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[acanthasdreams]

language of flowers - edmund pevensie ₊˚⊹♡

I have 2 posts based on arranged marriages already 😭 I swear it wasn’t intentional!!! Super last minute extra edited this to post out of the encouragement I got from the "yum marriage Edmund yum" anon btw, bless. Also is this lowkey hematolagnia (i had to google the right word) ????? I swear it’s supposed to be a cute moment, I’m not into blood I just find soul binds romantic😔 muah, acantha

It got lonely at Cair Paravel, with no one to talk to. So you take up making the wedding plans for you and King Edmund's arranged marriage. You can't seem to decide what flowers would match and decide to look in your favorite book. That's when Edmund discovers the fact you're planning your own wedding. Your souls become intertwined by a rose’s thorn.

🐇 . *. ⋆·˚ ༘ *༄

Sitting under a lovely tree at Cair Paravel's luscious gardens, you hold a book in your lap. 

“The Language of Flowers”, something you had brought with you from home. You knew you'd go back, Edmund would be the new ruler of your kingdom after all. But you had to miss feeling like a little girl, cozied up in your room alone, reading books about flowers and learning new languages.

You'd have to prepare for life as a queen, being married to a King you'd known only for a few months and spent little time with one on one.

In preparation for that however, you had no choice but to feel lonely.

While you had arrived with your father, and met your to-be husband. Both were caught in meetings about the arrangement, along with King Edmund's brother and sisters. You had no one to speak to, basically. Which led to the decision of taking up wedding planning to entertain yourself, it was a month away already.

And it was your wedding after all. You've had dreams of the day since you were a child. Of flower bouquets, perfume, and white lace. Getting walked down the aisle. You didn't want someone else to plan something outside your most important fantasies, so involving yourself was the best option at being productive and entertained.

That's why you were here, flipping through page after page of flowers, and seeming unable to pick a perfect choice for your wedding. Your head was stuck in the pages showing detailed watercolor images of your favorite flowers. 

The book brought comfort in the wedding planning, flowers were always true to themselves.

‘Chrysanthemums were a no-no.’ You didn’t hate the king after all. ‘Those are for the deceased.’

You were between lilacs and peonies… first love and prosperity. Or should you do both? You wanted luck for your marriage- arranged or not.

Hearing your name called from a small distance you looked up to see Edmund walking towards you, appearing from behind some rose bushes. Roses seemed to look good beside him, maybe those were a good choice too.

“I was looking for you. I finished a meeting with your Father early, thought I'd see how you were doing.” He shuffled his feet slightly as he finally stood in front of you. 

Edmund truthfully ended the meeting as early as he could to get a chance to see you. Sometimes he’d spot you walking around Cair Paravel, only mustering a small, “Hi…” in greeting. Sometimes he’d just watch you through the windows of the castle as you entertained yourself outdoors, he truly wished to just drop everything to see you more. 

Why were arranged marriages between kingdoms so complicated and time-consuming?

With all the planning of the arrangements to happen, he hadn't had time to give you. He felt disappointed he hadn't gotten to see you more often despite you being in the same castle (though it was certainly a big one). He had been dealing with meetings and training, running a kingdom before leaving to run another. 

He had initially surprised himself. 

He wasn't against the arrangement when Peter had brought it up, if anything, he understood it was somewhat his duty. You were a nice person, and rather pretty too. If he was to be your husband he knew it was important to prepare to take care of you the best he could.

“Hello, your highness.” You still smiled sweetly at him in a way that made his heart jump. Not that he’d show it. “I'm good, enjoying the gardens.”

You always found yourself smiling at him despite his frequent absence. You couldn't blame him for being busy either. It was hard to be angry at him when he was marrying you for the good of your kingdom. He was also witty, yet kind and gentle to you in a way that surprised you considering how you’d seen him act with his siblings from afar. 

The few times you'd had one on one were rather lovely either way.

“I told you to just call me Edmund. Remember, princess?” Though you were a princess, the way he said the title made it clear he was teasing you. He stepped forward and took a seat in the spot beside you, your shoulders barely brushing as he leaned back on the tree.

You giggled at his teasing and turned slightly to show him what you were looking at.

“Okay, okay…King Edmund. I've been looking at some flower options for the wedding. I'm having a bit of a hard time deciding to be honest.”

His name fell from your lips in a lovely way, and he snickered at you still choosing the formal route, knowing you were just teasing him back. He was about to focus more on your playfulness before he realized what you were talking about.

“The wedding? We had someone planning that, you needn’t worry about the details.” He said, his fingers itching to tuck your hair back. He couldn’t seem to help himself, and decided to gently brush a stray hair away from your face before you could respond.

The act made you warm in the face, you had to clear your throat to remember what you wanted to say.

“Edmund…I’ve been the one planning it. For the last two weeks.”

The admittance made Edmund’s heart sink a tiny bit. Not only had he not spent much time with you, but you’d taken up planning your wedding by yourself.

Tracing the petals on a drawing of lilies in your book, you found yourself feeling the urge to speak honestly. It was rare that you were in his presence and it seemed like a good chance to tell him how you felt about the whole ordeal.

“I know this is an arranged marriage, but it means a lot to me for it to be beautiful...and since you’ve been busy with other arrangements, it's the only thing I’ve found myself feeling less lonely doing.” You let out a soft sigh as you flipped another page.

‘Lilacs symbolize a range of positive meanings including innocence, youthful love, new beginnings, and hope.’ you read in your head, though you’d long memorized the different meanings of flowers in your favorite book.

Edmund couldn’t help but feel he should’ve been helping out more. Sure, he was better in planning for battle and not weddings, but you were his bride-to-be. He wanted to please you more than he could say.

“I apologize for not being around as much to keep you company.” Despite trying to hold back from his needy urges, he couldn’t stop himself for a second time, and took a gentle grasp of your hand to stop it from flipping through pages. 

He wanted your attention. Maybe if he was a flower in the pages of your book, your eyes would be on him more often.

“How about I help you now? What flowers were you thinking of?” 

How easy you melted at his soft touch. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escaped your lips before speaking.

“I-I had chosen a lavender color scheme, seeing as Cair Paravel's banners are in red and my kingdom's banners are blue- a good mix right?” Your words sped up as you spoke, feeling shy at sharing your way of thinking. Maybe you sounded silly in overthinking the details.

Edmund actually thought it was a brilliant idea, and smiled as to encourage you.

You cleared your throat as you tried to calm yourself back down again, “I was leaning towards purple peonies, or lilacs.”

His smile softly morphed into a smirk as he heard your choices. Trying to make you smile, he decided to tease you a bit,  “Well, I’m glad you didn’t choose flowers with a wicked meaning. It’d be bad luck to get married with black roses, or something. You don’t want to curse us to end up in divorce, do you?”.

You gasp in mock shock, “Of course not.” you gently shove his shoulder with a laugh, seeing as you’d fallen so comfortable with each other in the short time he’d come to spend time with you.

With a gentle shove in response to yours, Edmund decides to give his real option. He knew exactly what those flowers meant, and he was glad you'd chosen ones with a lovely meaning. He could only hope your marriage was prosperous and full of love.

“They both seem like good choices, why not both? White peonies and purple lilacs.” His hands seemed to enjoy touching yours, because one was holding yours as it held the side of the book now. He pretended to look at the flower on the page, if only because he enjoyed being near you.

He had to somewhat hate how easily he found himself showing affection towards you. He was known for being the quiet and unaffectionate one of the four Pevensies…so much for being mysterious and nonchalant. Your entire side was almost engulfed by him moving closer towards you throughout the interaction, and your heart was skipping in ways it hadn't before.

“Thats a good idea, white peonies and lilacs are certainly a good pairing…I'm glad you like my flower choices, my king.”

Your hand trembled slightly from the nerves, but he held it securely in place. Edmund couldn’t help but smirk to himself, knowing he had an effect on you.

My king, also sounded perfect coming from you

“Is there something wrong?” He spoke, softening his tone in a way that surprised him considering he had an urge to tease you about being nervous at his close proximity. His soft voice was one he didn’t use very often. Not since Lucy had grown past 4 feet at least.

“I'm just…surprised. You've been so busy. I always fall into the assumption we won't act like we are close.” You let go of his hand as you shut the book, if only to fidget with a braid in your hair. Your heart palpitating seemed to make your hands a little sweaty.

“It surprises me how despite us not knowing each other much, you still fall easily to being around me.” Fidgeting with your hair more, you finally have the strength to give him a little glance.

“But at least I know you'll be a great husband.”

Edmund cracks a smile at this, leaning his head back onto the tree. His side profile was beautiful, and you could only imagine what tracing his features could feel under your fingertips.

“I appreciate that. But you'd also be surprised by how I have to...” He never thought he'd admit this…but he thought maybe it'd bring a little comfort to you. “I have to fight the urge to run out of every meeting. I fall into it easily because I would like to spend more time with you.”

The heat finally rises to your cheeks, and you know it's not caused by the setting sun shining it’s warm light into the garden. With the idea of taking initiative like he had, you gently take hold of his hand. You tried not to show the shakiness in your voice.

“I would like to make the most of our time together right now. Would you like to take a stroll through the gardens with me?” 

The smile that blossomed on Edmund’s face seemed like one you'd never get tired of. You wondered if he would smile the same when he stood across the aisle from you.

“I'd like that.”

With his help to get up, you left your book under the tree and instead hooked your arm through his to walk down the gardens. You were particularly taken by the rose bushes he'd walked past earlier.

“What’s your favorite flower, Ed?” Your empty hand brushed the velvety petals of the roses as you ask.

Edmund can't help but notice the tenderness in this act, the nickname added to the feeling he got in his chest. He wondered if you'd ever reach to touch his cheek with that gentle touch of yours.

He tilted his head to the side, his gaze softening as he considered your question. He'd never gotten asked what his favorite flower was- probably ever.

"My favorite flower?" He repeated, a small smirk formed on his face as he looked at you. "Lilacs and peonies." He decided.

“Lilacs and peonies?” You raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Are you sure, my king? It sounds like you're just picking those because they’ll be our wedding flowers.”

You giggled softly, giving his arm a small squeeze as you unhooked your arm from his.

You crouched down to look at the flowers more closely. The roses were truly beautiful, and you carefully found a thornless spot on the stem to break it off. 

He watched you with a tenderness in his eyes. Finding himself feeling glad that his arrangement was to someone like you, who was thoughtful and gentle.

“And what of it? Those are lovely flowers.” He said, watching as you took a long whiff of the rose in your hand with that smirk still dancing on his lips.

“Okay, okay…you're right.” You respond, chuckling yet again. 

“I like roses. These are very fragrant. The wedding hall would smell lovely with them…Should we change it from peonies?” You seemed to fall into your own indecision again over flower options as the smell of roses filled your senses.

Edmund found himself worried over the thorns on the stem of the rose you held. But was immediately distracted as you stood up to brush the petals on his nose, getting him to take a whiff himself.  The soft petals tickled his nose. 

‘How bold of you to shove a rose up a king's nose’, he had to think in jest.

“They are, and if you wanted to change them, we could.” He chuckled, using his hand to lightly push the nose away from his nostrils, “Please be careful with the thorns.” 

You were too blissful to care. Your king was with you, finally holding his attention on you and the smell of roses intoxicated you. Maybe you could have your lady’s maid make a perfume from Cair Paravel’s roses. They smelled too lovely to not use.

While lost in thought, the rose fell from your hand and onto the cobble of the garden paths. Reaching to pick it up, an angry thorn stabbed your finger.

“Ow…” you mutter sheepishly. Feeling embarrassed over hurting yourself after being warned by Edmund.

His eyes immediately widened at the sound of your hurt.

“Let me see.” He gently tugged your wrist towards him so he could better the damage the thorn had done on your finger.

"It doesn't hurt too bad...it was worth it to smell the roses." You smile sheepishly as you watch him gently look over the wound. His eyes held worry, and you felt the urge to kiss the worry lines between his brows away.

He gently took your hand in his, turning it slightly so the light could catch the small bead of blood on your fingertip. His brow furrowed enough to show that even something this small set his nerves on edge. He didn’t want you to get hurt, even if it was from something as simple as a thorn prick.

"Worth it?" he echoed, his voice laced with mock disapproval. "You’d bleed for a smell? What kind of reckless nonsense is that?" 

But then he did something unexpected.

In one swift, tender motion, he brought your finger to his lips and kissed the wound. Soft as the rose petals your fingertips had touched before.

"Better?" His cinnamon colored eyes flicked up to yours, half-lidded and teasing. "Or would you want another rose up your nose at the same time?” 

Your finger was left with the sensation of his lips on it. The wound had left a blood red stain on his lips that left you staring at them. 

"It does feel better, no roses needed. But it's funny…” Your eyes continued looking at Edmunds lips, should you kiss them clean? 

“In mythology I’ve read, taking a partner's blood to your mouth means your souls will be tied forever." You smirk a little, your words meaning to tease him over his actions. Though his kiss to make it better was a sweet action overall.

His heart raced in his chest as he realized what you meant. But a small smirk made its way to his lips once again.

"Then I suppose it's too late to take it back," he teased, voice suddenly lower. He didn't let go of your hand. In fact, he lifted it again and deliberately kissed your finger as another droplet of blood appeared.

"Consider your soul officially intertwined with mine." His warm gaze held yours, unblinking. "Can't have you running off now, Narnia has laws about betrothals. Plus, soul-bonding by a thorn prick? That’s binding even before the vows, princess.".

Your cheeks burned as he let out the spew of words, was your finger even bleeding when the blood had all rushed to your cheeks?

A beat went by as his lips kissed the back of your hand.

“Ed…you're crazy.” You couldn't help but laugh softly before biting your lip to think over the urge you had. “It's not like I'd leave even without you soul binding us as-per some book on myths and legends.”

Without a thought you leaned in to kiss the blood stain on his lips, metallic tasting yet as soft as a peonies.

“I'm more than happy to follow Narnian laws on betrothals, my king.” It was your turn to feel smug as you noticed the pink flush on your king’s pale, freckled cheeks, which you lightly brought your other (bloodless) hand to caress.

“Then…” He said, clearing his throat in an attempt to keep his composure, as if hadn’t just kissed your blooded finger and in his words- intertwined his soul with yours forever. “I would like your wedding bouquet to incorporate roses. Since we’ve been soul-bonded through them.”

You giggled at the sweet sentiment, nodding.

“Sounds like a lovely plan.” You kissed him again, but this time he kissed you back. It was all tender, an unexpected moment after two weeks of loneliness. 

“...Just as long as they don’t have any thorns” he muttered against your lips, teasing you yet again.

You had to agree, showing it in the continued kisses you gave his petal soft lips.

The rest of the afternoon was spent walking through the garden and sharing the language of flowers with each other, among more stolen kisses. And you later married with a bouquet of peonies, lilacs, and (thornless) roses. Ruling your kingdom with the love, compassion and kindness you shared for your Just King.

[raven-dor]

you were here

in which peter pevensie is injured, and you refuse to leave his side

PAIRING: peter pevensie x fem!reader, PLATONIC!pevensie siblings x fem!reader

WARNINGS: SET DURING THE GOLDEN AGE, secret (also forbidden ig) relationship, angsty angst, crying, hurt/comfort, kissing, slight nsfw

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

🎶 : runaway - aurora

AN: 🩵♥️💛💗 - i love writing for peter... he's just perfect!! happy reading!!

“He’s back!” 

You sat up in your bed, smiling at the girl who’d just barged into your room, pulling you from your rest. “Who is back?”

“The High King.” 

You tried your best to look entirely unbothered by the news. “Is that all?” 

“I believe it is quite serious.” 

“And what led you to believe that?” 

“He was brought in through the kitchens. From the looks of it, he was gravely injured in battle, barely breathing.” 

“Battle?” Your heart dropped. The trip was supposed to be a patrol of their borders; he should never have seen battle. You whipped the covers off your body, haphazardly donning your robe and slippers. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” The young girl sat down on your bed, watching curiously as you brushed your fingers through your hair. “Where exactly are you going?”

“I-” You couldn’t tell her, even though you so wished you could. “I will return, I swear. In the meantime, get some sleep.” 

“I will?” 

You raced out the door, slipping into the servants' passageways, the dark corridors as familiar to you as the back of your hand. It was barren at this time of night, most of the castle’s maids and footmen taking this time to rest. The glow of the hospital wing shone through the crack in the wall, and you pushed your cheek against it, watching as they worked. 

“Will he be alright, Maester?” Queen Lucy’s voice wavered. 

“He will recover, Your Majesty. Of that, I have no concern. It is the matter of when that we must determine.” 

“When?” Queen Susan was as gentle as always. “How long do you suppose he will take?” 

“Anywhere between three days and a fortnight, My Queen.” 

“A fortnight?” Queen Lucy shouted. 

“Lu, perhaps we should return to bed and let the Maesters continue their work,” Susan whispered. “It does no good to worry yourself into a stupor.” 

“Fine,” Lucy muttered. “Thank you, Maester.” 

“Of course, Your Majesty.” 

The maesters left soon after, the hospital wing eerily quiet, save for a stray kitten’s purrs. You pushed open the secret door, approaching the High King’s bed hesitantly. “Peter.” You hadn’t expected him to respond, but still, it was difficult to come to terms with it. His being unconscious. You found the nearest chair, placing it beside his bed. “I’m sorry.” 

He looked so peaceful. It wasn’t fair, you told yourself. The only time Peter was truly at peace was when he was injured, gone to the world in all the ways that mattered. You reached out, holding his hand in yours, eyes watering at how cold his skin felt. “Sleep, my love. I will not leave you.” A tear slid down your cheek, tickling your skin as it fell. “I swear.” 

Queen Susan’s hair was smooth, with hardly any knots. You always loved doing her hair; it was so simple, so long. The possibilities for styling were endless. Normally, this would be the best part of your day, playing with the Queen’s hair as if she were a doll. 

Now, you couldn’t bring yourself to be excited, your mind clouded with thoughts of Peter.

Of her brother.

“Are you quite alright?” The queen tilted her head. “You seem preoccupied.” 

You shook your head as if that would bring you back to reality. “I am sorry, my lady. I will focus-” 

“Your focus is not what I am concerned about.” The gentle woman turned in her chair, facing her lady’s maid. “Has something happened?” 

“Of course not, my lady.” 

“You must not lie to me.” She frowned. “You seem sadder than normal.” 

“I am simply tired, my lady. I assure you.” You continued to brush carefully through her dark tresses. “Now, what would you like done with your hair?” 

Susan turned back around, watching you closely. “You may have just weasled out of my interrogation, but that does not mean we are done with conversation.” She squinted her eyes. “I will find out.” 

“Of course, my lady.” 

She’d left soon after, only wanted a simple braid for today. She’d left three gowns she wanted hemmed, and you decided it would be best to finish the work beside Peter, just in case he woke up. 

You’d been one corner away from the hospital wing when King Edmund caught you. “My lady.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut before turning around, curtsying quickly. “You must not call me that, Your Majesty.” He was chivalrous and kind to a fault, too much like his brother.  

“I shall call you what I like.” He laughed. “May I accompany you?” 

“Accompany me?” 

“To wherever it is you are going.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you quite alright?” 

“Fine, my lord.” You smiled politely. “It is truly not necessary.” 

“Are you hiding something?” 

Your eyes all but fell out of their sockets. “I beg your pardon?” 

“You are being quite elusive, my lady.” He was having his fun, teasing you. If you were allowed to glare at the king, you would. “Is there a beau?” 

“If there is nothing else Your Majesty needs, I will be leaving.” 

Edmund nodded, laughing to himself. “My lady.” 

You all but ran to the hospital wing, slamming the door behind you. “Your brother is a menace.” Peter did not respond, not that you’d expected him to. You plopped down in the chair that still sat diligently beside him, starting your work. “He is just as you described him to be. He is also-” You glared at the unconscious king as if he could see you. “Just as persistent as you are. He called me ‘my lady.’ I do wonder who taught him to do that.” 

Your hemming went fast as you talked to the king, laughing as if he had made some witty comment or joke at his brother’s expense. 

Lucy had been passing by the wing when she’d heard it. Your laughter trickling out of the cracked door like a gentle creek. She peeked through, smiling at the sight. It seemed that you hadn’t even felt her gaze, too immersed in your work, in Peter’s presence. 

Peter had told her, before he left, the name of the lady who had caught his heart. She was glad it was you. Shocked, but glad, nonetheless. Not only were you kind, loyal, and confident, but you were also a wonderful lady’s maid, always willing to give honest advice on any matter her or her sister asked. 

“What are you doing?” Lucy jumped, whipping around to shove her brother. “You scared me.” She whispered. Edmund raised an eyebrow. “Why are we whispering?” He looked over her shoulder, now entirely too curious as to what she’d been watching. “What’s happening?” 

“Nothing!” Lucy squeaked. Peter had also told her before he’d left that it was a secret, a secret he hadn’t wanted anyone else to know. Especially their siblings. “Would you mind accompanying me to the kitchens? I fancy a scone.” 

He squinted. “Fine. But only because I fancy a scone as well.” 

The moonlight did little to illuminate the hospital wing, the candle on his bedside table holding a warm, soft glow. You stared at him, just stared as if you could never look at him again. You took in every freckle, every scar, every mark on his skin, each holding a perfect memory. 

A reminder of your time with him.

It had been three days since his return, since he’d been placed in this bed, and you had yet to leave his side for more than an hour. He’d developed a fever, the maesters explained that it was to protect his body from infections. 

You were glad about that small piece of news. Perhaps that meant he would wake up sooner.

Good, you thought. Your eyes were tired, tired from crying, from constantly worrying over him. From watching him. 

Still, you couldn’t close your eyes, because even a second too long brought back your last moments with him, your last words to the king who loved you haunting your every move. 

Sweat built up on his brow, no doubt from the fever. His baby hairs clung to his forehead, eyes squeezing as if he was experiencing a nightmare. You shushed him, whispering sweet nothings as you grabbed a cold towel, wiping his forehead clean. “It’s alright, my love. It’s alright.” He groaned, shaking his head, your eyes welling. You couldn’t handle seeing him in distress, and this was no exception. “I’m so sorry, Peter. So irrevocably sorry.”

“Am I to believe that this is our end?” The High King yelled at your back. His voice echoed down the hall, tears streaming down your cheeks in waves. You couldn’t face him, you couldn’t do this anymore. “This is how you leave me?” 

“I do not know what you want me to say.” You whispered. “I have told you what I believe-” 

“And you are wrong.” He stalked toward you, and you could hear his determined footsteps closing in. “On this very rare instance, you are wrong.” 

“Your Majesty-” 

“Do not call me that.” He hissed. “Why must you call me that?” 

You turned around, colliding with his solid chest. “Because we are in a rather public hall, Your Majesty. That is why.” 

“I don’t like seeing you like this.” He reached out, attempting to wipe away your tears. He frowned when you stepped back, glaring at him like he’d attacked you. In a way, he had. “I don’t understand. I thought you’d be pleased.” 

“In another life, I would be ecstatic, Your Majesty.” You wiped your tears away, knowing your eyes would be red and swollen the next day. “But I am a commoner, I’m not worthy-” 

“Stop saying that.” His voice was low, quiet, but just as bone-chilling as his yell. He was upset, upset that you were denying yourself, denying him, this happiness. “I will not hear it. Do not say that again, or so help me-” 

“Well, it is true.” You scoffed. “I am not a lady.” 

“You are.” He insisted. “You are a lady, in every way that matters-” 

“Except one.” You whispered, your voice weak from the screaming match you found yourself in. “Peter, please. People will talk, and they will be upset by your choice of a wife. You know this to be true, deep down. Narnia will not be pleased, Telmarine will not be pleased, Archenland, Calormen, they will all be-” 

“I do not care. I am the High King.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So you would knowingly fling your country into danger for the sake of love?” 

“I would.” He nodded, resolute, confident in his answer. 

“That is selfish.” You hissed. “Very selfish indeed.” 

“I am quite fine with this being the rare moment in my life I behave selfishly.” He stepped closer, hands reaching out, desperate to hold you. “My love-” 

“Stop.” Tears threatened to spill from your eyes for the umpteenth time that morning. “I am sorry, truly I am.” 

“No, you’re not.” He hissed, eyes practically red with hurt, with anger, with pain. “You must truly hate me to let us come to this. After all this time.” 

“You know that is not true. Not in the slightest.” You hissed back. “I have loved you with my entire being, with my entire soul. But I will not do this. I cannot.” 

“I could make you marry me.” He whispered. “I could make you, and we could be happy.” 

“You wouldn’t do that.” You smiled. “Because it wouldn’t be the same, it wouldn’t be what either of us wants. You are a good king, Peter. But you are an even better man.” 

“I need you.” A tear fell down his cheek. “Please.” 

“No.” You shook his head, hating how his cologne pulled you in, even now, in the middle of all of this. “You must-” 

“Then you are a coward.” The words hit you like a ton of bricks, like a slap still stinging your cheek. His words hit you harder than you cared to outwardly admit, your heart breaking into a million pieces.

“So be it. Narnia will be better off in the end because of it.” You whipped around, your last words all but well wishes. It was poisonous, harsh as could be. While the phrase could be heard as kind, loving, even, you both knew the truth. That would be your end, that would be your demise. “I hope for your safe return, Your Majesty.”

“Peter, wake up, and I swear I will say yes.” You meant it, you truly did. You’d wanted to say yes when he’d asked you, the frost-covered gardens empty save for the two of you, his cloak covering your shivering frame as he knelt. “I swear it.” 

He stilled, the nightmare, the fever, whatever had been startling him, passing. You wept, you laid your forehead against his hand, still held in yours, and wept. 

“You must eat.” 

You shook your head, fighting the urge to glare at the young girl. The young girl, or Jane, as you’d come to know her, had taken to you lately, always following you around and asking for your help, your advice. You had been so busy that, unfortunately, you never got her name.

Until now. 

Now, when she was trying to convince you to leave Peter’s side for food. Food that you knew you would pick at and hardly touch anyway, too overcome with anxiety to stomach anything. “I am fine, Jane. Thank you for your concern.” 

“At the very least, you must rest.” 

“I have-” 

“In a bed.” 

You could feel your eyes lulling shut simply from this conversation, the hours of staying by his side hitting you. “I could use an hour or so-” 

“Yes. Yes, you could.” Jane grinned, grabbing your hand and pulling you up from the seat. “He will be here when you return, I promise you.” 

“You may let go of me.” You smirked at the young girl. “I know the way.” 

“Sorry.” She frowned. “I was only trying to-” 

“Do not apologize, Jane.” You placed a comforting hand on her arm, smiling. “You are a kind girl, you know. It will serve you well.” 

“Thank you, my lady.” 

“Jane…” You sighed, laughing to yourself as you walked toward your chambers. “Do not call me that.”

The waft that the kitchen had produced pulled you in, almost as if a spell had been cast, and your stomach was now in charge of all decisions. The staff were clambering about, shouting out orders and ideas for the royal’s dinner. You carefully slipped in, nabbing yourself a small plate of bread, cheese, and meat. It wasn’t much, but it was something, something to quell your hunger. 

You sat by the window, watching the tradesmen below walk around, their voices carrying through the glass, even over the noise of the kitchen. The bread was warm, but not steaming. That perfect warmth that transported you back to simpler times, to when your mother had made bread daily, sneaking you slices before selling the rest at market.

“Your Majesty.” 

Your eyes widened, whipping around so that you could show your respect to whichever of the Pevensie siblings had graced the kitchens with their presence. “Please, there’s no need.” 

Ah, you smiled to yourself. It was Lucy. She was the kindest, by far. Not that her siblings were mean, quite the contrary, but Lucy held a certain light, a certain warmth for every one of her subjects. “Would you all terribly mind if I had the room for a moment?” 

Ripples of ‘Of course not, Your Majesty’ echoed through the room, the servants leaving the space as quickly as they could. You followed after, clutching the plate of food close to you. 

The door had been within reach when her voice rang through the room once more. “Not you.” 

Your heart dropped. “Have I done something wrong, my lady?” 

“I know.”

“Know what, my lady?” You prayed that she would expose what she knew before you accidentally gave away your most well-kept secret. 

“Do not insult my intelligence by feigning ignorance.” She smirked. “I know that you love my brother.”

“I-” 

“I saw you. Just the other day.” She took a step forward, watching you curiously. “Caring for him in the hospital wing.” 

“My lady, I am so sorry-” 

“I wanted to thank you.” She smiled. “It is rather kind of you, not that I was shocked by it.” You smiled back, finding it difficult to form words. “He told me of you.” 

“He-” Your heart skipped. “He did?”

“He talked of your wit, your courage, of your care for our people.” She laughed. “He said you were beautiful and impossibly stubborn.” You didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “It was the most beautiful thing, seeing my brother fall in love before my very eyes. I still remember the first time he brought you up at breakfast.”

“I have something to say.” Peter cleared his throat, face grave. 

Edmund still joked, muttering under his breath. “Don’t you always have something to say?” That had earned a hard jab in the side from Lucy. 

“Go ahead, Peter.” Susan smiled. “We’re listening.” 

“I have-” He looked nervous, something that he never showed, not even to his siblings. Lucy started to become nervous herself at the sight. “I have fallen in love.” 

“Well, that’s wonderful news!” Lucy grinned. “Just wonderful, Peter!” 

“Yes.” Susan nodded. “May I ask who it is?” 

“She asks me not to tell anyone.” He sighed. “She says that she is concerned about what the people will think.” 

Edmund scoffed. “And why would that deter her?” 

“Because she is a maid.” Peter’s voice was firm. “She believes the people will hate her, or something of that nature.” 

Edmund laughed. “That’s nonsense.” 

“That is precisely what I have told her,” Peter muttered under his breath. “Many, many times…” 

“What is she like?” Lucy inquired. “If we may know that much-” 

“We were overjoyed to hear of his courtship. I hope you know that.” She looked as if she was holding herself back from saying more. “You are a good lady’s maid and a close confidant. There is no other I would wish for my brother to love.” 

“I do not know what to say, my lady.” 

“You do not need to say anything.” Lucy placed a comforting hand over yours, squeezing gently. “I will take my leave.” 

You nodded, curtsying as she left the room. And then your legs gave way, your body crumbling to the ground like a pile of leaves in the fall. Guilt wracked through you, consuming your very being until it was all you could feel. 

Your argument had been pointless, your last moments with Peter a waste. If you had just-you couldn’t even entertain the notion, as sob after sob wrung through you. Your last words, said in spite, could be the last words that Peter ever heard leave your lips. 

It seemed that sobbing your eyes out for hours brought you the most peaceful sleep you’d ever known. Well, at least the most peaceful sleep since Peter had been admitted to the hospital wing. You assumed that it was your last encounter with Queen Lucy and the culmination of last week’s events that led to this. 

Your eyes had fluttered open moments before the sun had burst through your window, a rare occasion indeed. Your room was less than tidy, no doubt from your lack of attention and Jane’s occasional occupation of your bed. Quickly fixing the mess that had accumulated in your absence, you practically skipped down to the kitchen to make yourself breakfast. 

The cooks were nowhere to be seen, as it was much too early to begin breakfast. It wasn’t much, just two eggs, toast, and some berries, but it was perfect. Just what you needed. 

The hospital wing glowed golden in the early morning light. You smiled to yourself. Peter was radiant in the light. Sitting beside him, you laughed, playfully scolding him. “It is not fair, your beauty.” 

You could have sworn his hand twitched, that it almost looked to be reaching out toward you. “Peter?” Your heart skipped at the thought, the thought of him finally waking. It also filled with dread, your mind drifting back to your last conversation. You scanned his body, his face, anything that could indicate he was waking, but to no avail. Peter remained as still as could be, and you chalked up your hallucination to the early morning. 

A book had been left on his bedside table, most likely from one of his sisters. You reached out, taking in the cover. ‘The Tales of Peter Rabbit.’ You were sure he quite enjoyed the story, simply because of the character’s name. The first couple of pages were sweet, adorable pictures etched on their corners. You ate your food in between, relishing in the tranquility the morning brought.

“My love?” 

You could not blame the early morning any longer. 

Peter Rabbit fell from your hand, revealing the very much awake man in front of you. His voice was practically a croak, eyebrows furrowed and forehead creased as he tried to sit up in his bed. His slight groan, the indication that he was in pain, pulled you from your state of shock, shoving him back down. 

You stood up, yelling out for help from anyone. “Someone call for the Maester!” It was just your luck that a servant was passing by the wing, poking his head in through the door. 

“The Maesters-” His eyes widened, disbelief clouding his features as the High King stared back at him. “They-” 

“Send for King Edmund, Queen Susan, and Queen Lucy.” 

“I-I will.” The servant nodded. “Right away!” 

Peter always loved this side of you - the unwavering confidence, the stern nature that you held when you gave orders. Just as a High Queen should be, he thought. It was simply fate that made it so you possessed all those attributes he held most dear. He looked over, your hand a mere inch from his, empty. He reached out, squeezing it gently. “Sit.” 

“Your Majesty-” He raised a brow, and you sighed, complying with his request. “Are you quite-” 

He was like a lion to its prey, leaping over and pulling your lips to his. You gasped, falling into his touch, grabbing his nightshirt as if it would bring him closer. He had practically growled at the action, hand clutching your cheek, thumb gently rubbing over the skin. “I had to know this was real. That this wasn't a dream.” 

Your lips still brushed against his, chest heaving from the sudden nature of it all. “I’m here.” 

He smiled, eyes taking you in. “You look worn to the bone, my love.” 

You glared, muttering under your breath. “How kind of you to say.” 

“How long have you been here?” He whispered, voice as soft as always. “How long have you been by my side?” 

“Since they brought you here.” You were not ashamed, nor should you be. “I-” 

His touch felt like fire, his hands finding their way to yours. “Oh my darling. My darling girl.” You almost glared again at the king; he knew what that name did to you. “My love, I am fine, you-” 

“But you weren't fine. Were you?” Your voice wavered. “I felt guilty, horribly guilty about how I left us, and I had to do something. To make it up to you, to show that I care. That I truly love you, that I have always and will always-” 

Unlike his earlier attack, this kiss was sweet, gentle, and comforting. You craved his touch, craved to touch him, clutching his wrists that still held you. “You-” He kissed you between each word, a giddy sort of laughter bubbling out of you. “Must-” 

“Peter-” 

“Not-” 

“Peter!” You squealed, relishing under his relentless affection. 

“Dwell on this.” He finished, resting his forehead against yours. “Promise me.” 

“I-” 

“You’re awake!” Your eyes widened, ripping yourself away from Peter. Your head hung low, staring at the ground, waiting to be addressed as was protocol. Edmund laughed, addressing you. “Was he a terrible nuisance?” 

He always had a way of making you laugh. You raised your head slightly, shaking it. “Considering he was asleep for most of the time, Your Majesty, he was an absolute delight.” 

Peter gasped, clutching his chest. “I can’t believe you would say such a thing.” 

You shrugged, eyes falling back to the floor. Lucy and Susan fawned over him, checking his forehead, his skin, asking him question after question. Susan began to chastise him for taking part in the battle in the first place, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to laugh or join in. 

They had most definitely seen you. Your heart was pounding at the thought. They had seen you kissing their ill brother. What would they think of you? Would they- Peter’s hand reached out, grasping yours tightly in his. “I have an announcement.” You raised your head, eyes curious as they found Peter’s. “If you would have me-” 

You squeezed his hand reassuringly, eyes welling. “Of course, I would.” 

He grinned, kissing the back of your hand gently. “We are to be wed.” 

The room erupted into cheers, all of them congratulating you simultaneously. Lucy was the first to hug you, a knowing smile etched on her lips. “You will make a wonderful queen.” 

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” 

She laughed. “We are to be sisters, you and I. It would be terribly odd for you to call me Your Majesty.” 

You nodded. “Yes, I suppose so.” 

The Great Hall was abundant in what Susan would call controlled chaos. Everywhere your eyes drifted, something new was happening. A child was stealing sweets, a faun was dancing with a nymph. It was perfect, utterly perfect. A wonderful start to your reign as High Queen. As Peter's wife.

"You look radiant in that gown, have I told you?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yes, many times.” 

“You sound displeased,” Peter smirked. “I would not like my bride to be displeased on our wedding day.” 

“I am not displeased.” You laughed again, the absurdity that was his behavior too much. “You make me laugh, Peter, it is a most noble trait.” 

“You are practically glowing.” He whispered. “If I could, I would-” 

“Peter.” You gasped, slapping a playful hand over his mouth. “Control yourself. We are at our reception.” 

“So?” 

“So-” You sighed. “Everyone from all corners of Narnia is watching us. You cannot just-” 

“I can.” He grinned. “And I intend to praise you constantly for the rest of our lives.” 

Your cheeks felt hot under his gaze. “May I suggest an alternative?” 

“By all means.” 

“Well..." You felt your stomach flip, the reality of it all hitting you. "We have a bedroom-” 

“Aslan, I love you.” He stood up, extending his hand for you to take. “Have I told you lately?” 

“You have.” You took his hand gratefully, kissing his cheek. “But I would not mind hearing it again.” 

Peter raced out of the hall, the pair of you giggling like lovestruck fools. Susan tilted her head, watching as you left the room. “Have they just abandoned their own reception?” 

Edmund nodded, grabbing another slice of cake. “It would seem so.” 

“But I-I spent so long-” 

Lucy placed a comforting hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Leave them be, Su.” 

The servants whispered as you raced past them, not that either of you noticed. You were too busy running down the halls, momentarily stopping to kiss each other passionately. It had taken far too long to arrive at your chambers, but when you finally had, Peter slammed them open, hands grabbing at your hips.

Your head flew back, laughter cascading from your lips. “You are a man possessed.” 

“Can you blame me?” The doors shut behind him, his eyes dark as he watched you remove your wedding dress. Or at least, what you could without help. “You are-” 

“Radiant. Glowing. Yes.” You grinned, gesturing for him to follow after you. “So you've told me.” 

“You will be the death of me.” He muttered under his breath, watching with utter fascination as you jumped onto your bed, waiting for him to follow suit. “My love.” 

Your heart beat so hard against your chest, you thought it would burst. “My king.” 

He practically growled, eyes dark. “My queen.” He hung over you, and you couldn’t help but admire him. His arms, his eyes, his lips that were just begging to be kissed. “I believe I was here for something-” 

“No more games.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down. “Ravish me, Pevensie.”

"As you wish, my lady."

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[multi-fandom-imagine]

👑Tʜᴇ Rᴏʏᴀʟ Mᴀᴛᴄʜ Mᴀᴋᴇʀ || Pᴇᴛᴇʀ Pᴇᴠᴇɴsɪᴇ ||

A/n: Here is that Peter if I promised, If it does good or if anyone wants more then I will write more.

Lucy Pevensie decided, very firmly....that no one in all of Narnia was allowed to flirt with her brother.

Not noble daughters. Not visiting princesses. Not ladies who suddenly “needed directions” through the castle every afternoon. Not women who laughed a little too loudly when Peter spoke or leaned a little too close when he smiled with that warm, bearded, crown-tilted charm that made half the court swoon.

And Lucy was now old enough to be taken seriously.

Which was terrifying.

Peter, now well into his twenties, broad-shouldered, warm-eyed, carrying himself with the easy authority of a king who had grown into both strength and kindness....and had no idea a romantic battlefield had formed around him. He simply noticed that somehow, mysteriously, he was never alone with any noblewoman for more than a few seconds before Lucy appeared.

Every.single.time.

One lady would approach him in the gardens.

Lucy would suddenly appear between them, sweet smile firmly plastered on her face.

“Oh Peter! Susan needs you immediately. It’s very important. Something about royal accounts. Or bows. Or…important things.”

The woman would blink in confusion.

Peter would apologize politely and follow Lucy away.

Lucy would glance back over her shoulder triumphantly.

Susan watched it happen from a balcony, exhausted.

Edmund nearly choked laughing every time.

It escalated quickly after that.

Lucy began “accidentally” redirecting traffic in hallways so women never reached Peter. She’d drop books, trip dramatically, call for help, always just in time to interrupt conversations that were getting too close for comfort.

Once a noble girl tried walking beside Peter in the courtyard, twirling her hair and fluttering her lashes.

Lucy appeared out of nowhere and took Peter’s arm.

“Brother! You promised you’d walk with me today.”

Peter blinked. “I did?”

Lucy nodded solemnly. “You absolutely did.”

He smiled apologetically at the girl and went with Lucy.

Edmund whispered from behind a pillar, “She’s terrifying.”

Susan sighed. “She’s impossible.”

The real incident, the one that became legendary among the servants had happened by the reflecting pond.

A particularly bold noblewoman had cornered Peter near the water, standing far too close, shoulders back, very obviously pushing her chest forward as she laughed softly at everything he said, fingers brushing his sleeve again and again.

Peter, polite as ever, was trying to keep respectful distance.

Lucy saw.

Lucy froze.

Lucy narrowed her eyes.

Then Lucy marched.

She approached sweetly, hands folded behind her back, smile innocent.

“Oh hello,” she said brightly. “I didn’t see you there.”

The woman barely glanced at her, still focused on Peter. “His Majesty and I were just talking.”

Lucy tilted her head.

Right as the woman leaned forward again, very deliberately. Lucy took a tiny step sideways and “accidentally” bumped her.

Just enough.

There was a shriek.

A splash.

Water went everywhere.

The noblewoman disappeared into the pond in a flurry of skirts and indignation.

Silence.

Birds stopped chirping.

Peter stared in shock.

Lucy gasped dramatically. “Oh no! I’m so clumsy! Are you alright?!”

The woman resurfaced sputtering.

Edmund collapsed laughing from across the lawn.

Susan covered her face.

Servants pretended not to see anything.

Peter rushed forward instinctively then paused when Lucy gently grabbed his sleeve.

“She was leaning very close to the edge,” Lucy said solemnly. “It was dangerous.”

The woman glared, soaked and furious, before storming away.

Lucy turned to Peter sweetly.“Safety first.”

Peter stared at her.“…Lucy.”

“Yes, brother?”

“Did you just push her into the pond?”

Lucy blinked innocently.“I tripped.”

Edmund wheezed. “She absolutely did not trip.”

Susan muttered, “We’re going to have diplomatic consequences.”

From that day on, no one dared approach Peter when Lucy was nearby.

Which was always.

Lucy took her role as romantic gatekeeper very seriously.

If anyone asked why she was constantly at her brother’s side, she’d simply say, “I’m protecting him.”

From what?

Lucy’s eyes would flick toward you, warm, kind, laughing softly with servants as you helped Lucy earlier that day and she’d smile knowingly.

“From the wrong queens.”

Peter, completely unaware of the full scheme, only noticed that somehow his days felt calmer, quieter, lighter and that the only woman who ever truly held his attention wasn’t a noble at all.

It was you.

And Lucy intended to keep it that way.

Forever.

Susan watched the chaos unfold daily, tired but secretly amused.

Edmund treated it like the best entertainment in Narnia.

And Lucy Pevensie, teenage menace and matchmaker extraordinaire, stood proudly guarding her brother’s heart like a tiny, smiling dragon.

Lucy Pevensie had decided that subtlety was overrated.

Completely overrated.

If her brother was going to take forever realizing the woman he loved was already right in front of him, then Lucy, Queen of the Valiant, Savior of Narnia, and Self-Appointed Royal Matchmaker, was simply going to speed destiny along with a firm shove.

Sometimes literally.

It started small, as all Lucy’s schemes did, with her “accidentally” guiding you closer and closer to Peter Pevensie wherever he happened to be a gentle tug of your sleeve toward the throne room, a sudden insistence that you walk beside her when she visited council, a dramatic announcement that she needed help with something that just so happened to be right next to Peter’s chair.

“Oh, could you carry this for me?” Lucy would chirp, placing something far too light in your hands. “My arms are simply exhausted.”

Susan would mutter, “You lifted a sword this morning.”

Edmund would whisper, “She’s terrifyingly dedicated.”

And Peter, warm-eyed, crown slightly crooked in that way that made him look far more handsome than regal would smile every time you approached, posture easing like the sun had come out just for him.

Lucy noticed......Lucy always noticed.

Her boldest move yet came during a formal gathering in the great hall, where nobles clustered around long tables draped in gold cloth, laughter echoing against stone walls, musicians playing softly while Peter made polite conversation at the high table. Lucy, seated proudly near him, scanned the room like a general surveying a battlefield.

That’s when she saw it.

A noblewoman, overly perfumed, overly confident,gliding toward Peter with a plate in hand and far too much intention in her eyes.

Lucy’s gaze snapped to you.

You were standing nearby, tray in hand, minding your business like the sweet, unaware handmaiden you were.

Absolutely unacceptable.

Lucy leapt up.

She marched straight to the empty seat beside Peter and slapped her hand on it dramatically.

“You can sit here,” she announced loudly to you.

Before you could even respond, the noblewoman arrived, already pulling out the chair.

Lucy whipped around.“You!! You can’t sit there!”

The woman blinked in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“It’s reserved,” Lucy said firmly.

The woman scoffed, looking you up and down with clear disdain. “For a handmaiden?”

Lucy didn’t hesitate.“YES!”

The hall went quiet.

Susan inhaled sharply.Edmund’s shoulders started shaking with silent laughter.Peter froze mid-sip of wine.

The woman crossed her arms. “And who do you think you are to reserve seats at the king’s table?”

Lucy planted her hands on her hips, chin lifted proudly.“I am Lucy,” she declared at full volume. “Queen of the Valiant.”

Absolute silence.

Then Edmund snorted, someone else laughed and soon half the hall was struggling not to burst out.Peter covered his mouth, eyes wide, shoulders trembling as laughter fought its way out of him.

Susan whispered, “Lucy, please stop declaring war on the nobility.”

Lucy didn’t even glance back.

The noblewoman, face burning, huffed and stormed away.

Lucy turned sweetly to you.

“Sit,” she said gently guiding you back to the chair as you obeyed in stunned confusion.

Peter finally lost the battle and laughed openly, deep and warm and completely unkingly, shaking with amusement as he leaned closer to you.

“I believe,” he said between breaths, “my sister has just conquered another enemy.”

Lucy beamed.“All in a day’s work.”

From that point forward, Lucy became even bolder.

She’d physically steer you toward Peter whenever he stood up, whispering, “Go stand there,” like a commander directing troops.

She’d loudly announce things like, “Peter likes it when you sit near him,” or “Peter smiles more when she’s here,” or “You two should talk while I go do…queen things.”

Susan would chase after her shouting, “LUCY, STOP MANIPULATING ROYAL TRAFFIC.”

Edmund would clap.

Once, when Peter tried to excuse himself from a conversation with a visiting lady, Lucy appeared out of nowhere and gently but firmly pushed you forward.

“Oh look,” she said brightly, “the person Peter actually wants to talk to.”

Peter went scarlet.

You nearly fainted.

Lucy looked extremely pleased.

By the end of the week, everyone in Cair Paravel knew two things.Lucy Pevensie was absolutely unhinged when it came to matchmaking.

And the High King of Narnia was hopelessly in love with his sister’s favorite handmaiden.

Peter, laughing beside you later in the gardens, finally shook his head in disbelief.

“She’s impossible,” he said fondly.

You smiled shyly. “She’s…persistent.”

He glanced at you, eyes warm and soft and full of something that made your heart flutter.

“I think,” he said quietly, “she just wants me to be happy.”

Lucy, hiding behind a bush nearby with Edmund and Susan, whispered fiercely, “IT’S WORKING.”

Susan sighed.

Edmund grinned.

And Lucy Pevensie, Queen of the Valiant and Terror of the Court, prepared her next scheme.

....and she already knew when to make her announcement.

Lucy Pevensie chose the worst possible moment to make her announcement.

Which, naturally, made it the best possible moment in her mind.

The great hall was full, banners hanging high, sunlight pouring through the tall windows, nobles and animals alike gathered in clusters while musicians played softly near the walls, Peter seated at the high table in his crown and dark cloak looking every bit the warm, rugged king he had grown into, beard catching the light, shoulders broad with responsibility and strength, his expression calm and kind as he listened to a visiting lord drone on about trade routes. You stood a few steps away with other attendants, hands folded neatly, heart doing that familiar flutter it always did whenever Peter laughed or glanced your way.

Lucy watched.

Lucy waited.

Lucy decided this had gone on long enough.

She climbed up onto her chair.“EVERYONE,” Lucy shouted.

The music screeched to a halt.

Conversations died mid-sentence.

Peter flinched.

Susan closed her eyes like she was bracing for a storm. "Oh no! Oh please no."

Edmund leaned forward eagerly.

Lucy stood tall, hands on her hips, curls bouncing as she scanned the room like a tiny queen addressing her kingdom.“I have an announcement!”

Peter turned pale. “Lucy—”

“She is my brother’s future wife,” Lucy declared loudly, pointing straight at you.

The hall exploded into silence.A spoon clattered to the floor.A nobleman choked on his drink.

You froze like a startled deer, a small sound leaving your lips.

Peter’s brain shut down completely.

Susan whispered, “why is she like this”

Edmund burst into laughter so hard he had to grip the table.

Lucy nodded firmly to herself, satisfied. “I just thought everyone should know now so there’s no confusion later.”

Every eye in the room slowly shifted to Peter.

His ears turned bright red.“Lucy,” he croaked softly, “you cannot just—announce marriages.”

“Why not?” she asked innocently. “It’s going to happen.”

“It is not scheduled,” Susan hissed.

Lucy shrugged. “Yet.”

You stood there absolutely mortified, eyes wide, fingers gripping your tray so tightly your knuckles went white.

Peter finally found his voice.“Lucy…you are twelve seconds away from being grounded for life.”

Lucy tilted her head sweetly. “You love her.”

The room collectively leaned in.

Peter opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

His eyes flicked to you , wide, flustered, body shifting, full of panic and something undeniably tender.

“I—”

Edmund wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “Oh this is glorious.”

Susan muttered, “We are never being invited to diplomatic events again.”

Lucy crossed her arms. “Well?”

Peter exhaled slowly, defeated, cheeks burning, crown slightly crooked from how fast he’d turned.

“…I do,” he admitted quietly.

The hall gasped.

Your heart nearly stopped.

“I wasn’t ready to say it in front of the entire kingdom,” Peter continued, voice shaky but sincere, “but yes. I love her. I have for a long time.”

Silence.Then murmurs.Then whispers.Then smiles.

Lucy clapped her hands. “SEE.”

You stared at him in disbelief.

Peter stood, abandoning every ounce of royal composure as he walked straight to you, eyes soft, hands trembling slightly when he reached for yours.

“I’m so sorry she did that,” he whispered, breath warm, “but she isn’t wrong. I just wanted to tell you properly. Privately. With dignity.”

Lucy coughed loudly. “BORING.”

Peter smiled helplessly before looking back at you.

“You make me happier than this crown ever could,” he said quietly. “If you’ll have me…not as your king. Just as Peter.”

Tears burned your eyes as you nodded.“Yes,” you whispered.

The hall erupted into applause.

Lucy cheered like she’d won a battle.

Edmund bowed dramatically. “All hail Lucy, Bringer of Romance.”

Susan slumped into her chair. “I need something stronger than tea. Possibly a vacation.”

Lucy ran forward and hugged you both at once.

“You’re welcome,” she said proudly.

Peter laughed, that deep, warm laugh you had fallen in love with and wrapped an arm around you, resting his forehead gently against yours.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured fondly.

Lucy grinned. “And always right.”

And just like that, the entire kingdom of Narnia learned two very important things. One, that the High King was hopelessly in love.

And two, that Lucy Pevensie was never to be underestimated.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ what words can't say ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymouses  ˚₊ ⊹

ft. edmund pevensie x f! reader — the chronicles of narnia

╰₊✧ it didn’t take a conversation to kickstart your relationship, but an unexpected night of passion┊1.6k words

setting: the golden age contains: smut!! dom edmund & sub reader┊strangers to lovers, arranged marriages, receiving oral, exhibitionism

➤ author's note: an older request, i debated on doing this one because i have another strangers to arranged marriage to lovers for edmund, but they have different vibes so it’s okay :D

when you married the young king of narnia, you barely knew anything about him aside from his name, face, age, and the reason why this wedding was arranged in the first place. this union between two kingdoms could only be forged through blood, and while you didn’t really have any qualms about it, simply recognizing it as part of your royal duties, you’ve heard a couple of rumors floating about that he was rather discontent over the entire thing. he can’t be blamed, you suppose, not when everyone dreams of marrying someone they genuinely loved with all their heart and soul, but that’s the only luxury that the two of you couldn’t afford.

admittedly, hearing the petty gossip about how people thought he was hurt your feelings a bit, even though it was more than understandable, but every time you’ve interacted with him, both before and after the ceremony, he’s never displayed that side of alleged dissatisfaction with how his life turned out. he remains ever the gentleman, polite and chivalrous, although there was always an invisible line of awkwardness drawn between the two of you that you hope will one day disappear entirely.

weeks have flown by without any progress, remaining strangers with the label of a couple slapped on, but you were still holding out hope for the two of you to eventually fall in love. it’s not like the two of you could ever get divorced, not when the balance between your two kingdoms was at stake, but you weren’t sure if edmund held the same sentiment. you hated the idea of living out your lives being completely loveless when it came to each other or having to sneak around cair parival with a different partner.

hell, you thought of him as rather handsome in a boyish way, but you weren’t even sure if he was attracted to you to begin with. sure, lucy would tell you that the thought you were very pretty and was completely gobsmacked when he first saw you in your gleaming white wedding dress while walking down the aisle, but you weren’t convinced whether she was telling the truth or was just trying to make you feel better about the entire situation. 

if only you knew how he truly felt about you and how he was holding himself back because he was worried about scaring you off. even though it’s been years since he betrayed his family to side with the white witch and has been forgiven by them since, there were still many who didn’t trust him and made him the target of unsavory gossip whenever something went wrong. he was fearful that you thought poorly of him because of his past, or worse, was outright disgusted with him because of it. besides, back in england, he was notorious for being difficult to get along with, and even though it’s been years, and everyone agrees he’s changed so much since then, he’s still fearful that side of him will slip out in conversation with you, so he chose just not to have very many conversations at all the first time. 

little did either of you know, it wasn’t a conversation that kick-started your relationship and decades of happiness afterward, but rather, a night of passion stemming from endless frustration. there were too many things that added up to his explosion of exasperation. he could never list everything that went wrong if he tried. if there was even one less mishap, then he isn’t certain if he would have seeked comfort in you to begin with, yet when he burst your shared room and slammed the door shut before rushing over to slam his lips on yours, then you welcomed him with open arms to console him in one of the best ways a wife could. 

you never expected him to come onto you so full of desire so randomly, but it was such a welcome change to the usual bedroom situation. even though you both shared a sleeping space, it was never anything more than that. he was your husband, but you were too embarrassed to come onto him, feeling like you were being a predator if you were just close enough to feel the warmth of his body. he never moves away from you, but he never moves closer to you either, expect for now, when he’s feverishly kissing you like you were going to disappear underneath him any second, his hands pinning your wrists to the side of your head.

still, he wasn’t overly rough or aggressive with you, just enough for you to feel the forces of irritation and underlying yearning that were only now beginning to be satisfied. his actions spoke louder than any clever poetry he could have come up with would have been, and for the first time since you’ve met him, you could really feel the previously reserved love he held for you.

“is this… is this okay?” he sounded nervous, like he just realized how he came onto you without much question and had jumped the gun. god, what if he fucked everything up from a single action he didn’t give a second thought, and now you thought of him as some beastly creature who couldn’t control his urges?

he’s so lucky that you know all about what a great and lovely man he was, gone was the selfish and stubborn little boy you occasionally heard about, and now you had the pleasure of knowing him as the responsible young man who was well deserving of his title as “the just.” 

“of course, it’s okay,” you whispered, “just keep kissing me… and some more…”

of course, he happily obliged, pulling in closer to capture your lips in his again, now letting his hands start to strip you of your nightgown and feeling the skin underneath while marveling over how soft you were. the anger clouding his mind was quickly dissipating and being replaced with lust instead, a feeling that he’s been trying his hardest to keep under wraps. it was like torture to him to lie next to a gorgeous thing like you every night without so much as saying a word to you, wanting to pick at your mind in conversation and to touch you as a husband should, but he’s never had the courage until now.

now, edged on by the way you were softly sighing his name, he was quickly becoming obsessed with the way it sounded from your mouth. he wanted to hear more of it, louder and clearer, lowering his kisses from your face, to your neck, to between the valley of your breasts, to where you wanted him most. he’s not experienced, but he’s determined and infatuated, which easily makes up for the fact that everything he knows about being intimate comes from racy novels that he pretends to be disgusted by. 

almost immediately, he managed to locate your sensitive button and flicked his tongue against its underside, swirling it about before dragging the tip down to your entrance. your hand reached out to tangle and pull at his tousled dark locks, unable to hold yourself back. aside from that, there was nothing else you were doing aside from sitting pretty while letting out little whimpers of his name and how you wanted more. you didn’t want him to hold back, not when you were waiting for so long for something like this to happen. you were so wet that you were practically dripping, already trying to grind yourself on his lower face for more of that addicting pleasure. he has to have you on his face one of these days, but for now, he was going to focus on the task at hand. 

then, he remembered that his mouth wasn’t the only thing he could use at the moment to make you feel good, using two of his fingers to gently push and delve within your folds, luckily managing to curl them in the most perfect way possible. “f-fuck, edmund, right there!” you cried out. you didn’t even know there was a part of your body that felt so good when probed, but this just solidified that he was the right man for you, knowing exactly the correct buttons to push before even knowing what they did. 

over the sounds of your moans, he could hear someone drop a tray outside the door and rush to clean it up, scuttling away as quickly as possible, clearly embarrassed about what they’ve stumbled across. he could see it now, the very maids and butlers who used to mock your arranged marriage as loveless and lifeless were now going to avoid this wing like the plague, all because he was making you feel so good that you couldn’t stop calling out his name if your life depended on it. the thought of it quickly became one of his favorite things in the world, both making you scream out of pleasure and proving those gossipers entirely wrong when they said you were never going make each other happy. he was getting off entirely on your reactions like the devoted husband he’s resolved to be, every mewl and whimper and moan bringing him closer to his peak. it isn’t nearly as embarrassing as the fact that it took him this damn long to bed you, but when you finally cum hot all over his lower face and your entire body shudders in delight, he thinks that it’s high time for him to finally consummate the marriage. 

let’s just say, the next morning, no one needed to see the hickies on your neck or the long scratches raked down edmund’s back to know what happened last night. his siblings wouldn’t stop snickering at him, and while you were wholly humiliated at the fact that you forgot other people could perceive you as well last night, your husband seemed to be rather proud about the entire thing and was already planning on what else he wanted to do with you when night falls.

request:

Ooh hi! Could you write a request where you are betrothed to Edmund Pevensie. And after their marriage they sleep on the same bed and vise versa but are complete strangers. And one night he gets super frustrated over the kingly duties and everything and ends up having sex with the reader. Like the maids walking by can just tell and do not dare cross path with the room. Fem reader and smut obviously. I love you and your profile <3

request:

Can you do an Edmund Pevensie fic where he just eats her out? 

[writersmacchiato]

Three Years | Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Summary: You see Edmund and Lucy again in the most unexpected of places after their departure three years earlier.

Warnings: kissing (between Edmund x reader)

. . .

Salt.

It was misting over your face, tangy as it melted on your tongue.

The sun was just rising over the horizon, the endless blues of the sea turning golden and pink as they reflected the light.

Besides the creaking of the ship, and the shuffling of feet below deck as the crew began to stir and rise for the day, all was silent.

You had been waking up early every day since the voyage had begun. Without any reason, drawn to the crow’s nest in the misty grays of dawn before the rest of the world awakened. Watching the sunrise from the perfect spot.

The day would be like any other that had come before.

When Caspian, in all his kingly charm, had requested that you accompany him on this trip to the ends of the world you had been expecting more dangerous conquests. All you had battled so far was seasickness.

“Good morning. See anything?” The aforementioned king called up his usual greeting to you, hair ruffling in the cool breeze.

“Sea and more sea!”

You don’t hear it but can imagine the chuckle he releases through the rise and fall of his shoulders as he walks away to resume his check of the ship.

The sun continues to rise higher and higher into the sky, a cloudless day stretching away. You had snuck away to catch a moment of quiet in the crow’s nest.

Watching the empty waves was beginning to bore you.

When.

It couldn’t be-

“Caspian!” You yelled, jumping over the wooden beams that held you aloft. Grabbing hold of the rope to slide down, all the while yelling Caspian’s name.

“What is it?”

“There on the eastern starboard, I saw something. Someone.”

Caspian runs to the railing, quickly yelling orders at the crew to begin a rescue.

Rescue?

You’re too stunned by the possibility of a rescue to react when Caspian himself dives into the water. You’ve been watching the waters - there have been no sightings of any boats or ships for days now. Not even a rowboat.

The creak of the pulley grabs your attention, dragging first Caspian into view and then the young girl huddled against his side.

It couldn’t possibly be-

Lucy Pevensie. Daughter of Eve.

She shouts your name and crashes into you with little grace. You don’t care that she’s dripping water everywhere, returning her fierce embrace.

“Oh Lucy.” You can’t help the wide smile.

And then you see him, standing besides Caspian with his own smile looking at you.

“Edmund.” You breathe so quietly you aren’t sure you say anything, but Lucy pulls away and beckons her brother over.

He says your name just as quietly and gets close enough for you to touch him but he doesn’t make the first move, just looking and looking.

“Well come here!” You wrap your arms around him, relishing the way he grabs onto you gently. Almost shyly.

He whispers your name again, to himself, committing every bit of this to memory. He thought he remembered everything; but now he realizes how much he’s forgotten. The way you felt against him, the feel of your hair against his face, the way you smell.

A piercing scream cuts your reunion short, and Edmund has even more reason to despise his cousin when he feels the loss of your warmth against him.

“Welcome aboard the Dawn Treader.”

. . .

Edmund tried to fall asleep, he truly did.

The creaking of the ship and the swaying of his hammock made of his stomach roll, but he could’ve adapted to it if it wasn’t for the snoring of Eustace. He also couldn’t stop thinking about you and how much his heart swelled, almost painfully, when he thought about the look on your face when you saw him. Like you were happy to see him.

He’s sitting outside now, on the eastern stern of the ship, giddy at the feeling of the wind against his face. Narnian air.

“Edmund.”

His gaze cuts from the endless water to your form, seemingly materializing out of nowhere. Like a dream. It feels too much like the many dreams he had back home, wanting nothing more than to see you again.

“Mind if I join you?”

He shuffles over on the bench, trying to contain his grin when you open the blanket you brought and drape it over your shoulders and his.

“Tell me about your world.”

You play with his hand, tracing over the lines on his palm. Edmund doesn’t know how to describe it to you; he’s fought battles by your side, danced with you under the Narnian sky while fireworks flashed across the sky. In England, he’s no one.

“There’s nothing exciting there. Nothing like what we did.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“I suppose so.”

You can tell there’s more he isn’t saying, something that is eating away from him. But you don’t pry. Not yet.

“Tell me. What have you been doing since I left?” Edmund asks.

You hum, fingers still tracing over the lines on Edmundo’s palm. Trying to reconcile three years worth of memories into something amusing or daring, but the truth is… that without Edmund, dealing with his sudden departure had left you in misery.

“Can I be honest with you, Edmund?”

He doesn’t answer right away, shifting slightly so he’s turned toward you instead of side by side. Hand gently squeezing yours.

“Of course you can.”

“The past three years have been amazing, theoretically. Caspian has managed to restore peace and order to the lands, Narnians have been rebuilding their lives and I… I missed you. I kept thinking to myself, ‘Edmund would love this’.”

“I missed you too.” Edmund says quietly. “Lucy had to drag me out of bed most days, because at least in my dreams I might get to visit you again.”

“Edmund?”

He hums in response.

You turn your body so you’re facing him too, the blanket you’d brought slipping down to your waist. Even with the chilly breeze from the ocean you don’t feel cold, feeling the warmth radiating from Edmund. From where his thigh touches yours. His hand still in yours.

You ask the question that you’ve thought about every night since he and his siblings walked through the tree back into their world.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

You don’t have to specify - when, where, what? Edmund knows exactly what you’re talking about.

The night of Caspian’s coronation, the sky lit up with fireworks. The way the colors flashed over your face, the whizz and crack of the fireworks vibrating through his chest. Your hands on his shoulder, his on your waist.

It felt like a moment torn out of a fairytale, the only thing missing was a twirl and a dip in the dance that ended in a kiss.

Instead, once the majority of the merriment commenced, the fireworks fizzled out and the food and drink all gone, Edmund walked you to your room. You remember the way your heart beat, so fast, feeling more nervous than you had on the battlefield days earlier.

“Goodnight,” Edmund had said, pressing a kiss to your hand and then he was gone in the castle shadows. The next day he was gone from Narnia.

“I did kiss you.” He has a hint of a smirk on his lips, but you can see the flush on his cheeks.

“On the hand does not count! Did you not want to kiss me?”

“Of course I did. I’ve spent three years thinking how foolish I was not to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I knew Susan and Peter had spoken to Aslan and that they seemed upset. I had a suspicion of what they discussed. So, that night with you… I felt that if we got closer than we already had, I wouldn’t be able to bear it. Knowing how it felt and then leaving. I’m not sure I would’ve gone with them.”

“I thought I misread you.”

“I’ve spent three years regretting that night. I should have kissed you.”

“I think it’s time we rectify that, hm?”

You kiss him, and you’re struck by how warm he is. Slow and languid, the kiss is sweet. Filled with years of pent up longing finally being released.

Shaking your hand loose, your hand slides up to his neck, gently guiding his eager mouth closer to yours. He breath hitches in his throat, biting back a moan.

It gets messy, clumsy. Noses bumping against each other. His hand finds it way to your waist, your own hands slipping into the loose hair at the nape of his neck. You pull him closer and closer until he’s pressed right against you.

You pull away with a heaving breath, Edmund chasing your lips.

“I need a breather.” You huff out.

“I’ve thought about doing that every single night since Caspian’s coronation.”

“Oh, you mean after you chickened out and didn’t kiss me? And then left for three years?”

Edmund rolls his eyes, pulling away in his stubbornness. “I didn’t see you making a move either, oh fearless one.”

“I think I just did.”

“Three years later.” He mocks.

You shut him up with another kiss, this time finding a rhythm with your lips that makes your toes curl.

The voyage ahead was certain to become more dangerous with each passing day, but here, wrapped in a king's embrace, you think of nothing else but him. Edmund.

[delicatel0vers]

Confessions pt. 2

Edmund pevensie X Reader

Summary: Things between Edmund and Y/N have seemed to have smoothed over, but she can't shake the feeling that Lucy and Susan may have been right...

A/N: i had the whole thing typed out, and then it kicked my off and didnt save anything😭👎 but here's pt. 2, finally. it's short:)

Part 1

"Edmund! Wait up!" Y/n exclaims chasing the boy along the beach. He had finally stopped ignoring her, and it was back to normal between the two.

"No, come on Y/n!!" Edmund says laughing as his feet hit the water. The girl stops and takes a moment to study the boy as the sunlight glistens against his fair skin, his hair blowing slightly with the breeze. Ethereal she thinks to herself before running to him. "Took you long enough!" He teases and splashes some water up at her.

"Oh you're so on Pevensie!" She squeals before leaning down and splashing a handful back at the boy with a mischievous grin. He shakes his head smiling before (poorly) running after her through the water. Laughing and splashing the whole time. Edmund catches Y/n in the water and holds her close. His heart pounding so hard she can feel it against her chest. breathing heavily she looks up at him,

"I've missed this, us. I didnt mean to make you upset these past few weeks if thats what it was Ed, I'm just happy to have my best friend back," He pulls away, and looks at her with guilt,

"Y/n I'm sorry. You didn't make me upset, I just," he trails off thinking over what he's to say to the girl to make her believe it's not her fault.

Peter and Caspian had always teased the younger boy about his best friend, over any and everything.

He'd save her spot at the table beside him, and "ooos" could be heard from the two snickering boys across the table.

Once he'd finished a book and had annotated it for her as a birthday present. She was so happy with it she gave him a kiss on the cheek, making him turn ripe red.

"Did you see that? He's a red as a tomato!" Peter exclaimed with a shit eating grin nudging Caspian.

"Do you want one from me as well Ed?" Caspian said laughing, simply making the poor lovesick boy shrink back with embarrassment.

Even thinking about it now makes him cringe. He had just been so angry with them that he stopped talking to Y/n all together to avoid the teasing remarks. He feels terrible about it now, but with all the time away from her, he's come to realize he really does have feelings for the girl. Sighing, he shakes his head.

"Look, it really isn't your fault at all. I was just so sick and tired of the constant teasing I got about you from Caspian and Peter. I know that isn't a reason to avoid you, and I feel horrible about it honestly. Distancing myself from you has been terrible and boring and I wish to never do it again. It made me realize some things though Y/n." He takes a breath, "I am in love with you, truly and completely in love with you. I mean of course I am, you're so kind and understanding. You're lovely and funny. My family loves you. You're the only person I feel comfortable around one hundred percent of the time. I feel no need to hide any part of me from you. Y/n I don't know what I was thinking when I tried to push you away. I just know I don't want it to happen anymore, and I understand if you don't feel the same way and just want to be friends, but I need you to know I love you. So much and that I'm so sorry for making you think you did anything wrong."

He looks at her, scanning her face for a sign of resentment or disgust. Only to see her break out into a huge grin. She pushes him,

"You idiot!" She exclaims shaking her head, "Honestly Edmund, how stupid do you have to be to not realize that I've been in love with you for months." His eyes widen,

"what?" he questions her, "that's not funny. Did Peter put you up to this?" She shakes her head,

"No. Edmund Pevensie I am in awe of you. From your goofy grin to the bed head of yours, I love it all." She smiles at him.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks, his voice small, "Please?" A smile breaks out on her face and she nods. She'd thought about what'd it be like to kiss Edmund many times. It was nothing like this, this was everything and so much more. He was gentle, his lips soft against her own. Her hands went to his hair, and he smiled into the kiss before pulling away.

"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that." He says and she nods,

" I think I know how you feel," she laughs, "and for future reference. Don't ignore me again." she pushes him lightly, and he grins,

"I won't, I promise." He says as they start to walk back to the castle hand in hand.

[mystic-writings]

surfaced feelings | edmund pevensie

PAIRING — edmund pevensie x fem!reader

REQUEST — original ask here

SUMMARY — you joined the pevensies on their second journey in narnia, where your rivalry with edmund grows into something more after a near death experience during the telmarine ambush

PROMPTS — angst/fluff prompt 35, "you make me feel safe." & angst/fluff prompt 40, "i wasn't lying when i said that i loved you."

WARNINGS — depictions of panic, poorly written sarcasm, mentions of blood and passing out, self-doubt, rivals to lovers

WORD COUNT — 4,962

NOTE — This took me a while to work on bc I haven’t really been writing like I used to, but I am still working on the Prince Caspian series (its just taking longer than I thought bc of ✨end of the school year stress✨ and ✨my hyperfixation faded✨)

masterlist | navigation

If someone had told you that your choice to sit with the Pevensie girls during lunch one afternoon would lead to you being sucked into a different world, one where your friends were once great Kings and Queens, you would’ve laughed and called them crazy. But they were right.

You’d made the decision to sit with Susan and Lucy on a whim, since they were new students, and you didn’t have many friends. Sure, you were a year younger than Susan and a few years older than Lucy, but it didn’t hurt to make them feel more welcome. Besides, you knew the older girl from your algebra class. Due to your smarts, you were put in higher graded classes for certain subjects, which certainly didn’t help with befriending people.

The girls didn’t mind, though, and you were quick to find out that they only lived a few streets away from you, which led to the three of you taking the tube home with their brothers, Peter, and Edmund. Speaking of the boys, they were quite polite when you’d first met them. Peter was and still is a gentleman around you, although he treated you more like he did Lucy and Susan now compared to when you first met. Edmund, however, was a little more difficult to manage.

The raven-haired boy was the same age as you, and apparently didn’t like you becoming close to his family so quickly. You never asked questions about it, though, deciding that his problems with you were his own to deal with. Whenever he decided to tease you or make sarcastic remarks that would normally cause him to be scolded or sent to bed without dinner most nights, you would return them with an equal amount of venom. Thankfully for him, though, his mother was never around to hear his words, and he normally just had to deal with Susan scolding him afterwards.

It was an odd relationship, the two of you had. Where you treated Peter, Lucy, and Susan like your own family, Edmund was more like a rock in your shoe that you couldn’t get rid of. Or maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to get rid of him.

You didn’t know what to expect that day, leaning against the wall next to the bench where the Pevensie children sat. Peter and Edmund had gotten into another fight, and something between the four children was going unspoken, but you could feel it. A sort of melancholic tension; as if between them was begging to be talked about, but they either ignored it or it couldn’t be brought up in public.

Suddenly, though, everything got louder, and the world was peeling away, with your hand clasped in Lucy’s. The train station faded, and the underground was gone, and you were standing at the mouth of a cave, staring out at a bright blue ocean that felt as though it weren’t part of your world. You didn’t question it immediately, although you were dazed beyond comprehension. You could barely keep up with your friends as you ran through the sand, stripping off your socks, shoes, blazer, and tie before splashing about in the water.

But when Edmund stopped and looked up at the crumbling ruins atop a cliff, you finally got your chance to ask, “Where are we, exactly?”

“Narnia,” Peter replied, a bashful blush tinting his cheeks.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Narnia? But there’s no such thing as Narnia.”

“There is, actually, because you’re in it.” Edmund snipped with his familiar sarcastic tone, and you felt your blood beginning to boil.

With clenched fists, you turned to Susan, “Please tell me you have a rational explanation for… all of this.”

The girl suggested you all return to the shore before heading up to the top of the cliff, allowing the family to give you a proper explanation of their past in Narnia. The wardrobe that Lucy accidentally discovered, the talking lion, Aslan, the witch that almost killed Edmund, their lives as Kings and Queens, all of it. To say that you were gobsmacked was an understatement. “So, you’re telling me that I’ve befriended Kings and Queens?”

“Yes.” Lucy replied.

“And I’ve been fighting with a King of Narnia, who helped defeat a witch that was set on taking over this world, for eleven months?”

“Mhmm,” nodded Peter.

“That’s- okay, I need a minute.”

“Can you take your minute after we figure out how to get up that cliff?” Asked Edmund, who was pointing at the ruins. You could tell he was annoyed, although you would have expected him to have reacted the same way if he were in your shoes.

With crossed arms, you glared at the boy before sighing. “Fine. But I’m finding a way back home before my mum realizes I’m gone and freaks out.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Susan told you. “Time passes… differently in Narnia. The last time we were gone, we left for 15 years and when we got back, not a second passed. It was like we were never gone.”

With a nod, you took in her words and followed the siblings around as you looked for some way up the cliffside.

It’s only been a few days since you arrived in Narnia, but every time you got used to it, something new took you by surprise. First, you met a dwarf by the name of Trumpkin, and then all five of you were given an explanation as to how long the Pevensie’s had been gone and what happened since then.

From there, you were on your way to find a man named Prince Caspian, whom you were supposed to help seize his own crown from his uncle. The whole concept was odd to you, but things just kept getting weirder and weirder as time went on. You met centaurs and fauns and minotaurs, talking squirrels and mice. It was hard to keep your head on straight when you walked with all these creatures, but you understood for the most part.

You were walking to a place that Caspian said could hold everyone while you worked out a battle plan, and you were eager to see where he was taking you. The trees stood still during your walk, the leaves crunching beneath your feet as you walked in line with Susan, effectively ignoring Edmund, who walked on the other side of her. You couldn’t help but stare down at the dress that Susan gave you to wear. It was a beautiful shade of red, soft to the touch, but not silk or velvet. Where it split in the middle to allow for more mobility, there was a patch of silver.

A sword that you didn’t quite know how to use hung by your side, and you kept one hand lazily grasped on the hilt. To think, merely two days ago you were just a simple schoolgirl, too smart for her own good and facing a daily rivalry with her best friend’s brother. With a breathy laugh, you shook your head. Things were going to be different when you went back.

‘If,’ you reminded yourself. ‘If you go back. Susan didn’t come back until 15 years passed, who’s to say your trip will be any different?’

Your thoughts, however, were halted when you felt your foot hit something lodged in the ground, and before you could stop yourself, you were colliding with the ground. That is, until you felt arms wrap around your waist and pull you up. Some part of you wondered if it was Edmund, but when you were placed back on your feet, you saw that it was Susan. “Thanks, Su,”

“No problem, N/n,” the girl replied with a smile, and you continued walking.

But, before you could get any further than three feet, Edmund muttered, “Why don’t you watch where you’re walking for once?”

“What did you say?” You snipped, feeling your blood beginning to boil once again. It was quite a normal feeling for you to have when you were around Edmund. So familiar, in fact, that you were keen to ignore it.

“I said, why don’t you watch where you’re walking for once?” The boy spoke up. People were beginning to listen into the conversation, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. “You’re always tripping on something or knocking things over, so why don’t you pay attention for once in your life?”

A scoff slipped past your lips, and you crossed your arms. “I’m sorry if I’m still processing where I am or worrying about my mum! Not all of us are used to travelling between worlds like you are, Edmund.”

The boy rolled his eyes and quickened his pace, but that was all he did. He gave you no response, and it made you even more annoyed. Before you knew it, Susan placed a hand on your upper arm. “I’m sorry about him, I don’t understand why he acts like that toward you.”

“It’s fine, Su, I promise.” You huffed. “I just… I don’t understand it either and I probably never will. I guess I’ll just have to deal with it, won’t I?”

Since your little fight, Edmund’s been trying his hardest to ignore you, which was quite normal. Both of you always needed time to calm the fire in your chests, to let the anger die down before you could even tolerate being around one another. But being apart didn’t last long, because the next morning, you were all gathering in a room to discuss a plan.

And, unsurprisingly, after more fighting between the Narnians, a plan was underway, and you weren’t sure how much you liked it. Especially because it involved the possibility of you fighting with the sword you were given. Sure, you knew a little bit about how to use one, but you weren’t as skilled as everyone else. In fact, you were sure that you were the least skilled with any kind of weapon out of everyone in the room.

Until everything was set in motion and ready to go, you felt the nerves building up in the pit of your stomach. A faun had helped you practice the best that you could, but you could only make so much progress over the course of a day.

Soon, though, the sun set, and you were being clutched in the talons of what you had been told was called a Gryphon, sailing through the skies with the wind pushing your hair from your face. The wind was calming but the height, however, was alarming. If the Gryphon were to let you go, you were sure you would die when you hit the ground.

Even after landing, everything was going smoothly. But when you entered the professor’s room and Caspian spotted his glasses but not the professor himself, a bad feeling settled in your gut. After a brief exchange, it was decided that you would follow Peter and Susan to find Lord Miraz and leave Caspian to find his professor alone.

After wandering the halls with the older half of the Pevensie’s, your sword drawn but feeling heavy in your hand, you found your way to the King’s quarters. From the other side of the door, you could hear a muffled voice speaking. “Put the sword down, Caspian. I don’t want to do this.”

As the woman spoke, you all exchanged looks. Susan pulled an arrow from her quiver and notched it, ready to strike. Then, Peter pulled the door open, and you all went through. Susan aimed her arrow at the woman on the bed and told her, “We don’t want you to, either.”

Looking around the room, you spotted Lord Miraz standing beside his bed with the tip of a sword pressed to his neck. Unfortunately, Caspian was the man on the other end of the sword. Lord Miraz placed his hands on his hips, an annoyed expression on his face as he told you, “This used to be a private room.”

“What are you doing? You’re supposed to be at the gatehouse!” Peter told Caspian.

Quickly, an idea formed in your head. “Peter, I can go.”

“What?”

“I can go. Listen,” he turned to you as you spoke. “Trumpkin’s already there waiting. If I can start getting the gate open, we can still do this.”

He sighed but nodded, and immediately you started to run in the opposite direction. You remembered what you could about the castle, and soon you found yourself in the courtyard. Edmund was up on one of the guard posts, and you called out, “Edmund, signal the troops! Now!”

As you called out to him, however, the bells in the castle began to ring, and you panicked. “Edmund! Signal the troops!”

With no answer, you huffed, and continued running to the gate. Sheathing your sword, you used all your strength to push the spokes of the wheel, loosening them and helping to bring up the gate. The metal creaked and groaned as it was pulling upward, but your attention was beginning to falter as you heard metal crashing against metal behind you and Peter shouted, “Now, Ed, now! Signal the troops!”

Faintly, you could hear his brother respond from above. “I’m a bit busy, Pete!”

The elder brother came to your aid, assisting you in pushing the spokes. From behind you, Susan shouted, “Peter! It’s too late, we have to call it off while we can!”

“No! We can still do this!” He shouted. “Help us!”

Over the creaking of the metal, you could hear the faint shouting of the troops flooding into the courtyard. Panic spiked in your chest once more and you pushed a little harder on the spokes, Caspian and Susan coming over to help you. As she helped you along, Susan asked, “Exactly who are you doing this for, Peter?”

The boy ignored his sister and continued pushing the spokes. As the guards continued to approach, your chest constricted with panic. That is, until you saw Edmund’s torchlight flickering into the dark sky, and you heard the hoofbeats and shouts of Peter’s troops.

As soon as they were past the gate and into the courtyard, you all stopped pushing on the spokes and instead drew your weapons. From beside you, Peter shouted, “For Narnia!”

Despite the anxiety and worry that was building in your chest, you unsheathed your sword and charged into battle with the Kings and Queen. You were slower with your movements than you would have liked, but you were still inexperienced. For the most part, you were successful in disarming the guards before slamming the hilt of your sword onto their heads.

You went with the movement around you. The centaurs, minotaurs, and number of other creatures that were fighting with you gave you comfort, because there were more people who were likely to have your back. You had to admit, though, that for a person with a maximum of two days training and had recently travelled between worlds, you were doing well for yourself. That was, until you heard Peter shouting Edmund’s name.

Looking in his direction, there was a long line of archers pointing their crossbows at the boy. Your face dropped as you watched him run into the castle, disappearing as they fired at him. Not knowing if he was okay, you tried to shake your mind free of worrying thoughts, but they stuck like glue. So, you were fighting with a distracted mind. Your reactions became slower, and it felt as though it took more effort to lift your sword.

From mere feet away, you heard the clanging of a chain. Stopping your movements, you spotted a guard hacking away at the chain that held the gate open. Once more, panic flooded your senses and you shouted, “Peter! We have to leave! They’re going to close the gates!”

He looked over at you from a distance, and you saw the panic breach his expression. A minotaur ran for the gate, propping the heavy metal onto his shoulders. From over your shoulder, you heard Peter shout, “Fall back!”

You continued to fight your way toward the gate, but you weren’t paying as much attention as you should have. The panic and worry blinded your features, and as you took down one guard, something pierced your shoulder. A gasp fell from your lips as near-blinding pain shot from your shoulder, trailing down the arm that held your sword and up your neck. You looked down at your right shoulder to find blood seeping into the light blue dress you wore as the tip of an arrow poked through your skin.

Someone near you shouted your name, and you felt yourself being pulled onto the back of a horse — the centaur, you remembered. The hoofbeats and roar of battle echoed in your ears, but the nausea that was beginning to settle in your stomach was too distracting. You were becoming lightheaded, and you didn’t know how much longer you were going to be conscious.

Everything faded away as you felt your body becoming lighter, wondering what was going to happen next. And then, slowly, you slipped into the void of darkness, the world becoming insignificant.

It was one thing to take part in an unsuccessful siege, but it was another thing entirely to find out that during the escape, the person you had feelings for was injured and unconscious. Guilt and worry settled within the pit of Edmund’s stomach, wondering if you could make it back to the How so Lucy could feed you her cordial.

He walked next to the minotaur that carried you, his eyes wandering over to your sleeping figure every few seconds. You looked so peaceful, despite the circumstances. He enjoyed looking at you so relaxed, especially since every time you looked at him all he could see was disdain and annoyance.

Edmund was aware of the argument that broke between the King and the Prince, but he just couldn’t take his eyes off you. You were growing paler by the minute, and if it weren’t for that and the blood that was soaking your shoulder, he would’ve assumed you were sleeping. He wondered what you were dreaming about, or if you were dreaming at all.

But then the screaming started, and he knew he had to do something about it. He stopped the two leaders from ripping each other apart with a simple scream, and the crowd in front of him broke to show Lucy the sight of her friends in peril. Trumpkin, fighting for consciousness, and you, getting worse as time passed.

Relief flooded the snarky boy as she ran forward, uncapping her cordial. Edmund helped the minotaur ease you to the ground, kneeling at the top of your head, watching over you. The anxiety and worry that had been eating away at his stomach began to cease the closer that Lucy got, and he almost breathed a sigh of relief when he watched the red liquid drip into your open mouth.

You felt something tingling in your stomach. The feeling that began in your gut spread quickly, all throughout your body, but it was most intense in your right shoulder, where you had been hit with an arrow. It felt like someone was sprinkling stardust on your wound, warm and comforting.

The feeling faded and you could hear the birds chirping in the distance, an odd silence in the air. You had yet to open your eyes, and you were a little scared to see what you would see when you did. Still, though, you knew you had to wake up sometime. So, with little bravery, you forced yourself to open your eyes.

The first thing you saw was brown. Not the murky kind of brown like mud, but a beautiful chocolate kind of brown. The glow as it reflected in the morning sun made you realize that they were eyes. Edmund’s eyes. You never thought you’d be so happy to see Edmund’s eyes; not to mention the surge of safety and security that rushed through you.

“Ed,” you gasped.

His usually taught and angry expression was filled with relief. The air around Edmund and the Pevensie’s was light, all worry for you fleeing their minds and replacing itself with happiness. Not only that, but the other three Pevensie children noticed something else change in their raven-haired brother, something to do with you.

A look was shared between the three, wondering and curious about how their poor, lovesick brother didn’t realize how he felt for you himself. It was torturous, spending all that time watching you both dance around each other with snide, meaningless remarks, wondering when you both were going to wise up and realize the real meaning behind your behavior.

No one noticed the relieved tears gathering in Edmund’s eyes, not even himself. But you did. You noticed them because he was hovering right above you, so close that you could’ve counted every freckle dotting his face. But the proximity didn’t last long. It seemed that Edmund caught himself, recoiling from you and pushing himself onto his feet.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t miss the safety he provided, even if you were supposed to hate him. Those thoughts didn’t last long, since Peter offered to help you stand. Taking his hand gratefully, you pulled yourself to your feet. Slowly and sorrowfully, everyone began to head into the How.

The How was too suffocating for you to stay in, so as soon as you were able, you went to the top of the entrance so you could sit and breathe. Your shoulder felt fine, as if there was no injury there in the first place, but you were still reeling. The calm and safety you felt when you woke up and saw Edmund’s face, the smile on his face and the tears in his eyes. It was all so confusing, especially since Edmund’s been treating you horribly for the past eleven months and you don’t even know how you really felt toward him anymore.

Sitting on the mossy rock, the morning air did little to help clear the swirl of confusing thoughts running about in your mind. You didn’t get much time to think, though, since someone came out of the stone doorway and sat next to you.

“Are… are you okay?”

“Why do you want to know, Edmund?”

Beside you, Edmund said nothing. You heard a sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t respond. Edmund looked out at the empty field and the rising sun, fighting with himself to not glance your way. Your injury was like a shift in the dirt of his soul, the dirt he buried his lasting and quite terrifying feelings for you in. They were on the surface now, and Edmund didn’t know if he wanted to bury them again.

So, there, in the light of the early morning sun, Edmund made a decision. He chose not to bury his feelings, but not to acknowledge them. No matter what, he would not let them show, not after the way he had been treating you for so long.

“You know, I…” you began, almost startling the boy from his thoughts. “I feel so… confused. And you’re the last person I should be telling this to because I know you’ll just mock me endlessly for it, but…” taking a deep breath, you squeezed your eyes shut for a moment. A breeze washed over you and you opened your eyes, focusing on the forest ahead as you spoke. “I can’t stop thinking about earlier. You made me- no, you make me feel safe.”

You waited, tense, wondering what Edmund was going to say. The silence was nearly unbearable, suffocating you.

Edmund didn’t even know what to tell you. He couldn’t think, knowing that despite everything he’s said to you, he still somehow manages to make you feel safe. Without thinking, Edmund went back on his own decision. “I think I love you.”

The blurted confession was nothing short of shocking for himself and for you. Your heart fell into your stomach, knowing that admitting how Edmund made you feel was a bad idea. Your cheeks burned, and you had to bit on the inside of your cheek to stop the oncoming river of tears. With clenched fists, you scoffed, standing.

“I knew it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“What?” Edmund stood with you, confused.

“Look, I get it. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth; I knew you were gonna mock me. It’s all you ever do, Edmund. I’m sick of it. I can take making fun of my hair or my clothes or what I say, but I can’t deal with you making fun of my feelings.” You wiped a stray tear from your face.

Edmund, again, didn’t know what to say. Had he really been treating you so poorly all this time that you didn’t believe him? That you didn’t think he could feel that way about you? He felt appalled at himself for making you think that he couldn’t like you; that he couldn’t love you.

“Y/n, wait, I-“

“Edmund, no. I won’t stand here and listen to you make fun of me again. I could handle it before, because before it was only something to be taken lightly, something that I knew I shouldn’t let bother me. Because I knew I had to put up with it if I wanted to be able to stay friends with Susan and Lucy and Peter. But I don’t think it’s worth it if I’m the only one suffering.” You took another deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. “Because I really like you, Edmund. And you treated me so harshly for almost a year, but I still like you. And I can’t even think of a good reason why.”

With clenched fists, you turned and began to walk back into the How, despite how suffocating it felt to be in there. Your steps echoed in your ears as you walked further away from Edmund, who was trying to figure out what to say. His heart was pounding against his ribcage at your words.

“I wasn’t lying!” He called out desperately.

You turned to face him, standing in the stone doorway as tears fell like raindrops from your e/c eyes.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you I loved you.” Edmund explained. “I know this seems like it’s out of the blue, but it’s the truth, I promise. I’ve been lying to you, to myself. Ever since we first met, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. And I couldn’t handle it, so I… I just thought-“

“What, you thought it would be better to ruin any chance of a relationship? To make me doubt everything I say or do? To make me hate myself for ever thinking about wanting to kiss you?” You said, rage burrowing in your chest.

“Yeah, I did. Because I knew that you would never want to go for someone like me.”

Huffing, you rolled your eyes. “Well, Edmund, you’re obviously wrong, because I’m standing here, telling you that I like you! Hell, I probably love you! And you’re telling me that everything you’ve said about me for the past year was a lie?!”

Edmund didn’t respond, only shifting his weight from foot to foot and picking at his fingers. Annoyed, you sighed and stepped forward, taking his hands in yours and forcing him to look at you.

“Ed…” you started. “You really are an idiot sometimes, did you know that?”

“I’ve been told that I can be a little blind, yeah.”

You couldn’t stop the lopsided smile from splitting across your face, even if you wanted to. Edmund smiled as well, stepping a little closer. The sun rose a little higher, shining behind Edmund like a halo. Laughing, you took your hand from his, brushing some of his hair back as you said, “You’re lucky I like you so much,”

“I’m lucky you like me at all,”

Another small laugh fell from your lips, and Edmund’s smile lit up even brighter. You were so close now that if Edmund wanted to, he could lean in just a tad further and kiss you.

The laughter died, and Edmund’s eyes were darting between yours and your lips. The smiles on your faces faded, the quiet settling between you. Slowly, hesitantly, you began to lean forward, as if asking for permission. Edmund followed, his lips ghosting over yours as your eyelids fluttered closed.

It was like time slowed as Edmund closed the millimeter-wide gap between the two of you, softly pressing his lips to yours. Truth be told, you had never kissed anyone, and therefore you didn’t quite know what to expect, but it felt better than you could’ve ever imagined. It felt like the entire world had lit up, shining brightly just for the two of you to see.

Letting go of Edmund’s other hand, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he pulled you closer with his hands on your waist. It was safe to say that both of you were in complete bliss, and if it weren’t for the fact that you needed air to breathe, you would’ve been happy to stay there forever.

Edmund kept his arms wrapped around your waist and you didn’t release him from your arms, either, wanting to hold each other for a little longer.

“That was…” Edmund breathed. “I’ve never kissed anyone, but… wow.”

You giggled, Edmund laughing along with you. “I haven’t kissed anyone before, either, Ed.”

It was funny, the way the world works. One moment, you’re fighting with someone you could easily call your rival, and the next, you’re kissing him. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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[twoidiotwriters1]

Danny my friend

I need “she fell first but he fell harder” with Edmund and f!reader please!

I appreciate this request so much, considering the men-hating era this week has put me through. I'm making a full fic out of it I have a vision.

This is set in those years in-between when Edmund got too old to visit Narnia, and we are all ignoring what happens when he turns 19, ok? ok

-Danny

Initials -e.p. xf!reader

You remember the exact moment you saw Edmund for the very first time. He must've been about thirteen, a quiet and intelligent boy; he had the kind of eyes that told you he wasn't the smartest kid in class, but the smartest in any room.

You wouldn't have fancied him for that, because you weren't one to like snobs, but he wasn't at all arrogant about his wisdom, and actually seemed to enjoy it when someone approached him looking for help. Your mum would call it a schoolgirl crush, something like a game, but to you, it was exhilarating and life-changing.

"Excuse me," a voice began, and then pronounced your name followed by a question. "Could I borrow a pencil?"

His voice had come to you like a dream. For a moment, you believed it had been a figment of your imagination until your eyes found his, and there he was, leaning over his chair and asking you, out of all people near his seat, for a pencil. And he knew your name, too!

"Of course," you replied, voice quivering in amazement. You looked down, a shaky hand reaching into your pencil case and pulling out a single sharpened pencil. "Here."

He smiled, sweet and sincere, before taking it from your hand, and oh, how you suffered when his fingers did not reach to brush against yours.

You couldn't focus on anything else for the rest of the hour. When the bell rang, you were half-expecting him to get up and leave without a second thought, after all, a pencil was rarely ever returned to its rightful owner, but he waited until the kids blocking the hall moved, and then he handed you back the pencil with a polite thank you and one brief smile. Then he was gone.

At fifteen, you'd learned to hide what you truly felt for Edmund Pevensie. You weren't exactly afraid of him, or what he might do if he ever found out, just didn't think it was something to be shared out loud.

For Edmund, it wasn't until he was about eighteen that he began to feel some kind of stirring in his gut. It didn't start with you, not exactly. He felt something like a tug one day, the kind he'd felt whenever he knew Narnia was calling, only slightly different, for this one came from within.

Years of studying together had given him a certain familiarity with his classmates that he hadn't put much thought into until now, because now, something was amiss. The thing was that he was only now realising he liked your face much more than any other girl's.

He particularly seemed to like it best when you would let your hair down, held back only by a pretty ribbon or a headband, sometimes only a few pins keeping the sides neat. It was shiny and cared-for, and it brushed against your shoulders with a bounce he loved to watch.

You also had a nice mouth, he thought, and for the first time in his entire life, wondered what it would be like to press his lips against someone else's, and the thought alone was enough to keep a bright flush on his face for an entire hour.

He also thought you were sweet. Quiet, but amicable and kind, he'd never seen you turn your back on others if you knew they needed help, and that was something he deeply respected in people his age. And more importantly, you were never cruel, even while angry.

"Oh, my!" You gasped, dragging your chair back as the avalanche of paper, sweets, and wildflowers erupted from your designated desk. It seemed someone had tried his best to make a grand gesture towards you. You weren't pleased.

As soon as it registered in your head what had happened, your lips pursed in annoyance, and Edmund watched as your gaze landed on some other boy across the room, looking stupidly proud in a way that was clearly more about the praise he was getting from others than your reaction.

"What a mess!" You muttered as you busied yourself picking up everything without any help.

Edmund's voice erupted from behind his ribcage with a barely contained gentlemanly ire. "Did you do that, Pears?" He only got more stupid, lazy laughter from the culprit and his buddies, and so he continued, getting up on his seat but not approaching. "Well, shouldn't you be helping Miss L/N to pick it all up, then? To make up for the inconvenience?"

He saw you pause over his shoulder, but he did not look at you, demanding instead a proper reply from Pears with just his eyes. You watched in shock, not expecting him to do such a thing, since it was a common occurrence and no one really thought it a great offense. Most girls liked to be surprised this way... but you didn't, and somehow, Edmund knew.

Pears' neck got red, but it was hard to tell whether he was angry or not, as he only answered: "S'nothing..."

"It's loads of work for Miss L/N to get done on her own, and Mr Harries will come back in about five minutes."

"It's alright," you speak in a tender voice. "I'm almost done..."

Edmund stood his ground, waiting, and in the end, Pears dragged his feet to your spot, crouched, and picked up everything with a sulking attitude. He didn't speak to you then nor afterwards, as if Edmund's words had been your idea and as if it'd been you who had humiliated him.

The girls giggled and teased all three parties of the situation, but it fell on deaf ears when it came to you and Edmund, for all you could both hear was the hammering of each heart and the blood it pushed through each one's ears.

He knew he'd made a fool of himself when you started to avoid him. What a prat he must've looked, defending you as if he had any right to be your spokesman, what if he'd seen wrong, and you hadn't been upset but only pretending to keep appearances as a lady in front of the other girls? He couldn't know all the ways girls worked, and he was deeply ashamed that he'd let himself act so like... well, a king.

But then... then the next morning he got to the school, and you were waiting for him. You stood before him to your entire height, clutching a book against your chest.

"I just wanted to say," you spoke in a slightly breathless manner. "Thank you."

You slipped something in the pocket of his jacket and then rushed out of sight, your hair bouncing freely behind you. He reached into it and found... a button?

The gift was so endearingly strange that it pulled a laugh out of him, and whether or not that was your intention, the truth was that it swept him off his feet faster than any flirtatious look ever could.

'May I walk you home today? -E.P.'

You smiled at the note as it landed on your desk, you thought it sweet, how he always insisted on signing his initials in every note. When you pointed that out once, he'd said it was an "old habit", and it sounded funny coming from someone so young.

You pulled it close and wrote on it quickly. 'Edmund, you know you don't have to ask every day, don't you?'

You passed it back, watching the curve of his cheek as he read your reply. He jotted down something and passed it back.

'A true gentleman never takes his lady for granted -E.P.'

'Well, your lady must answer to your generosity in kind, and agree. I'll even let you carry my books.'

He threw a glance at you over his shoulder, and a crooked grin on his face was the only answer before he turned back to face the front. When the day came to an end, he hurried to your side, hands reaching for your books, and then he offered his arm to you, so you slipped yours through as he pulled you closer.

"Lucy wants me to ask you to her birthday dinner next Saturday, will you come?"

"Is Lucy the only person interested in my attendance?" You glance at him with a playful glint in your eye.

Edmund smiles at you. He leans down to press a firm kiss on your cheek before replying. "Lucy is inviting you because she's dying to meet you, after all the time I've spent talking about you at home." He murmured, placing another gentle kiss on your temple.

"I have to ask my parents," you told him.

"Tell them I'll pick you up and drive you back if I have to," he said immediately. "Eleven sharp."

You grinned. "Their limit is ten o'clock."

"If it's me, they'll let you stay a little longer," Edmund smirked. He was right, your parents really liked and trusted him, for some reason, you had to guess it was that air he has about him, like he knew better than most boys his age.

"Very well, I'll tell them," you lean in and kiss his cheek.

It seemed to make Edmund ten times taller whenever you did that; he would stand straight and walk forth as if he were escorting the Queen of England.

Taglist.

@raajali3

[twoidiotwriters1]

Can you pls write something with real!world!edmund set in the 40s where reader is everyone's (specially lucy's) friend and she kind of notices how edmund blushes and acts a bit nervous around her (like, being quieter than normal) and because she has feelings for him too, she kinda decides to play with his quiet obssession using her sweet charm and put him in a very innapropriate situation (asking him to fix her shoelace while she's wearing a skirt? Sitting on the floor between his knees while he's sitting on an armchair?) and plays the innocent girl act during all of it, just to get a reaction out of him (spoiler: he kinds of gets nervous with the unspoken sexual tension and keeps wondering/feeling guilty that he's might be a pervert and not the gentleman he thought he was). Hihihi I really wanted tension with this.

I'll keep it vague just because idk I feel it lets you guys imagine more to your fancies that way! The ending was kinda meh tbh but I still think it's sweet I hope you do too!

-Danny

something there -e.p. xfem!reader

Before Edmund entered higher education, you didn't give much thought to the way he tended to act around you. It was all puppy love, the kind you look back on tenderly and almost like a hazy dream from which you wake up giddy. But then he turned 25, and you 22, and you discovered the little moments remained.

You called it a habit at first, but a habit doesn't go out of its way to change routines to accommodate others. Galantry doesn't extend to loyalty to just everyone, and neither Susan nor Lucy could claim to have the same hold in Ed's attentions as you. But he still wasn't making any sort of intentions clear; he liked being around you, and if his eyes lingered, he hoped they didn't long enough for you to notice (you did).

You used to be much more hesitant about acting on things when you were younger, but now, well in your twenties and a little tired of waiting for the young man to take the first step, you decide to be as torturous as he's been.

Edmund thinks he's losing his mind at first. A touch, a look, a spot just ideally within his line of vision—or perhaps it merely was that his vision was always in search of you. The point was that he'd long started to realise you were plaguing his mind like wild ivy.

He'd always been sweet on you, ever since moving back to Finchley after the war. You had arrived like a beacon of all things good to come, bright-eyed and pretty—the kind that makes boys wish for adulthood to hurry. Edmund already knew what being a grown-up was like, in some ways, but he'd never fallen in love. You represented something brand new to him, and that was no common feat.

You laugh and he can feel it on his knee, where you currently have your cheek pressed against like it's nothing. One of your hands has slipped under the bend of it and keeps you anchored with a loose grip, but he does his best not to move too much, anyway.

You're listening to Lucy while she reads a girl's magazine, and you're laughing at the letters some readers send to the publication to a little segment called 'Nightmare Date', a spot where girls talk about the worst experience they've had with a man while going on a date. Edmund finds it equally amusing and anxiety-inducing.

But you're laughing, saying you can't see yourself ever tolerating such behaviour, and it soothes him, but also embarrasses him, because isn't he sort of being terrible in his own way? Staring, and thinking, and all without her even knowing... the mere thought makes him want to put distance between them, and he wonders the best way to make her move without actively shoving her away from his knee.

"You ought to be taking notes, Ed," Lucy says with amusement. "All the ways not to behave around girls."

"I know my way around girls well enough, thank you," he says, annoyed and flushing. "I've got two sisters, and I have known Y/N for almost as long, haven't I?"

"I think you are perfectly behaved," you say with irony. "Perhaps too well behaved. Do not forget how, in the last issue, a girl complained about how little her sweetheart tried to initiate things. I do think boys must bring it upon themselves to find the perfect balance between bold and polite."

Lucy snorts. "In that case, I'd say Peter would have a harder time balancing this matter than Edmund. He's always been rather just in the things that matter," his sister says with a teasing glint in her eye.

"I still think he ought to be a little bolder," you continue, looking up at him without an ounce of shyness. "No one likes a lukewarm love, Edmund. It is not quite as cute in a man your age as it could be for a boy of fourteen."

He blushes deeper this time, your words stabbing yet comforting. "I thank you girls all the advise, I will try not to make a fool of myself, at least to keep Lucy from having the amusement of one day finding my feature in Nightmare Date."

Next time you sit to read, it's just you and Edmund, Lucy being stuck with Susan and their mum shopping for an upcoming dinner party with a family friend. Edmund is the one reading this time, some book about elves and knights, and you half listen, more entertained picturing what he'll look like in five years, when he's a grown man, if he'll be just as sweet. And then you wish to scream at the thought of another five years waiting.

You miss the way he continuously stutters during the reading, your gaze so heavy on him, he can barely make sense of the words. He keeps his gaze down, his grip on the book tight, desperate not to look up, because if he does, all he'll think about is take you in his arms and—

You get up suddenly, and he stops, hesitantly calling your name, then watches you close the window. "Sorry," you say, smiling a little. "You didn't need to stop..."

"Are you cold?" He asks, closing the book and getting up to fetch a blanket. "Let me get—"

"That's alright," you go to him and gently push him down by the shoulder, following him to the couch. You sit by his side, close enough that your naked knee touches his covered thigh. "Keep reading."

He nods, glancing at you once before picking up the book. Once he's holding it, you loop your arm through his right one and press your cheek to his shoulder, closing your eyes. He swallows thickly before resuming his narration, voice slightly uneven.

You glance up, watching his enticing lips move to let out his lovely voice. There is a worn-down determination in your actions when you lean in, not less excited, but at least resolute on having an answer.

Edmund's voice stops at once but you don't, and he doesn't move when your lips connect with his jaw. "What are you doing?" He asks in an even more shaky voice.

You press a gentle kiss there, then another on his cheek. Edmund tilts his head to look at you, innocently thinking you won't lean in when you sense it, and ends up being kissed on the mouth.

He drops the book. You move your lips against his frozen ones, not too eager nor forceful, merely relishing the plump softness of them. The warmth. You pulled back.

You focus your gaze on his, doe-eyed and bright. "I think etiquette demands you return the favour, Mr Pevensie." You whisper.

Edmund's pupils dilate, a beautiful rosy blush on his face. "You... want..."

You smile and speak sarcastically. "Please, Edmund, save my dignity from utter ruin. I was too bold already. A proper lady—"

The book ends up crushed under his foot the moment he shifts to grab your face, kissing you with proper enthusiasm. "Do not ever suggest you're anything but a lady," he mumbles against your mouth, suddenly sounding ten years older. "You're my lady."

You smile into the kiss.

Edmund's Masterlist

Taglist.

@raajali3

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ stupid cupid (you're a real mean guy) ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. edmund pevensie x f! reader — the chronicles of narnia

╰₊✧ he always acts as if he hates you, but he actually hates the way he feels when seeing you with his brother┊2.6k words

contains: mentions of fight & blood, assumed unrequited crushes, jealousy, bickering, hand-holding, confessions, wrong place/wrong time confession but it somehow works, peter’s feelings for the reader are up to interpretation 

➤ author's note: oldest request in my inbox, finally finished T-T

“peter, you know i love you, but this is the third time this week where i had to save your ass from getting beat by some randos because you can’t keep your temper— and it’s only tuesday! i’m starting to wonder if you’re trying to break your record of eleven fights in one week!” you couldn’t help your laughter, sitting down on the bench next to him and lucy while you all waited for the next train to arrive.

“i swear, i’m not doing it on purpose! i just… i can’t help myself when those pricks are always testing me…”

you reassuringly put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him a little closer than what most would consider friendly, “i know, i know, you still haven’t gotten the hang of the lack of disrespect and rude behavior you’re receiving, but maybe you should think of it as having pity on those who don’t know any better and practice maintaining your “kingly patience" on them, or something of the sort.” it’s become a habit for you to think up and suggest new ways for peter to avoid shooting off like a cork and fighting his schoolmates, and while some of them worked more than others, there hasn’t been a permanent solution thus far. it’s also worth noting that you haven’t been to this place called ‘narnia’ before, only hearing about it from the four of them once they came back from the countryside on account of your strong friendship with them. you listened to understand why they changed so much since you saw them last and were more than willing to help them adjust in any way you could think of… assuming they were telling the truth and not going through some collective delusion…

“well, i suppose another change of mindset wouldn’t hurt…” he let out a frustrated groan, running his hand through his hair. “thanks again for… you know… being so patient with me… i guess it’s a big change to see me going from model student to delinquent…”

“oh, it’s perfectly fine, i actually like the change, you used to be so boring and helping me all the time, but now you’re a lot more fun with me helping you all the time,” you couldn’t help but giggle when he flashed a bashful smile at you, now sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“you barely even helped,” a forgotten edmund scoffed while wiping away the faintest trickle of blood from his nose with the back of his hand. “all you ever do is show up at the last minute to steal the credit, then start talking like a philosopher.”

“first of all, we both got here at the same time. second, you’re just mad that i know how to dodge while you got punched in the face while dragging him away.”

“i literally only got punched in the face because you used me as a meat shield!”

“alright, that’s enough from you two,” susan interrupted, turning her attention to her older brother and proceeding to chew him out for getting into more trouble for no reason other than being looked at wrong.

you shot an annoyingly triumphant look at the injured boy, satisfied about getting in the last word in yet another trivial quarrel. it didn’t matter if these little bickering matches were stupidly juvenile and occurred so many times a day that it’s impossible to keep track of wins or losses; it was something that made your respective days a little brighter, and therefore worth continuing. 

he doesn’t even remember how these petty interactions even started, but according to lucy, it’s been a thing ever since she was a baby, with some of her earliest memories being about the two of you fighting over the most stupid things imaginable. if only she also remembered who was the one responsible for it, then maybe he would feel less guilty about being the one who initiates most of the fights nowadays. he claims it’s because, as unlikable as he can be, he’s certain you’re ten times worse despite how popular you were compared to him, even though you were trying to be more sympathetic after learning about their entire other life story.

oh, who was he kidding? he’s far too intelligent and self-aware to continue telling himself these lies that have the most flimsy backings to them. he knows it’s all because he’s been harboring these complicated romantic feelings toward you for the longest time ever, and because he gets pissed off when you grow too close to other people, especially his older brother. he’s scared that you’re going to grow apart from him, so he ends up arguing with you just for the sake of it so that he remains relevant in your life. it might not even be necessary, but he’s already too far in and too proud to suddenly back out, unable to fight with his stubborn pride even though he’s quite certain he’s never been a more pathetic loser in his entire life than when it came to you.

of course, he had to be the one to fall for a girl who would never look at him as anything more than a nuisance. all of his siblings had flocks of men and women following them around at all times (even little lucy, although that was only in narnia for obvious reasons), so if they decided they liked someone, it didn’t take any effort to convince them to go on a first date. edmond, on the other hand, hardly ever had people interested in him, and if they were, they would usually be put off by his satirical tone and indifferent nature. it was nearly impossible to get people to like him on a base level, much less a romantic one, so he shouldn’t be surprised at the idea of his brother managing to be your boyfriend at the end of it all. cupid just loves playing tricks on him, especially when he’s trying to accept that love just might not be for him.

yet when lucy felt a gust of magic flying by with susan telling all of them to hold hands, he still reached out to grab onto you despite your protests. had he not done so, then you wouldn’t have been transported along with the rest of them, watching your surroundings disappear all around you before finding yourselves inside a shallow cave on a sandy beach. you promptly pulled yourself away from him, giving a reaction that he couldn’t quite tell was disgust or embarrassment in the darkness, but once you all stepped into the light of the sun, he couldn’t help but wonder if you were actually as flustered as you looked. 

still, he didn’t have much time to ponder that when his sisters pulled you out to play in the water before he and his brother followed, yelling about how you had somehow found yourself in the land that they would spend hours upon hours telling you about. you were understandably confused about the entire thing, never really believing them or in magic entirely, but what other explanation could there be for being in a dull underground train station one moment, then a sunny coastline the next? the grains of sand were like little crystals, the ocean waters were a technicolor teal, the clouds looked like chunks of cotton candy, and you can’t quite remember the last time you’ve seen the pevensie siblings smiling so brightly.

it was all too short-lived before the five of you went to explore the mysterious ruins overlooking the cliffside. they didn’t know at first, but after some investigation, you could see the way the joy in their hearts sank when they realized they were standing on the crumbled remains of cair paravel. a wondrous palace which once held so much life and was their home for years, now reduced to a pile of stone and rubble. they even ventured down to the undercroft and discovered their belongings in chests, only to find that they were more than a thousand years past the time they lived in, and that all they had previously known were dead.

their joy and happiness was snatched away as quickly as it was given, and the four diverged to their own corners of the grounds to sit and ponder at. edmund sat on a random pile of bricks in what used to be the library, picking up pebbles and mindlessly flinging them around. he felt absolutely crushed about this new revelation without any idea of what to do next. there was a part of him that wished he had never returned to narnia in the first place if it meant that he would learn what he already had, but it was too late for that, and his heart was aching with tears starting to form in his eyes. 

and of course, when he’s at his weakest moment, you just had to show up around the corner, drawing closer before sitting next to him. he knows you’re just trying to be there for him, but he could feel his bitter jealousy bubble up again when he thinks about how close you and his brother were being earlier while playing on the beach, “did you just come from seeing peter?”

you scrunched your nose in confusion at the random question, “no? i thought i should give you guys some time to process everything, but you’re the first one i came to see… but, you know, if you want me to see peter first, then i’ll leave.”

realizing his mistake, he instinctively grabbed your wrist before you could leave and pulled you back to sit with him, “no, i didn’t mean it like that, i just thought i would be the last person you would check up on.”

now you were becoming even more confused than you were initially, furrowing your brows together while becoming increasingly aware of his grip on you that he had yet to let go of, even though you made no attempt to pull away, “i know it might be hard for you to believe, but i care about you just as much as your brother.”

that was difficult for him to believe, especially when he had himself convinced that his brother was on top, followed by his sisters, then a massive gap before getting to him, although he still wasn’t sure if he was convinced you were telling the truth either. “this used to be the library,” he started, gesturing toward the wide expanse of what used to be something great. although the walls have long fallen and crumbled to dust, you could still see where they used to stand. “i used to spend all my time here when i wasn’t doing my work. the books here were thousands of years old, and i had this goal to read them all, but i never got to because…” 

he could feel his heart starting to break again while his voice cracked, trying his best not to break down in tears in front of you. that was the last thing he wanted to happen, for the worst to happen with you thinking less of him for being unable to keep his emotions in check, but none of his fears came true as he watched through teary eyes how you moved to hold his hand in yours and pulled him in for a gentle hug. his eyes widened in shock, but he quickly became overwhelmed by the kind gesture and returned in the embrace, crying into your shoulder while you patted him on the back.

you didn’t try to comfort him using words when you knew there was nothing you could say that could help, not when this was something you could never understand. you’ve experienced loss before, but nothing to the extent of an entire kingdom that one has spent years ruling after freeing it from an eternal winter. edmund always has his walls up, layers of brick and concrete that seemed indestructible and remained up even when he’s just around his family, yet for the first time in the years you’ve known them, they crumbled just as the walls surrounding you did, allowing him to show the vulnerable side he’s worked so hard to keep hidden.

after a couple of moments, his tears dried up, allowing his embarrassment to settle in as he pulled away, timidly wiping away the wetness on his pale face, “‘m sorry for that.”

‘don’t act like you’re mortified about being human, it’s perfectly reasonable for you to react like that,” you kept a casual tone, just in case he started feeling overly awkward about his little emotional outbrust. “i think you’re too calm about it, actually.”

“do you really?”

“i mean, i don’t want to pour salt on your wounds, but the world you’ve been dreaming about seeing for the past year is practically gone. the castle, the servants, the people… your friends, your lovers… everyone and everything, gone to dust. i’d be screaming and crying and throwing a tantrum like a toddler if i were you, but i guess that’s the difference between a king and an everyday civilian.”

“i guess having you around calms me down,” he slipped, feeling the heat settling in his face. being around you was always something that put him at ease whenever his mind and pulse were racing, but sometimes, you were the reason why it was racing to begin with. “but i didn’t really have many friends to begin with, and i didn’t have any lovers here either. some things never change, i suppose, even in a world where centaurs and fairies exist.”

“what? you’re not that unlikable, was your sarcasm too modern for them to handle?”

“yeah, none of them would argue with me like you do. being in narnia was the best time of my life, but it wasn’t the same when no one was constantly ragebaiting me.”

“did you only miss our arguments, or did you miss me too?”

“... is both an acceptable answer?”

“of course, it is, you idiot,” you groaned, moving forward to place a chaste kiss on his cheek before quickly pulling away, watching his dark eyes grow larger before he put his hand on the area to confirm what you just did and turned to look at you in shock.

“what was that for?”

“what do you mean ‘what was that for?’” god, this guy had the emotional intelligence of a wooden plank, you wouldn’t be surprised if there were dozens of princesses and princes who were swarming him when he was a king, but he never realized the implications for some reason. “i’m confessing to you, okay? i like you, romantically, and i have for the longest time. i know this might not be the best moment, but you just gave me the most perfect set-up to admit it! also, don’t bother denying your feelings for me, i already know you were ranting to lucy the other day and let it slip.”

“but… what about peter?”

“what about him?”

“i-i thought you liked him more than me…”

“not in the same way, i don’t.”

“so that means… my feelings for you aren’t unrequited…”

“jesus, edmund, i’ve been hitting on you for the past two years, did you really not notice?”

“well, maybe i could do with a lengthy and in-depth analysis of your feelings for me and all the times you’ve flirted with me—”

“yeah, you’re not getting all that. not today, anyway. so do you wanna be my boyfriend or not?”

“you know i would never say no to that, of course i do!”

request:

an enemies to lovers with edmund where he acts like he hates the reader which makes her hate him but he gets jealous of how much time she spends with peter✨🥰

[angelina-urmom]

mamacita i need more reese x smart girl 🙏🙏🙏

————————————————————————

Doesn’t Add Up

—————————————————————————

Reese Wilkerson x Smart!Reader

Authors note ~ ughhh this my favorite trope w/ Reese it’s so cute. Ik sudoku isn’t a smart person thing but I love it so much so I had to add it in.

Summary ~ Malcolm can’t wrap his head around how Reese is dating a loud, confident, popular girl who casually solves expert-level Sudoku puzzles for fun. As they all hang out in the living room, he watches their dynamic and slowly realizes that, somehow, they actually make perfect sense.

Warnings ~ None really, Fluff, Reader intended to be female, canon chaos, No PDA. As always Established relationship

Taglist : @miarabanana @aklyoshi @sllutty-sturniolo @sabsheartsturns @alexxavicry

Word count ~ 1.2 k

—————————————————————————

Malcolm had accepted a lot of things about his family.

Reese being loud.

Reese being aggressive.

Reese being… not smart.

All of that made sense.

What didn’t make sense.

Was you.

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch like you belonged there, laughing at something Reese had just said, shoving his shoulder like you’d done it a hundred times before.

Which, apparently, you had.

Because you were his girlfriend.

Malcolm still hadn’t recovered from that information.

Dewey sat on the floor, flipping through channels.

“Can we watch something that isn’t just yelling?” he asked.

“No.” Reese said immediately.

You grabbed the remote from Dewey.

“Yes.”

Reese reached for it.

You pulled it out of his reach without even looking.

“Sit down.”

Reese actually sat back.

Malcolm blinked.

“…What.”

You leaned back into the couch, casually resting your legs over Reese’s lap like it was nothing.

Reese didn’t even complain.

He just absentmindedly rested a hand on your ankle, still focused on the TV.

Malcolm stared harder.

This was already weird.

But it got worse.

Because after about five minutes of arguing over what to watch, things settled. The TV played something random. Hal was laughing at something that wasn’t funny. Lois was half paying attention from the kitchen.

Everything felt normal again.

Then, You reached into your bag.

Pulled something out.

Opened it.

Malcolm noticed immediately.

Because you weren’t looking at the TV anymore.

You were looking down at a small book.

A pen in your hand.

Your expression focused.

Malcolm leaned forward slightly, “…What are you doing.”

You didn’t look up, “Sudoku.”

Reese glanced down at it, “You’ve been doing that all week.”

“It’s a different puzzle.”

“They all look the same.”

You nudged him with your foot, “They’re not.”

Malcolm stood up and walked closer.

“…What level is that.”

You flipped the cover slightly so he could see, “Expert.”

Malcolm blinked.

“…You’re kidding.”

“no of course not.” You smiled.

He stared at the page.

Numbers already filled in.

Fast.

Clean.

Like you weren’t even thinking about it. It want that sudoku was hard for him but he wouldn’t think someone who would like Reese would be good at it.

“You’re doing that… for fun?”

You shrugged, still writing, “Yeah.”

Reese leaned back into the couch like this was completely normal, “She does that all the time.”

Malcolm looked between you and Reese.

Then back at the puzzle.

Then back at Reese.

His brain physically could not process this.

“…How.”

Reese looked at him.

“How what.”

“How are you dating her.”

Reese frowned, “What’s that supposed to mean.”

Malcolm opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Thought about Lois being in the next room.

“…Nothing.”

Because what Malcolm wanted to say was:

She’s smart.

Like, actually smart.

Like, way smarter than you.

Like, solving expert-level puzzles for fun while watching TV smart.

And you.

You once tried to use a calculator in English class.

Malcolm rubbed his face.

This didn’t make sense.

It didn’t add up.

You finished a section of the puzzle and tapped your pen lightly against the page.

“Done.”

Malcolm looked down.

“…You finished it.”

“That one, yeah.”

Reese didn’t even look surprised.

“Start another.”

You smiled slightly.

“I was going to.”

Malcolm turned slowly toward Reese.

“…You knew she was like this.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re just… okay with it.”

Reese shrugged.

“She’s fun.”

You glanced up at that, smiling.

“You’re fun too.”

Reese smirked.

“I know.”

Malcolm stared at both of you.

Dewey looked up from the floor.

“I think it makes sense.”

Malcolm turned.

“How does this make sense to you.”

Dewey shrugged.

“They’re the same.”

Malcolm gestured wildly.

“She’s solving expert-level puzzles!”

“And he fights people in parking lots,” Dewey said calmly. “It balances.”

Malcolm paused.

…That was disturbingly logical.

You nudged Reese’s shoulder.

“Tell him about the time you tried to fix the toaster.”

Reese immediately pointed at you.

“No.”

Malcolm leaned in.

“…What happened.”

You grinned.

“He used a fork.”

Malcolm stared.

“…Of course he did.”

“It worked for a second.” Reese defended.

“It sparked.”

“It worked.”

You laughed, leaning into him.

Malcolm watched the way you fit together.

Easy.

Natural.

Like this wasn’t weird to you at all.

Like it made perfect sense.

You flipped to another page of your Sudoku book.

“Want to try one?” you asked Reese.

“No.”

“You could learn.”

“I don’t need to learn that.”

“You said that about reading once and plus there’s only three rules.”

Reese pointed at the TV.

“I can read.”

“You read a menu wrong yesterday.”

“They changed it!”

You laughed again.

Malcolm just stood there.

Still trying to figure it out.

Because logically It didn’t make sense.

But somehow watching you two together it did.

He sat back down slowly.

He wasn’t mad or jealous of his brother just more confused. Reese was an idiot and you were smart but I guess at the end of the day you guys have the same personalities.

—————————————————————————

[mypersonalcringecave]

Got no future - 1

Reece x fem!reader 🫶🩷

(Warnings: slow burn, idiots in love, midly suggestive, set around Season 3-7)

Divider from @kawaiimaterials

1 ♡ 2 ♡ 3 ♡ 4 ♡ 5

You met him in primary school. Technically.

He was eating crayons and pulling at any girls hair he walked past. Giggling like mad and running away from the teacher when they cried. Then he tried it on you, and you punched him in the face. His nose bleeding, falling flat on his ass and slowly processing you standing over him, glaring down at him.

Then he started crying.

When his mum picked him up, she let him know he deserved it.

You didn't expect to see him in your freshman year.

He was still pretty much the same. Just taller and more annoying. Starting fights, yelling at teachers, stomping down the halls and stealing anyone's pudding cup that was left unobserved for even a second.

But he didn't recognise you. Not until he tried to snap your bra strap during PE and, once again, he was flat on his ass with a bleeding nose. Blinking up at you glaring at him. Your shadow casting over his crumpled form. But he didn't cry this time.

He smiled.

"Pigtails?"

He tilted his head to the side.

You grit your teeth.

"Reece"

Then the teacher was dragging you both away. Giving some long-winded lecture about how violence doesn't solve anything and parking you right outside the principles office.

His mum yelled at him almost as much as your mum did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren't really sure how it happened. But a friendship formed. Maybe it was him sitting next to you during lunch everyday, or babbling about nonsense as he walked you to classes he was definitely not in. Maybe it was him waiting by your locker at the end of the day, bouncing on his heels and offering to walk you home. You denied everytime.

Until one day you didn't.

And now you were sat on his bed, colouring book open in front of you and Dewy across from you. Each taking a side and colouring in silence as Reece leaned against your back, shooting spit balls at Malcolm's back.

"Would you stop that?"

Malcolm turned to glare at him, and you didn't need to see Reece to know he was smiling.

"No"

"Can you control your beast?"

You shrugged, picking up a blue pencil.

"He's your brother"

"Yeah, and he's your friend"

"Friend is a strong word for 'guy I tolerate'"

Reece relased a dramatic gasp, hand thumping over his heart in a way that made his back sway against yours.

"You're so mean to me"

You pushed him.

"You gonna cry about it?"

He pushed you back.

"Hey! You're making me move out the lines!"

Dewy threw the yellow pencil at you. Glaring and pouting, his sun suddenly looking like it was flaring.

"Sorry, Dewy"

You elbowed Reece in the side.

"Yeah, sorry or whatever"

Malcolm pointed his pen at you, eyes wide and hair pushed back. On his third round of calculus study.

"See? You can tame him"

"He's just scared of me-"

"No I'm not!"

You looked over your shoudler, reeling your fist back.

"You want another broken nose?"

"That was one time-"

"Twice"

"You didn't break it the first time, so it doesn't count"

He knocked his head back against yours, just hard enough to make you hiss and drop your fist. Rubbing the sore spot and pouting.

He stuck his tongue out. You stuck yours back.

Then the room returned back to the peaceful quite. Dewy finishing up his side of the page, Malcolm finally putting the calculus down in favour of ancient history. And Reece slowly droozing off, snoring like a truck.

"I'm off. Mum's making meatloaf, have to get in early if I want the end piece"

You nudged him, just enough for him to blink awake with a groan. Rolling onto his side and pushing his face into his crumpled sheets.

"Can you bring leftovers tomorrow?"

You packed up your things, sliding off the bed and sliding your bag over your shoulder.

"If you apologise to Malcolm, sure"

He peeked one eye out from his sheets and glared.

"It's fine, I'll starve"

You shrugged, shot an apologetic look towards Malcolm. And left. The sound of the front door clicking shut echoing in their bedroom.

Dewy smiled. Poking Reece's side with his pencil.

"You like her"

"Shut up, dweeb"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By junior year, he was dating. And you weren't.

Well, he called it dating. You called it making out with anything with boobs and heartbeat behind the bleachers. When Reece got his licence, it became make outs in the car instead. When he could get it.

It wasn't a bad thing. He was growing up, and so were you. But you missed walking home with him. Missed being able to just drop by his place without the fear of seeing his hand aggressively grabbing a tit. And most of all, you missed him just being him.

Not sweet, not caring. But...touchy. His thigh pressed against yours at lunch, his fingers brushing against the back of your hand as you walked together, his head resting on your shoulder while you studied on the couch. Now he was too busy to grip your arms too tightly, to lean down and whisper stupid jokes in your ear during class, to fall asleep on your thighs giving Dewy the perfect opportunity to draw a moustache on his face and let you take the heat.

No, now he was busy shoving his tongue down some girls throat.

And you were too afraid to admit the feeling in the pit of your stomach wasn't just annoyance at being ditched.

It was jealousy.

"You're losing"

Malcolm was button mashing as his Ryu jumped and kicked at your Bridie.

"No I'm not, I'm just lulling you into a false sense of security"

You mashed your own buttons. Sat on the floor while he took the couch. Dewy practising piano in the front room and Jamie crawling through the kitchen with something that looked suspiciously sharp.

You abandoned the game and stood up. Removing the object from the babies hand and bringing him over to sit on your lap. Mashing the buttons for you instead.

"You're distracted"

You ignored Malcolm. Clapping as Jamie managed to hit a combo.

"Is it because Reece has a girl in his-"

"If you finish that sentence, I'm telling Lois you're the one that melted a hole in her favourite pot"

Your voice was clipped and stern. Mind wandering to the closed bedroom door, Reece just behind it with Beth doing God knows what on the bed were you took naps, that you spread your homework across and ate snacks on. That Reece pushed you off and smacked you with his pillows for taking Malcolm's side in some stupid fight you were forced to witness.

Jamie threw the controller with a smile. Silent as ever and clapping happily at the clattering noise it made.

"You're going to have to admit it one day"

"I hope I'm dead before then"

Malcolm closed the game, standing up to switch off the console and TV.

"It wouldn't be the end of the world, you know. If you did like him"

You ignored him, playing with Jamie's hands as he squirmed then settled.

"You're good for him-"

"He's got plenty of other options. He's made that quite clear"

The words came out bitter. Eyes stinging as Malcolm just froze, looking down at you with a curiosity you didn't appreciate. You pulled Jamie closer, he flopped back on your chest.

"It's better this way. Staying friends"

Malcolm walked past you, shrugging as he made his way to his room, ready to kick Reece out so he could finally study. He had given him the hour he asked for. That was enough.

"If you say so"

You listened to his socked feet padding away. The soft melody Dewy was playing. Then some shouting and the door opening and closing and then finally she was walking out. Reece following behind her like a love sick puppy. All wide eyes and kiss bitten lips. Shirt crumpled and pants aswek.

He showed her to the door. Pulled her in for one last kiss and watcher her walk away, down the street, through the window.

When he walked into the kitchen, standing in the space between the table and the living room, he finally spoke with a blissful smile painted across his face.

"I love her"

Your heart sank.

"That's great, Reece. I'm happy for you"

He just kept smiling. Her lip gloss on his face, her hands messing up his hair. A mark on his neck and stinking of her perfume.

"I'm going to write her a poem"

And then he was off. Bolting back into his room, arguing with Malcolm over what pen he absolutely had to use right this very second.

And you were left alone in the livingroom. Bouncing Jamie in your lap and listening to Beethoven. So you turned Jamie to face you, pressing a kiss to his chubby cheek and smoothing back his hair from his forhead.

"You still like me, right?"

He grabbed your hair, pulling hard.

"Ow! Ok fine, I get it, no one likes me"

You were untangling his little fist from your scalp when you heard it. A small voice over the piano keys.

"I do!"

You smiled.

"Thanks Dewy!"

[sooyahforlifeu]

Hold You Tight

Summary: It's your usual days of hanging around with the Wilkersons brothers in their house. Reese, however, started to get too comfortable with you—and you brushed it off as something normal, until the lines of friendship started to blur.

Warning: nothing other than curse words tbh, reader's pov, soft and something a bit sensual, their usual chaos, and bla bla...

Set around season 7, but there's some refs to the Thanksgiving ep (Season 5)—i just made it different than what actually happened in canon.

Divider from @saradika-graphics

Also, the last scenes are inspired by this song:

It's my first time writing here, sooo enjoy!!! :D

Reese Wilkerson always acts like he's meant to live in chaos.

And, Malcolm Wilkerson always tries to keep himself sane and break the family’s chaotic cycle.

I’m not a constant straight A’s student, nor the kind of kid who's willing to die by nearly exploding a whole building just for fun or kicking someone's ass just for… fun. I’m not them, but i kept my shit together enough to stay decent and passed every single test, whether academically or surviving every other day.

It was afternoon when i laid my back against a chair, eyes focused on the paper that i write. Malcolm had finished his lecture about Calculus, teaching me in a not-so-patient way. He somehow managed to make me understand, though. And now, we sat in silence, only the sounds of erasers and pencils as we filled our assignments.

I was half disassociating until Reese suddenly jolted inside the room, eyes wide and breaths heavy. He slammed the door shut behind him—ignoring how Lois was, and still, scolding his ass on some new trouble that me and Malcolm hadn't heard of.

“Hey! Don't you see what we're doing here?” Malcolm yelled in protest, eyes darting to Reese in obvious death glare. I just sighed, pushed myself slightly from the desk to stretch out my arms, way too used to Reese's antics. Well, that doesn't mean i’m not as upset as Malcolm.

“I can see very well, thanks. At least my sight is not impaired like you two,” Reese fought back with sarcasm, which sounded like a weak argument—judging by how disoriented he was from nearly hyperventilating.

Before Malcolm could ever clap back his words, Lois already stormed in and pulled Reese by his ear, “FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, REESE, YOU'RE NOT RUNNING AWAY FROM ME!” Her loud yelling made me feel like my soul left my body. Malcolm stared at them amusedly as if watching an interesting experiment.

“AW—AW!! MOM, I WANNA STUDY—”

“No, he’s not,” I cut him off in a way too calm manner. Reese shot me a betrayed expression, his gaze sharp as knives, warned me silently; ‘you’re gonna regret that.’ A laughter escaped Malcolm's mouth when the door clicked shut again after Lois dragged Reese's ass out. “Where were we?” He asked, still recovering from chuckles now.

Downstairs, Jamie slept soundly in Dewey's arms. He hummed gently, swaying ever so slightly just to keep his little brother in Neverland for a bit longer. He winced when Lois stomped her feet passing him, hand still pulling Reese's ear as the older brother whined endlessly.

Dewey decided to move to the bedroom. He put a finger on his lips as he took the sight of me and Malcolm studying.

“Sshh, Jamie's sleeping...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It wasn't fair!”

“Don't you think it's actually reasonable?”

“Hell no!”

I closed the fridge door, “You're unbelievable.”

Reese groaned loudly, couldn't even fathom the idea of him on the wrong side. He slumped on the seat across the table. I plopped down as well, gulping the milk that i grabbed earlier. I brushed my chin with my finger, wiping off the excess milk.

"Dude, sometimes you need to see yourself,” i muttered in half sarcasm, half in disbelief that Reese couldn't take every shit seriously. Even though i lost count of how long our friendship is.

Lois was upset over the fact that Reese stole Hal’s credit card to bought some truffles for his cooking, by manipulating Dewey to get him some—and, to be honest? This sounded very much like something he would do. And it's not the worst one. Unfortunately. However, for once, he seemed like he took my words. He sulked, but he was deep in thought.

“Do you really think i'm that bad?” he asked quietly. I raised my eyebrows at his question. The next second I already put the glass down and pinched my nose bridge. “You want the good news or the bad news?”

“Eh… good first.”

“You can always change.”

Reese's face scrunched in a deeper scowl, “I think that explains the bad news.”

I muffled a laugh behind my lips. He immediately pouted at the sight. “Fine, fine! I can change,” his grumbling sounded more like he's trying to convince himself that he could. I sighed, feeling my energy depleted in seconds just by knowing damn well he's gonna do some stupid shit all over again, just in different forms. “I don't trust you.”

“You're supposed to motivate me!”

“I want to, but, damn—Reese… make it believable!”

“What do you possibly want?”

“Duh, for you to get your shit together? Use your damn common sense!”

Reese didn't reply back.

He curled his hands into fists on the table. I noticed, of course. And that alone almost makes me feel bad for him. Nevertheless, i chose to speak just for the sake of breaking the silence and making him understand.

“Look, i know you love cooking. Everybody knows. But you can always ask me for help instead of putting your father in debt. We can… i don't know, combine our money to buy some ingredients for Thanksgiving, if you want. And we can cook together.”

“I don't need your help,” Reese's voice cut through the thick atmosphere, sharp—not high, just stern and low enough to emphasize his uneasiness at the idea.

He didn't want to seem like a burden, and i know that well coming from him. He felt better if he's the one in control. Malcolm and Stevie used to have their own science project and they needed a hand. Reese felt like he could contribute, but Malcolm refused. Didn't even put his name when Reese accidentally did, in fact, help their discovery. The memory still left a bit of a stung as i remember it.

“...I can do it on my own.”

“You don't have to.”

“Cooking’s the only thing i’m good at!”

“Yes, but I'm not only talking about that,” I let out a harsh exhale, clearly not pleased by his stubbornness and our back to back argument.

“For once. Just for once… can you stop thinking that everything’s only about you? They're not the best parents ever but you're being ridiculous right now!” Anger coursed through my veins when i blurted out those words, showing my patience already thin from this conversation. Expression stoic to keep myself from getting a tad too far.

He was left speechless again. This time, his jaw slightly opened, and i've been prepared for anything that's going to come out from his mouth. And then… nothing. He gritted his teeth and looked away. There was something suspicious hiding under his eyes. And it made my expression shift from confusion… to slow realization.

There was too much silence for once.

The uncomfiness reminded me about something. Something about his character that never makes me able to truly understand him. He never showed any sign of remorse or, in other words, lacked depths about emotional intelligence. The first time he looked and sounded human were only when we used to be in the same middle school; his eyes lit whenever he saw or talked to Wendy. Reese confessed to her, and it was the only vulnerable moment i ever saw of him. Sadly, the infatuation ended way too soon.

Sadly, a part of me wanted to understand him.

His lips started to wobble. My eyes widened in pure shock—i stood up to reach him. Quick. Instinctively. Like a part of me knew someday he would melt down from the pent up emotions.

“Reese… Reese?” I pulled his face against my heartbeat, arms wrapped around his shoulder. He stiffened for a moment before the dam broke. His hands held onto my shirt like a lifeline, tears ran down his now buried cheeks and wet the fabric.

“Why the hell are you crying?” My voice came out in a silent whisper. I ran my fingers on his hair to calm him down and the other one rubbed his back. Reese didn't answer again. But, in a matter of seconds, his quiet sobs went louder, and he grabbed me tighter.

“Let's go back upstairs.”

He shook his head strongly, “...Don't.”

“My feet hurt,” i slipped out an excuse, and his cries dimmed for a moment, contemplating. He looked up at me—and God, my heart aches. Reese's face is puffed and red. Tears brimming on his waterlines. “Okay.”

The three of the Wilkersons boys snored lightly in their room. Malcolm's mouth opened slightly, Jamie still held in Dewey's loosened grip—in a peaceful state. We basically tip-toed our way inside just to make sure none of them wakes up.

Reese's fingers intertwined with mine as i lightly tugged him along, his steps slow and hesitant. When my back fully rested against the sheets of his bed, he almost lunged onto my arms once again. “Oof—!’

“Shoot, sorry,” he murmured against my skin. My chest’s heavy with the weight of his head and a soft affection underneath. I hummed in acceptance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reese was never a serious person.

But, the air felt—and smelled different—when i stepped inside the Wilkerson's house after i went to one of my friend's party. The aroma of sauteed hot chillies made me cough a few times when i entered the kitchen, and somehow, Reese just spawned out of nowhere, hand waved in front of my face, trying to snap me back to reality. I jumped a bit, and his jackass smirked teasingly.

“Didn't mean to startle you,” he said, now gripping his hips. An apron tied nicely to his figure, hair messy and cheeks decorated by a few splattered sauces and flours. I bit my tongue from just thinking about how cute Reese actually is.

“Anyway, sorry for the… uh, chillies. I know you hate that,” Reese added afterwards, and i nodded briefly. He shifted, walked to the behind of my back and pushed me away from the kitchen. A frown plastered on my face, “What are you doing? I just wanna watch—”

He shook his head, determined to shoo me away somewhere else other than in kitchen. “First of all, asthma sucks. And i’m sure you don't want a whole episode of being suffocated,” Reese stated dramatically, and i grunted when i felt his grip tightened.

“Second, i need to focus. I made a mistake by stealing my dad's money, so i don't want it to go to waste.”

My annoyed expression now mixed with something else, laced with a proud, bittersweet feeling. I pressed my lips like i’m considering all his reasons, and i finally ended it with a sigh. Reese's mouth turned into a wide grin, “Now, that's more like it! Go away, now,” he pushed me harder, and i almost fell to the front. I turned around just enough to display my middle finger towards him, and he barked out a laugh.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Only two minutes of me sitting down on the couch, and I was already greeted by Malcolm's complaining. I scoffed, a few chuckles slipped from my lips, “You know Malcolm, if you ruin this one for him, you're definitely an asshole, and i’ll never forgive you for that,” i replied without any break, and he snapped his neck to my side so quick i was genuinely terrified by the flash of anger on his face.

“Oh for the love of God, can you just be happy for Reese?”

“I am,” he clicked his tongue, failing in his attempt to hide his annoyance and jealousy. “No, you're not,” I punched his shoulder lightly. He mumbled something unintelligible while rubbing the spot.

“This is none of your business, okay?”

“I’m literally the unofficial member of this family by how often I come ‘ere, nerd!”

“Yeah, emphasis on unofficial. You don't get to say what you want.”

“What are you? The government?”

Malcolm grumbled loudly, he’s seconds away from fuming. The debates were never ending until both of us felt a harsh tap on one of our shoulders.

“UGH, REESE! DON'T YOU SEE THAT I’M TRYING TO DEFEND YOU RIGHT HERE?”

My next words died in my throat.

“Uh… hi, Lois,” I was sure as hell that my face looked as pale as a whiteboard by the time my gaze met Lois. Malcolm held his stomach in a sudden burst of joy in taking the sight of my suffering, shaking from non stop laughter.

"Hey, don't you dare! You're the one who trash talked your own brother!” I pointed a finger at him, my eyes slightly darted to Lois. She looked way too amused, but kept her attitude calm and calculated. At that point i felt like my heart stopped from trying to read her mind.

“Kids, just let it go,” she swatted her hands in the air, like someone just murdered her real self and replaced her with someone gentler. This time, Malcolm's amusement faltered into a shock. My pupils went smaller.

Lois shook her head, lips curved into a small smile. “Don’t be so damn surprised. I can be nice if i want to,” her sarcasm filled the air, and i was close to exhaling in relief because of the familiar tone in her voice. Meaning i’m not hallucinating. But, then, “I wanna spend time with Hal. Don't bother us or i’ll not hesitate to burn all of you.”

Lois walked away like she’s just not dropped a whole fucking bomb to me and Malcolm. At the backyard glass-door, Hal was leaning against the frame, wearing an obnoxious Hawaii-themed shirt, an ukulele, and a flower necklace clung to his neck. Lois came to him and kissed him on the lips. Their mouths parted to devour each other hungrily. And then the door slammed.

I slowly turned around to face Malcolm, watching the life drained away from his body.

“Dude, that was disgusting.”

Malcolm stood from the couch, sighing heavily, “I’m going to my room,” he said in a quieter, yet still stern tone. His eyes filled with horror. “Just… tell me when Reese's done with the cooking. I feel bad now.”

I snorted, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” My foot swung to his leg, making him yell a loud, “OW, WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM??” and i just shrugged. Malcolm stormed to the stairs, walked past Dewey's confused state.

I pat an empty space next to me. He plopped down and grabbed the remote tv. Simply clicked on a channel that showed Danny Phantom, not even bothered by Reese's frustrated yellings to himself from the kitchen. I swallowed, trying not to worry too much about it. Dewey's head rested on my shoulder as he muttered, all chill, “I wish I was him,” he referred to the main character.

I snickered, “Me too, bro. Me too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sounds of water hitting the sink, somewhere along the sounds of plates, forks and other utensils—filled the serene and quiet atmosphere of the night. Reese’s body felt warm when he hugged me from behind, and i didn't find it in myself to protest. Instead, i just hummed in content, scrubbing away all the leftovers of sauces with dish soap.

"You don't have to do allat, you know,” the words came out breathy and soft against my skin, sent tingles and shudder all at once down to my spine. “I wanted to, you already cook anyway,” I replied in a casual demeanor, betraying the way my heart thudded loudly against my chest.

I placed the plates neatly back inside the cabinet just beneath me. Reese pulled away for a moment to help me put those down. After we finished, he pushed the cabinet in again. “Let's sleep,” He said, like it's the most natural and usual thing ever.

“W-What?” my lungs stopped functioning.

“Let's sleep,” he repeated, more in a whiny voice. I closed my eyes in disbelief and opened it back again to show how caught off guard I am by his sudden request. I'm certain about the fact that he's probably reeling inside at the sight of my goddamn bright red cheeks right now.

“The fuck you mean ‘let’s sleep’?” I asked in genuine confusion and embarrassment. As if making my heart run a mile by hugging me from behind wasn't enough. Reese just nodded, and then leaned closer; batted eyelashes and everything.

Too damn theatrical. I smacked his face lightly, pushed him away. Fully affected by whatever the hell he meant by that.

“If you're joking, that shit’s ain't funny man.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Why are you asking this to me anyway?”

Reese, stunned in silence, didn't find the reason behind it. Other than longing for comfort in his best friend's arms like from days ago. He inhaled deeply, “Because… I like having you close,” he started with a sheepish smile, cheeks glowing red and eyes gleaming with sparks. His voice’s unusually small and hopeful.

I blinked in a hot minute, trying to rewire my brain from fully short circuiting and the way my head felt light with too much serotonin.

I'd be glad to. No, no, i’d love to! I’d love to do that. Abso-fucking-lutely, i thought to myself, but didn't quite catch the words to say it. Just froze in my place, felt like forever as his gaze burned an imaginary hole through my eyes.

“S-Sure, why not?” Unfortunately, i looked completely undone and i can't hide myself away, even though i mentally dug a hole and buried my existence down the earth. Reese chuckled at my reaction. Of course he is. I facepalmed to hide how worked up I am by such simple words. His fingers gently brushed the knuckles of my palm, quietly wishing I'd eventually stop hiding. I reluctantly put my hands down, now intertwined with his hands.

“It's okay if you don't want it,” Reese's gaze softened, and it drove my knees weak. I sighed in an attempt to calm down.

For a while, none of us spoke. My hands moved slightly higher to his wrist, feeling his quick pulse underneath. It somewhat relieved me to think that Reese was just as shy and nervous about it. Just like me. And he still is when his gaze never leaves my dumbfounded expression. I gulped, hard, tried not to look at his punchable (from cuteness aggression) expression.

“I don't mind, i swear. I was just… confused, that's all,” I finally found my voice again despite how bad it sounded. He sighed in relief. And another lingering heavy feeling besides it.

“I've been so damn weird lately,” Reese said in admission, rubbed his neck.

“Maybe you just need some sort of affection, i get it,” i shrugged, oblivious by a tinge of pink colour on his ears. “Real as hell though.”

“Do you mean, like, you felt it too sometimes?”

“I think everybody do. People are just too busy to mask themselves in nonchalance. I think i’m sick of pretending. Of people pretending. At least you're being real.”

A rare, almost unlikely to happen—moment happened. Reese's eyes lit up in realization, suddenly looking engrossed. Or maybe there was another thing that caused the look of fondness in his green iris. I couldn't tell. It sent warmth sensations in my chest unbeknownst to me.

It wasn't butterflies, or a nerve wracking fluster, or anything similar. Just the rhythm of my heart, quickened again, and the way a smile formed in my lips. “You seemed interested in this stuff,” a beat of chuckle in my words, “...I like seeing you happy.”

“Uhh, I—I… dunno, i guess it just makes sense and i lowkey agree,” The corner of Reese's lip twitched onto a crooked, embarrassed smile, and he awkwardly opened his arms wide enough before looking at me in question, then melted completely in my arms again after I nodded with zero hesitation.

“I hate that you make me all sappy, i don't even know what the hell am i doing,” he said close enough to my ear, and I immediately went all grinning and laughing from his shy voice.

We went back to the usual shared room. This time, though, there wasn't any sight of Malcolm and Dewey. Let alone Jamie—she slept in Lois and Hal's room. The first two were coming over to Francis’ apartment and decided to stay the night. I was wondering why Reese wouldn't come, because he always seemed close with the oldest Wilkerson. Now I know why.

He pulled the covers higher just above our chests. Turned to his side so that he’d meet my gaze. “It feels cold here…”

I rolled my eyes, immediately wrapped him in my arms. Reese sighed in content, a small smirk grew on his face. “You're enjoying this, aren't you?” I asked teasingly beside his ear.

He already buried his face on my shoulder in such proximity afterwards. “Can't help it myself if you're warm,” his lips moved against my neck, close enough near the skyrocketed pulse—that, of course, caused by this spiky haired guy.

“I can feel your heartbeat, by the way.”

“I thought you already knew at this point.”

Reese chuckled, and then he hummed.

As if it’ll never be enough, he nuzzled his nose closer, and tangled his legs with mine. He just nodded in quietness after I said that. I was really prepared for a comeback, but i heard nothing. I sighed.

“Reese…”

Without looking up, he just groaned softly in protest. “What?” The question let out like a small whine. Heat went through my cheeks from his response. “I wanna try something, but please don't freak out. Only if you want to, though,” I stated instead of asking.

Reese's grip on my waist loosened slightly; like he was physically shocked—maybe he understood what I meant. “I’ve been thinking about… confessing to you lately. And now we're all cuddled up like this, I genuinely can't think straight," I added, almost without any breaks. His body stiffened, alongside with the hitch I can feel from his breath.

“Can i… hear it?” He asked silently, words a gentle plea in a whisper-like voice. I inhaled deeply. And then exhaled, “I like you a lot,” I swallowed an invisible lump in my throat.

“I feel like touching you right here and there now.”

Reese lifted his head from my shoulder. There it was; the spark that was impossible to go unnoticed from his green eyes. The corner of his lips started to twitch upwards, again. A hint of pink color spread across his cheeks and ears, and I could see his faint breaths in the cold dark room.

He leaned in slightly to press our foreheads to each other. “Then, why don't you do it?” He asked, laced with a hint of drowsiness and desire from that sheepish smile of him.

With common sense leaving my mind, I gently pulled him in to press my lips on his. It was slow… careful, hesitant in a way that makes it sweeter, like none of us wanted to break one another. Reese whimpered against my mouth, hands slid up my back; fingers held onto my skin a little bit too tight, his leg draped around my waist to anchor himself onto me, as the other tangled with mine, seeking more warmth in need.

My hands tugged on his hair and cupped one side of his cheek, brushing it tenderly. Contrast to how my tongue craved entrance when I licked his bottom lip, and he immediately opened it with a soft moan. Our tongues met in a slow pace like hesitantly testing, and then relaxed, intertwined in one shared passionate pent up cravings.

“Gosh, you're not lying,” I said in between kisses after i felt a tremble from his lips,“You're cold…” Then i pulled his body closer to mine. Reese just nodded feverishly in admission, his free hand that was not on my back instinctively pulled the covers higher to our neck, and then just moved to tuck my hair behind my ear—before tilting me by my jaw, gently positioning me to kiss him properly.

Everything went blurry with the needy sounds coming from each sensation, each coming from his and mine, breathlessly. His hand started to roam around the fabric of my shirt, and he accidentally slipped inside—making me involuntarily gasped, and he stilled for a moment.

“M-May I…?” Reese asked in a shaky voice, and I pulled away slightly to see his face better. My chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, and his are not so different, face flushed red from rushing blood. I considered for a second, and then I nodded almost too quickly, “Just… don't go rough on me,” I asked him a favour, heart already pounding in anticipation.

Reese smiled in understanding—and nervousness. His fingers brushed on my cheek, “Yeah, I-I’ll be careful,” his pupils dilated like a puppy.

A lopsided grin tugged on my lips at such sight, “May I also do the same thing? I wanna warm you up,” Both a request and an offer, I asked in a gentle tone. Reese swallowed slowly, gaze still dazed, “Yes, yes you can…”

And, with that, we caved in for another taste of each other, taking our time to roam our fingers around, captivated by one’s soul so much there isn't anything in the world that's too important to rush about. Skin against skin, traces of salivas and eyes fluttered shut for once more.

I couldn't care less about the old scars on his body as I mapped it with the tips of my fingers, and so did he with the folds and textures he found on its way to explore. I felt heat radiating off him now, and I myself ain't far from the definition of a human heater.

After a long while, our shoulders sank and we broke the haziness to stare longingly, seconds away from doing it all over again. But, we're tired, so we reluctantly stopped. Just soft sighs and limbs heavy on each other.

“Does this mean you like me back?” I asked, half-and-half in teasing and serious.

Reese let out a small laughter, “Oh, yeah. Of course I only did it for shits and giggles.”

“Ugh, Reese!”

“Okay, okay! Geez… I like you a lot. It's genuinely an understatement. I love you.”

My half lidded eyes slowly opened just a bit wider. “You love me?”

He pulled off from my shoulder lightly just to stare at me in disbelief, then smiled again. “Yeah, I love you.”

A/N: OH HELL YEAAAAA🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥 i spent days writing this in my notes, and i was hesitant to actually publish it—thought it'll just be something i keep to myself (i was too damn nervous about grammar mistakes), but i was like, oh screw this! And just posted it lol. I hope u guys actually like it T-T

[oizyschild]

Caught !

Summary: Y/n gets caught making out with the one and only. Benny Rodriguez.

Warning: making out, getting caught, both are 15+, and my TERRIBLE and FIRST writing

"Please y/nn! Just one peck. " Benny whined. We are currently walking to the sandlot today, a bit earlier than usual.

"No! What if they see us" I said turning to look at a pouty Benny. "That's why we came earlier! So that you could give me one peck! " Benny said.

Not gonna lie it was an.. Okay idea.

"Fine, only when we go to the sandlot. " I finalized. Benny then smirked, feeling like he's on top of the world. After all, he gets to kiss one of the cutest girls.

We then arrive at the sandlot. As we get in, Benny pulled me into a soft and gentle kiss.

I chuckled and kissed him back. Obviously. Who wouldn't?!

The kiss went after a while. Until we heard rustling. We quickly pulled away and we were met with the sandlot boys.

"What are you guys doing here so early? " Bertram asked, suspicious. "Yeah Yeah! You guys would usually walk with us! " yeah-yeah said.

"Wait.. Did you guys.. Make out? " Smalls asked with tease laced in his tone.

"W-what no! " I stammered while Benny immediately refuses of the accusation. "Whats that shiny thing on your lips? " Tommy asked. I look at Benny and see my lipgloss. My strawberry lipgloss. On his lips. Messy.

I closed my eyes and turned to them. Expecting what I know it's about to be-

"BENNY MADE OUT WITH Y/N" Ham yelled. All of the boys then start teasing Benny and me, while some were a bit jealous, but don't show it.

"I'm so sorry" I whispered to Benny.

"Wear that often please. I love strawberries. " Benny whispered back as I giggle slightly.

"Thought you hate 'em" I replied. "Well now I love them" he shots back, a smirk playing on his lips.

[wannabe-after-hours]

Kissing her as she wakes up. Kissing her as she cuddles into me still sleepy. Kissing her back when she wakes up enough to initiate a kiss. Kissing her when she tugs me back to bed after I try to get up. Kissing her again and again cause I can’t help it.

Kissing her throughout the day. When she finally joins me in the kitchen. When we sit down to eat. When she’s reading or painting or doing her nails. When she gets up to do literally anything.

Kissing her when we’re getting ready for bed. When we’re actually back in bed. In between us shifting to find the right spot to cuddle. Kissing her when she inevitably tugs me closer. When she asks for another kiss. Kissing her before we both go to sleep.

Kissing her every second that I get because I’m addicted to her lips on mine.

[agaypanic]

can you do a malcom smut imagine ( there's not enough of those and hardly any malcolm imagines ) where he says something that really hurts your feelings and he apologizes and you end up having your first time with him.

An Interesting Apology (Malcolm Wilkerson X Reader Smut)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: You and Malcolm have a fight over his selfish attitude. When he apologizes for his behavior, the two of you get swept up in a moment.

A/N: 3rd anon isnt a request but i was trying to figure out how to start this and their ask helped, so shout out to the third anon 

CW: p in v intercourse, praise kink if you squint, virginity loss

***

Malcolm had been wound up all week. He was working on a science project that wasn’t giving him any desired results, and his partners weren’t much help. But that didn’t give Malcolm any reason to take his frustrations out on you.

“Y/n, can you just stop bothering me?” He asked, venom and irritation dripping from his tone. You scoffed.

“All I said was that you should take a break, Malcolm.” You sat on his bed, glancing at the back of his head. He didn’t even turn to look at you while he was talking. “No need to be a bitch about it.”

“Excuse me?” He suddenly pushed away from the desk and stood up, standing in front of you. “I’m being a bitch? I’m being a bitch?”

“You’re practically yelling at me for caring about your well-being, that seems pretty bitchy to me.”

“Well, I’m sorry that I’m so busy, Y/n. I’m sorry that I have a future to worry about and that I can’t put all of my attention on you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You asked, standing up to be face-to-face with Malcolm.

“You’re so needy all the time! Constantly bothering me and distracting me.” Malcolm sighed, rubbing his eyes like he was exhausted. “I gotta do everything I can to get into Harvard. My partners on this have done basically nothing, so it’s all on me because I refuse to fail this project. I have more important things to think about.”

“More important?” You scoffed, shaking your head at the absurdity of your boyfriend’s statement. “You know what, Malcolm? You’re so- Ugh, you’re so selfish. I get that you want a good future, and believe me, you have the brightest future of probably anyone in this town. But all you care about is yourself.” You pushed past him, ready to walk out of his room. “Go ahead, work on your homework that’s just so important.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Suddenly, Malcolm was panicked, racing to shut the door before you could walk through it. 

“I’m leaving Malcolm. You clearly don’t want me around; you have more important things to do.”

It was as if Malcolm had just realized what he had said to you and how it was interpreted. He had an embarrassed look, and he was trying to figure out how to talk his way out of this situation.

“Y/n, I didn’t mean it like that.” Gently, Malcolm guided you to sit back on his bed. He sat next to you, a few inches between you so you had space but he was still close.

“How else could you mean it, Malcolm?” You stared at the wall in front of you, too upset to look at him. Especially after what he had said, what he insinuated. 

“I meant… What I meant was…” Malcolm sighed, dropping his head into his hands. There was clearly no other way he could’ve meant what he had said. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I’m just so stressed out right now.”

“Yeah, well, that’s no excuse.” You took a glance to see his face still buried in his hands. You felt a twinge of sadness for him, but it didn’t make you any less upset.

“I know it’s not.” He looked up at you, and you were honestly kind of pissed that your anger towards him was slowly washing away with the look in his eyes. “Can you forgive me?”

You knew Malcolm was truly at his wit’s end, especially with this being his senior year. Everything he had been working towards practically his whole life was so close, just within reach. But knowing how lucky, or unlucky, he is, it could all disappear with one wrong move.

You gave a tightlipped smile.

“Maybe. I think I’ll need a bit more convincing.” Malcolm immediately caught on to the hint. He had a bit of a habit of saying things without thinking, despite the big brain he supposedly had. So when he’d apologize, you usually told him in one way or another that a kiss would make it better.

“Am I forgiven?” He asked after pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You put a hand on his neck to keep him in his place. 

“Hmm… I’m not so sure.” All the hurt feelings left you when Malcolm grinned and kissed you again. You could feel his smile against your lips, which should’ve felt awkward but didn’t.

You don’t really know how it happened. But one minute, you were sitting next to your boyfriend and gently kissing him, and the next, you were straddling him with his tongue practically down your throat. Feeling overheated, you yanked your jacket off and dropped it on the floor next to you. Then you raked your hands through Malcolm’s soft sandy locks, leaning forward until Malcolm’s back hit the mattress with you hovering over him.

All movements on your end slowed to a halt as you suddenly felt something stiff. You pulled back, denying Malcolm as he tried to chase after your lips, and looked down. Malcolm had a growing tent in his pants, pressing against your core. You gulped, slowly looking back up to see your boyfriend looking slightly embarrassed.

“We don’t have to do anything.” He said quickly. He moved around a bit, probably trying to situate himself, but stopped when you shuddered above him from the accidental contact.

“I wanna-” You cut yourself off with a deep breath, trying to regain composure. You and Malcolm had never gone this far before, either always being interrupted or not feeling ready. But everything felt so right, plus you were horny as hell. “I wanna have sex. With you.”

“Really?” Malcolm sat up abruptly, making you squeal and cling to him in surprise. 

You nodded profusely, and Malcolm pressed a long kiss to your lips before removing his shirt. You followed his lead, doing the same before standing to take off your jeans. When Malcolm got his pants off, he stood up and pulled you into his chest before turning around and having you fall onto his bed, now with him over you.

“So beautiful.” He muttered, eyes trailing your almost bare body before kissing your neck and chest. You suddenly became bashful, as if the compliment had made you aware that you were lying there with nothing but underwear covering you. Malcolm must’ve sensed it, because he came up to kiss your cheek while a hand slipped underneath you to take off your bra. “So pretty.”

“Shut up.” You laughed before cutting yourself off with a small gasp as cold air hit your bare chest. Malcolm leaned down, sucking and teasingly biting the underside of one boob while his free hand played with the other. You moaned and arched your back at the feeling of Malcolm playing with your nipples, alternating between his fingers and mouth.

“You like that?” The cocky asshole smirked against your skin before scattering love bites wherever possible. How you were gonna cover all that up in the California heat, you’ll never know. 

But that was something you could think about later, because right now Malcolm was dragging the hand that wasn’t on your tits up your thigh. He pushed your legs apart to see a wet patch on your panties and you writhing at his touch.

“Someone’s excited.”

“You’re one to talk.” You responded, trying to take some of the attention off of you by gesturing to the situation in Malcolm’s boxers. He laughed, fiddling with the edge of your underwear.

“Maybe we should do something about it?” He said it as a questioning suggestion rather than a confident one like he had meant. But the hesitancy was endearing to you.

“Got a condom?” 

Malcolm thought for a moment before releasing you from his hold and reaching over the bedframe into his dresser drawers. In any other situation, you’d look the other way, but you couldn’t resist reaching out to the clothed cock that was inches from your face while he was hovering over you. Malcolm tensed, taking a deep breath as you rubbed up and down his length.

“Keep doing that, and it’ll be too late for a condom.” 

“Then let’s hope you find one, babe.” Eventually, he found one, and you pouted when he moved back to sit on the balls of his feet, leaving what you wanted out of arm’s reach.

“Are you sure about this?” Malcolm asked, gesturing to the condom. It was sweet that he was making sure, but you were starting to get too impatient for pleasantries.

“Of course I am. Are you?”

“Totally,” Malcolm responded, dropping the condom on the bed to yank off his boxers. You gulped at his hard cock, suddenly feeling intimidated, but quickly couldn’t think about it any longer when Malcolm gently dragged your panties down your legs and off your body. 

Feeling brave, you grabbed the condom and took it out of the wrapper, sitting up to roll it onto him. He stopped you before you could lay back down by kissing you, as if to reassure you that you didn’t have to be nervous.

“Ready?” Malcolm asked, guiding you to lay on the mattress before taking himself in his hand. You nodded and watched as he rubbed the tip through your folds a few times to gather your wetness. With one last look of confirmation, Malcolm slipped his cock into you, stopping at the hilt. You mewled at the foreign but amazing feeling of being full. Malcolm stilled himself to give you time to adjust. “I really am sorry.”

“Huh?” Your mind was so clouded with pleasure that you had practically forgotten the argument you and Malcolm had had.

“About what I said. About you not being important.” He clarified. You wondered why he decided to bring that up in a moment like this, but he continued before you could ask. “I was stupid, Y/n. You’re more important than some school project; I was just stressed and-”

“Malcolm.”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna know how you can make it up to me?” His face lit up, nodding profusely.

“Yes, anything.”

“Move.” Malcolm tilted his head in confusion.

“What are you-” You hooked a leg around his hips and used the leverage to grind yourself against him. He groaned, getting what you meant. “Got it.”

Slowly, he pulled out of you until just the tip was in. You immediately missed the fullness, but moaned in delight when Malcolm thrusted back into you. He quickly settled on a pace that made you arch off the bed with your eyes rolling back.

“So good.” Your words slurred as if you were getting drunk off of Malcolm’s dick, which made Malcolm more confident in what he was doing. “Feels so good.”

“God, you feel so good, Y/n.” Malcolm panted, looking down to watch as he thrust in and out of your pussy. Wanting to see how you’d react, he took a hand off your hip to swipe at your clit. You gasped at the sensation, squeezing him. “You like that?”

“More.” You drawled out, and Malcolm immediately complied. His quick and hard thrusts, accompanied by him rubbing and occasionally pinching your clit made you see stars.

“I don’t think I can last much longer, N/n,” Malcolm said. You nodded in agreeance.

“Me neither. I’m so close, Malcolm.” A particularly deep thrust made you throw your head back on the pillow you were resting on. “Make me come, Malcolm. Wanna come so bad.”

“I got you, baby, don’t worry.” Malcolm cooed, unwrapping your leg from his body to push it up against your own. The new angle that his dick was reaching almost made you scream. “How’s that? That feel good?”

“So good!” You squealed, reveling in all the pleasure he was giving you. The knot in your stomach was tied up tight, ready to burst at any second. “Malcolm, I’m so close.”

“Come on, Y/n, you can do it.” Everything was suddenly all too much, and you were pushed over the edge, letting out a silent scream amid your climax. 

Malcolm was close behind you, the intense squeeze of your walls making him shudder. He did his best to ride through both of your orgasms until the overstimulation became too much. He slowed all movements to a stop and did his best to collapse on top of you as gently as possible.

It was a little while before either of you spoke. You both were too drained of energy, only having enough to comb your fingers through Malcolm’s hair as he laid sweet kisses on your skin.

“Well, that was a good stress reliever.” You couldn’t help but laugh, and Malcolm did the same. He picked his head up to look at you.

“Yeah, it was.” He pursed his lips. “I’m sorry again.”

“You’re forgiven.” You brought him down to kiss him, hand cupping the back of his neck so he wouldn’t go anywhere. “Should we get cleaned up?”

“But I’m so comfortable right now,” Malcolm whined half-jokingly. You rolled your eyes and pushed him off of you, both of you frowning at the loss of contact. You stood up and beckoned him to the bathroom.

“Come on, lover boy.”

***

Malcolm in the Middle Taglist: @rattilol

[k-a-n65]

Clips of You......

Finn Wolfhard x Actress! Reader (Dating)

Summary: A celebration of your relationship with Finn directed by who else but himself!

Warnings/Tags: Finn Wolfhard is a simp, fluff, they are in love, some angst if you squint, they broke up for a bit, Sadie being a cutie, gaten is a mess, thank god for Disney magic.

*****************

The camera clicks on.

There’s a soft shuffle, a quiet breath, and then Finn Wolfhard, age twenty-two, leans back into the couch like he’s trying very hard to act normal.

He fails immediately.

“Okay. Um. Hi.”

He runs a hand through his hair, glancing behind the camera like someone might walk in and catch him being sentimental. The living room lights are warm, familiar. Their house. The house. There’s a nervous smile tugging at his mouth that makes him look seventeen again.

“If you’re watching this,” he starts, voice steadier now, “then… hopefully you’re my fiancée.”

He winces slightly.

“Actually, no. That’s wrong. The first time you saw this you were not my fiancée.”

He exhales a quiet laugh.

“So. Timeline clarification. This intro? I’m recording it after you saw the raw version. At your twenty-first birthday. You cried. A lot. I cried. Also a lot. It was very embarrassing for me, personally. The crying not the video itself”

He shifts forward, elbows on his knees, more serious now.

“But when this gets posted—if everything goes according to plan—you’ll be my fiancée. I hope. God, I really hope.”

His expression softens completely.

“I love you. You know that. But I wanted it on camera. For the record.”

There’s a beat. The kind that feels heavy in the best way.

“I’ve been filming since we were kids. Eleven and twelve. Behind-the-scenes stuff, stupid jokes, hotel rooms, car rides, random 3 a.m. thoughts. It was supposed to be this big commemoration of our time on Stranger Things. Like a ‘look how far we’ve come’ kind of thing.”

He smiles, shaking his head.

“And then I started going through the footage.”

A quiet laugh escapes him.

“Turns out like… ninety percent of it is just you.”

He looks down, almost shy.

“You stealing my camera. You asleep on my shoulder in makeup trailers. You ranting about things that made no sense at two in the morning. You existing. Just… existing.”

He looks back into the lens, eyes bright.

“So I made this for you instead.”

A small, hopeful grin.

“For the girl who thinks she’s just been in the background of my life. Spoiler alert—you’ve been the whole thing.”

He swallows, emotion flickering across his face.

“So yeah. This is dedicated to my favorite person. The girl who, when she first sees this, won’t be my fiancée yet… but hopefully, by the time the world sees it, will be.”

He leans forward and reaches for the camera.

“I love you. Always have.”

The screen wobbles slightly as his fingers brush the lens.

“And I always will.”

*****************

The screen flickers from black to grainy handheld footage.

The date stamp in the corner is slightly off-center. The audio crackles.

A long folding table. Stacks of scripts. Nervous energy buzzing in the room.

The camera zooms in—badly—on an eleven-year-old girl sitting at the table, legs swinging just slightly off the chair. She’s focused, brow furrowed, carefully flipping through pages like the papers might disappear if she moves too fast.

Behind the camera, twelve-year-old Finn whispers loudly.

“This,” he says with mock seriousness, “is (Y/N) (L/N). She plays Carly.”

The girl looks up, startled. Big eyes. Immediately aware of the lens.

“Finn,” she hisses, half embarrassed, half laughing.

“Say hi,” he insists.

She presses her lips together like she’s deciding if this is worth it, then gives a small, awkward wave to the camera. “Hi.”

There’s a beat.

“What are you doing?” she asks, squinting at him.

“Commemorating,” Finn replies confidently.

She stares at him.

“…What does that mean?”

He pauses. The camera dips for a second like he’s thinking very hard.

“It means,” he says slowly, “I’m recording stuff so we can look back at it when we’re old and famous and be like, ‘Whoa. We were so small.’”

Her eyes widen slightly. “We’re small now?”

He zooms in dramatically on her face.

“Yes.”

She snorts and swats at the camera. “Stop.”

“Okay,” he says, regaining his faux-documentary voice. “For historical purposes, make a silly face.”

“What? No.”

“For history.”

She sighs like this is the most inconvenient request of her life.

“…Fine.”

She scrunches her face up ridiculously—crossed eyes, puffed cheeks, tongue sticking out halfway—and the camera shakes because Finn is laughing so hard.

“Perfect,” he wheezes. “That’s going in the archives.”

Right then, another head pops into frame from the side—

Gaten grins at the camera and waves enthusiastically.

“Hi, internet!” he announces, even though none of them know if the internet will ever see this.

(Y/N) immediately drops her silly face and hides behind her script, mortified.

Finn keeps filming anyway.

“See?” he says proudly. “Commemorating.”

*****************

The footage cuts in mid-laugh.

The inside of a cramped trailer. The lighting is yellow and too bright, scripts and empty water bottles scattered everywhere. A twelve-year-old (Y/N) is cross-legged on the little couch, absentmindedly braiding and unbraiding a piece of her own hair.

Behind the camera, thirteen-year-old Finn clears his throat dramatically.

“Interview time.”

She squints at him. “Why.”

“Because it’s important,” he insists. “State your name and current activity.”

She rolls her eyes but plays along. “(Y/N) (L/N). Waiting to be called to set.”

“Correct. And what are we filming today?”

She straightens suddenly, wiggling her shoulders in a ridiculous little dance. “Wrap dayyyy.”

Finn laughs, the camera shaking. “That was aggressive.”

“It’s exciting!” she defends.

He adjusts the frame so they’re both visible. “Okay. Serious question. What do you think is going to come from this show?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she leans back into the couch, thinking in a way that looks very big for someone so small.

“I mean… I hope people like it,” she says finally. “That would be cool.”

A beat.

“But mostly I hope we’re, like… lifelong friends.”

There’s something so simple and certain about the way she says it that even the camera seems to steady.

Finn is quiet for a second.

Then he flips the camera toward himself.

“Wow,” he says softly. “Deep.”

She throws a pillow at him.

He grins at the lens. “Okay. I will update the camera later after wrap.”

The screen fades to black.

The footage returns in the same trailer, but it’s darker now. Quieter. End-of-day tired.

The camera is angled slightly wrong, like it’s been set down in a hurry.

On the couch, (Y/N) is completely passed out. Curled up, one arm hanging off the edge, still in half of her costume.

Finn’s whisper fills the room as he adjusts the tripod.

“Update,” he says quietly, trying not to laugh. “She’s asleep.”

He moves into frame beside Gaten, who’s already biting his lip to keep from laughing.

“But not for long,” Finn adds mischievously.

Finn claps loudly and shouts, “WRAP DAY!”

(Y/N) jolts upright with a gasp, disoriented, and immediately rolls off the couch with a loud thump.

The camera wobbles violently.

“Oh my God—” Finn drops to his knees. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry—oh my God—”

Gaten rushes forward too, panic replacing laughter instantly.

“Dude!”

(Y/N) groans from the floor. “I hate you.”

Finn is half laughing, half horrified as he helps her sit up. “I didn’t think you’d fall—are you hurt? That was my fault. That was totally my fault.”

Gaten lunges for the camera.

“Turn it off, turn it off—”

The footage cuts abruptly to black mid-chaos.

*****************

The screen comes back in a blur of flashing lights.

Voices everywhere. Cameras clicking. A red carpet stretching out under bright spotlights.

The footage is shaky and overexcited.

“We have officially been reunited,” thirteen-year-old Finn announces dramatically from behind the camera. “The squad is back.”

He spins the camera too fast, nearly blinding the lens with flashes before zeroing in—

Right into (Y/N)’s face.

She’s mid-sentence, animatedly talking to Millie, hands moving as she speaks. The second she realizes the camera is inches from her nose, she freezes.

“Finn,” she groans. “Knock it off.”

He zooms in even closer.

“Say something inspiring,” he insists.

“I will inspire you to put that camera down,” she mutters.

Millie laughs, glancing between them. “You two fight like an old married couple.”

Finn doesn’t miss a beat.

“She wishes,” he says smugly.

(Y/N)’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

She sticks her tongue out at him without hesitation, cheeks pink from either the carpet lights or embarrassment.

Finn cackles triumphantly and swings the camera away before she can swat it.

The lens pans out over the entire red carpet—cast members posing, photographers shouting names, fans pressed against barricades, the giant backdrop behind them.

“Season one premiere!” he shouts over the noise. “Look at this! We did this!”

The camera lingers on the lights for a moment, the chaos, the excitement—

Then dips slightly, catching (Y/N) in the corner of the frame still mock-glaring at him.

Even in the blur, she’s smiling.

*****************

The next clip starts abruptly, slightly tilted like Finn forgot to fix the angle before pressing record.

They’re in a hallway. Beige walls. Fluorescent lights humming overhead. Somewhere in the distance, crew members are talking and doors are opening and closing.

The camera zooms in slowly on (Y/N), who is very obviously standing just outside a partially open door.

She’s pretending not to look inside.

She is absolutely looking inside.

Behind the camera, fourteen-year-old Finn lowers his voice into a dramatic whisper.

“What are you doing?”

She jumps slightly, then immediately crosses her arms like she’s been caught doing something criminal.

“Nothing.”

Finn zooms in on her face.

“Uh-huh.”

She shifts her weight, peeking through the crack in the door again. Inside, a few people are talking—laughter floats out into the hallway.

“Oh yeah,” Finn continues, voice dripping with mock seriousness. “She’s totally not staking out the room to see who the person playing Max is.”

(Y/N) whips around, eyes wide. “Shush!”

She glances around like someone important might hear him.

“I’m not staking out,” she insists, lowering her voice. “I just— I just wanted to see her before everyone else meets her.”

Finn slowly pans the camera from her face to the door and back again.

“So. Staking out.”

She glares at him, but it’s weak. Nerves are clearly winning.

“She looks nice,” she mutters, almost to herself.

Finn snorts. “You look like a creep.”

“I do not!”

“You’re lurking outside a door,” he says. “That’s textbook creep behavior.”

She huffs and adjusts her jacket. “I just don’t want to walk in and make it awkward.”

Finn lowers the camera slightly so he’s partially in frame now, leaning against the wall with exaggerated patience.

“You could just go in.”

She chews on her lip. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

The question comes out smaller than she probably intended.

Finn pauses.

Then, softer, “It’s very hard to not like you.”

She blinks at him, clearly not expecting that answer.

Before she can respond, he grins mischievously again.

“Also, you’re not that important.”

Her jaw drops. “Finn!”

He laughs, dodging her attempt to grab the camera.

“What’s her name again?” he asks, aiming the lens back at her.

She looks toward the door once more, almost reverent.

“Sadie.”

There’s a split second of silence.

Then Finn suddenly pushes the door open all the way.

“FINN—!” she yelps, but he’s already grabbed her wrist and is dragging her inside.

“Hey, Sadie!” Finn announces brightly as he pulls (Y/N) fully into the room.

The camera catches a quick flash of a red-haired girl turning around—

Sadie Sink mid-surprise—

And then the footage cuts abruptly to black.

*****************

The next clip fades into soft afternoon light spilling through set windows.

A couch tucked into the corner of a soundstage. Blankets half-thrown over the back. Between takes kind of quiet.

(Y/N) and Sadie are tangled together on the couch, legs draped over each other, completely comfortable. Sadie’s chin is resting on (Y/N)’s shoulder while they scroll through something on a phone.

From behind the camera, fourteen-year-old Finn gasps dramatically.

“Wow. I can’t believe I wasn’t invited to the cuddle sesh.”

(Y/N) doesn’t even look up. “You don’t deserve to be.”

Sadie snickers quietly.

Finn zooms in. “Excuse me? How was I mean?”

Now (Y/N) looks at the camera, affronted. “You said I wouldn’t survive in Vancouver because it’s cold.”

Finn scoffs. “It is cold.”

“You implied I would perish.”

“I did not imply perish.”

Sadie is fully laughing now, shoulders shaking.

Finn continues, “You can barely handle when it goes below thirty-five in Georgia.”

(Y/N) immediately huffs. “That is different.”

“How?”

“It’s a wet cold.”

Finn bursts out laughing. “Georgia is not colder than Vancouver.”

“It feels colder to me!”

Sadie hides her face in (Y/N)’s shoulder, giggling.

“You’re just dramatic,” Finn teases.

(Y/N) lunges toward the camera with one hand. “Stop recording!”

The footage jolts wildly as she tries to swat the lens away, Finn yelping as he stumbles back.

“Assault! This is documented!” he shouts through laughter.

The last thing visible before the clip cuts is Sadie still smiling, and (Y/N) trying very hard not to.

*****************

The next clip opens quieter.

Fourteen-year-old Finn is sitting on the tiny couch in his trailer, knees bouncing in a way that gives away everything.

He angles the camera down dramatically.

“Okay,” he whispers. “This is either going to be historic… or deeply humiliating.”

He lifts up a folded piece of paper and holds it close to the lens.

“Restaurant reservation,” he narrates.

Next: a slightly crumpled bouquet of flowers in a plastic wrap.

“Flowers.”

And finally—

A small shark plushie.

He squeezes it. It squeaks faintly.

“Because she said once that sharks are misunderstood and that they’re actually just big fish with anxiety.”

He nods, very serious.

“So. The plan is: when filming finishes for the day, I’m going to ask her out.”

His voice drops just a little softer.

“And I really hope she says yes.”

He exhales.

“If she doesn’t,” he adds quickly, “I blame Sadie and Gaten. This was their idea. Legally.”

The screen cuts sharply—

Now the camera is clearly in someone else’s hands.

Gaten  is filming his own face way too close to the lens.

“This is a live update,” he whispers dramatically.

He flips the camera around.

Finn is standing outside a trailer door, flowers in one hand, shark plushie tucked under his arm, staring at the door like it might bite him.

From behind the camera, Gaten stage-whispers, “You got this!”

Finn turns and glares so intensely it would be intimidating if he didn’t look like he might pass out.

“Stop filming,” Finn mouths.

The trailer door suddenly opens.

The camera doesn’t catch what’s said—just muffled voices and Finn stepping slightly inside the doorway.

There’s a pause.

A beat that stretches just long enough to feel monumental.

Then Finn turns slightly toward the camera—

And gives a thumbs up.

Gaten lets out a silent, frantic cheer behind the lens.

(Y/N) appears in the doorway a second later, eyes immediately landing on the camera.

She bursts out laughing.

“Gaten,” she calls, “put the goddamn camera away!”

The footage jerks wildly as Gaten cackles—

And cuts to black.

*****************

The next clip opens with loud airport noise—rolling suitcases clacking over tile, distant announcements echoing overhead, the low constant hum of hundreds of conversations overlapping at once.

The footage is shaky and slightly crooked, like whoever’s filming is standing on their toes, weaving between people, trying to see over a sea of winter coats and backpacks.

“Okay, okay—” sixteen-year-old Finn whispers behind the camera, breath a little too fast. “Gate C24. She said C24.”

The lens zooms in too far on a random businessman. Zooms back out. Pans wildly across the terminal.

Then—

There she is.

(Y/N), fifteen now, stepping through the gate doors with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a duffel in her hand. Her hair’s a little messy from the flight, headphones hanging around her neck, eyes scanning the terminal like she’s looking for something specific.

The camera jolts forward so suddenly it almost smacks into someone’s suitcase.

“Move—sorry—sorry—” Finn mutters as he pushes through the crowd.

She spots him at the exact same time.

Her face changes instantly.

That travel-tired look disappears, replaced with something bright and unmistakable.

“Hi!” she calls.

Finn doesn’t even answer.

He just barrels into her.

The screen swings sideways as he wraps her in a hug so tight it nearly knocks the camera from his hand. The footage becomes a blur of jackets and hair and ceiling lights as he squeezes her off-balance.

Her laugh is muffled against his shoulder. “Oh my God—Finn!”

“You’re here,” he says into her hair, voice half relieved, half disbelieving.

“Obviously,” she laughs. “You’re crushing my ribs.”

He loosens his grip slightly but doesn’t let go.

The camera angle is terrible—mostly their shoulders—but you can hear it. The way they both exhale at the same time.

He pulls back just enough to turn the camera toward both of them while they start walking through the terminal, still half-attached at the hip like neither one wants to create actual space.

“Baby’s first Vancouver trip,” he announces proudly into the lens, grin wide and uncontained.

She rolls her eyes immediately but smiles directly at the camera anyway. “I’ve been to Vancouver before.”

“Not with me,” he counters without missing a beat.

She opens her mouth to argue—

Then closes it.

“…Fine.”

He adjusts the angle so they’re both fully in frame now—cheeks flushed from travel and excitement. She looks tired but happy, eyes a little glossy in that way that means she didn’t sleep much on the plane.

“You look gross,” she tells him fondly.

“You look jet-lagged.”

“I am jet-lagged.”

“Good,” he says. “You’ll sleep on the bus.”

She narrows her eyes. “I am not sleeping on a bus.”

“Documented,” he says to the camera. “She will be asleep within twelve minutes.”

They weave through the terminal, bumping shoulders, laughing quietly to themselves like the rest of the airport doesn’t exist.

Without thinking—like it’s the most natural thing in the world—Finn leans down and presses a quick kiss to her temple.

It’s soft. Absentminded.

She doesn’t even flinch. Just smiles wider.

And then—

He kisses her.

Not dramatic.

Not staged.

Not even fully aimed at the camera.

Just a small shift of his head, a brief pause in their steps, and his lips brushing hers like it’s something he’s done a hundred times before.

She makes a tiny surprised sound against his mouth—more startled than anything—like she forgot he was holding a camera.

The kiss lingers for half a second longer than it probably should in a crowded airport.

The camera dips abruptly, like he suddenly remembers it’s still in his hand.

“Okay,” he mutters, slightly breathless.

The footage tilts toward the polished airport floor as he lowers it, catching a blurry shot of their shoes walking in sync.

You can still hear her laughing softly.

“Finn,” she says under her breath, half warning, half smiling.

“What?” he replies, completely unrepentant.

“You’re ridiculous.”

There’s a beat.

“Yeah,” he says easily.

The screen cuts to black mid-laugh.

*****************

The video starts shaky and loud.

Backstage noise — amps humming, muffled crowd cheering from beyond the curtain, someone calling out about a set list. The lighting is dim and yellow, all scuffed floors and tangled cables.

Finn flips the camera toward himself, flushed and buzzing with post-show adrenaline, hair damp and sticking to his forehead.

“We did it,” he says breathlessly. “That was insane.”

From somewhere down the hall, someone shouts his name.

He spins the camera around—

And there she is.

Standing just inside the backstage entrance, hands tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie, smiling at him like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.

He doesn’t say anything.

He just runs.

The camera jerks violently as he barrels down the hallway and wraps his arms around her.

She lets out a startled “Oomph!” as he nearly lifts her off her feet.

“Oh my God—Finn!”

“You came,” he says into her shoulder.

“Of course I came.”

She pulls back slightly, scrunching her nose. “You’re sweaty.”

“Rude.”

“You’re gross.”

He grins — and before she can say anything else, he leans down and kisses her.

It’s quick at first.

Then not.

She melts into it almost immediately, hands sliding up to the back of his neck despite the sweat complaint. The hallway noise fades into background blur as they lean into each other like the rest of the world doesn’t matter.

Someone wolf-whistles in the distance.

They break apart just enough for her to breathe.

Then she notices.

The camera.

She blinks at it. “Why are you filming?”

He pulls it back slightly so they’re both in frame, still wrapped around each other.

“To commemorate,” he says, grinning, slightly out of breath. “Again.”

She narrows her eyes playfully. “I know what that is now.”

He laughs at that — the same laugh from the airport video.

“Good,” he says.

Then he kisses her again.

Harder this time.

She laughs against his mouth but kisses him back, fingers tangling in his still-damp hair. He stumbles backward without looking, and she goes with him.

They fall onto the old backstage couch in a heap.

The camera tilts wildly as his grip loosens.

For a second, the shot is just ceiling lights and the edge of a tour poster.

Then the camera slips from his hand entirely and lands sideways on the cushions, still recording.

The frame now catches them half on the couch, half tangled together, laughing breathlessly.

Her hair’s a mess. His shirt is definitely still sweaty.

She pulls back just enough to glance toward where the camera fell.

“The camera,” she says through a laugh.

He doesn’t even look.

“Still commemorating,” he mumbles before leaning in again.

The last thing the video captures is the blurry edge of the couch and the sound of her laughing softly into another kiss before the clip cuts out.

*****************

The next clip cuts in mid-chaos.

The lighting is harsh and artificial—bright set lights bouncing off fake walls and equipment. Somewhere off camera someone yells about resetting props. There’s distant laughter. The kind of background noise that only exists on a film set.

The camera is way too close to her face.

Like—obnoxiously close.

She’s covered in fake blood. It streaks across her cheek, down her neck, soaking into the collar of her costume. There’s a smudge near her eyebrow that makes her look unintentionally feral.

She doesn’t notice the camera.

She’s mid-rant.

“—because you can’t cheat at fingers, Caleb!” she insists, gesturing wildly with blood-stained hands. “It’s literally impossible to win unless you’re cheating!”

Across from her, Caleb is trying not to laugh.

“I’m not cheating,” he says, clearly lying.

“You hesitated!” she accuses. “You hesitated and then you switched at the last second.”

“That’s strategy.”

“That’s criminal.”

Finn’s laugh shakes the frame slightly.

The camera pulls back just enough to show that it’s him holding it—grinning like this is the best thing he’s seen all day.

She keeps going, completely unaware she’s being documented.

“And don’t even start with me about ‘strategy,’ because every time we play you suddenly become a mathematician—”

She turns slightly as she talks, absentmindedly leaning her shoulder into Finn’s chest like she’s done it a thousand times before. It’s casual. Automatic. Comfortable.

He steadies the camera with one hand and lets her lean.

“Tell the truth,” Finn says lightly, voice teasing. “Are you just mad because you lost?”

She freezes mid-gesture.

Slowly.

Painfully slowly.

She turns her head.

Her eyes lock directly into the lens.

There’s fake blood under one eye. Her expression is pure offense.

“You’re filming?” she demands.

Finn zooms in slightly instead of answering.

Her glare intensifies.

“You are so annoying.”

He hums innocently. “I asked a simple question.”

She steps closer.

Too close.

Her face fills the entire frame now—mock fury, glossy lips, a streak of red across her jaw.

“You,” she says, pointing at the lens, “are an instigator.”

“Answer the question.”

Her eyes narrow.

There’s a split second where it looks like she might actually smack the camera.

Instead—

She leans forward and kisses the lens.

It’s quick but deliberate.

The screen goes momentarily dark from the impact.

When she pulls back, there’s a visible smear of lip gloss right across the glass—pink and shiny, slightly crooked.

Finn makes the most dramatic, wounded sound imaginable.

“Are you kidding me?” he groans.

Behind them, Caleb bursts out laughing.

“She marked her territory,” Caleb says helpfully.

“You’re unbelievable,” Finn mutters, trying to angle the camera to see the damage. “This is not cheap.”

She’s already backing away, smug.

“Consider it a signature,” she calls over her shoulder.

Finn uses the edge of his hoodie sleeve to wipe at the lens. It smears worse.

“Oh my God,” he sighs.

She laughs—bright, victorious—and turns to leave.

As she passes him, he lightly shoves her shoulder.

“Hey!”

“You deserved it!” she shoots back.

He bumps her again, gentler this time, still half laughing.

“You’re buying me lens cleaner.”

“You’re buying me a rematch,” she counters without missing a beat.

Caleb’s voice floats in from offscreen: “I’m still not cheating!”

They both yell back in unison—

“LIAR!”

The camera shakes as Finn laughs again.

The clip ends with him finally managing to wipe the lens clear… only for a faint glossy fingerprint to still catch the light.

He sighs dramatically one last time before the screen cuts.

*****************

The next clip opens with the soft echo of barking.

It’s brighter here—sunlight pouring through wide windows, rows of kennels lining the walls. There’s a laminated sign near the entrance that reads: Adopt, Don’t Shop. The air smells faintly like disinfectant and puppy breath.

Finn flips the camera around to show himself first.

“We are in Atlanta,” he whispers dramatically, as if he’s narrating a nature documentary. “And she said we were just ‘stopping by.’”

He turns the camera toward a row of dogs.

A beagle presses its nose through the bars. A sleepy pit mix thumps its tail lazily. Somewhere in the background, a volunteer laughs.

He walks slowly down the aisle, filming each dog like they’re contestants in a pageant.

“This one looks like it pays taxes,” he says quietly, zooming in on a very serious-looking shepherd mix.

A bark echoes from around the corner.

He rounds it—

And stops.

The camera dips slightly in surprise.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the aisle, completely ignoring the world around her. Her hair’s fallen forward over her shoulder, and she’s laughing—full, unfiltered—while a tiny duck tolling retriever puppy climbs clumsily into her lap.

The puppy is all fluff and oversized paws and unearned confidence.

It’s chaos.

The puppy nips playfully at her sleeve. She gasps dramatically. “You’re feral! Oh my God, you’re actually feral.”

Finn zooms in.

“You’ve been gone for four minutes,” he says.

She doesn’t look up. “I live here now.”

The puppy attempts to scale her shoulder like a mountain.

Finn walks closer, crouching down behind her. The camera captures her profile—soft, bright, completely gone over the dog.

He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to her temple.

She hums distractedly but doesn’t break eye contact with the puppy.

“I’m getting him,” she says with absolute certainty.

Finn snorts.

“There is no universe where your mom says yes.”

She finally looks up at him, offended. “I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?”

“Nope.”

The puppy licks her chin mid-sentence. She laughs again, squishing its face gently.

Finn shifts slightly to get a better angle. “What’s his name?”

She answers immediately.

“Pickles.”

There’s half a second of silence.

Then Finn absolutely loses it.

“Pickles?” he repeats, laughter spilling out of him. “You met him thirty seconds ago!”

“He told me,” she insists.

“He told you.”

“Yes.”

The puppy barks once, like it’s backing her up.

“That’s insane,” Finn says between laughs.

She scoops the puppy up suddenly and, without warning, plops him directly into Finn’s arms.

The camera wobbles as he instinctively adjusts his grip.

“Whoa—hey—okay—”

Pickles settles immediately against his chest, tail wagging at full speed.

Finn looks down at him.

The puppy looks up at Finn.

It’s suspiciously perfect.

She reaches up and takes the camera from his hand.

“Oh this is—this is gold,” she murmurs, flipping it so now she’s filming them.

Finn blinks at her. “Don’t.”

Pickles stretches up and licks Finn’s chin.

She gasps dramatically behind the camera. “He loves you.”

“He does not.”

Pickles licks him again.

She zooms in aggressively on Finn’s expression as he tries—and fails—to remain unimpressed.

“You’re holding him wrong,” she critiques.

“I’ve had him for three seconds.”

“You have to support his little body.”

“I am supporting his little body!”

Pickles yawns.

Finn melts. Just slightly.

She catches it.

“I saw that,” she sings.

“You saw nothing.”

“You love him.”

Finn looks down at the puppy again. Pickles is now chewing gently on the string of his hoodie.

He sighs.

“…He’s fine.”

She flips the camera back to herself, grinning like she just won something monumental.

“Pickles Harrington,” she says proudly.

Finn’s head snaps up. “Absolutely not.”

The clip ends with her laughter echoing through the shelter and Finn still holding the puppy like he doesn’t know how it happened—but also not making any move to give him back.

*****************

The next clip feels different immediately.

There’s no music. No chaos. No dramatic singing.

Just the low hum of set equipment and the muted buzz of crew members moving in the background.

The camera flips on to a close-up of Gaten’s face.

Too close.

“Okay,” Gaten says, adjusting the framing like he’s intentionally centering himself. “We’re back.”

He gives the camera a pointed look.

Behind him, slightly out of focus, you can see her.

She’s standing a few yards away, talking with Matt and Ross. Script in hand. Listening intently. Nodding at something Matt says.

She looks serious. Professional.

There’s distance in the shot.

And then—

The camera drifts.

Slowly.

Subtly.

Tilting off Gaten’s face.

Gaten notices instantly.

He reaches up and physically nudges the lens back toward himself.

“Nope,” he says casually. “We’re not doing that.”

The camera lingers on him for half a second.

Then drifts again.

This time it zooms slightly.

She laughs softly at something Ross says, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

The moment isn’t dramatic. It’s small.

But the camera stays.

Gaten leans into frame again, forcing himself between the lens and the background.

“Hi,” he says flatly. “I’m the star of this video.”

The camera tilts around him.

Gaten sighs loudly.

“Dude,” he mutters.

He grabs the edge of the camera again and redirects it firmly back to his own face.

“You’re being weird,” he adds under his breath.

In the background, she shifts positions, still mid-conversation. Focused. Completely unaware.

The lens drifts again.

Slower this time.

Almost hesitant.

It doesn’t zoom as much—just enough to keep her centered in the background.

Gaten steps sideways, blocking the shot entirely now.

“Absolutely not,” he says, more gently this time. “We talked about this.”

There’s a pause.

The camera stills for a second.

Then—like muscle memory—it tries again.

Just a fraction of a movement.

Gaten reaches out and physically lowers it a few inches so it points at the ground.

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” he murmurs, not unkindly.

In the background, she finishes her conversation with the Duffers. She nods once more, gives them a small smile, and walks off in the opposite direction.

The camera lifts slightly—too late.

She’s already out of frame.

There’s a quiet beat.

Gaten looks directly into the lens now.

His expression isn’t teasing anymore.

“Cut it out,” he says softly.

The camera doesn’t move this time.

The clip ends there—no music, no laughter, just the low background noise of set life continuing like nothing shifted at all.

*****************

The next clip opens in a bright hotel hallway — beige carpet, too-white walls, the faint echo of doors shutting somewhere down the corridor.

It’s clearly pre-press chaos. You can hear stylists talking in another room, someone laughing, the distant hum of a blow dryer.

Finn flips the camera around to himself first.

“Season four press,” he says, half-grinning, half-nervous energy. “California edition.”

He turns the camera toward the group gathered near the elevator.

They’re lined up loosely, leaning against the wall, waiting to head downstairs. Sadie is scrolling through her phone. Millie is adjusting her jacket in the reflection of a framed painting.

(Y/N) is standing between them.

Hands clasped in front of her. Calm. Composed.

Finn walks closer, camera slightly bouncing with each step.

“Are we ready?” he asks, panning across all of them.

Millie nods confidently. “Born ready.”

Sadie gives a small thumbs up without looking up from her phone.

When the camera reaches (Y/N), she looks directly into the lens and gives a soft nod.

Simple.

Finn lingers a second longer than necessary.

Then he clears his throat and keeps moving down the line.

“Okay,” he says. “Important question.”

Everyone groans lightly.

He ignores it.

“We’re in California for, like, a week. What’s one thing you want to do while we’re here?”

He points the camera at Millie first.

“Beach,” she answers immediately. “Obviously.”

He swings to Sadie.

She looks up now, squinting slightly at the lens. “Sleep.”

“That’s depressing.”

“It’s realistic.”

He moves the camera.

(Y/N)’s turn.

She brightens just a little. “Disney.”

There’s no hesitation.

No irony.

Just genuine excitement.

Finn reacts immediately, stepping slightly closer. “Wait—yeah. Me too.”

She looks at him.

“Really?”

“Obviously.”

There’s a tiny shared grin there. Quick. Familiar.

In the corner of the frame, Sadie glances between them.

Her expression shifts—subtle but unmistakable.

A narrow-eyed glare.

She doesn’t say anything.

Just goes back to her phone with exaggerated focus.

Finn keeps filming, oblivious or pretending to be.

“Okay, so that’s two votes for Disney,” he says. “We’re going.”

“We’re not,” Sadie mutters flatly.

(Y/N) laughs under her breath.

The elevator dings behind them.

Millie steps forward first. “If we go to Disney, I’m not waiting in line for four hours.”

“You will,” Finn says confidently.

(Y/N) bumps her shoulder lightly against Sadie’s as they step toward the elevator.

“Come on,” she teases gently. “You’ll have fun.”

Sadie just gives her a look.

Not mean.

Just loaded.

Finn catches it for half a second in the frame before the doors slide open and everyone files inside.

The camera shakes as they squeeze in.

Finn flips it back toward himself.

“Disney vlog coming soon,” he says.

From somewhere behind him, Sadie’s voice cuts in dryly—

“Over my dead body.”

The clip ends with (Y/N) laughing softly in the background and the elevator doors sliding shut.

*****************

The video opens to bright California sun and the unmistakable music drifting through the entrance gates of Disneyland Park.

Finn is holding the camera selfie-style, squinting slightly.

“Okay,” he says, overly formal for no reason. “We have officially made it.”

He steps aside dramatically.

Behind him, (Y/N) is already ten feet ahead, wearing oversized Mickey ears and holding a churro like it’s a trophy. She’s bouncing on the balls of her feet, turning in slow circles to take everything in.

“It smells like childhood!” she yells back toward them.

Sadie walks beside Finn, sunglasses on, unimpressed but amused. Caleb trails just behind, scanning the map like he’s trying to optimize their route.

Finn lowers his voice slightly. “She’s been like this since the parking lot.”

Cut to a quick shot of (Y/N) dragging Sadie toward the castle, ears wobbling with every step.

Cut to her insisting on taking a group selfie in front of Mickey Mouse, who patiently poses while Caleb pretends to cry from embarrassment.

Cut to (Y/N) mid-scream on a roller coaster, hands straight in the air, hair flying everywhere, Finn’s laughter audible but off-screen.

Cut to her dramatically gasping over cotton candy.

Cut to her forcing Finn to try a giant turkey leg while she films him and narrates like a food critic.

“Describe the texture.”

“It’s just meat.”

“Be poetic.”

“It’s… aggressive.”

She laughs so hard the camera shakes.

There’s a softer moment too—(Y/N) sitting cross-legged on the curb during the afternoon parade, head tilted back, smiling at the performers like she’s five years old again. Finn zooms in quietly from a distance. She doesn’t notice this time.

Montage shifts to evening.

The park glows gold and pink as the sun sets. Fairy lights blink on overhead. Music swells.

(Y/N) stands under the castle lights, ears slightly crooked now, holding a souvenir bag in one hand and Finn’s sleeve in the other.

She’s tired in the happiest way.

Finn steps into frame beside her.

“Was it worth it?” he asks.

She nods immediately. “Best day ever.”

Sadie walks past them, deadpan. “You said that at lunch.”

“It got better.”

Fireworks explode overhead.

There’s a quick clip of all four of them looking up, colors flashing across their faces.

Then the vlog shifts into stills.

Photos from throughout the day flash across the screen—(Y/N) mid-laugh, Caleb pretending to duel someone with a lightsaber, Sadie holding a Dole Whip, Finn wearing Mickey ears against his will.

And finally—

A photo strip.

Four small frames stacked vertically.

Frame one: (Y/N) and Finn sitting close together in a photo booth, both smiling too wide.

Frame two: She’s laughing at something he said, eyes crinkled.

Frame three: He’s looking at her instead of the camera.

Frame four—

They’re kissing.

Soft. Unposed. The booth light washing everything slightly pink.

The vlog lingers on that last frame for just a second longer than the others.

Text fades in underneath it.

thank god for disney magic.

The screen cuts to black.

*****************

The next clip opens mid-laugh, the camera already rolling.

Finn is half-reclined on the couch, legs stretched out.

(Y/N) is fully draped over him like she belongs there — head tucked against his chest, one leg thrown over his, scrolling through a streaming menu on a tablet balanced against his hoodie.

The camera is propped somewhere nearby, angled just enough to catch all three of them.

In the doorway stands Gaten, staring at the scene like he’s walked into something deeply offensive.

“It is not normal,”(Y/N) says firmly, not even looking up, “to have a room with that much mess.”

Gaten throws his hands up. “It’s organized chaos!”

“It’s biohazard.”

Finn laughs under his breath, the sound vibrating under her cheek.

Gaten points at her. “If you hate it so much, go back to your apartment.”

She finally glances up, unimpressed. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Sadie misses you,” he tries.

She snorts. “No she does not. She’s on set.”

Gaten groans dramatically. “Unbelievable.”

(Y/N) settles further into Finn like she’s proving a point, adjusting until she’s more comfortable.

Finn wraps his arm tighter around her automatically.

Gaten shakes his head. “You two are insufferable.”

“We know,” Finn replies easily.

Gaten backs toward the doorway. “I’m going back to my room. At least my mess doesn’t judge me.”

“You should still clean it!” (Y/N) calls after him.

“Traitor!” he shoots back before disappearing down the hall.

There’s a brief quiet once he’s gone.

Finn laughs softly, looking down at her. “You’re starting fights again.”

“I’m correct,” she mutters, fully focused on the tablet. “Do we want a thriller or something stupid?”

He doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he leans down and presses a kiss to her temple.

Then another to her cheek.

She swats at him lightly without looking up. “Stop.”

He doesn’t.

A kiss to her jaw.

Another to the side of her nose.

She huffs but can’t stop smiling. “I’m trying to pick a movie.”

“You’re taking too long.”

“Because you’re distracting me.”

He hums, unbothered, and presses one more exaggerated kiss to her forehead.

She finally looks up at him.

He’s grinning.

“You’re annoying,” she says softly.

“Yeah.”

She goes back to scrolling.

“Okay,” she decides. “This one.”

“What is it?”

“No idea.”

“Great choice.”

She settles back into him fully, tablet resting against both of them now.

The camera captures the quiet moment — her hair falling over his shoulder, his hand tracing lazy circles against her arm, set noise humming faintly around them like background static.

Comfortable.

Uncomplicated.

The clip ends with Finn kissing her hair one more time while she shushes him absentmindedly, completely absorbed in the movie preview playing on the screen.

*****************

The next clip opens with the soft gray light of a Vancouver afternoon spilling through tall townhouse windows.

You can hear the faint sound of traffic outside. A kettle clicks off somewhere in the background. It’s quiet in that domestic, lived-in way.

Finn is holding the camera low, leaning against a doorway.

(Y/N) is in the middle of the living room, completely focused, moving a side table three inches to the left.

Then two inches back.

Then tilting a lamp slightly.

He zooms in.

“What,” he asks slowly, “are you doing?”

She doesn’t even turn around. “I’m fixing it.”

“Fixing what?”

“The vibe.”

He snorts.

She steps back, hands on hips, evaluating the couch like it personally offended her.

“I’m making this house a home,” she says decisively.

Finn laughs immediately. “That is the most dramatic thing you’ve ever said.”

She spins to face him. “You want to live in a bachelor cave forever?”

“It was not a cave.”

“There were zero throw pillows.”

“I don’t need throw pillows.”

“You absolutely do.”

She walks past him to adjust a framed photo on the wall. The camera follows her lazily as she straightens it with precise care.

From somewhere down the hall—

Paws.

Fast ones.

Finn barely has time to lower the camera before Pickles bursts into frame like a missile.

The now significantly less tiny duck tolling retriever launches himself at her knees.

She yelps as she stumbles backward onto the couch, laughing.

“Pickles! Betrayal!”

The dog climbs on top of her triumphantly, licking her face at full speed.

Finn is laughing too hard to keep the frame steady.

“Attack mode activated,” he narrates.

“I need assistance!” she wheezes between giggles.

Finn finally steps in, grabbing Pickles gently by the harness and lifting him off her.

“Sir,” he tells the dog seriously. “Calm down.”

Pickles wiggles happily in his arms.

She sits up, breathless, hair completely messed up now, smiling so wide it’s unfair.

“You saved me,” she says dramatically.

“I did.”

He sets Pickles down and puts the camera on the console table, angling it so it still catches them both.

Without really announcing it, he steps back toward her.

“Since you’re making this a home,” he says, reaching for her hands, “we should christen it properly.”

She narrows her eyes. “That sounds suspicious.”

He ignores that and pulls her gently to her feet.

Then he starts swaying.

There’s no music.

Just the faint hum of the city outside and Pickles’ nails clicking across the hardwood as he circles them.

She laughs immediately. “There’s no song.”

“There is in my head.”

“That’s worse.”

But she goes with it.

Hands resting on his shoulders now, his hands at her waist, they sway slowly in the middle of their half-rearranged living room.

She’s still smiling when he tilts his head slightly.

“Are you wearing a Calpurnia shirt?”

She glances down at herself like she forgot. “Yes.”

He laughs softly, almost shyly. “That’s so weird.”

“You’re weird.”

“You’re wearing my old band shirt.”

“It’s comfortable.”

He shakes his head, amused, pulling her a little closer.

Pickles barks once like he’s offended he’s not included.

She laughs again, resting her forehead briefly against Finn’s collarbone.

The moment feels easy. Quiet. Real.

Finn looks toward the camera for a second, like he remembers it’s there.

Then he reaches out, still swaying slightly with her, and moves to shut it off.

The last frame catches them mid-step in their silent slow dance, sunlight warming the room around them before the screen goes dark.

12,569 Comments

camera_gloss_queen The lip gloss kiss on the camera was iconic main character behavior

cryinginthesuburbs THIS IS WHAT HARD LAUNCHES WERE MADE FOR 😭😭 I feel like I just watched their entire life story in 4K

MikeWheelerlvr The way they just exist around each other is actually unfair

parasocial_but_respectful Genuinely feels like I watched someone’s private home video and now I’m emotionally attached

pickles..fan I am now invested in Pickles’ entire career

Strangerthingsfan This is literally better than any romance movie I’ve ever watched

(Y/N)'sWife I need a 3 hour extended cut immediately