that sound is!?! We have reached 1 million listeners!!!!"

To say you were astounded is an understatement.

You: "You're kidding!? 1 million people are listening to us right now?"

Ally: "You bet they are! And listeners… I don't know about you guys… but I can't help but wonder if our celebrity heartthrob is one of those million?"

They turn their attention to you again. "What do you think? Think he's listening?"

You're thankful for the lack of a camera, because you can't help but blush at the thought. You'd be lying if you hadn't already considered (hoped) that he was listening too. 

Jazz: "So as we were saying… I think we all are in agreement that we want to know who he is. You sound like a nice enough girl, so what's holding you back? You've made it. You can contact him now and he'll probably reply."

I already have… you thought with a smirk.

Jazz continues: "Which brings me to the next point... I know you've had a lot of attention lately. You were signed to a record company, you were contacted by us, you've been mentioned by a few talk shows and celebrities. Pedro Pascal even publicly defended you. The radio has been playing your song nonstop and people can't get enough. What do you think of all this attention?"

You: "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit surprised and maybe a little scared," you answered with a nervous laugh. "But I am so thankful for the kind words that I receive and I love hearing from people who can relate to my music."

Ally: "You've certainly received your fair share of criticism too. It sounds like you received that before your song was ever published as well."

You: "I have, and it's been challenging to try and not let it get me down. But I'm trying my best, and the positives seem to be greatly outweighing the negatives," you state, your mind thinking of Pedro and how his messages were really the only positive you needed to get you through the dark storm of criticism.

Ally: "I guess what I'm wondering is.. among all these people contacting you.. has he?"

You try to play dumb: "Has who?"

Both interviewers laugh before Ally continues. "Nice try. You know who we're trying to find out about. Has he, the man of your dreams and star of your lyrics, contacted you at all? Will we see a romance blooming?"

Your stomach flipped. You were not expecting this question. Should you tell the truth??? It's not like they could know who has contacted you, short of hacking your account. You have had a lot of people contact you, after all.

You take a deep breath before answering. "I uh… I have received a lot of messages, some of them from celebrities."

They reply, and you can practically feel them leaning in. "Yeeeeaaaah?????"

You consider your next move, your heart really working overtime since this whole thing started. Finally you decide your answer.

"Yes. We've talked."

Looking for Track 1? Read it here!

Next chapter: Here!

~Thanks for reading! Stay ~tuned~ for more!

Taglist: Let me know if you want in :)

@pedrotonin @starcrossed02

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x afab!reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x musician!reader #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal x plus sized! reader #pedro pascal fic #A! wrote a fic #rpf #pedro pascal rpf #key to your heart

[myjealouseyes]

Fever Warm

HJP x wolfstar!daughter!reader.

A/N— (For lack of better title.) baby fic is FINALLY posted and completed and I feel kind of good about it suprisingly. One of the tots finally making an appearance in a fic. We used to pray for times like these 🙏🏾🙏🏾

No content warnings! Family fluff, overthinking, dad!harry (swoon!!)

“Estrella…” you hum to your newborn softly, failing to keep the exhaustion out of your voice. “C’mon, baby. It’s bedtime…”

your baby doesn’t take as well to your gentleness as you hoped. Her cries seemed to get louder as you rock her a little more firmly. You’d tried everything. She wasn’t hungry, and she wasn’t tired. You tried changing the blankets in her crib and even changing her into a lighter onesie, thinking she might be hot. ‘Is she hot?’ You press your hand to her cheek gently. She does feel warm. But is it a good warm? Because you wouldn’t want her to be freezing. Should you get the thermometer? That’ll make her cry even more but at least you’ll know for sure if it’s a fever—

You zone out in your worrying, not even noticing when Harry walks into the nursery. You’re still rocking Estrella on autopilot as he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.

“She’s still crying?” He presses his chin in the crook of your neck, cooing at the baby. “Poor girl. Must be exhausted.” You only nod as you turn toward him and hand her off gently. “Does she feel warm to you? Like fever warm? Looking for a second opinion before getting the thermometer.” Harry furrows his eyebrows as he lightly touches her skin like you did earlier. “Don’t think so babe. Feels normal to me.”

Your face scrunches up as you look down at your baby. What could be making her so uncomfortable then? “Are you sure? ‘cause I’ve tried everything, and I do mean everything.” You wring your hands anxiously, mentally going through your list again. Maybe Harry was right and she didn’t have a fever, but it never hurt to be cautious—

“She’s just wet, darling.”

You pause and swing your head back toward Harry, who’s already laying her out for a change. All the worries leave your head as you look on dumbfoundedly. You had thought to change blankets and onesies, thought of a million and one ways to get her to nurse, sang several lullabies in English and French, but somehow never considered a soiled diaper? Absolutely ridiculous.

Harry coos at you once Estrella is settled and comfortable on his shoulder. Logically you know it’s not meant to be patronizing in any way, but with the way your brain is muddled with lingering exhaustion, self-doubt, and embarrassment, you can’t help but take it that way. Lovingly, he pushes you down into the rocking chair in the corner of the nursery. He makes sure his grip on Estrella is firm and steady before kissing your forehead. “You’re just a bit fried. It’s normal.” His words come out swimming in sugar. It makes your heart flutter. “I’ll handle putdown tonight. Go lay down and if you’re not asleep by time I get done we’ll have a bath. ‘Kay?”

You don’t have it in you to disagree, giving him a slow nod as love leaks through your pores. You stand up and walk to bed. Only pausing briefly to watch him tuck her in and kiss her forehead. Every time you think you couldn’t possibly love Harry any more than you do at present, he takes two seconds out of his day to unknowingly prove you wrong. It’s one of those things he’s really good at; making you fall deeper and deeper until you’re drowning in your absolute fondness of him.

Once you can come up for air, you take his advice and ease yourself into bed. You don’t let yourself fall asleep though. A bath sounded really nice.

#wolfstar!daughter!reader #harry james potter x reader #wolfstar!daughter #harry potter x reader #harry potter x wolfstar!daughter #harry james potter x y/n #harry james potter x wolfstar!daughter #harry potter x black!reader #harry potter x fem!reader #harry james potter x you #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #harry james potter imagine #harry potter imagine #hjp x wolfstar!daughter #hjp x y/n #hjp x you #hjp x reader #hjp #harry potter x wolfstar!daughter!reader #harry potter reader insert #x reader #reader insert #harry james potter #harry potter #harry james potter x fem!reader #Harry James potter oneshot #hjp oneshot #harry potter oneshot #h

[reidscanehand]

The Goodness, Love

Song Fic Inspired by the line: "Do you know I could break beneath the weight of the goodness, love, I still carry for you?" from 'Unknown/Nth' by Hozier Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAUfem! Reader Category: Angst/Fluff TW: mentions of when Hotch and Jack were in witsec due to threats from Mr. Scratch, insecurities, cursing, consumption of alcohol by legal adults

~ "Do you know I could crash beneath the weight of the goodness, love, I still carry for you?" - Hozier ~

Having to stay in hiding due to the threat of Peter Lewis wasn't the ideal way to go about it, but it did mean that Aaron Hotchner got to finally be a stay-at-home dad to Jack. And, despite the fact that Peter Lewis was no longer a threat, the benefit of the time in WITSEC meant that Aaron was able to realize that that was exactly the life that he wanted to be living. Fortunately, his team being the amazing family that they are, completely understood. In fact, David Rossi insisted upon throwing him a going-away party. Rossi's house is stunning, as always, and the team really loves any opportunity to dress up and celebrate.

"Proud of you, you know?" Rossi says as he hands Aaron a whiskey soda.

"For finally retiring?" Aaron asks, smiling and taking the drink.

"For recognizing when it's healthy to step away," Emily Prentiss answers for Rossi, stepping up to the two of them.

"You're just saying that because you're in charge now," Aaron jokes.

Emily laughs and grins, "A little bit, but, no, really, boss. It's good for you. You look healthier than you have in years."

"Yeah?" Aaron nods. Emily is called away by Will and Aaron mutters to himself, "I wish everyone thought that."

"She definitely does, Aaron," David replies quietly, glancing as nonchalantly as possible over to you.

You, who hasn't yet spoken to Aaron other than a small wave and a "hi" when he'd gone into the office to formally resign. But you haven't spoken, not really. You'd entered the party - looking, in Aaron's opinion, rather ridiculously stunning in a deep, crimson summer evening dress that fits you just right, the just above ankle length skirt's ends fluttering in the breeze every so often - and murmured a shy and deeply impersonal, "congratulations, Hotch" before moving to the drinks table with JJ and Will. And this would've been entirely innocuous if you hadn't called him "Hotch".

Hotch.

Not what you'd typically call him. Not what he wants you to call him. No, he wants to return to the fondness and closeness the two of you had when he was on the team. But he doesn't know how to do that. And it seems as though you might not want to. He wasn't your boyfriend...he wasn't even close to that, but GOD he'd wanted to be. He still wants to be. He'd be happy to hold you in any capacity you'd be comfortable with, but this? This awkward and uncomfortable avoidance...this abject silence on which you've landed... It's almost too much to bear. Ever since they’d gone into WITSEC, Aaron’s heart had felt heavy. He’d thought it was because of Peter Lewis, but it’s still heavy now that they’re out of hiding. He's thrilled - beyond thrilled, really - to become a stay-at-home dad, but he knows he's leaving a whole lifetime of things behind. And if that includes you? He's not sure he'll be able to live with it.

"Hey," Spencer says, entering Dave's backyard. "Sorry, I'm late." Spencer gives Aaron a small hug and hands Dave a bottle of wine he brought.

"No worries," Dave assures him. "Tara's still running late."

"I'm sure," Spencer nods knowingly, straightening his navy blue cardigan, "traffic's dreadful."

"Hey, Spencer," you call jovially, waving to him from next to JJ. He beams and crosses to you, wrapping you in a huge hug.

And the ever so slight intimacy of this, the fact that he feels as though he could kill for a greeting like that from you makes Aaron almost throw up.

~~~

"Wondered where you'd run off to," your voice interrupts his thoughts. Aaron turns from where he's sitting, poised on the end of Dave's desk, staring out at his gorgeous view. The lawn, where the rest of the party was still taking place, wasn't visible from this window, which meant no one could see Aaron either, as he intended.

"I just, um, needed a breather," he lies uncomfortably. He feels like a coward for running away, but he could almost feel himself turning green as you greeted Spencer and then Tara with more affection than he dared to hope for since your slight coldness toward him had started. And a lawn full of profilers was hardly the audience to attempt to hide from.

"Sure," you say, and he tries not to take in your every move as you cross into the room, sitting down at Dave's desk, Aaron's back almost entirely to you. Neither of you says anything and it's just long enough that it would be almost more uncomfortable to break the silence.

Still, the silence feels like drowning. He wishes you could anchor him somehow. He can feel you staring at him, but can't bring himself to turn and face you. He needs you, but he almost can't bear it. He can't remember an uncomfortable silence with you because there never were any. Moments between the two of you were filled with work - he honestly had felt as though you could read his mind when the two of you were solving cases together - or easy conversation and laughter - he'd never known such a simple, straightforward comfort with anyone - or comfortable, companionable silence. Completely unlike this.

"It's a little odd, though," you break the silence, your voice, if Aaron's not mistaken, nearly cracking with the effort.

"What is?" he asks, barely looking over his shoulder, not sure his heart can make it if he sees you.

"You needing a breather from the people you're leaving behind," you almost whisper.

His brain is fully in control, ignoring the panging of his heart as he stands and turns to face you.

"Leaving behind?" he almost sputters.

You look away from him, biting your lip. You look almost ashamed, "Sorry, that's unfair."

"I'm not-"

You continue like he isn't speaking, standing from Dave's desk, still not looking Aaron in the eyes, "I know that Peter Lewis was...beyond anything really. And I know that Jack is the most important thing in the world and should be that's not wrong of you, and-"

Aaron crosses to your side of the desk, trying to "I'm not leav-"

"And I know that you have always gone above and beyond in this position and I know that you have lost...you have lost so much more than you deserved to lose, but-"

He steps closer, "I'm not leaving-"

"But...it's so terribly, terribly selfish of me, but Hotch I can't bear the thought of the BAU without you and...and while you were gone, it was hell. I was so worried about you and...and..."

You stop, taking a staggering breath. Aaron stops, just a breath away from you now.

"Aaron," he whispers when you don't start speaking again.

Your eyes, previously determinedly staring at his shoes, immediately jump to meet his own, "What?"

"You call me Aaron," he explains. "Not Hotch, never Hotch. Not from you, I can't...I can't bear it from you."

You swallow, but don't look away, "I...I couldn't call you Aaron. Not while you were gone."

"Why?" he asks, his hands itching to pull you to him, to take your hands, anything.

"Because," you rasp, a small tear falling down your cheek, "if something bad happened to you, I would never have to say that something bad happened to Aaron...to my Aaron."

"Your Aaron?" he asks, his voice barely above a breath, reaching up and wiping another tear as it rolls down your cheek, his hands awkwardly returning to his sides when he’s done.

"Yes," you reply. "And...now that you're leaving I can...it's so stupid, but I don't have to goodbye to...to my Aaron."

He stares down at you, not quite sure how to say what he needs to and knowing full well he can’t get through it without crying.

“I’m not leaving…” he starts, trailing off because he is leaving the BAU, but he begins again fairly easily, shocking for how heavy his heart feels, “I mean I’m leaving-I’m leaving the BAU. But I-I’m not leaving you. If you don’t want me to, that is.”

You stare at him, eyes wide as though you hadn’t expected it. Aaron doubles down, finding the strength to take your hands despite the shaking of his own.

“Because the thing is,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper, so quiet he almost can’t hear it over how loud his heart is beating. “The thing is…is that I-I really rather like the idea of being yours. A-and if it suits you…I want you to be mine, too.”

You’re quiet still for only a moment before a tiny smile breaks over your lips, “Really?”

“Of course,” he sighs, his hands rushing to cup your jaw, “I-I’m so sorry I didn’t make that clear, but I would…I don’t think I’d be happy without you in my life.”

“I thought you…” you trail off, looking slightly embarrassed. “I was sure you’d forget about me.”

“Forget about you?” Aaron nearly laughs. “Oh, oh my girl, my heart would never let me forget you. It’s been carrying on without you for too long.”

You stare at him, a huge smile growing on your lips, “Well, then… I guess we’ll have to fix that.”

And as your lips brush against his for the first time, it’s as though the weight is finally lifted and Aaron’s heart feels lighter than it has in months.

~~~

~ You were like an angel to me.” - Hozier ~

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[violentdelightsandviolentends]

For Eternity. (A Sequel to The Orange.)

You and Jake share an orange. He's never loved you more.

This is a sequel to The Orange, but can absolutely be read as a stand alone <3

Pairing - Jake Seresin x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - Cursing, a little smooching

Word Count - 2614

Author's Note - hi, me again. I hope you enjoy this part 2 of The Orange. I loved that first fic so much, and whenever I go to write Jake, it seems to occur in that universe, so I thought why not make a sequel just as sweet as the first. as always, requests or thoughts, send them my way. all my love x

Masterlist. Requests.

Jake Seresin has always been an awful dancer. Like, seriously, genuinely, terrible. It was one of the main reasons, it turns out, that you fell in love with him.

Upon first glance, Jake seems perfect. Ken Doll perfect. Cover of Vogue perfect. Carved by the Gods perfect. He’s stunningly handsome, ridiculously charming, and one of the best fighter pilots the US Navy has ever seen. He seems almost too good to be true.

Then you see him dance. And you realise that maybe he isn’t quite as perfect as you first thought. It makes you love him 10 times more.

It hasn’t stopped him, though. The two of you have spent countless nights gliding around your kitchen in your socks, slipping this way and that, jumping to the beat of the 90’s R&B that Jake loves so much. On more than one occasion, he’s twirled you around like a ballerina in a music box, sending you both flying precariously into the counters. Strong arms come up to wrap around your middle, steadying you always. He’ll never let you fall.

You didn’t realise that it was possible to fall more in love with someone every day. You can’t help but ask yourself – when does it end? When will my cup finally be full? When will I reach the limit?

Jake pulls you back every time he can see you floating away.

He holds your hand, looks at you with those aquamarine eyes of his.

He says, “I love you,” but really, he means - love is not a finite resource.

He kisses your forehead, but he’s telling you - your cup can never be full. It’ll just keep spilling over.

His soft lips find yours, and he’s promising – our love will keep expanding forever. It’ll take over the universe and everything will be beautiful.

You’re convinced you must have been a saint in a previous life to be loved like this now. You didn’t know that a human being could love another human being so unconditionally, so completely, until you met Jake.

Sitting at the bar that day, all those years ago, your universe cracked and shifted. Juice from the orange still sticky on your fingers as you dug them into Jake’s cheeks, trying to pull him impossibly closer. Salt on your skin mixing with his as you pressed your foreheads together. Citrus on your lips where Jake had licked into your mouth. It was as if the Gods above had placed the blond man in front of you and said here. Have something good for once.

You knew, from that moment on, that you would never take him for granted. No one gets to love like this. No one gets to be loved like this. It’s rare, and it’s beautiful, and it’s a gift to be unwrapped and savoured every single day. Which exactly what the two of you have done.

The minute Jake had kissed you, sitting on those bar stools, orange peel filling the air with the scent of a promise, the two of you had become inseparable.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

After every late night shift at The Hard Deck, Jake would be waiting for you, leaning against the back door with a smirk on his face that said he knew something you didn’t. He’d pull you in to him, press his chest against yours, and inhale, as if it was the first breath he’d taken all day. Then he’d push you up against the side of the bar and kiss you stupid, until you both felt drunker on love than any alcohol could ever manage. He’d pull away and beam at you with that million dollar smile of his, before slipping his hand into yours and walking you the scenic route home, just so he could have an extra 10 minutes in your presence.

This routine was a daily occurrence, until one evening, you decided the fleeting kisses weren’t enough. He walks you home, right up to your front door, and presses his lips to yours in a goodbye. Just as he goes to turn on his heel, you grab him by his belt loops and pull him closer.

“Don’t go,” you whisper against his mouth. “Need you to love me a little more.”

His eyes blow wide, and for a split second he looks like a deer in headlights. Then, regaining his composure, he finds his confidence again.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Yeah, Jake,” you sigh, still millimetres from his lips. “Want to feel you.”

How can he say no to that, when you’re saying his name so pretty?

He shakes his head, grinning from ear to ear. Placing his hand gently on your throat, he murmurs,

“Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Been waiting my whole life for you.”

He opens the front door behind you and walks you backwards into your house. You don’t make it more than 3 steps inside before he has your shirt over your head, kicking his shoes off at the same time.

“Don’t know how I lived without this. Can’t get enough,” he tells you. He’s looking at you so intently, you feel the sudden urge to burst into tears. The love you have for each other is filling the room, making it hard to breathe. It surrounds you, fills your lungs, makes you feel like you’re both floating. He pulls you back to his lips as if you’re his oxygen, his life source, his sanity.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “I want to tell you that I love you, but it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Enough?” you question.

“Love isn’t a big enough word. It doesn’t even begin to describe whatever it is I’m feeling. I’m going crazy with it, sweetheart. I can’t breathe without you. I don’t want to.”

You exhale. It’s as if he’s read your mind.

“Love will have to do,” you tell him. “It’s the only word we have for now.”

He’s kissing you again, hands tangled in your hair, body pressing into yours. You’re vaguely aware that you’re both swaying, too in love to stand still. It’s thrumming though your veins, keeping you levitating above ground.

“It’s everything,” he says when he pulls back for air. “You’re everything.”

You figured that eventually, the electricity in your bones would calm down. That in time, the love would level out, and wouldn’t feel so all consuming.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s been two years, and as you sit on the third floor balcony watching Jake dance with his nieces below you, you’re worried that you might spontaneously combust. The love has only got stronger with each passing day, lighting your world and guiding you through. Your body is alive with it – it’s like you’re invincible. Jake’s love is a shield, protecting you, like a forcefield.

He still can’t dance, though.

He’s picking up the youngest girl, Hailey, and spinning her around, throwing her up into the air as she squeals with delight. Of course, he then turns to Ava, and does the same to her, both of them revelling in being the centre of their Uncle Jake’s attention. He has that ability. When Jake’s focus is solely on you, it feels like you’re the only person in the world.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

That first day that Jake walked into The Hard Deck, he strolled over to the bar with the confidence of 10 men and ordered a beer from you. He gazed into your soul with those ocean blue eyes, and you could have sworn the rest of the room faded away. You’re still not sure if you were looking at each other for 5 seconds or 5 minutes. All you knew was that no one had ever been able to see you so transparently before. It was as if he was reading you like a book, with no judgment whatsoever. He saw you exactly as you were. And he loved you for it.

You’ve confessed to him the worst parts of yourself, your secrets, your desires, your worries, your shame, your hopes, your dreams – everything. And he listens. He watches you with those careful eyes, nods his head, asks all the right questions. He listens like there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be than talking to you. The rarity isn’t lost on you. This never happens to girls like you, you think. But that’s where you’re wrong. Because Jake Seresin loves you so much that sometimes it sweeps him off his feet. Sometimes, he has to hold onto something and steady himself because the force of his feelings for you sends him into a tailspin. The adrenaline of flying a plane is one thing, but that warmth he gets in his chest when you beam a smile at him is a complete other. No jet manoeuvre could ever give him the headrush that you do when you wink at him across a crowded room. Yes, Jake Seresin used to be a notorious ladies man – a player, a heartbreaker, a sneak out of bed before breakfast kind of guy.

But that’s because he was waiting for you. His whole life, he’s been waiting for you.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re so lost in your thoughts that it takes you a moment to come back to reality. When you do, you look down and realise that Jake is no longer on the dance floor. Hailey and Ava are back with their parents, the four of them dancing and spinning to the beat, laughing as they go. The blond hair, the blue eyes, the cheeky grins – it almost feels like a vision of the future. Jake looks just like his sister, and her daughters look just like her. You know the Seresin genes are strong – yours wouldn’t stand a chance.

The evening is beginning to settle. The sun is setting, and a slight breeze blows the trees. Everyone is still dancing, singing and laughing, and the sound of it floats upwards towards where you’re sat smiling through the balcony railings. You wish you had a camera – but you also know no photograph could ever capture the joy that radiates around this beautiful setting. The lights on the barn twinkle as the dusk creeps in, illuminating the faces of the people you love the most. Bradley, Natasha and Bob are dancing, if you can call it that, while Javy, Reuben and Mickey are stood a short distance away, smiling at them like idiots. If you could freeze time, you would. You’re not sure any moment will ever be as perfect as this one.

You feel his presence before you hear him. Warmth appears in the doorway behind you, and you know without looking that it’s Jake. You can smell the familiar scent of salt, sunshine, and sandalwood. The smell of home.

“Hi, Mrs Seresin.”

He hasn’t come into your eyeline yet, but you can hear the grin on his face. He can’t see it, but you’re wearing a matching one.

“Hi, husband.”

He steps onto the balcony, and wraps his strong arms around your middle, pressing his nose into the junction of your shoulder and inhaling.

“Fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you calling me that.”

He scatters kisses along your shoulder, up your neck, and onto your cheek, chuckling as he feels you giggle against him. He turns you in his arms so you’re facing each other.

“Got worried for a sec. Thought maybe you’d bolted.”

He nudges his nose against yours, megawatt smile still plastered on his face.

“After I’d married you? What would be the point in that? If I was gonna run, I’d have done it before we said I do.”

He pinches your sides lightly, making you yelp, both of you laughing. The sound of it echoes through the air, the soundtrack to your evening.

“You okay?” he asks genuinely, eyes scanning over your face. The softness of it makes you want to melt.

“Of course I am. Just wanted to take a minute. Savour the moment, you know.”

He nods back at you, and presses his lips to yours. No matter how many times you kiss Jake, you can never get enough. You’re always begging each other for just one more. You’d stay here with your mouth on his forever if you could. You can only hope that when your time comes, you take your last breath with your lips pressed to his – a last image of your love.

“I brought you a gift,” he says when he pulls away.

He retreats into the room, and comes back with an orange in his hand. A bright, beautiful, bold ball of light in his palm. A promise.

A tear escapes your eye at the gesture. Oranges became something sacred to the both of you after that first one you shared on the bar of The Hard Deck. Neither of you can eat them in everyday life anymore. They’re solely reserved for special occasions, momentous moments.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When Jake proposed to you in the dim light of your kitchen on a random Friday evening, you knew your answer immediately. You’d been dancing around, swaying in each other’s arms, when all of a sudden, he stopped moving and looked you dead in the eyes.

“Marry me,” he said with so much assurance it made you dizzy. Like he’d never been surer of anything.

“You are the love of my goddamn life, honey. I always thought soulmates were a thing of fiction, and then I walked into The Hard Deck that night and I just knew. You started peeling that orange that day and I just knew. I am going to love you for eternity – there’s no doubt about that. So, marry me. Marry me, baby.”

You jumped into his arms and kissed him so hard that the both of you fell to the floor, laughing on the cold kitchen tiles.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes,” you replied between kisses.

He beamed at you with a grin so bright you were worried the lightbulbs were going to shatter. You were sure yours was just as sparkling.

Jake rose from his place on the ground, reaching up for something on the counter. A part of you wonders if it’s a ring, but then he produces something better. An orange. The brightest, ripest, most promising piece of fruit you’ve ever seen.

You split it while sitting on the kitchen tiles, drunk off each other, leaning into Jake’s side like you can’t get close enough. You’re convinced it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Now, Jake starts to peel the orange, before pausing and shrugging off his suit jacket. God, he looks so handsome in his tuxedo. You think he looks beautiful no matter what he wears, but there’s something about that man in a suit that makes your knees want to give out.

He places the jacket over your lap.

“Don’t want you getting orange juice on that pretty white dress,” he smiles, resuming his place next you.

He peels the fruit and splits it in half with practised precision. Almost like he’s done this before.

You eat your halves in silence. No words are needed. You love Jake, and Jake loves you, and today all of the people you both love most in the world got to watch you declare that to each other. And now here you are, sharing an orange with the man you’re going to share oranges with for eternity.

Jake Seresin is in love with you. Nothing else matters.

#fluff #reader insert #fanfic #hangman #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin x reader #hangman top gun #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick #Top Gun maverick fluff #female reader #glen powell #hangman x reader #Hangman x you #Hangman fluff #hangman imagine #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x you #rooster x reader #hangman x wife!reader #jake seresin x wife!reader #Top Gun maverick x reader #jake seresin smut #hangman smut

[blue--ingenue]

"Evasive Maneuvers" - Part 5

Read the next part

Summary: You've been in love with Sebastian since the moment you knocked him on his arse on your first day. Entering your sixth year, you finally begin working up the courage to confess your feelings when he suddenly becomes the best Beater Hogwarts has seen in decades - and subsequently becomes the school's most eligible bachelor.

Author's Notes: i apologize for the long wait, but this is also the longest chapter yet, so i hope that makes up for it :) oh, boy. seb is Messy and smitten and definitely isn't picking up on Ominis' sarcasm. this fic would be so much shorter if our boy knew how to talk about his feelings, but fortunately unfortunatly this is not the case, so here we are. anyway, eat up, and let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment Sebastian had become distant. One day he was walking her to her dormitory after dinner, like he always insisted upon doing, and the next morning he was avoiding her like the plague. His absence was so complete that she couldn’t even approach him to ask what was bothering him. He would slip through the door the second each of their shared classes was over and she’d be lucky just to catch a glimpse of him in the halls, if at all. After three days of frustratingly trying to track him down, she resorted to sending him an owl. She felt absolutely ridiculous as she scrawled a hasty ‘Meet me in the Undercroft after dinner. I need to know that you aren’t truly avoiding me.’

They had been practically inseparable for the past few years, and now here she was, sending him post as though they didn’t live beneath the same roof. She held her quill just above the scrap of parchment before adding ‘Please.’ There. He’d never denied her anything before, but she wasn’t about to take her chances. Not when she missed him so. The subtle begging tone in her message was the last weapon she had left in her arsenal. After impatiently blowing on the drying ink, she folded the note and held it out for Astra to clutch. As her owl flew off with the desperate message she silently hoped today would be the last day she endured his absence.

-

Wind snapped the tails of Sebastian’s robe as he pushed his broom to fly faster. He’d pushed his goggles to the top of his head to keep his curls from blocking his vision, which meant that every gust of air sent his eyes watering over and over again. He didn’t care. The sting was a welcome sensation that kept him grounded as torrents of confounding emotions roiled through his mind. Ever since his earth-shattering revelation in Potions, Sebastian had steered clear of her. He was hanging onto a ledge, torn between telling her and swallowing down his affections lest she see him as nothing more than a friend. He could feel the gravity of the former option dragging at his resolve, but the fear of rejection was a far more vicious motivator to keep hanging on. 

He curled his fist tighter around his bat, leather gloves creaking under the strain. This was the last bit of practice he’d get before the anticipated Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match this afternoon and he didn’t intend to squander it. The two bludgers he’d charmed to fly about and aim at him were circling just beneath. He pulled his arm in and back, preparing to deflect as the wind whistled and parted around the first bludger shooting toward him. He waited until it was just barely within arms’ reach - and felt a satisfying crack as his bat made contact. He had half a mind to fling every bludger right into Weasley’s stupid charming face. He knew he harbored feelings for his Gryffindor. Nobody looks at mere friends the way he had gazed at her in Potions. He would know. 

And the way she had frantically ripped his cloak from his body? He knew she had only done it to spare the rest of him from getting burned, but that didn’t stop Sebastian’s jealous mind from twisting the image into an entirely different possibility. Every night since The Incident his dreams had been plagued by thoughts of her ripping into the rest of Weasley’s clothes. Not in the Potions classroom, but somewhere far more intimate. Flashes of him kissing her senseless, of her gasping Weasley’s name, taunted nearly every waking moment. It was torture of the highest degree. Between the terror of losing her, the fledgling hope of letting himself love her, and every anguishing emotion in-between, Sebastian was an utter wreck.

It was like someone had struck him senseless and set him in the center of the Forbidden Forest telling him to find his way out without a wand. And so rather than choose a direction, he chose to stay right where he was. Avoiding the problem also, unfortunately, meant avoiding her. The logical, and by far the most terrifying, course of action would be to just tell her. Maybe she could let him down easy, and after a few weeks of awkwardness things could go back to the way they were before he - what? Before he bared his heart to her? Confessed that he’s loved her the entire time but he was too much of a bloody coward to say anything? No chance. Sebastian Sallow was known for many things, but not one of them was taking the easiest way out. He pulled off his goggles and ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. Despite the ache in both arms he felt more than prepared for the afternoon. He shifted his weight forward, angling the broom into an easy descent and hovering an inch above the ground. 

“Sallow!” a voice called to him from the entrance to the pitch. Imelda was waving him over, broom in hand and fully dressed in her captain’s uniform. Behind her the rest of the team were filing onto the pitch, setting their brooms down and stretching in the grass. He willed his broom forward and closed the distance between them in a single fluid motion. 

“I admire your dedication, but you should’ve been saving your strength for the match,” she chided him. He pulled his quidditch gloves from his hands as he dismounted and the broom fell the last few inches onto the grass with a soft thump.

“I was just about to head in for breakfast,” he explains. She cocks a brow at him, which is typically the sign that he’s missing something crucial.

“Sallow, it’s just past lunch. The match starts in less than an hour.”

What? That couldn’t be right. He thrust his hand into his pocket to check his watch and - Shit. He’d left it in the changing rooms. Imelda rolled her eyes without malice and pulled out two paper-wrapped packages. The smell of roast beef had him accepting both packages without thinking.

“Lucky for you, someone was keeping tabs on whether you’d eaten or not,” she scoffs as he unwraps the sandwich.

“Thanks, Imelda,” he says, truly meaning it, as he takes a greedy bite out of the roast beef sandwich. It’s his favorite, with a generous slather of mustard holding the thick-cut beef between slices of tomato, lettuce, and still-warm bread.

He scarfs down the first bite, intending to ask how she knew what his go-to meal was when she says, “I’m merely the messenger. She’s been looking for you all day. And with how tense things seem between the two of you, I figure you know exactly who I’m talking about.”

He freezes mid-chew and gulps the rest of the mouthful down. His stomach turns as his hunger dissipates and guilt settles in its place. Imelda clocks his change in demeanor and holds up a hand, silencing him before he can speak. 

“Whatever the two of you have going on, it has to wait until after the match. I can’t afford to have you distracted today. Can I count on you?” 

He pushes an affirmative around the lump forming in his throat and she relaxes, satisfied with his answer. As her form retreats toward the changing tents he rewraps the sandwich and carefully unwraps the second package. A vanilla scone sits nestled in the wax paper. The icing and butter slathered across the top have barely melted, which meant she must’ve waited until the house elves apparated a fresh batch just to grab him one. He shuts his eyes and groans. 

“I’m such an ass,” he tells the heavens.

“Indeed. Though I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to reach that conclusion,” a posh voice admonishes from behind him. He turns to face Ominis, the scone still clutched in his hand. The familiar red light pulses from the tip of his wand and he frowns.

“I’m guessing from the scent of vanilla that Imelda has passed on our mutual friend’s peace offering. Though from what I’ve heard, she isn’t the one who should be extending an olive branch,” he continues.

“I swear I meant to talk to her this morning. I just lost track of time,” he explains. Ominis sighs, a recurring sound that’s beginning to grate on Sebastian’s nerves despite the fact that he deserves every one of them. Ominis is her second-favorite Slytherin (after Sebastian, of course), and he finds it odd that they didn’t arrive at the stadium together. 

“Hold on, she is coming today, isn’t she?” he asks. Surely his recent antics weren’t enough to drive her away from the match? Ominis cocks a brow before confirming.

“She is. She told me that ‘nothing could keep her from cheering on her favorite beater’. Apparently she’s been making her own jersey to wear to the match with his last name on the back and everything.”

His whole body tenses and suddenly he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. Someone has lit a match in his chest, and every heartbeat spreads the thick, choking envy through every inch of him until it’s all he can think about. So he hadn’t imagined their affections yesterday. The gratification of being right is immolated by the raw jealousy drowning him breath by breath. He hears a high, incredulous laugh leave his lips and a hollow ringing in his head. Of course she would be cheering for Weasley. He could see her right now, clear as day, scrawling his name across a crimson jersey before pulling it on and skipping to the pitch. She wanted to cheer for Weasley? Fine. Victory would feel all the sweeter when Slytherin beat Gryffindor into the ground today.

He clenches his fists and balls up the untouched scone with the rest of the wax paper. “Whatever. I don’t know what she sees in that arrogant sod,” he spits.

“Me neither,” Ominis sighs. Sebastian allows himself to relish the miniscule victory. At least one person was on his side today.

-

Imelda had the team warm up by taking a few laps about the pitch for the next half hour. They were now huddled in the locker tent with Imelda standing before a blackboard laden with the maneuvers that were already drilled into their muscle memory. Although the flap was closed for privacy, the buzz of incoming students adding to an already-packed crowd told him they’d have quite the audience. Sebastian rolled his shoulders back and ran a hand through his hair. Good. He thrived under an audience. Imelda finished explaining a last offensive tactic to the other Chasers before turning to address the whole team.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how important this match is. Not only for our House, but for yourselves as well. If you want to represent Slytherin at the inter-school Championships, you need to play flawlessly. Not that I expect any less on any given day, of course,” she declared. Various noises of assent filled the room. She held every gaze with undivided attention. Although he and Imelda frequently bickered, he greatly admired her ability to galvanize a crowd. Seemingly satisfied with their response, she tightened her gloves and walked to grab her broom from where it was propped against a bench.

“Good. Now let’s get out there and show those amateurs how a real team wins a quidditch match.”

A round of cheers filled the tent as the rest of the players grabbed their brooms and made final adjustments to their uniforms and gear. Sebastian heard a deafening roar before Everett Clopton’s amplified voice announced the members of the Gryffindor team. Upon hearing Weasley’s name he adjusted the strap on his left glove, deciding then and there to channel every bit of his anger and frustration into playing the best game of his life. Beside him the other Slytherin Beater, Amelia Nichols, nudged his arm. 

“Rough night, Sallow?” she asked. The scowl that seemed permanently seared onto his face at any mention of Weasley must have tipped her off. 

“Just more than ready to blow off a bit of steam,” he grumbled. She snorted and went back to adjusting her gloves. “You and me both.”

The team lined up in their usual pre-flight formation, awaiting Everett’s announcement. He mounted his broom next to Amelia and gripped the handle, hovering a few inches above the ground. He heard Clopton announce Imelda as the Slytherin captain, and they pushed off. As soon as the tent flaps dropped back into place behind them, he couldn’t help the grin that took over his face. The crowd was huge. It looked like the entire school had turned up for the match. Sebastian let the adrenaline sing through his blood as they made their lap around the stadium. Students cheered as they flew past and he let the wind whip his curls into a frenzy. Sebastian hadn’t had the chance to fly before coming to Hogwarts. Though his parents owned a few brooms, he was too young to ride when they were still alive. And buying a broom had been out of the question when he and Anne moved into Solomon’s humble one-room cottage. 

Whipping through the air hundreds of feet above the ground made him feel invincible. In control. He felt far away from any problems that sank their claws into him the second his feet touched the ground. The raw power and adrenaline from exerting control over something so dangerous was addictive. He knew he looked damn good while doing it, and it certainly helped to have an audience, especially one as large as this. 

“And bringing up the defense are Beaters Amelia Nichols and Sebastian Sallow!” Everett boomed. At that Sebastian blew an exaggerated kiss toward the Slytherin stands. Imelda turned just enough to roll her eyes at him from the front of their formation before stopping in the center of the pitch. The team drifted down as one toward Madam Kogawa and the case he knew held the bludgers and snitch. The quaffle was already in her hand, and as soon as all players were within earshot she began repeating her usual pre-game reminders. But Sebastian wasn’t listening. His eyes were scanning the section of the Gryffindor stands she always sat in. She’d chosen it during his first practice. As soon as Imelda had released them he’d flown up to meet her. She wanted to make sure he could always look to the same spot, something about making it easy for him to find her so that he could focus more on the game. But as his eyes settled on her spot he saw that it had been taken up by a few Gryffindors whose names he hadn’t bothered to learn. 

The sting of disappointment flared into white-hot fury as his gaze landed on Weasley. He looked like he’d slept like a baby the night before. He was laughing at something one of the other Chasers had said, laughing without a care in the world. Prat, he thought. He decided then and there to aim every bludger at Weasley’s stupid grinning face. His stomach lurched as he remembered Ominis’ words. ‘Making her own jersey…with his last name on it.’ 

Of course. She must’ve chosen a new spot, one where her precious Garreth could spot her. He’d probably go wild the second he saw his name written across her. Sebastian didn’t realize he’d been pinning Weasley with a death glare until Amelia prodded him with her bat. 

“You alright?” as asked. He nodded tersely and gripped his bat until his knuckles cracked.

Two could play at this game. A shrill whistle pierced the crowd’s roar and he shot into the air.

-

By the last quarter of the game both teams remained locked in a deadly tie. They’d been neck and neck at 120 points for the last half hour, and if the Gryffindor Keeper didn’t slip up at some point, their only hope of victory lay with Will catching the snitch. Sebastian cruised alongside Imelda and another Chaser, shielding them for any bludgers that may try to knock them off their warpath to the Gryffindor goalposts. He hears the telltale whistle and raises his arm instinctively, smacking the bludger away from his teammates. It hurtles back toward the Gryffindor Beater who’d sent it their way. His eyes narrowed. Weasley.

The menace had the audacity to shrug his shoulders. “No harm no foul, Sallow!” he called as he zipped away.

Sebastian gritted his teeth and scanned the skies for the second bludger. As soon as it was once again struck their way he pulled his arm back, waited until it was a hair’s breadth from striking him, and smacked it toward the Gryffindor goalpost. The opposing Keeper ducked out of the way and the bludger struck the post, where his head had been a mere moment ago. That moment was all Imelda needed to toss the quaffle through the center hoop. It flew through and the resultant ding told him they were now ahead by ten points. If they could maintain their lead for the next five minutes, victory was theirs. 

Once Imelda and the two Chasers flying behind her were clear of the goal posts he gripped his broom handle and pulled up, flying well above the other players to scope out where he was needed. His eye caught on Henry, a fifth-year Chaser, who was doing his damndest to avoid being beheaded by one of the bludgers. Amos, the second Gryffindor Beater, seemed to be targeting the boy despite the fact that the quaffle was on the other side of the pitch. Sebastian shifted all his weight forward and dove for Henry, bat gripped firmly in hand. As he descended he looked to see if Weasley was complicit in the unnecessary attack, but the ginger was across the pitch defending his teammates. He flicked his gaze back to Henry and time seemed to slow. From this angle he’d have no time to duck and the damn ball would hit him square in the chest. Sebastian didn’t have to do the math to know that he wouldn’t walk away without a few broken ribs, at the very least. Without thinking, he threw himself in front of his teammate and prepared to swing. He never got the chance to strike. 

The air was punched violently from his lungs as the bludger hit him square in the diaphragm. In the second after impact he felt like retching as his vision whited out. He couldn’t breathe. Dully, he felt himself slam back into Henry, who gave way easily as he was knocked clean off his broom. He heard the crowd gasp as the Chaser plummeted toward the ground in freefall. Forcing air into his lungs he pushed himself forward until he was shooting downward at a near vertical angle. Mere meters before Henry hit the ground Sebastian caught him with two arms around his midsection and pulled out of the dive. He landed roughly in the grass with Henry safe in his arms, and froze on the pitch, dazed. Between the pulsating pain and his spotty vision he barely noticed the game had ended until Madam Blainey was pulling his teammate from his arms. She hastily thrust a vial of wiggenweld into his arms before attending to the unconscious Chaser. He uncorked the potion and downed it, nearly vomiting at the fresh waves of pain paralyzing him with each swallow. 

His teammates landed behind him and he registered shouts as his hearing came back in full force. Above the roar of the crowd Imelda was thumping him on the back. 

“You’re a bloody madman, Sallow!” she crowed. Around him the rest of the team were congratulating him for his heroics. Although the pain was ebbing, he still felt a bit dazed from the adrenaline rush.

Amelia ran up to Sebastian, pulling him into a hug and shouting, “We won!” He returned the hug gingerly, and erupted into a coughing fit when she squeezed him fiercely. At his gasps she pulled away, apologizing profusely. 

“I’m so sorry! I nearly forgot with all the excitement! Are you alright? Do you want me to fetch another wiggenweld?” She sounded genuinely panicked enough that Sebastian grasped her gently by the shoulders. He shook his head as his coughs subsided, trying to reassure her that he was on the mend.

“I’ll be alright. Honest,” he managed between gasps. She shook her head and pushed back his sweat-slicked hair. The warmth of the gesture was not lost on him, and he froze, watching her face shift from worried to…fond? And was she blushing before? Maybe he was just imagining things, shock and all. He realized his arms were still on her shoulders as she stepped closer to him, nearly flush with his chest. He gulped. 

“That rescue was incredible. Incredible, and stupid, and brave. Are you sure you’re not a Gryffindor?” she asked, smiling coyly up at him. For the first time Sebastian realized he towered over her by at least a head. She was so close he could smell her perfume, floral and heady, with a hint of vanilla. He parted his lips to answer, but fell short as he caught sight of Weasley. He was scanning the crowd of students that had stormed the field as soon as Clopton announced Slytherin’s victory. He was searching for something, or rather, someone. His Gryffindor. The one who irrevocably held his heart and was currently wearing his name across her body. The prat didn’t even have the decency to look disappointed at his own team’s loss. Something wicked licked up his spine. He let his gaze drift back down to Amelia, who was gazing at his lips with hungry eyes. 

He felt himself crossing an invisible threshold into somewhere wicked and vengeful. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, the action hollow as some part of him registered that the color was all wrong. 

“Fancy a victory kiss?” he asked, his voice low and rasping. Her lips curled into a hungry smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

At that he threaded a hand through her hair, shut his eyes despite the voice screaming wrong wrong wrong in his head, and kissed her. Deeply. He could hear the rest of the team egging them on as the celebration raged around him, but he didn’t care. For the first time in days the jealousy burning in his chest felt stamped out. He pulled away, gasping, and Amelia giggled. Her pupils were blown wide as she swayed and caught her balance by gripping at his uniform. He was just registering the dumbstruck grin on his face when Amelia’s gaze focussed on something behind him and she giggled again. 

“Whoops,” she whispered, releasing the front of his robe. He felt someone’s gaze on his back and his spine prickled as he spun around.

She was standing a few feet away. His Gryffindor. She was frozen in shock for a moment, just a moment, before her face twisted into a mix of hurt and disbelief that tore his heart in two. She was clad in green, and he had just enough time to notice the green and silver adorning her cheeks before a tear trailed down and smudged the paint. Her name had barely left his lips before she turned and ran. His stomach dropped and the pain of being hit by the bludger paled in comparison to the guilt currently eating him alive. He caught a single glimpse of her back before she was swallowed by the crowd. On her back, in hastily sewn-on letters, was his last name.

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Taglist: @snickette, @findingtruenorth23, @plooloo, @paganicher, @smilesworldsposts, @snoozebun, @crazyllamasurfer, @pixie-dustss, @margottheviking, @lollife1617, @milk-barrs-blog, @somethingiswrongwithme, @bleh-stupid, @stay-gray, @mrsbrookesallow, @lostgirl-28, @kateisnotheree, @doigettokeepyou, @dreamqueenkala

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x y/n #sebastian sallow #angst #fluff #ominis gaunt #garreth weasley #garreth weasley x reader #garreth weasley x mc #garreth weasley x y/n

[littlebluentebook]

Alastor x Sewing!Reader

Hi everyone! This is my first ever fic but I have read far more than anyone should in a lifetime! Please let me know if theres any criticism. Im open to other ideas and fandoms (that I will eventually make a list for.) I'm merging some chapters I have just because they're short or make better sense that way and tried tot keep things gender neutral. If I slipped let me know and I will go back and edit! This is probably super out of character but I did my best! Hope you all enjoy :)

Chapter 1 <3

You and your husband had always gotten along like a house on fire.

Every other week a client would come in asking for costumes and repairs for a speakeasy she sung and danced at.

"-just say Anne invited you love n' they'll be bound ta let you in!" she exclaimed while picking up her newest order for the night ahead.

"Well darling I'll just have to see if I've got any sort of plans." You said knowing full well you were going to come up with new patterns until eventually falling asleep.

"Come on Y/N, Ive been coming to you for months! Don't you want to see where all your heard work goes to?" Anne was definitely pulling your strings taking advantage of your curiosity. She had a point.

"I suppose you've gotta point Anne. What time are you starting tonight?"

"Nine!" She was bouncing up and down in excitement. " I've got to get going now doll! See you tonight!"

The jingle of the bells on the door signified she was gone. You started to realize what you agreed to and panicking.

"Oh my goodness gracious!" you stressed out loud, "what even am I going to wear! Im going to look ridiculous- I don't know a single soul there! What if I make a fool of myself?!"

Your thoughts battles for longer than you would like them to eventually grabbing a paper riddled with measurements no longer needed and started writing pros and cons of visiting Anne.

Pros: Cons:

Meeting new people! Showing up alone

Can make friends Looking like a buffoon!

New possible clients

Deducting that embarrassment is temporary, your cons list could easily be eradicated by breaking out of your shell and talking to others. Plus, Anne would be there and she was your friend... kinda? You considered her a friend but was unsure if she felt the same way. Well, she did invite you to visit her tonight, at the very least she will introduce you to her friends! There shouldn't be a worry.

With your mind finally set you heard the clock strikes four. Ashamed of how long you let your thoughts get the better of you, you got back to work. The task was to complete a keepsake blanket from a wedding. You created the dress for the newlywed, sitting for hours with her finding the perfect materials and creating patterns and designs for her. In the family, it was a tradition to create a quilt from the dress of the bride using the grooms suit as a border. All the pieces were cut and you could not wait to sew them together and create a stunning memento.

Chapter 2 <3

you knocked on a door two streets over from your shop. A short lady opened the door raising an eyebrow.

"And who might you be?"

"Im Annes... friend," you tried. "She comes to me for her outfits and graciously offered me the opportunity to come a view her performance tonight."

The lady's gaze hardened, staring at you intensely.

"It looks like I have got the wrong place then, I am so sorry to waste your time," you stammered taking a step back away from the door.

"Oh Mimzy! You mustn't be giving anyone trying to see me a hard time now!" Anne's bubbly voice spoke from behind the short lady who must be Mimzy. "Y/N is a good friend of mine! Works far too hard for me and deserves a break, plenty of time to relax!"

Mimzy bursted into a smile and reached for a hug. "of course! Welcome! Sorry for being all prude- just had to makee sure you weren't anyone coming tottery and ruin what I've got going for me here" she drawled.

"No ma'am of course not! Im just here to watch my friends performance then I'll be outta your hair, away from your 'do," you explained to Mimzy while she dragged you from the door to the bar.

"Nonsense my dear! Please have a drink and stay awhile!" you sat at the bar with Mimzy talking about how difficult it was to be a female business owner. No one takes you lot seriously!

The lights dimming and shinning on stage caught the room's attention effectively hushing all conversation. Anne sauntered to the center of the stage, dress shimmering. You recognized it as the most recent dress that you crafted for Anne. It was stunning on her.

"My oh my! Look at the handiwork that went into making that dress. Must of taken days!" a familiar voice chipped. You were unable to put a name to the voice but luckily Mimzy did it for you.

"Alastor," Goodness! The radio broadcaster! You had always loved his voice, you would have his station playing while sewing- waiting patiently for songs to end just to hear him speak. "Our dear friend Y/N made that specifically for our lovely Anne!" Mimzy exclaimed.

She admired your work while Anne sung and waltzed around the stage. You were incredibly proud of your work. Every detail of that dress took so much time and effort and turned out beautifully. The fringe was all hand cut, the lace took countless hours of stitching for the perfect design and finally the beads. Each bead had to be placed individually in the right spot on the dress to shimmer. It was a fine dress indeed.

"Y/N, how would you like to make dresses and suits for the rest of those who preform for me?" As soon as the song ended Mimzy had dropped the question, ensuring she wouldn't tale any attention away from Anne.

"Oh my! Why I would be honored and ecstatic to! Thank you so much for the opportunity Mimzy!" You were so excited! Sure the flapper dresses were hard work and time consuming, but now, seeing how they looked on a stage, in front of an audience, made you realize you didn't mind all the time and effort it took into making them.

Mimzy left her seat in an excited hurry to go get paperwork for you.

"You know," the broadcaster- Alastor leaned over Mimzy's now empty seat, "she goes on and on about how beautiful Annes dresses on stage are." The comment caused you to blush but he continued, grabbing your hand gently. "I must agree with her, although the lady behind the creation of this wonderful attire is much more beautiful than what she creates."

With that Alastor kissed the back of your hand with his lips. You were speechless.

Mimzy came back with paperwork and Alastor smiled at you. The three of you spent hours conversing, telling both jokes and stories.

"Oh my!" You glanced at the nearest clock- almost one in the morning. "I have got to get going! I have to open the shop in the morning."

"Do you ever take days off darling?" Alastor asked softly.

"Only Sundays. No one is out on Sundays!"

"Goodness! -at least let me walk you home. You know its not safe for a lovely person such as yourself to be out alone this late."

"Are you sure? I don't want to inconvenience you at all Alastor."

"Of course I'm sure dear, its not an inconvenience if its you." The words were rolling off his tongue and you blushed so hard it could have matched his vest.

"Your performance was amazing Anne! You are so talented, I have definitely been missing out, I am going to come back to watch you! " Enthusiasm and pride towards your friend took over. You wanted to let her know what you thought before you suddenly ran off.

"Thank you for coming out tonight for me. Sure was nice seeing a friend in the crowd!" A jittery wave of happiness washed through you at her last statement.

"Im so glad to hear you enjoyed yourself!" Mimzy gushed to you giving a farewell hug. "Blessed to know you'll be coming back doll."

"Of course! You have an amazing place Mimzy. This is a pleasant change of scenery compared to what I'm used to!"

With your goodbyes concluded you walked out the door arm in arm with Alastor.

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