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he huffs and leans against the wall you’re currently against, his face holding slight amusement through a small smirk in contrast to what he’s just said alongside his tone. “how so?” you play along, sipping your drink and thinking you’re imagining the way james watches your lips for a second before flitting back to your observing eyes.

“it’s an excuse for people to get drunk, uncomfortable costumes,” james speaks, nudging your shoulder when he slumps further against the wall. “says mr. popular,” you tease back, watching as he huffs a laugh through his nose while watching the array of people around the slytherin common-room.

lifting his own cup to his mouth, james chuckles while taking a sip, and you’re too entranced by his features to continue the teasing, watching his jaw and the light blush on his cheeks. once he pulls away, james looks back down to you, wearing a smile to match yours.

he tilts his head, free fingers fidgeting with the orange ascot around his neck in an attempt to loosen the tie. “don’t like your costume?” you note with a laugh as he grunts from discomfort, nodding to your answer.

“and the fact that no one knows who we are, thanks to you.”

“we know.” you respond, setting your cup to the floor beside before standing in front of james. he watches your every movement, the purple dress scrunched up your thighs before your hands trail up to push his away from his neck. james sets his own drink to the surface by his side.

he prays you didn’t feel the gulp pass his throat when your fingers unknot the orange ascot, “only muggles watch scooby-doo,” james continues, voice wavers with each stroke of your finger grazing his neck. “well, i thought your hair was perfect for fred, if you were blonde you’d look exactly like him.”

he chuckles again, his mind wandering to picture the day you forced james into your small dorm room, cuddled into bed with the new show of a talking dog and crime-solving teens forced on the chunky television. james didn’t care for it, but he loved your happy smile and how you felt so natural under his arm.

he hated being just friends, the two friends with the ‘will they? won’t they?’ attitude and are practically a couple without the kissing. james was outgoing, friendly and was known around the school for being the happy-go-lucky quidditch player, but when it came to you, he was a mess.

james could only keep up his confident self for so long, but with your touches and the way you smile at him, his knees grow weak far too fast for his liking.

“well, daphne, why don’t we leave? go back to my dorm, change into comfortable clothing,” james enquires, your hands resting against his chest while his fluffy hair flops into his eyes with the tilted chin to look down at you. the glasses adorning his eyes slipping down the bridge of his nose.

it wasn’t like james to want to leave a celebration, so you are a little thrown off. “we’ve hardly been here! you’ve barely said hello to your friends—” james interjects, shaking his head while you raise one hand to push his glasses back up his nose, “just want to hang out with you, don’t care about anyone else right now.”

you’re so clearly confused, and james wants to kiss the gaping expression right off you, run his thumb over the middle of your eyebrows, creased with concern and yearn to make you giggle. the sound sweeter than anything he’s ever heard, why sit here and listen to god-awful music when he could hear your laugh for his ears only?

“what? no. you normally like things like these. and yet you want to leave… i don’t get it? i thought sirius was joking when he said it took you a lot of convincing to agree to come but i guess he was right.” you’re rambling, a sign of the confusion and james arms encircle around your waist while you rant, hips pressing to yours as you keep talking.

“do you really hate halloween? or is it just the costumes? i thought you’d like the idea, i know no-one else here knows who we are but i thought you wouldn’t mind, you usually don’t,” james only smiles at your oblivious nature and before he knows it, his mouth speaks before his mind can think.

“merlin, i really like you.”

you freeze, flitting eyes now stuck on james’ and your voice lodged in your throat as you think about what he just said. james is in a worse state, eyes wide and unable to loosen his hold on your body in fear that the movement will cause you to run away and never talk to him again.

he is unsure what to do, whether to apologise or admit himself or play it off with an ‘i mean as a friend’ but with the amount of scenarios and sentences running through his head, he doesn’t notice you leaning up.

james’ eyes only widen further at the feeling of your lips pressing to his, fingers tightening against the material of your costume. it takes a moment, but finally he allows his own eyes to close as he responds, an array of butterflies along his stomach and goosebumps across his arms when you cup his jaw.

before he can get too carried away, however, james pulls away. a large grin falls upon his lips when he looks at your kiss-struck lips, in disbelief he was the fella who had just kissed you. and one arm leaves your back to run a thumb across your bottom lip, taking in everything that just happened.

“i’ll ask again, daphne,” you giggle, digging into his white shirt covered chest before he continues, "why don’t we leave?”.

this time you’re less caring, with the tingling sensation upon your lips from james’ touch merely a minute ago, you couldn’t wait to kiss him more and more. so you nod, letting your hand slip into his, “lead the way.”

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steve, holding the map and rotating it each and every direction possible to navigate where they were, turns to glance at his side when your hand squeezes the arm you attach yourself to. “we’ll get out, honey, your boyfriend’s got this.”

“steve,” you whisper, ignoring his statement and he hums a quick ‘mhm?’ with his furrowed eyebrows. gaze now focused on his finger which weaves through the photograph of the ariel shot sheet, tongue poking out as he looks up to the maze, his hair flopping in the midst.

“we’ve passed this bend about five times now,” you sound worried and steve stops walking as you both look at the bend to the left which leads to a u-turn, the right leading back in a loop. “nah, that can’t be right,” steve tries to assure, and you’re not sure if it’s to ease your anxiety or boost steve’s ego.

you let him look over the map again, coddling further into his arm and playing with the hem of his polo-shirt sleeve while steve’s head flicks from the map to the spot around them. “we’re lost,” you note quietly.

you thought steve was too distracted to hear, but he quickly turns his head to press a kiss to the side of your head, “no. just… lost my bearings slightly, we’ll be back on track in no time.” you don’t believe him, steve only lying to himself.

“this place is massive, dear god how much corn does a field need,” steve mutters to himself but immediately regrets it when your anxious grip tightens, front pressing into steve’s side. he curses at himself, weaving his arm through your deathly grip so he can throw his arm over your shoulder and tuck you against him reassuringly.

“we’ll be fine, if we don’t get any closer to getting out we’ll yell for help,” steve says as if no big deal but you whimper against his chest, “and let the clown come back and scare us? i don’t think so.”

your arms wrap around his torso, both of you looking over the map for a moment longer. “steve,” your tone low and defeated as you gaze up for him at a moment. his eyes are innocent and childlike, awaiting your response with patience, allowing you to turn back over and pry the map out of his hands.

steve watches as you turn the map upside down, the key left to the side now in english unlike the upside-down gibberish. steve is silent, and you know he is at a loss and overly embarrassed at his mistake.

you turn to look at him, steve’s lips pursed and watching the map with cheeks that redden within each passing second and you giggle before leaning up to kiss his scorching pink cheek fondly. “you idiot…” you trail off teasingly, steve not saying anything as he only glances at you in a regrettable gaze.

“no wonder we got lost, we were following the wrong turns,” steve shifts while you look at the map yourself, enveloping you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder as his broad shoulders overtake your back.

you can’t help but laugh when his hair tickles your jaw, steve embarrassingly hiding his face in your neck and one of your hands holds he map while the other reaches up to comfortingly trail through the strands poking your skin.

“i think if we take the right up here again, there’s a path straight ahead we should take to lead us towards the exit. we must’ve been taking the right which led us back to the same spot,” steve hums as you figure it out. his feet step to the side of yours when you walk a few metres towards the right path.

“wait, i think the clowns down this way…” you trail off, stopping in your tracks again as you mentally prepare yourself for the man dressed as a clown ready to scare you both for the sixth time.

steve presses a few kisses to your neck before replying, “i’ll knock him out if he comes near you, then,” his voice vibrates against your skin. however, he stands up straight when you laugh once again, hand slapping over your mouth to try and remain quiet.

“you took out one russian guard and you think you’re unstoppable,” you tease him, and steve moves away, not before poking your side. you yelp but link your arm through his once again when you start to walk.

“and if i can take out a russian guard, then i can punch a clown,” steve tries to puff his chest to seem tough, sadly endearing you. you lean up, pressing a chaste kiss to steve’s lips as you continue, “you couldn’t even beat jonathan.”

“that—! uh… that was years ago and i deserved that one,” steve responds defensively, narrowing his eyes as you giggle to yourself, “if i need to punch a clown for you, i’ll punch him.” you shake your head, dismissing his comment and holding your smile when you re-check the map.

“please don’t punch the actor, stevie,” he keeps an endearing smile as you take the reins to get you both out the terror-themed corn maze.

magicchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying is tolerated.

you roll your eyes endearingly, facing your spider-boy who grins wholeheartedly, splotches of white dust on his cheeks and the tips of his hair while stirring the now contained cake mixture. “no, we don’t.”

like you’ve committed a crime, peter looks offended with his response following, “uh, why would we not?”. you had always wanted to bake with peter, him finding some spare time through the fall. varied shifts for patrol to spend some more quality time with you, the person he was horrendously infatuated with. yet, you had no idea.

however, the utter mess his large hands and instinctive nature can cause, you’re nearly regretting your wishes. if only he wasn’t so cute with how he displayed himself.

“it’s just a cinnamon roll recipe, why would we put proper frosting on top?” you ask him while glazing the tray where the dough will soon be placed into, you hope delicately. peter huffs, only teasingly and glaring at you with a hidden amusement while he moves to stand beside you, hip nudging yours when he responds.

“because it’s our recipe! why can’t we? we can come up with our own version of cinnamon rolls and have everyone swooning over them—” peter turns to your expression when you watch him with knowing eyes, he’s on a tangent which he usually does.

“—no, listen, baby. everyone will be like ‘where did you get these amazing, life altering cinnamon rolls with frosting?’ and our friends and aunt may will say, ‘the parkers made them, the best in new york’ and it’ll be our own little recipe.”

however, while peter is focused on your idea of being renowned for your couple baking, you can’t help but blur over everything else and focus on the idea of what he had said during it. you take the pan you tilted on your hip to place on the counter, then taking the messy bowl from peter’s flour-covered hands before leaning against him.

peter cuts himself off when he was ready to go onto his next ramble, but as you look up at him so lovingly, with your hands atop his collarbones, he cuts himself off to await your explanation for your sudden physical affection.

you move an arm to slide your thumb across his cheeks, clearing some flour from his face while you smile, “the parkers?”. peter’s lips form a small ‘o’ shape while he tries his best to replay what he said, arms tugging your waist closer and you’re leaning on your toes ever so slightly while he does so.

“yeah? do you… like that idea?” peter asks cautiously, but you are only smiling so brightly at your goofy friend with whom you’ve loved, of course you liked the idea, how could you not? “you think about that stuff?” you just ask instead, nose bumping his as your lips ghost his briefly. peter leans further into you.

“course i do, no one else for me, baby.”

your heart skips, stomach flips, and you feel you may cry at how sweet your terrible-baker crush is. cinnamon roll enthusiast or not, you loved him for who he was and the thought of spending your life with him only filled you an overwhelming warmth.

yet, while overwhelming, increasingly irretrievably inviting. just like peter himself.

“me too.” you peck peter’s lips, so softly that before he can react, you’re pulling away to turn to the baking bowl again. he’s a little flustered, red showing through the prior pale-dusted cheeks and unable to move at first from the effect you have on him.

“we could open our own bakery, spider-man themed cinnamon rolls?” you enquire teasingly, and he wraps himself around you from behind, cosy and as warm as the cinnamon rolls will be later on. “webbed frosting on pumpkin flavoured cookies,” peter murmurs while kissing your neck.

“sounds perfect.” “we could name it ‘parker’s pastries’.”

magicchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying is tolerated.

when it comes to fighting in the upside down, he’ll push you behind him and not hesitate to get into the middle of anything. he only wants you to be safe, nothing else coating his mind as he fights off the monster.

he falls in love all over again when your hands delicately clean him up.

steve’s hands all over you, holding your hips close to his and eyes scanning every feature of your contorting face when you clean up the blood across his cheeks and the cuts across his brow.

he shakes his head fondly, you’re so caring and so sweet and steve feels so loved.

which he finds new and fresh, so used to putting everyone first and fighting for his life at the expense to ensure the love of his life and friends are safe.

so when you take all the time in the world to wipe his face clean and fix up the wounds, he’s patient and very soft, slowly melting into an infatuated puddle before your eyes. his eyes practically heart-shaped.

steve loves the feeling of being taken care of since it’s rare to be cared for so gently and slowly, but you’re the one person to care for him like he never knew he wanted.

while wiping below his eyelid, steve would match your fond smile as he leans down, pulling your body flush to his as his arms fold around your waist and his chin presses against your chest, gazing up with brown puppy-dog eyes which could make any person fawn over.

‘love you s’much, y’know?’

tired and content voice, barely able to speak he’s so relaxed in contrast to when he was being attacked and can’t find himself pulling away from you. not even his eyes turning from your face as you giggle through swiped movements across his cheek.

‘mmm, m’lips sore, gonna kiss it better?’

mysticmatcha © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying is tolerated.

so, you’re shocked to say in the least when you’re eyes land on a forest green sweater in his wardrobe, among a few others hidden beside it. you had been looking for your favourite yellow sweatshirt of his, knowing he didn’t put it in his laundry last night. yet, once your fingers gently grip the sleeve, your eyes see the cable knit design pushed to the very edge of the closet, an oversized knitted material intriguing you.

steve is asleep in the bed metres away, heavy breaths indicating how tired and in dire need he is for a long lie, extra shifts meaning on his days off he really wants to do nothing at all. only if nothing at all is spent with you.

he forgot to close the window last night, the early november chill waking you up despite the warm embrace of steve against your back. therefore, leading you to his wardrobe for extra warmth, knitwear you assumed wasn’t an option so seeing it made your heart swell while your hand tugs it off the hanger and into your awaiting palms.

despite steve never wearing it, among all his other clothing items it still smelt irretrievably steve. you slipped it on, feeling like your drowning in steve’s warmth.

immediately you felt comforted in your boyfriends knitted sweater, his cologne swam across the material as you inhaled it with need, wrapping your arms around yourself as you turn to a voice. steve lay on his back, arm sprawled where you were only moments before.

the duvet was splayed across his waist, left with his shirtless self to freeze in the cold while his matted hair covered his tired eyes, heavy but watching you fondly, “you suit that.” you smile at your boyfriend, looking at his top half bare before turning to grip one of the extra ones beside, a lone burnt orange sweater that he could wear to battle the cold weather of steve’s large, cold house.

“i didn’t know you had any sweaters, you never wear them,” you walk back towards the bed, kneeling on your side of the bed while ushering for steve to sit up. he groans at you, begrudgingly sitting his palms on either side of his hips before pushing himself to sit straight.

instinctively, steve raises his arms while you ruffle the material to pull over his head, desperate to keep your boyfriend warm all-the-while seeing him in such cosy attire so early in a cold-morning.

once it’s fitting over his head, he pecks your lips sweetly, “never thought i suited them,” steve shrugs. that’s complete rubbish, you think, looking to your boyfriend now looking as warm as ever. “you look so handsome, baby,” you assure, leaning forward to kiss him again, steve reaching a hand to hold your jaw before slowly laying back in bed, you laying atop him in the process.

“you look prettier in this, honey,” steve assures, pinching the material at your shoulder with a tired smile, drinking in the sight of you dressed in his stuff, murmuring to himself, “so so pretty.”

you don’t respond, finger scratching the stubble across his lower face, ready to be shaved in the hours later when you both decide to leave bed. steve chuckles, leaning into your touch and using one arm to wrap around your back and pull you further against him, free hand reaching the duvet to pull back over both your frames.

pressing a kiss to your forehead, steve smiles at you so softly you felt you might melt away, “love you in my clothes, jesus. love you, i love you so much.” his tired eyes fail to fight against the rising sun as he closes them, tilting his palm to peck the pads of your fingers barely escaping his sweatshirt sleeve and you giggle at the tickled contact.

“can we stay in here all day?” you ask him, nose nudging the space under his jaw as you cosy into him, ready to fall back asleep and steve hums approvingly at the thought. “seeing you dressed like that drives me crazy, i might never let you go.”

neither of you thought to close the window, soaking up in wearing sweatshirts and lounging in bed against each other the rest of the day.

magicchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying is tolerated.

he learned to live with the nerves, his job felt as easy as the alphabet compared to his own thoughts knowing you were maybe fighting for your life somewhere else. he knew you were capable, having done it for years, but his anxiety still sat at the pit of his stomach until you returned to his side.

so, walking into his room to get ready for bed, his shirt and trousers the only pieces of clothing to remove into something more comfortable, tangerine’s eyes settled on your frame and the anxieties all came back.

your back was to him, bare as you changed at the dresser. soft pyjama bottoms covered your legs but your top was off as you hunted tangerine’s drawer for a plain t-shirt to steal, his broad frame enough for his shirts to feel comfortable.

tangerine’s eyes scanned your back, over the marks littering your skin. scars. you had told him about multiple jobs gone wrong, ending up in dangerous situations that nearly cost your life but tangerine had been yet to see the scars properly.

the bedroom light flitted over your skin and the scars became more noticeable. how any person could look at you and think to lay a finger in such a manner was unbelievable to him, preposterous and disgusting.

an angel to him, with marks showing struggle and pain.

sure, tangerine had scars from his own, healed shot wounds among varied others and he even had a dodgy thumb from a particular job but they didn’t hurt compared how empty he felt looking at your own.

tangerine walks over to you, unbeknownst to you that your boyfriend has been close to tears in the midst of a crisis all from just taking a look at your back. so you jump slightly when hands settle across your bare waist, sliding across to your front, but you immediately relax at tangerine’s scent engulfing you warmly.

he pulls you back against his front, no words or greetings as he would usually do, instead tucks his face into the curve of your neck, moustache twitching against your skin as he kisses where his lips sit.

you place both your palms against his larger hands, his thumbs swiping your skin as he slowly continues to squeeze you against him, somehow getting closer and closer. you worry, you can feel tangerine’s tension, his shoulder looming over yours, breath uneven and his heartbeat pressed against yours more scarce.

you don’t say anything, allowing tangerine time as he finds comfort against your body, hands squeezing your flesh gently while his face nestles underneath your jaw. tangerine was only like this with you, usually brave-faced and cold, so you knew you should keep from pressuring him into talking until he was ready to.

which only lasted a few more moments, for he pulled away, only slightly so he could look down at your back once again. the scars up closer cause the corners of his eyes to well with tears quickly, unannounced. why did they affect him like they do?

one hand still holds your waist tightly while his other pry’s from yours to run his fingers over the scars gently, his lips gracefully following to place ghostly kisses across them, as if they were to still hurt.

you can feel each touch, gentle and as warm as his hand felt against your bare stomach.

finally you speak up, not daring to move but feeling you need to enquire tangerine’s extra affection, “what’s wrong, honey? what are you doing?”. tangerine hums against your skin, lips pausing as he finds the words to reply, arm squeezing you against him.

“i’m mad.” is all the words he can find himself responding with, deep breath following as he yearns to continue his kisses to each scar, edge to edge, the slightly-damaged canvas still ethereal in his eyes but upsetting his soul to think of.

“mad? why are you mad?” you’re confused, and tangerine closes his eyes when he responds, “my love, your scars. makes me want to kill someone knowing you were hurt.” your giggle is light, wary, tangerine knowing you’re trying to show him that you’re not laughing at him.

“honey,” you start, your own thumb lovingly rubbing across the back of his permanently damaged one, showing just as much appreciation for his scars as he is with your own, “everyone in this job has been hurt at some point—.”

“shh,” tangerine cuts you off, lips falling back against your skin and gently kissing your skin, smallest bumps against his mouth as he feels your scars. you listen, shutting up as the man you love shows you how much he loves you back.

he stops briefly, forehead falling against you when he continues, “i know what this job entails, and i remember every dreadful thing you’ve told me you’ve been through. but you’re my life, y’know? seeing these don’t make me happy, darling.”

you nod, head tilting backwards slightly when his lips feel so soft in every spot against your back. “i know.”

“has anyone ever appreciated these before?” he refers to your marks, standing tall to gently pull you back against his front while his nose nudges below your ear and you feel entirely taken over by tangerine.

not that you minded.

“of course not, you know it’s only been you around, tan.” he sighs deeply, hugging your frame close to yours as if he can’t get enough and you think he may never pull away from your body again.

“i want you safe, i need you safe with me.”

your fingers nudge underneath his, holding his hand across your waist to pull it up to your mouth, placing your own gentle kisses against the tight scar across the bottom of his thumb and his bruised knuckles.

“i’m always safe when i’m around you, tan.”

magicchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying is tolerated.

it only got more affectionate when you started going out, the entire first date went even better than you had expected. you could feel your heart hammering in your chest the entire night and you were overwhelming warm by how flustered you were.

his cute smile and the softness beneath his eyes that hid behind the reflection of his glasses, you could simply get lost in him for the rest of your life and not mind. every time there was an opportunity for a gesture, walter was rushing to do so.

the moment you answered the door you were met with a nervous walter holding flowers and through the entire night he held every door open for you, held your hand, and kept the conversation going, light and fun.

you never knew you could have this much fun on a date until tonight, and it only meant you wished it would last. he was such boyfriend material, and after your crush on him for months at work dealing with your aching heart and butterflies whenever he spoke to you or did something nice, it was overwhelming that he felt the same way.

after a nice dinner at a japanese restaurant, he held your hand the entire way out the restaurant, holding the door open for you once again and asking if you’d like to take a walk. you never wanted the night to end, and it seemed like he didn’t either, so you agreed.

the streets were busy and walter’s hand never faltered from yours the entire time, fingers squeezed together while his thumb delicately grazes over the back of your hand. you felt tingly and dizzy at the thought that bystanders will merely think you and keys are a couple, something you’d been pining for a while now.

you got to know each other even better than before, learning about his music taste and in-depth opinions on movies, his other hobbies apart from video game creating and you felt like you could easily get used to this. you and him together.

you were so flustered within every compliment walter paid you, fuzzy mind almost making you miss the fact you didn’t wear a jacket tonight, and it was a chilly fall evening around the city. goosebumps were invading the edge of your skin and your teeth fought the urge to chitter.

“would you like an ice cream?” you’re both stopped in front of a small desserts place and walter cuts into your thoughts, you turn to him and break your reverie with a small nod and smile, “that would be nice.”

he stares at you for a moment, really stares, as if he’s taking in every detail across your face with the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen. using the hand that isn’t holding yours, his pointer finger gently drags over your cheek and he hisses at the temperature before moving laying his palm flat.

“you’re freezing! are you cold?” walter asks and you giggle airily while leaning into the warm touch of his hand, squeezing his hold on yours, “a little.”

“a little? your cheek feels like ice, you could get sick- here!” he rushes his words, frantic while moving away from you — much to your disappointment — only to tug his jacket off. you can feel your knees grow weak but you hold your hand up, “no, it’s okay! i have a cardigan on, i’ll be fine i don’t want you to get cold.”

walter only shrugs your comment off while swinging the jacket around so it sits across your shoulders and he adjusts it at the front so your covered by it, entirely engulfed by the warmth it brings and the scent of him across the collar.

instantly you feel better.

“how does a hot chocolate sound instead?” walter offers, one hand resting on your lower back to push you into his body while your gaze follows his other, pointing towards a little café across the road. you’re more surprised it’s even opened this late.

you turn to face him, looking up at his curious face before leaning up to gently settle a kiss to his cheek, and then briefly by the corner of his mouth. a small ‘thank you’ for how caring he has been tonight, and he settles kisses against your palm while you cross the road to get hot drinks instead.

you’re already warm from the feeling of his jacket and scent around you, and his palm in yours. but you don’t say anything, the moment too pure and walter too adorating.

magicchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying is tolerated.

but not with glenn.

now, when you heard the sound of a door opening your gut filled with a sense of serenity and home knowing who the footsteps leading upstairs belong to. settling into alexandria took some time, when you finally had the ability to share houses amongst the group it was a no brainer you and glenn would share one.

since the very beginning you were joined at the hip. while rick reunited with his family for the first time up the quarry, you were wrapping your arms around glenn as he murmured into your hair, “told you i’d be back, yeah?”

your feelings for glenn were reaching beyond overbearing, your heart felt ten times the size it should whenever he was around. it didn’t help that he did everything for you. he was always reaching for you first, asking for you, doing anything to make your life easier.

you just wished that through this year of knowing one another he reciprocated those feelings.

his gentle yet tired face enters the moonlit room with a curious gaze to see if you’re awake beneath the sheets of your bed. you didn’t share a room, separate beds but glenn always checked on you regardless.

plus you still ended up coddled together when one of you, or both, had nightmares.

“you awake?” glenn whispers when you shuffle to sit up against the pillows, reaching to the bedside to alight the small lamp and cast a warm glow across the room. he wanders in, face clean but hair slightly ruffled from what you already know is from his fingers treading through it.

he had been away a couple of hours with rosita helping deanna, the leader of alexandria, with a few things around the town, wanting to prove that their community made the right choice allowing your group in.

glenn looked so handsome, slight stubble growing at his chin and upper lip, eyes gleaming at yours when he sits beside your legs on the edge of the bed, facing you. “how did it go?” you ask.

“she likes us,” glenn smiles, a hand settling atop your calf covered by the soft duvet, and you want to ask him to stay and sleep here. but you don’t.

your love was unbearable, he was so positive through this world – always doing everything for everyone else and you wanted to be the person who took care of him.

glenn squeezes your calf gently while watching you, “did you eat?” you roll your eyes jokingly, nodding with a quiet laugh, “yes, the food you left.” his hand lifts to rest of the side of your face, calloused skin so delicate across your features.

and you can’t help but watch. your hair is tucked away so he isn’t simply fixing any loose pieces, but he’s just touching you to be close. which your heart soars at the realisation.

his gaze ever so slightly widens when he comprehends how he must be perceived and drops his hand to your lap just when you blurt out in the quiet night air, “i love you.”

glenn’s gaze falls all over your face, as if scanning each singular feature across the span of your appearance while he replies, “you, what? you do?” his voice doesn’t sound confident, almost taken aback which your surprised by. you’re sure anyone with sight can see your love for him.

your hand falls atop his still resting comfortably on your lap, fingers skimming his skin, “i don’t want anything to change just because i’ve said that. but i just want you to know, i do love you, glenn. a lot.”

his expression for a moment is unreadable as he processes your words, gaze still fleeting across your features for any sense of doubt or lies. however, once your earnest glance is accepted, he smiles.

first, glenn leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, free hand holding your upper arm as he murmurs against you, “i love you. a lot.” teary laughter falls from your lips at the understanding, both of you chuckling as he leans back and you find tears welling in his eyes to match yours.

“you do?” you ask honestly, leaning up to wipe a tear from his cheek. “how could i not? i thought it was obvious,” with that glenn leans forward and captures your lips in a kiss. it was as if you were made for one another, his lips guiding yours in a sweet rhythm before pulling away.

“ask carol, it’s obvious i love you,” you giggle softly, breath hitching when he moves his hand to encase yours, fingers intwining, as he pecks your lips once more. glenn’s sniffling as he replies, “well ask rick and daryl, they have a lot to say about how much i love you.”

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“yes. yes! thank god, i thought i was the only one who noticed!” joey states, setting his coffee cup down on the table before leaning back on the sofa, he glances behind him at the pair before looking to his other friends, “the other day monica held y/n’s hand on the way down here…”

phoebe shakes her head, “old news, i always had the feeling there was something there. they’ve liked each other for months.” ross furrows his eyebrows at this while chandler replies, “months?” – “months,” confirms phoebe. 

they all go silent when you both return, new coffee cups in hands and sitting far too close to one another. “why is everyone so quiet?” monica asks, gazing confused across the group and they look at each other knowingly. 

“uh- quiet contest…” joey lies, tone setting the obvious fib but you and monica look at one another and shrug, “well, whatever it was – monica has the funniest story to tell you all.”

for weeks it went on, ross walking into his sister’s apartment to find you laying on the couch, calves comfortably upon monica’s lap who’s finger traces over the skin – lingering too long to just be friendly. rachel watching from her seat in the coffee house as you tiredly rest your head upon monica’s shoulder while ross tells another dinosaur story.

truth was you constantly got butterflies whenever you were touchy with monica, you didn’t want to cross the line into more than friendship because there was no way monica had feelings for you, right?

later that same afternoon, monica sits in her apartment with phoebe and chandler, playing card games. the front door opens, and phoebe nudge monica’s leg knowingly under the kitchen table, smiling into her coffee cup when you walk past and monica’s eyes follow, before shooting her a friend a ‘cut it out’ look.

“i mean this is getting ridiculous, mon,” chandler whispers towards her after you greet them and sit on the sofa with your back facing them. “what?” monica shrugs innocently, not looking up as she places a card from her deck before picking from the pile. 

a sigh breaks from behind monica, the sound of a magazine dropping with a thud as you stand to join them, “what are you playing?” there’s a spare kitchen chair between monica and phoebe so you tuck it closer to monica so you can sit and observe them playing.

“poker,” chandler starts before pushing a stack of chips in the building middle, “I raise five.” his gaze lingers on you and monica, you observing her cards before glancing at the pile of chips. 

monica narrows her eyes at chandler before adding her chips, “fine, call.” when it’s phoebe’s turn, chandler can’t help but speak while the blonde checks over her cards frantically, “don’t you ever wonder if someone in this group likes the other?” 

monica’s eyes snap to chandler, her own foot now kicking chandler who yelps. you snort, unfazed while craning your neck to look at phoebe’s deck impartially, “’likes the other’ are we still in high school?”

“i call, because i trust my cards,” phoebe chimes in, placing in her chips.

“i was just curious,” chandler moves a hand down his creased shirt before he looks across his cards again. you look at monica with an amused glance, “can’t hide your feelings for joey anymore, can you?”

chandler shoots you an unamused and sarcastic smile, “no, i’m talking about how monica looks at you.” his smile fades when he realised what he said, phoebe gaping as monica looks between everyone before nervously laughing, “what are you talking about?”

“monica doesn’t like me like that,” you reply softly, trying to hide your distain from her laughter. was it that funny thinking of us dating? and monica nods, gaze settled on her cards to hide how embarrassed she is. and how bad she wants to kill chandler bing. 

“no, i don’t.” 

an awkward silence settles on the table as chandler places some of his chips in the middle once again. it wasn’t the time for monica to admit, not in front of her friends when you might not return the feelings. not yet, but she knew soon she had to.

mysticmatcha © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying is tolerated.