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aimless-imagines-for-fun · 2 years

Text

Phone Fun

Pairing :: Tangerine x fem!Reader

Warnings :: 18+ Content, SMUT/NSFW, Phone sex, Masturbation(F&M)

Word Count :: 1310

Summary :: Tangerine’s been gone for a while and you each miss each other a lot

A/N :: I KNOW I’VE BEEN GONE FOR LIKE EVER BUT we should have all accepted by now this is the type of person I am. I am sorry. Please forgive me for my laziness.

It’s not funny like at all how quickly I became a slut for this man. I even bought the book Bullet Train so I could get more of him. I also might make a small/mini series for him bc I think it’s hilarious if he dated someone who had no clue he was an assassin.

Tangerine is a professional. He does his job by the book(at least to the best of his abilities, given his line of work), quick and easy. He isn't the type to make mistakes or take risks. With that being said, he does everything he can to keep his work life and private life completely separate, even if that means lying to the person he loves most.

You hadn’t the slightest clue as to who he actually was. Everything you knew about him was an intricately fabricated lie of a life he created for you to believe. For starters, he told you his name was Gordon, and Lemon’s was Thomas. Lemon was happy he used names from Thomas The Tank Engine but would’ve preferred they had gone by Donald and Douglas since they’re brothers. Then, he told you he and Lemon both worked for a private security service firm that worked high-profile jobs. With this lie, you never questioned when he traveled to foreign countries for various periods of time. However, this also led you to presume he worked somewhat normal hours.

On more than one occasion, you called Tangerine while he was in the middle of work, and being the worry-wort he was when it came to you, he immediately answered after scrambling to find a decently quiet place to talk to you. Luckily, the calls were never because anything had happened to you or you somehow magically learned about the double-life he led and now wished to cut all ties with the contract-killer. Typically it was because you simply missed him and walked to talk to him for a bit, making sure he was okay.

Lemon always thought a simple text would have sufficed rather than a call. When he told Tangerine to tell you so, he received a menacing glare in response. After that, he completely threw out the thought of convincing him to tell you the truth.

Today’s call was not normal though.

“God am I glad you called.” Tangerine sat down on his bed, glad Lemon was out grabbing food so he could have a private chat.

You were able to hear clearly through the phone his exhaustion. “Was it rough today?”

He let out a deep sigh, earning a small chuckle. “You have no idea love.”

“You’ll be home soon, right?”

“Yeah, in two days.”

“I miss you so much.”

He was gone for nearly a month, jobs booked back-to-back. Before this, the longest he had been away was barely under two weeks.

Tangerine was looking forward to engulfing you in a large hug and pressing his lips against you in a passionate kiss. You never admitted it, but you became quite needy whenever he was gone. He never had any complaints since the sex when he got when he came back was always amazing. He couldn’t wait to toss you onto the bed, though he doubted if you two would make it to your room before you started your fun.

“This is gonna sound silly but…” You were hesitating. He was sure you had that shy smile you always put on when you were embarrassed right now. “I’m only wearing one of your button-ups right now.”

Only. That word rang in his head like a bell. “Oh really?”

Even though you knew he was returning soon, you were still incredibly lonely. Without thinking you grabbed one of his shirts and immediately a small smile formed due to the familiar scent that lingered. He didn’t use harsh over-bearing cologne that had multiple ingredients mixed creating a headache of a smell. Rather, he used a simple citrus herbal mix. Hints of orange and lemon hid under a woodsy scent with a slight spice.

Then, a slightly devious plan formed in your head, leading you to this very moment.

“Mhm.” You bit your lip, trying not to smile even though he couldn’t see you.

“And what are you doing right now?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“I think you’re waiting in bed for me to come fuck you.” The sudden drop in tone shot a tingle down your spine, the warmth between your thighs growing.

“Ding-ding.”

“Have you started touching yourself?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted to tease you.”

A dark laugh left his lips. “You know I don’t enjoy being teased love.”

“Exactly.”

Whenever you made the reckless decision to tease him, he would often end up turning the tables and turned you into a moaning mess. Sometimes you did it on accident, other times it was on purpose because you loved how worked up he’d get.

You let out a soft hum, starting by massaging your breasts. “Don’t worry, I’ll go nice and slow so you know everything I’m doing.” You pinched your nipples, rolling them between your fingers.

You always knew how to turn him on. It was truly a gift you had. Hearing your small satisfied hums, he began to grow hard and found himself palming the bulge in his pants that was forming.

One of your hands traveled downwards to start rubbing your wet folds. “Hnng...” You imagined he was here with you, taking care of your needs. You rubbed a small circle around your clit, doing your best to enjoy the moment instead of speedily making yourself cum.

Hearing a small zip and fabric moving, you knew he was doing the same. He began stroking his length, remembering the tightness of your cunt.

You were growing wetter by the second, so when you moved your other hand down to insert a finger a soft sucking sound of the mess you were creating was now heard. This caused his dick to twitch, eager to be wrapped around you.

You stopped rubbing your clit momentarily to stick in a second finger and begin pumping, hoping the wet sounds would excite him. Precum began beading at the top of his cock so he used it to help lubricate his shaft. Going at a pace that matched yours, his grip was tight but paled in comparison to your cunt.

Both of you could hear the other’s desperation in your moans. You each wanted to touch one another so badly but had to suffice with the situation at hand.

Deciding you needed more friction, you pulled your fingers out and sat up.

“What are you doing now, love?”

Shamelessly you replied, “I’m going to ride your pillow darling.”

“Fuck.” His balls tightened.

As your hips began rocking back and forth on his pillow, he began to thrust up in the air, each of you pretending you were riding him now.

Growing closer, you started rubbing your clit again, your fingers moving much harsher than before. He was also getting ready to cum, so he quickly threw off his vest and unbuttoned his shirt so that way they wouldn’t get ruined.

Your paced hips grew sloppy and your panting much louder. His groaning was becoming deeper, pumping and thrusting as if he was fucking.

“Ahh!”

The heat building in your stomach was begging to be released. You stopped moving, straddling the pillow with your hand between your legs. Your hand moved quickly across your clit until the tingling sensation finally broke. Your entire body tensed up, continuing to press firmly against the sensitive nub while your pussy clenched to release.

With his own muscles tense, hearing your cry of pleasure his cock twitched again, finally ready to cum. His tight sack finally contracted, releasing hot shots of cum that landed right on his abdomen. He released his hold, his cock continuing to jump as his entire load came out.

The only thing that could be heard now were the small breaths you were each taking to compose yourselves.

“Well this was fun,” You said while flopping onto your back.

“Fun, but not as good as the real deal.”

“Two more days until then.”

#bullet train #bullet train tangerine #tangerine #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson smut #aaron taylor johnson fanfic #bullet train tangerine smut #tangerine x reader #tangerine smut #bullet train tangerine x reader

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volklana · 1 month

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My Woman. My Woman. My Wife.

Title comes from this song:

Request: All the sihtric fics😭 just fluff…mingled with angst. I just know he’s the most attentive lover ever. Always bringing flowers, making you laugh(bc his one liners are hilarious), sharing his furs with you… but I know he must have a temper. And he’s always gone away for so long. Poor rat boy probably thinks he’d be a terrible husband because of how often he’s gone for long periods of time. But he’s not😭 he’s the best husband ever. Anyway I got carried away, just all the sihtric things

@canyonmoon-2 I really hope I did your idea justice xx

Warnings: Details the loss of a baby and the grief in the aftermath of that loss. If that isn't for you, or it's too traumatic please don't read, protect your peace and you can catch me next time xx

Not proof read but mistakes will be corrected in time.

Requests are open:

The ride back to Winchester seemed to be taking longer the closer he actually got to the city.

He was beginning to feel lightheaded with dizziness at the thought of seeing you again.

Sihtric was besotted with you, had been from the moment he laid eyes on you, catching your eye across the square, hauling your cart of produce to sell at the market.

At first he was too shy to even look you in your eye as he paid for apples he didn’t even need, but as soon as your fingers accidentally brushed, he couldn’t help but delight in the shy smile that you shot his way, as you wished him to have a good day.

He couldn’t help but offer to escort you to your homestead that night, he had claimed it was to keep you safe but instead it was to steal a few more moments with you, you had walked in easy silence until you suddenly stopped and turned to face him.

“You haven’t told me your name.” you giggled and Sihtric’s face lit up “You’re walking me all this way and I don’t even know your name.”

“You would let a man you don’t know walk you home and you never even thought to ask his name. A pagan man at that. What would your nailed god say?”

“I know you are one of Uhtred’s men,” you considered.

“And that is the only reason you would allow me to accompany you?” Sihtric teased.

“That is the main reason, but I do have others,” you teased back.

“And what would those other reasons be lady?” he quirked his head to examine your face and you smiled, that gorgeous smile his way again.

“Perhaps we should start with your name first,” you giggled and goddamn it Sihtric wanted to get down on his knee right then and there for you, “I am Sihtric, lady,” he smiled, suddenly shy and you considered him for a moment, “I am y/n.”

And so that became your weekly routine, Sihtric would walk you home from the market and you would chat easily. He would linger awkwardly outside your home, neither one of you wanting to say goodbye until the day when he got a sudden surge of confidence, Thor knows from where and sprung forward to press his lips against yours. You absolutely melted into his touch and giggled when he pulled away, his whole face lighting up with a smile, “I have been waiting weeks for you to do that Sihtric,” you giggled and for good measure he kissed you again.

“Sihtric, you barely know her,” Uhtred warned.

“I know enough lord,” he uttered shyly and Gisela considered him gently.

“You love her,” she eased after a while and Sihtric’s face broke out in a smile again.

“And she loves me. She tells me all the time,” he rushed before his cheeks lit up crimson with embarrassment, and Gisela couldn’t help her amused smile.

She reached a hand to Uhtred who frowned her way at first, a silent conversation happening between their eyes.

“Very well Sihtric, you may marry your lady,” he sighed but Sihtric had already taken to running.

“Thank you. Thank you lord,” he shouted over his shoulder and he was away to find you scooping you into his arms, peppering kisses to any part of your skin he could reach.

Sihtric was the most attentive man you had ever known. He loved you in ways you hadn’t even known possible. There was not a single moment you were together that his hands were not on yours. You joked that he should climb inside you and live in your skeleton more than once, but you had a feeling that he would’ve if he could. Opting instead to be inside you in the only way he could, as many times a day as you would allow, and you would never refuse him.

Nobody had ever loved Sihtric, no one had ever been tender with him. No one had ever shown him that he was worthy of beautiful things and you vowed to spend every day of your life proving to him that he did.

Gentle hands traced scars and kissed the parts of his skin that had been broken by his father’s cruelty and sometimes the feeling was so intense for Sihtric he could barely bring himself to look you in the eye.

“What is it love?” you murmured pressing kisses to his his worried brow.

“I have to go away with Uhtred again.”

“To battle?” you asked gently, caressing his face.

“To battle,” he confirmed.

“Sihtric, you love being a warrior. What is this about?”

“I don’t want to be without you. To go back to how it felt before I knew you. The darkness…”

“I will be here waiting for you. Right here,” you took his hand and placed it over your chest, “Feel my heart, know it is real and it belongs to you. I will be here, loving you.”

Sihtric surged forward and pressed his lips to your needily, feeling reassured that his woman would be waiting for him.

You had built a wonderful life together with Sihtric, and you were happier than you had been in your life, but Sihtric struggled with leaving you every time.

He was weary from the ride but the thought of you pressed him forward.

As soon as he and Finan dismounted, Finan urged him to come for a drink in the alehouse but Sihtric was furiously shaking his head and excitedly told him he was away to find his wife.

He burst through the door of your home, flowers in hand, calling your name but the smile slipped from his face when instead of being greeted by the sight of his wife, he was instead greeted by Hild.

“Where is she Hild?” he almost shrieked, panic coursing through him, making it hard to breathe.

Hild squeezed his arm gently and as reassuringly as she could, but her face was grave, and she led him through to the bedroom, where Sihtric collapsed down to his knees by your side, the sight of your deathly pale skin and gaunt face, enough to send him into a spiral.

“What is it? My love? My Life?” he was begging, stroking your hair, he wanted to pull away from the coldness of your skin. You were always warm, his warmth his sunshine.

“It was a little boy,” you whispered weakly “We had a baby boy, Sihtric.”

His head was reeling, he hadn’t even known you were pregnant before he left, nor had you.

“I couldn’t keep him,” you suddenly cried, giant sobs wracking your weak body, “I lost him. I lost him.” you were hysterical and all Sihtric could do was crush him to you and wrap you up in his arms.

Sihtric held you, letting you cry on him until you had no tears left, repeating that he was sorry, he was so sorry, and none of this was your fault, and when your eyes finally slipped closed he allowed his own tears to fall.

Hild took him into her embrace when he finally re emerged from the bedroom, and they made their way outside, where under the shade of a leafy oak, he found the small arrangement of burial stones, that he threw himself upon and wept.

“She insisted we honour your traditions,” Hild finally broke the silence. “I had Gisela’s help, but she arranged the stones herself, nearly killed herself in the process.”

“Will she live?” he finally mustered the strength to beg.

“She is very weak, and if god..if the gods are good, she will live,” Hild reassured

“She has to,” Sihtric whispered “Or you may as well place me here with my boy.”

You regained your strength over the next few weeks, slowly and with the help of Hild and Sihtric. Sihtric never left your side, fetching you food, bringing you extra furs to keep you warm and at night, he pulled you as physically close as possible, lamenting the loss of your warmth, for now you always felt cold to him.

But soon you were back on your feet again, well enough to walk, well enough to have Gisela and Uhtred over for dinner and well enough to make love to Sihtric for the first time in weeks since he had got home.

Sihtric was wound tighter than a leash the past few days, his face constantly pulled into a frown lately, and no matter how much you tried you could not seem to pull him from the depths.

“What have I told you?” he snapped suddenly, and you lowered your gaze to the floor, “You are my woman, there is no need for you to do these jobs anymore. I will do it!” he snapped.

You had been attempting to help him ready his horse, as you had done a million times, lifting his heavy saddle bag up to attach to his saddle.

You watched him silently as he roughly threw his things together. You were rarely on the receiving end of Sihtric’s temper but lately you seemed to be finding yourself under it more and more.

He made to mount his horse and you couldn’t help the phrase that fell from your lips.

“You blame me for his loss?” you stated but it was more like a question.

Sihtric stilled all action, but he did not turn to face you.

“That is why you cannot speak to me with tenderness these days. Is it not?” your voice was small and you fiddled with a thread on your sleeve.

“If you cannot love me anymore. If I cannot make you happy, then I set you free. I told you the night we first made love that you deserved to be happy, and If I cannot do that for you, I set you free. I set you free because I love you more than anything on this earth and I cannot bear you to be this unhappy”

“How can you still love me?” he snarled, turning to face you, wild eyed.

“I was not here. I left you alone. I left you to endure his loss alone,” he was clawing at the skin on his left forearm, leaving fresh nail marks, an old habit from when Kjartan would lock him in the cellar, knowing a beating or some other form of humiliation was coming his way. If he hurt himself first, the next hurt would never be as bad.

“Set me free because you would be better off without my weight around your neck. Set me free so you may find a man who can love you the way you deserve. A man who will never leave you alone another second of his life. But do not dare set me free because you love me. I do not deserve your love, not now and I certainly never did.”

You reached for him, but he pulled his arm from your grasp, your head reeling from his lack of tenderness.

“If you leave me now Sihtric, in this moment here, that will be the only time you will have abandoned me. The only time you will have left me when I really needed you.”

Sihtric looked at you conflicted, two mismatched eyes trying to frantically find the right thing to say.

“I can’t forgive myself,” he finally mumbled “And to think you could ever believe that I blame you for his loss. There is only one person at fault here and that is me. Because I cannot promise that I will never leave you alone again.”

“I knew who you were when I agreed to marry you. I knew you then, as I know you now and I know for every time you leave me you will always return.” He finally allowed himself to be pulled into your arms, and you tutted at the unmistakable scratches on his arm, he had been hurting himself for a while.

“Oh my love,” you cried “All this time I have thought you were blaming me, but you have been burdening yourself with the blame of this loss.”

Sihtric nodded in your arms and you traced your thumb across the scar on his face, before placing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Neither of us are to blame my love, the gods were cruel.” he nodded in your hands finally allowing his eyes to soften, boring into yours and when he looked at you this way, you could always see the small, skinny boy who only ever knew hurt, fear and humiliation but never love.

“Talk never of setting me free again my love,” he begged, closing the distance to lean his forehead against yours “My place, my only place is here by your side. My woman. My woman. My wife.”

Tagging: @canyonmoon-2 @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @whitedarkmoonflower @shamrockqueen thenameswinter99 foxyanon

#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric fic #the last kingdom fic #volklana writes

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seabirdtxt · 1 year

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It's been a while since I made a request to a blog, but I really enjoy your writing, and your AUs got my brain going with ideas (especially the Glitch AU). It has me thinking about how our favorite little Puppet boys would react to some of the... interesting hobbies I have: two of those being things like Doll making/repainting, and cosplaying/ general fantastical costuming.

I feel like both of these hobbies have the potential to lead to both hilarious situations and moments of being a bit... perturbed at best (especially doll making: the random assortment of doll limbs being places, or having naked dolls that are precariously hung from the ceiling to finish drying from paint jobs).

I do know that at least Kabukimono and Wanderer (Scara might have forgotten since he hadn't used the skill in a long time, and Wanderer likely relearned it) know how to sew, so the sewing part could be cute bonding time.

Could be platonic or romantic in nature: both would be fine. And also, fully understand it will probably take you time to get to this, of you even get to it at all. I just appreciate you taking the time to read this request~! Can't wait for your next bits of work: hope you have a wonderful day~!!! 💕💕💕💕

hey!! thanks so much for your request!! this was a funny idea bc i can't imagine any of scara's iterations being any good at collaboration but for all separate reasons lmao

I'm not too knowledgeable about doll making but hopefully you like this anyway :D i wrote it as a bit of a glitch!AU spinoff in my mind, but feel free to imagine any other scenarios these three clowns might come together for hahaha WC. 1.3k

----- ⚘ -----

When the three puppets were told not to enter your room and disturb your hobby workstation, this isn’t what they had in mind. Wanderer thought maybe you did something embarrassing as a hobby, Scaramouche thought it might be something potentially dangerous especially if you intended to keep it a secret from them, while Kabukimono was certain that you did some sort of artistic craft that you preferred to keep hidden until the end product was finished.

All three of them were right, in some way or another.

The three of them stand in your workshop, staring in horror at the dozens of separated doll components you’d strung up around the edges of the room. Scraps of tiny, doll-sized outfits were scattered around your desk, and a half-painted doll head was mounted on some sort of device in the middle of the chaos. The doll’s single painted eye watches their trespassing with silent judgment.

You’re glad you find them out so soon, and you have exactly three seconds to stop them from touching anything in the workshop.

“WhatareyouguysDOINGinhere?!” Nailed it.

Kabukimono leaps a vertical foot into the air out of fright at your sudden and shrill outburst, while the other two react in more subdued manners before turning around to face you, standing in the doorway behind them. Your arms are outstretched, palms forward, and you’re braced as though you’re anticipating some sort of impact.

“Don’t. Touch. Anything.” You warn. “Not all of these are dry, and if you smudge anything I’ll have to restart them.”

“Why do you have a bunch of dismembered doll corpses?” Scaramouche asks, jerking his thumb at the precariously hanging doll components.

“A seller in Inazuma asked me if I could help him finish a few dolls, since I told him I used to do it as a hobby back in my world.” You explain, not dropping your guarded position. “If any of you want to eat dinner this week, I suggest you step away from the dolls. Slowly.”

“Can you not call them that?” Kabukimono complains to Scara as the trio carefully shuffle out of your workshop. “They’re not corpses, they just haven’t been put together yet.”

“Well, they aren’t alive either, so what’s your point?”

“If you need some help completing them, I can pitch in.” The three of you look wide-eyed at Wanderer, who seems to immediately regret making the offer. He shrugs and looks away quickly. “Or not. Whatever.”

“I’d love some help,” you start hesitantly. “But what did you want to help with?”

“I can sew the clothes, I guess.”

Scaramouche’s nose wrinkles at this statement. “You can sew?”

“Why is that so surprising?” Wanderer counters, reaching into the inner lining of his haori and showing off a small, familiar cloth doll. Instantly, Kabukimono is patting himself down with a frantic expression, before pointing at Wanderer accusingly.

“Where did you get that?! I lost it a long time ago!”

“Heh, of course you did.” Wanderer smirks. “I made mine. What, are you telling me you never thought of making yourself a new one?”

“I was never good at doing the small stitches…” Kabukimono pouts, crossing his arms and eyeing the doll jealously.

“That aside,” Wanderer continues, turning to you. “I can help you finish the clothes for your project dolls. The faster you can finish them, the faster you can retrieve the commission for them, right?”

“That’s true, I guess,” you acquiesce, already running the math in your head. If you could get the commission for the dolls early, you might not have to budget as hard this week.

“I wanna help too!” Kabukimono declares, raising his hand (a bit redundantly, given he’s standing right next to you).

“Whatever,” Scaramouche snorts and waves dismissively as he begins to walk away. “If that’s what you nerds want to waste your time on, be my guest. As long as you don’t make it my problem, I don’t care what you do in your free time.”

“Party pooper,” you say, sticking out your tongue at his retreating back. “Well, what do you say, guys? Let’s get this bread?”

“Sure,” Wanderer nods, heading back into the workshop.

“What does bread have to do with dollmaking?” Kabukimono asks, even as he’s herded into the room by you.

“I’ll explain later, let’s finish up these bad boys first,” you promise, and the workshop door closes behind you.

----- ⚘ -----

“I made another sword!” Kabukimono declares, hurrying over to your workbench and showing off the tiny doll-sized sword he’d made. The fifth one, so far.

“That’s great, buddy!” You give him a pat, to his delight. “I think we’re okay on swords for now, though, d’you wanna try making something else this time?”

“Okay!”

Wanderer looks up from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, a few pins sticking out of his mouth as he uses them to hold his patterns in place.

“Did your toymaker guy say what kinds of dolls he wanted?” He asks, holding up another utilitarian-looking outfit. “I can’t imagine this is what he had in mind when he asked for your help.”

“I mean, these are kind of edging into action figure territory,” you shrug. “But that’s probably fine. There’s a market out there for everything, nowadays.”

“Make a kimono that looks like the Shogun,” Kabukimono suggests, handing Wanderer some purple fabric. “Everybody likes the Shogun, right? She should be pretty popular.”

You and Wanderer both wince (for different reasons) at Kabukimono’s well-meant statement. However, Wanderer does take the purple fabric and sets it gently aside, and you wonder if he’ll take the suggestion after all.

“Are you losers done in here? I’m tired of doing the dishes for two days straight,” Scaramouche kicks the door in, uncaring of the delicate work you three are doing. Thankfully, the risky parts are all done, so nothing suffers any damage with his sudden entrance. Scara drops three bowls onto your workbench, each piled with fried rice and vegetables.

“Ha, you’d make a great housewife,” Wanderer snickers, earning himself a smack on the back of his head. “Ow.”

“Thank you!” Kabukimono takes his bowl and brings it to where he’s working on something, hopefully not another sword.

“Thanks,” you say as well, giving Scara a genuine smile. The puppet scowls and leaves as quickly as he’d come in.

“Don’t bother! It doesn’t benefit anyone if you drop dead from starvation, you know?” he sneers over his shoulder as he slams the door shut.

There’s silence as you three eat the lunch that was generously provided, stacking the bowls and putting them beside the door for when you guys go for your next break.

“I think I’m done after I finish this last outfit,” Wanderer sighs, holding up the unfinished garment. It looks hilarious in his hands, a cheerful pink and purple kimono in stark contrast to his deadpan expression.

“I’m almost done too!” Kabukimono adds, holding up his latest project: a doll-sized armor set. You smile gratefully at the both of them, even as you rub your temples with a sigh.

“Okay, great, I’ll put these together and bring them to the toymaker later this afternoon, then!” You say, hoping you sound enthusiastic about it. You think about the mismatched collection of outfits and sword accessories, wondering how you were going to sell this to your temporary employer.

----- ⚘ -----

As it turns out, if there’s one thing Inazumans like, it’s swordsmen. The toymaker looks in awe at your half dozen tiny samurai, handing you a pouch of mora with a pleased word of thanks.

As you’re headed back home, you get a telepathic message from Wanderer.

KABUKIMONO WANTS TO KNOW WHEN WE’RE GETTING MORE DOLLS.

‘He fired me, we’ll have to do something else,’ you think back, hoping you don’t sound too guilty in your head.

As much as you love these guys, you aren’t sure you could take another two days straight of having to collab with them. Hopefully buying some treats on the way home will placate them.

—– ⚘ —–

^ reader trying to juggle all three scara iterations without breaking any of the dolls LMAO

#genshin sagau #genshin self aware au #sagau #self aware genshin #genshin isekai #genshin scaramouche #sagau scaramouche #genshin wanderer #sagau wanderer #genshin kabukimono #sagau kabukimono #sagau x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kabukimono x reader #seabird.txt #seabird.inbox #littlemistermedley

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deanbrainrotwritings · 4 months

Text

— HAND OF BLOOD

SUMMARY : “Hey can i request one where the reader is Dean Winchester wife and she just found that she is whatever supernatural creature and him just cuddling with her and help her using her new powers?? something fluff and cute” - anon

PAIRING : dean winchester x powered!reader (f.)

CHARACTERS : unnamed villain, sam winchester, castiel

WARNINGS/TAGS : fluff, angst, comfort, trauma

WORD COUNT : 1.0k

A/N : bullet for my valentine song title. trying some new ways of writing bc university sucks, anyway, you can imagine the reader to be whatever magical/super-powered being from the show, I didn’t specify x

“Stop holding back, you could… you know… do something for me and I will let you go, alive,” the dark voice of the monster before you made a shiver run up your spine. Your stomach churned nervously, but you gave in anyway.

“Do what?” You sobbed, tugging helplessly at the chains around tour wrist.

You felt a warm breath by your cheek and you inhaled sharply, your body instantly tightened with stress.

“A little bit of magic,” the words brushed against your ear and neck. And you didn’t think you could shiver any harder than you already were, but your body shook with a shudder and your muscles clenched tighter, somehow.

“I can’t do magic,” you whispered with defeat, trying not to cry when a hand squeezed around your throat. “I’m not a witch,” you struggled to breathe through the tight grip.

Whatever the thing was that held you captive, squeezed your throat so tight you could feel your frantic heart beat against its palm. Then, the grip loosened with a frustrated growl, an impatient sound, desperate.

“But you are something,” it insisted through clenched teeth, “something very powerful.”

“I’ve never even… I think you’ve got the wrong person,” you argued weakly. Your body slowly relaxed and you accepted whatever your fate was.

You didn’t bother letting your eyes fall shut, you didn’t bother trying to squint and making something out of your surroundings. The pitch black room revealed nothing to you. All you could smell was dank air and dirt, hear the echo of yours and your captor’s breath against concrete walls and floor. The occasionally clink of the metal that bound you to the floor, the rustle of leaves with the shuffle of feet.

“I don’t have the wrong person. I think you’ve been holding back,” the voice grinned and two hands pressed against either side of your temples. “Why don’t we go back to the biggest hits? To all those times you’ve felt powerless?”

“You know… this doesn’t change the way I see you,” Dean promised, kissing your forehead. He absentmindedly played with a strand of your hair and kissed your cheek when you sniffled.

“I can’t… what if I can’t control it?” You whispered, wiping away tears with your sleeve as they flowed from your eyes with no end in sight.

“Hey, you’re such a control freak, I doubt you’ll let your powers beat you,” Dean grinned in attempts to cheer you up, but you were barely able to muster up a smile. You generally found Dean hilarious, something he knew well enough to find a way to cheer you up easily. Even when you had no idea what he was saying, he always made you laugh. It was always that dorky, boyish grin of his that made you crack up.

Dean shimmied down on the bed so he could face you. He sighed and gave you a weak smile. You were embarrassed of your wet eyes and swollen lips, but you knew Dean wasn’t judging you, and that’s why letting yourself fall apart was always so easy to do when you were with him.

“We’ve gone through worse and we’ve come out pretty damn alright.” His hand landed gently on your flushed, hot cheek. You finally looked into his gentle eyes, through watery vision and sticky lashes he still looked beautiful. “I promise that I will help you in any way that I can, sweetheart. So will, Sam. And so will Cas. We’re a family, you’re not gunna do this alone. Okay?”

Dean waited for you to nod. You almost couldn’t breath with the way he looked at you. With his soft green eyes glowing with determination, and kindness, and empathy. It hurt so much that you just nodded, and buried your face in his chest so that all the emotions in his eyes wouldn’t get to you and make you break down again.

He held you close to him and chuckled softly. He pressed his lips to the top of your head and soothingly rubbed your back while you clung to the warm layers on his body.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dean gasped out a laugh, hunching over with his hands on his knees. “You’re not dangerous at all, you just suck at this. So… don’t be nervous.”

You glared at Dean as he struggled to breathe and wheezed out another laugh. Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with one arm crossed over his firm chest. Even Cas seemed irritated with Dean; he rolled his eyes and let his hands slap against his thighs in defeat, his powers slowly fading.

“This isn’t easy and you’re doing great,” Sam encouraged you and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly when he made his way across to you. “Cas, again,” he tipped his head towards you and returned next to Dean to elbow him in his ribs.

Dean squirmed and wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, his eyes shimmering with flirtatiousness when they opened back up to you and the glare you sent his way. He wiggled his brows and smacked his tongue above the roof of his mouth, and you couldn’t resist the tiny smile from growing on your face. Or the blush that began to heat up your face, the skipped beat of you once fearful heart, the clench of your stomach. Yup, Dean still had it.

“Try to… um, just don’t hit us… well, you can hit Dean,” Sam snickered, ignoring the glare Dean shot at him. You grinned when Dean glanced back at you and you picked yourself. He sneaked behind Sam to hide from you and the way you unfortunately sucked at using your abilities. Most of your anxiousness disappeared, and Cas smiled reassuringly when he powered up.

You didn’t think things could be any better, all things considered. New powers, new you. But most importantly, your relationship with Dean, Sam, and Cas seemed to get better in the past seven months, like this one bad thing that happened to you didn’t get between you… instead, it wove the four of you together, and squeezed tight like a knitted blanket. Despite the fear, the anxiety, the uncertainty of what you were now, you felt warm, safe, and secure. With the people you call your family.

You had Dean to thank for that. And everyone else’s for falling into your life so perfectly.

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#dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester comfort #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #dean x female!reader

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flwoie · 6 months

Text

꒰ 🕰️ ꒱ SEND YOU MY HEART — BYUN EUIJOO

⋆ It’s different when it comes to crushing on Euijoo, your bestfriend’s younger brother. He hasn’t done a single thing to you and you highly doubt he knows you other than being his sister’s friend, yet you always find yourself running away from him.

STARRING ≻ bsf’s younger brother! ej x gn! reader [guest stars yeojin of loossemble & f! oc (eunha)] GENRE ≻ fluff, comedy, implied mutual pining, bestfriend’s brother au, highschool au CONTAINS ≻ accidental invasion of privacy WORD COUNT ≻ 1090

SONA SPEAKING ≻ no i did NOT choose ej just bc he reminds me of my crush!!

What’s worse than having a normal crush is having a crush on your best friend's brother, Euijoo. He’s not any typical brother; he’s the younger brother who doesn’t talk to anyone besides his friends and family. The younger brother, who only has one face for every emotion. He’s the younger brother who’s the eldest among his friends.

It’s even worse when he goes to your school. Fate loves to be a hater and decided that you two should see each other everywhere, whether he’s behind you in line at the cafeteria or walking the same hall after your drama class and his gym class. Wherever you are, Euijoo is there. Some people would think it’s a blessing to be around their crush all the time, and it is. It’s also a curse, as instead of greeting him, you find yourself running as far away as possible from him.

The idea of your best friend finding out isn’t the reason you're running away. In fact, you even told her you liked him, and she didn’t seem to care at all. All she did was laugh. She finds it hilarious how he’s gullible and you’re here trying to keep yourself from running away when he’s around, especially when you’re at her house. From sitting next to you on the couch for a movie night to grabbing a cup from the cabinet in the kitchen where you’re eating, you’d expect her to glare at you, but she only tries to hold her laughter in.

You don’t know why you can’t function when he’s around every time. Is it because he smells like pencil shaving all the time, his glasses suit his face shape, or he wears that umber leather jacket over his uniform every day? It’s weird since you complain all the time that you miss him, but when you do see him, you’re suddenly meters away from his presence. You hate the idea of talking to him, but at the same time, you love talking about him with your friends. When your friends insult him, like his haircut or the fact that he’s part of the chess club, your mouth starts talking back as if you were a lawyer defending their client.

The one question that makes everyone you know intrigued is: How come you’ve never had at least one interaction with him?

‘I saw Euijoo in the hallway first thing in the morning’. You write on the sticky note, passing it to your friend in the middle of your drama class. Your teacher has been too busy blabbering about her life in acting school for the past hour. You look up at the clock; it’s five before the bell rings. Some of your classmates are doing work, and others are on their phones. No one seems to be listening to her at all; they’re all waiting for the bell.

Yeojin passes a sticky note to you. ‘What did you do?’. She stared at you as you retold her what happened with your fingers. You tried to tell her that you walked past him, but she didn’t understand your gestures. “What?” she mouths. You lean close enough so she can hear your whispers.

“I walked past him,” you whisper lowly so the teacher wouldn’t notice but loud enough for Yeojin to hear. She covers her mouth, restraining herself from bursting into laughter. As the bell rings, your teacher mentions a project due in a few days while you get ready to leave.

The performing arts department is in a long, separate hallway away from regular classes. In that hallway is also the gym, where Euijoo finishes his class. The hallway is tiring for you and Yeojin, but all you want to do is get to your next class without having to see Euijoo. Yeojin leaves you for her class, which is the one near the exit of the hall. You’re here, walking alone to the end of the hall. Sometimes it takes you two minutes to get to your class or more, depending on the number of people. As you go through multiple people squished like sardines in a can and make your way to the end of the hall, you halt, hearing your name and an unfamiliar voice.

“Oh, Y/N, you dropped this,” Euijoo says as you look behind. He picks up a notebook from the floor and hands it to you. You’re frozen and silent, and he simply smiles at you and leaves. You run to your next class and sit down in your seat as you contemplate. Many things are happening at once—things that you found impossible.

He says your name and gives you your journal, the one place where you talk about him, then proceeds to smile at you. It sounds impossible, but it did indeed happen. But what’s really important is that he spoke to you.

You haven’t seen Euijoo since that interaction. You don’t see him in the hallways at school or in the living room at their house. Whenever Eunha calls him down for dinner, he’ll just stay silent or respond that he’s busy. When he did come out of his room, it was only to return your journal. Your best friend accidentally gave him your journal when he asked her to get his notebook.

It was a simple mistake; he didn’t mean to look inside. The outside looked like his, but the inside was totally different. When he opened a random page, he noticed how his notes were colourful, his handwriting was curvier than it should be, and the words were the total opposite of physics. He put his glasses on and immediately closed the book as he read the first sentence.

‘I miss Euijoo’. He quickly pushes the book off his table and backs away from it. He’s shocked in many ways. Those words are playing in his head on repeat. All he can imagine is your voice saying those words. He wants to know what else you say about him, but it’s wrong; it’s your privacy. He approaches the book but is wary of picking it up. His hands are trembling the more he moves closer, until the pads of his fingers touch the leather cover.

He leaves his room with the journal in his hand. His eyes meet with yours as he enters the living room, places your journal down on the coffee table, and grabs his. You quickly grabbed your journal and sat on it as he asked you a question before he walked out.

“Are you busy this Friday?”

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its-time-to-write · 7 months

Note

Hi!! I hope you’re well! This ask is a little diff from the norm BUT it’s with Jamie and Bea (his daughter OC you created I don’t remember her name exactly I’m so sorry) but basically it’s her like dealing with a stupid boy who reminds her father a lot of himself and he helps her understand that she’s worth the world!! She eventually finds herself an amazing guy and tells Jamie sm like “I wouldn’t let myself settle for anything less than the example you set”? Anywho I’m always here for Jamie in his dad era so if you’re inspired TY ILY YOURE AMAZING KEEP SLAYING I REREAD YOUR FICS LIKE EVERY NIGHT🫶🫶🫶

wow, two posts in one day?😱 the mission to clean out my inbox continues! this fic is a little out of my wheelhouse, but I did my best. the title is from “betty” bc teens are dumb and also great. here are the other fics in this universe:

you’re losing me

i’ll still be right next to you my dear

today’s a day like any other

lyrical smile, indigo eyes

thanks for requesting!!🩵

i don’t know anything

“It’s just for school, Jamie,” you say.

“Yeah, it’s just for school, dad,” Bea says.

You point to her from the kitchen. “Stay out of this, kid.”

She puts her hands in the air and backs away. “And hang up your bag!” you call.

Jamie hovers over your shoulder. He’s supposed to be helping with dinner, as he’s taken up cooking more since his retirement from football.

“Look,” you say as you slice vegetables, “you said nothing when Theo had a girl over last week. Why are you so fucking weird about Bea having a boy over?”

“Because- she- he- it’s different,” he sputters.

You hand him a head of lettuce with the command, “Shred.” He starts tearing it into pieces, letting it fall into a bowl.

“And how, Jamie Tartt, is that different?”

“Theo is fucking twelve. He’s a kid. Bea’s fifteen and a dead knockout. She got both our looks and your brains. Any knob’d be fucking lucky to have her.”

“Yeah, okay,” you replay. “He’s still going to be here in five minutes. And you’re going to be nice. She likes this boy, Jaim. So we’re going to be supporting and fucking grateful that she’s not sneaking around, got it?”

“Fuck’s sake,” Jamie grumbles. “This is what I get for being a prick as a kid. Bet you and Keeley think this is fuckin’ hilarious.”

The doorbell saves you from replying. Bea yells, “I’ve got it!” as she thunders down the stairs.

She appears a moment later with a boy dressed in the same school uniform as her.

“This is Isaiah,” she says. Isaiah snorts and looks away, so you put a hand on Jamie’s arm to stop him from doing anything.

“It’s nice to meet you, Isaiah. Can we get you anything? Water, a snack?”

He shrugs and says “Nah.”

There’s an awkward pause before Bea says, “Right! We’ll just be in the living room.”

They leave and Jamie turns to you. “I don’t like that kid,” he whispers. You don’t either, but you’re not going to tell him just yet. You’ll give the kid a chance because you have a weird soft spot for absolute assholes.

You squint at him for a moment then say, “You know, if we’re quiet, we can listen in.”

Jamie grabs your head with both hands and kisses you. “This. This is why I married you. Fucking brilliant.” You smile and pat his cheek.

Their voices float in the kitchen and you can’t quite catch what Bea’s saying, but it’s definitely a question. Isaiah’s response is… not exactly kind.

Jamie mouths, the fuck? and you frown. He has a look in his eyes that you haven’t seen since the days he used to brawl with Roy. You’re considering a brawl of your own.

Give him a minute, you mouth back.

You half-heartedly continue chopping while straining to hear as much as you can. It’s not good. He’s not being explicitly mean, but he sure as shit isn’t kind.

You and Jamie are so intent on trying to listen that you don’t hear Theo come in the room. “What are you doing?”

The two of you jump and swear. “Jesus feck, kid, don’t sneak up on your mum like that.”

“You’re the one who jumped the highest dad,” Theo points out. “Mum, can I have a snack?”

You say, “Sure,” and absentmindedly point to the fridge.

“Fuckin hell, did Bea eat the last of the cake?”

“Fucking hell,” echoes your youngest, Georgie. She’s seven, and like Theo’s shadow.

“Don’t say ‘fuck,’” you and admonish in unison.

“Can you be fucking quiet??” Bea whisper-growls from the doorway. “We’re trying to study.”

The four of you make your apologies as she leaves.

—

Two hours later, Isaiah’s left and Bea’s on the phone with her best mate. You can hear her saying something in a favourable tone.

“Why the fuck did you let that little prick into our house?” Jamie seethes. “Fucking tosser. He’s not good enough for her, and I don’t give a shit what you have to say about it.”

You shoot him a Look and he apologizes. “Sorry babe, it ain’t about you. I do care what you have to say. Just- I fucking hated that prick.”

“Give her a week,” you say. “If you tell her never to speak to him again, she’ll do the exact opposite, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright,” he grumbles.

—

It’s formal season. Bea’s sixteen and over the moon, talking about the boy who asked her out.

“He’ll be here any minute. Dad, you’re still driving us, yeah?”

Jamie smiles and wipes lipstick out of the corner of her mouth. “Whatever you want, love.”

Bea smiles back and fiddles with her necklace. “I hope he likes this dress,” she frets.

Jamie grabs her hand. “Oi, any kid would be fucking lucky to be in the same room as you, let alone at a formal. Isaiah better fucking behave.”

“Don’t say fuck,” Bea says automatically, then she frowns. “I’m not going with Isaiah.”

Jamie’s face twists into confusion. “Why the fuck not?”

“He’s a prick,” Theo calls from the next room, followed by, “Ow, mum, my ear!”

“He is a prick,” Bea says.

“I’m a prick,” Jamie points out.

Bea scrunches her nose. “You were a prick, Dad, like, three decades ago when you were my age. Now you’re just an old softie.”

Jamie shakes his head. “Don’t know how old you think I am, love, but you’ve got your maths all wrong.”

There doorbell rings and you call, “I’ve got it!” as Bea panics with a last-minute hair adjustment.

“Oi,” Jamie says gently, “you look beautiful, love. Just like your mum. Glad you dumped that prick.”

Bea shrugs. “I had to, dad. Couldn’t be with him when I have a dad like you.”

Bea’s date, Thomas, walks into the room all smiles. He shakes Jamie hand then shyly slides a corsage onto her wrist. He is a far cry from who Jamie was at that age. This kid doesn’t seem so sure of himself, like he’s trying very, very hard not to mess things up. He and Bea whisper about something as you sidle up to Jamie.

“We did good with that one,” you whisper in his ear. He smiles. Thank god she doesn’t have her mum’s taste in men.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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loomisadvocate · 1 month

Text

the inevitable 𖤐 part five

woodsboro would soon be a distant memory - but some things would make it hard to forget.

pairing: billy loomis x fem!reader

word count: 7.4k (holy shit i am so sorry)

tags/warnings: strangers to enemies, enemies to lovers, smut (eventually), angst, slow burn (heavy on this), cursing, alcohol and marijuana, make out scene who cheered!, probably others i'm forgetting.

a/n: clearly i got a little carried away with this part... it's the longest one to date. i hope that's not a bad thing. not 100% edited bc i promised i would post today. enjoy!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

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“I’m sorry, he actually said enchanting?”

Tatum stifles her laughter to avoid any of her soda passing through her nose. That, and to avoid any more stares from the old woman who’d been glaring at Tatum over her less-than-modest plaid skirt. You nod, scrunching your nose up at the memory.

Your outing with Tatum has, so far, been spent filling her in on your entire Billy situation. It was prompted by her asking why, and you quote, “rat-boy,” was so hellbent on the group knowing in the first place, seeing as you’d only formally known each other for a few weeks. In the spirit of having no more secrets, you gladly answered her question.

You started from the very beginning: how a seemingly innocent conversation about red wine versus white turned into a quick trip to the garage that ended in telling him your plans to move. If Tatum thought the garage incident was hilarious, she was sure to piss herself when you told her about him coming to your window.

“Wait for it; it gets much worse.” You laugh along with her and take another bite of the pretzel you were sharing, wiping cinnamon sugar dust off on a useless paper napkin. “So then a week later, I’m writing my paper and hear something outside. I’m thinking it’s a small animal or something, but no. Guess what?” You pause for dramatic effect, Tatum raising an eyebrow and waiting expectantly. A few seconds go by before her hand smacks on the table and she gasps.

“Shut up!” The old woman next to you grunts and picks up her belongings, clearly fed up with your friend’s dramatic reactions. Tatum doesn’t care, and neither do you. If people looked at you and saw two high school seniors behaving like they were spilling middle school gossip, you couldn’t care less. You’d been waiting for more moments like these with her, and you’d be damned if you let a stranger spoil it with just a dirty look.

Tatum lowers her voice and leans in closer to you. “Shut up. He came to your house. Through your window?”She confirms with you, and you nod with your nose scrunched up.

“And I actually let him in, which is the even crazier part. But I talked to him—like, actually talked to him, Tatum. And he wasn’t that unbearable. Then, for whatever reason, he just flipped a switch.” You run a hand through your hair and push the pretzel towards her. Thinking about it all was taking away your sweet tooth.

What confused you the most about Billy Loomis is why, all of a sudden, he made fucking with your circle a personal mission. You racked your brain, thinking perhaps you had offended him by accident and didn’t realize it. You’d been doing that over and over again, coming up empty each time. Tatum knew him much better than you did and had a different angle, seeing as her boyfriend was the boy’s best friend.

“I think Billy is just a shithead and likes to get under people’s skin. He’s really good at it,” she offers. You already had the opportunity to learn that the hard way. “So what happened after you guys talked? Did you throw him out on his ass?” She asks with a giggle, getting a kick out of the mental image of you grabbing him by his hair and tossing him out of the window. A bit morbid, but a girl could dream.

You hesitate to answer. It’s not that you wanted to lie again; god no, that was the last thing you wanted to do. But something about telling another soul about the tension and the bubbling desire you’d been feeling in your gut since meeting him? It felt eerily similar to the reason you took so long to tell Tatum about leaving; it would make it real. You were perfectly content living in denial for as long as it took, even if that was up until the moment the moving van drove away.

You don’t answer, and Tatum kicks your leg lightly under the table. “Hello?’ She draws it out, waving her hand in the air. “What, did you guys make out or something?”

“No!” You shout immediately—defensively and hopefully convincingly. A few more people turn to look due to your quick outburst. “He got all... angry? Called me ungrateful and said I needed to wrap up my pity party. So I called him an asshole, and then..." You trail off at the memory. He taunts you, his lips now ghosting over your temple and his slim fingers resting on your hip. Through the thin, unreliable material of your t-shirt, you could feel him tracing circles.

“And then what?! You’re killing me here.” Tatum is growing more impatient by the second, like she’s heard the juiciest rumor about her favorite celebrity on TV, and suddenly the signal goes out. You look at her with uncertainty. Truthfully, you weren’t even entirely sure what had happened yourself. “I swear to god if you don’t spill.”

“And then it got weird,” you continue. Tatum doesn’t speak for you to know she’s asking how it got weird. “He got really close to me, like he was going to kiss me. And then he just didn’t? He said I should finish my paper and said my secret wouldn’t last much longer. Then the party happened, and he tried to give me a ride to school this morning. Well, I accepted the ride only ‘cause I would’ve been late and—“

“Whoa, we aren’t going to just skip that part. You guys almost kissed?!” Your best friend was crazed by all of this. Finding out you were moving, that Billy had it out for you, and that he had made a half-move on you all in one day was a bit much, even for her. She had absolutely zero interest in your ride to school this morning. Besides, she would be reinstating herself as your chaffeur starting tomorrow anyway.

"It was just weird and tense; nothing crazy happened. But it was definitely something. I just don’t know what his angle is.” You shrugged the entire thought away, entertaining it felt distasteful.

Admittedly, you hadn’t reached the point of being repulsed by him. The Billy you’d met a month ago was lingering in every crevice of your brain. Even the Billy that appeared in your bedroom seemed more kind, more palatable in some sense. Billy had proven thus far to be, if nothing else, a complete wildcard. You weren’t sure which Billy you would get on any given day. One day he is mocking you in your bedroom; the next he’s embarrassing you; and after that, he’s offering to bring you to school.

It was all too confusing, and your mind being seemingly detached from your body was not helping. The manner in which he could keep you frozen in place with a single look, your eyes the only part of your body able to move. Tracing over his stature, his lips, and his hands. It was positively disturbing. Now it had happened not once but twice, and everyone knows what they say about the third time.

"It sounds like he wants to see if he can get the library girl to open up more than her books." Tatum giggles and finishes off the sugary snack, crumpling up the paper to toss into the trash later. You don't respond; you're still fantasizing about the night in your room. Even when he wasn't in proximity he was able to throw your focus. What you fail to notice is Tatum's dawn of realization—the revelation that occurs while you're daydreaming.

"Oh my fucking god, you want to screw him!" She says it accusingly, pointing a finger at you. This is definitely enough to catch your attention. Your mouth is agape, but nothing comes out in your defense. After stuttering a few times, you manage to say something; however, it doesn't remedy much.

"Tatum, I don't want to screw him! He's horrible. Abhorrent, even." You throw in a big word in an attempt to throw her off your scent. Tatum knows you. She's known every guy you've thought to be remotely cute based on how you look at them. You never made a move on anyone the entire time you'd been in town. Partly because you preferred to avoid any serious attachments and strife when you eventually moved, but also because boys just weren't something you prioritized.

"You're basically drooling just thinking about it. God, no wonder there's so much tension." Tatum is enjoying every second of this. Maybe a small part of her is doing it on purpose, just as a little payback for what happened. Your willingness to talk to her about it, despite how humiliating it was for you, didn't go unnoticed. What killed you was how on the nose she was. It felt good to have your best friend in the loop on what would likely be your first and last real boy problem until the end of the school year.

"Ugh, you're right." You confess, unable to even laugh. Instead, you grab the hair at the top of your head and rest your face on your palms. "What do I do, Tatum?" You ask for guidance; your voice muffled. First you hear the slurping of the rest of her soda; she'd run through hers in record time.

"Just mess around; you're leaving soon anyway. He’s clearly into you, in his own bizarre, freakish way. What's the worst that could happen?" Tatum answers nonchalantly, and it earns an incredulous look from you. Tatum had personally ensured Billy was nowhere within five feet of you up until last month, and now she was encouraging you to sleep with the enemy?

"You're insane. I'm not going to mess around with him. He's an asshole; he has no respect, and he's made it clear he likes seeing me miserable.” You shake your head and lean back in your chair; one of the legs must be shorter than the rest because it's been rickety since you sat in it.

“True, but maybe he could like you? The only person who knows what Billy is thinking is Billy. Stu probably doesn't even know what happens in his bird brain." She offers an explanation, and you can't exactly disagree. You never knew what his motive was, and clearly, he kept his cards close to his chest.

"I know he's a dick; trust me," she continues. "And I'm definitely not a fan of him after what he pulled. But it's almost summer, and you've never even gone on a date with someone. Obviously, it's not a necessity, but you could probably benefit from a little something to take the edge off. You are a little bit uptight." Tatum's hands are clasped on the table as she tries to reason with you. Not only are you still in shock that she's suggesting this, but now you're surprised to find yourself agreeing.

Even so, there was still the matter of addressing his little stunt. Now that you and Tatum were fine, the next two things to take care of were, first, Randy, and secondly, the fucker that caused all of this in the first place.

"I can't believe you're telling me to screw around with Billy Loomis." You state, frankly, with a twinge of amusement donning your features.

"I can't believe you were already thinking about screwing around with Billy Loomis. You wear your thoughts on your face, by the way." Tatum smiles at you patronizingly, but you know it's with a light heart. You definitely had a lot to think about, but most of it needed to wait until after you tracked down Randy.

The squirrely one of the group was hardly ever taken seriously, but you knew that in this situation he needed to feel heard. He truly did see you as a sister. Whenever Stu would shoot down his ideas, you were always one step behind him, coming to his defense. You always said yes when he asked to hang out after school, mainly because he would go into a dramatic monologue about how much you hated him if you said otherwise.

Even though Tatum was your best friend, it was an unspoken feeling among all of you that Randy had somehow gotten the shittiest end of the stick. Randy was chaotic and, at times, unpredictable, but in a lot of ways, he was the one who bridged everyone together. You were positive that if Randy wasn't part of the group and hadn't pulled you from the library so many times, you wouldn't have gotten as close to Tatum. In the same beat, Randy was a simply guy. You knew an apology and a promise of grabbing food (on you, of course) would likely be enough. You still wanted to make it up to him.

With a clap, you stand up, ready to get out of the food court that was quickly starting to fill up with more people. The mall on a Monday afternoon was, believe it or not, one of the more entertaining places to go around town.

"No more Billy-talk; let's go. I need to find Randy." Tatum agrees quickly, standing up and tossing all of your trash in the bin before looking around in her bag for her car keys. Tatum agreed to stop by the video store on the way back and wait for you to talk to Randy. She assured you that he wasn’t angry, and noted that it wasn’t really in his nature to get angry anyways. That brought you much more comfort.

"For the record, fooling around when you're mad at someone is so much more fun. Why do you think I start fights with Stu so often?" Tatum twirls her car keys around her pointer finger and catches them in her palm. "Let's roll, Arizona," she says in a deep voice, earning a light smack on the arm from you.

You push Billy to the back of your mind for now, where he sits at any given moment lately. Perhaps Tatum was right, but if you were going to fool around with Billy Loomis, you were going to need to get your nerves in check.

Your talk with Randy was equal parts amusing and proactive. As Tatum informed you, Randy was nowhere near angry. Hurt, yes. Shocked, absolutely. But Randy, like your best friend, also knew that you couldn’t be an awful person if you tried. All of your self-hatred over the situation now felt slightly hilarious. You’d caught Randy at the beginning of his shift, luckily for you. That meant he wasn’t annoyed by people making, in his opinion, subpar movie choices just yet.

You’d given him a very similar spiel to the one you gave Tatum, filled with an obscene amount of “I’m sorry’s” and a very long hug. You had to remind him you weren’t leaving that night to get him to pull away. Nonetheless, it appeared that a lot of your worst fears were no cause for concern. Nobody (that you knew) hated you or would be cursing your name for the foreseeable future.

Randy did make it a point to really hammer that Windsor College was still taking applications despite the priority period ending already. He and Tatum had applied as soon as they opened, wishing to get as far away from Woodsboro as possible. Why it ended up being Ohio of all places you had no idea. Still, you rattled the idea around in your head. You figured it couldn’t hurt, but that was something you had to speak to your parents about.

The last you’d heard, your father was planning on taking a book deal that required him to live in New York in order to be close to the publishing company. Out-of-state tuition was likely going to be way too expensive, even with grants and scholarships. If you were able to convince him to agree on Ohio, you wouldn’t have to completely start over in the friend department.

Tuesday morning arrives, and for the first time since last Friday, you wake up without a weight on your chest. Your usual morning routine ensues, and it’s music to your ears when you hear the familiar horn of Tatum’s car outside your window. The ride to school felt even better today; after all, you didn’t have an impudent troll following you until you got into the car. Stu is taking up his usual spot in the passenger seat, his seatbelt evidently not on. Midway to school, he turns around, practically on his knees in the seat, which earns a reprimand from Tatum.

“So how are things with you and Randy? All better now?” He asks enthusiastically, a twinkle in his eye telling you he was probably asking because he wanted some juicy drama to laugh at.

“Yep, we’re all good. All is right in the world again, or whatever.” You nod once and keep your answer brief, refusing to give in to his wish. Your relationship with Stu was interesting, to say the least. You didn’t quite know him well, but his personality made it easy for you to take his banter in stride instead of taking it offensively.

“And what about things with Billy?” He asked immediately after, and Tatum slapped his shoulder quite harshly. You can see in the rear view that she is glaring at him. You scoff and direct your attention to her.

“You told him? Him of all people?! Tatum!” You lean forward and push Stu away by putting your hand over his face, staring at your best friend with a look of betrayal.

“He was gonna hear about it eventually; besides, he technically brought it up first!” She defends herself, pointing the finger at her boyfriend. You look between the two of them beyond confusion; what reason could Stu possibly have to bring up you and Billy? You raise both of your eyebrows at him, waiting for him to speak.

“You guys were like, eye-fucking each other on Friday. I didn’t know if I should feel awkward or kind of turned on,” he starts cackling as you start hitting him repeatedly.

“Don’t. Even. Go there!” You pause between each word, giving him a final slap on the top of his head. Stu was probably the least observant of everyone. If he and Billy were Dumb and Dumber, he was definitely the latter (which wasn’t saying much, really).

"Hey, fucking chill! I'm all for you getting some. A little weird it's from him, but maybe it'll fix that uptight attitude you've got going on," his words echo the ones his girlfriend had uttered to you less than twenty-four hours prior.

"Why do you guys think I'm uptight?!" You immediately shift into an even stronger defense mode, pleading frantically to the couple in the front seat for some kind of answer. You were no idiot; you had enough self-awareness to know that perhaps you could take your unyielding need for structure and order down a couple of notches.

Stu catches that you don't comment on 'getting some' from his best friend, and sticks his tongue out at you. "Arizona's fucking Billy!" He yells it as Tatum parks in her usual space, loud enough that if the windows were down people would have definitely heard it.

"Leave her alone! They haven't screwed yet." Tatum speaks up finally; although not to as much of your benefit as you would've appreciated. She puts the car in park and you jump at the opportunity to get out before you strangle Stu for his teasing. You scowl at the 6'4 child next to you and he, as usual, ignores your silent protest.

"Don't worry, Stu has to be on your side because I'm on your side. That means no Billy tomorrow night, right babe?" She looks up at him to confirm, but you can tell she's shooting daggers at him; compelling him to provide the answer she was looking at again.

"What's going on tomorrow night?" You ask. Hopefully it was nothing involving as much alcohol as the last time you spent time with them.

"Movie night, Randy insists there's a movie we need to watch that can't wait until the weekend. Billy will not be there." Tatum's chin turns up and she smacks Stu's chest. He feigns discomfort but she quickly provides him with a swift kiss.

"No Billy," you repeat. Relief washes over you. The unavoidable confrontation with him that had been plaguing you could be put off for one more day. The three of you split up to go to your respective classes, and you can only hope that Stu makes good on his word and keeps Billy as far away from you as possible.

———

Stu, surprisingly, keeps his promise. In fact, Billy was nowhere to be seen all day at school yesterday. Today he'd passed by you in the hallway, but he was too invested in whatever conversation he was having to notice you, or he chose to ignore you. Either way, you were content. Stu welcomes you inside, clearly prepared to drink the night away in his signature red 'party robe.' You didn't plan on drinking copiously; after all, it was still a weekday. However, the memories of the last time you were in Stu's living room began creeping up on you as soon as you walked inside.

Nobody brought up last Friday, which you were grateful for. But if you were going to relax enough to enjoy your night, at least one drink was necessary. To avoid falling into the cycle of running through beers all night, you instead asked Stu for a shot of tequila from his parents' liquor cabinet. It was hot and stung your throat as you forced it down, but the warmth that filled your chest afterwards was well worth it. That, and the soda you'd downed immediately after, helped with the foul taste. Everyone else indulged in a shot of well, most of them chasing it with their first beer of the night.

You were comfortable in the same place you were the first time you'd come to Stu's house. It seemed like so long ago. The season had already changed to summer since you'd made small talk about wine with the boy, who would soon become something close to your only adversary. Tatum and Stu were already settled in their places while Randy fiddled with the VHS player, a sight you'd become used to.

The tape's sleeve tossed haphazardly on the small table read Hellraiser IV: Bloodline, and you kept your complaints to yourself. You didn't plan on spoiling Randy's enthusiasm for the remainder of your time in town. You just really did not like horror movies, good or bad. Randy performs his regular pre-movie sermon, this time complete with a full run-down of how the original director had bowed out due to "artistic differences" and that a lot of the characters' fates had been rewritten. You couldn't help but inaudibly laugh at the irony. Oh, how you wish for your fate to be rewritten.

You actually try to focus on the movie, despite the faint buzz you can feel between your ears from the tequila. A group of guards are attempting to break down the door in order to take Dr. Paul Merchant when loud knocks at the front door scare all of you.

"Jesus, fuck!" Stu yells and groans loudly, hopping up over the back of the couch. Your attention briefly wanders to the entrance, but the front door is out of sight from where you're sitting. You don't hear much and assume Stu is coming back any second.

A few minutes go by without Stu's return, but Randy and Tatum are too captivated by the movie to notice. You get up quietly to avoid any other unexpected scares, going through the open archway until you can see the front door. Stu's towering height is hiding whatever he was looking at.

"You can't be serious, Stu," you hear a voice whisper. Whoever he was looking at. Stu senses you behind him and quickly turns to look over his shoulder, revealing none other than Billy fucking Loomis. Of course, he would be here right now.

Upon seeing you, Billy attempts to step inside through the small gap. "Just - there you are. Arizona, can I please talk to you?"

Stu puts his leg out to block his path, his hands clasped together, while his eyes flash between the two of you. It would be a lie to say Stu wasn't finding this a thousand times more entertaining than the movie.

"What could you possibly have to say to me that I would care about?" You respond boldly, crossing your arms and tilting your head at him, like you were suggesting a challenge. You should drink tequila more often. Billy's lips stay pressed together, and you can tell by the slight twitch of the corner that your reply was both unexpected and unappreciated.

Stu knows his friend far too well and quickly interjects. "How about you guys go talk in my room?" He suggests it, more-so an attempt to beg Billy not to make a scene. Stu is smiling, but it’s strained. Billy was not used to hearing any form of 'no,' and the last thing Stu needed was Tatum yelling at him for Billy showing up unannounced. You glance over at the living room, both of them completely unaware of what was happening in the foyer.

“I’d rather rot than listen to anything that comes out of your mouth.”

With that, you turn on your heels and walk straight back to the kitchen. Luckily, your arms were crossed to hide your shaking hands from his view. They are just still enough to pour yourself another shot of tequila, and you drink it without a chaser this time. You shake your head first, then your shoulders, and end with your arms in an attempt to get your body to relax. You desperately need to calm down and carry on with the rest of the evening as you intended—Billy free.

You return to your spot just as Stu reenters the living room, and trailing not too far behind him is Billy. So much for him not being here tonight. Tatum finally looks over when Stu sits down next to her, and her jaw drops while she follows Billy with her eyes.

“Really?! I told you not to invite him!” She whispers harshly, making no effort to keep it a secret that he wasn’t exactly wanted. Billy doesn’t bat an eye; he just sits on the floor furthest away from you, right by the arm of the sofa Tatum and Stu were occupying.

“He just showed up. What was I supposed to do?” Stu whispers back, throwing his hands up defensively. “Just watch the movie; who cares?” He mutters, avoiding looking in your direction. You and Tatum both roll your eyes, settling more into your respective places as you attempt to focus on the movie again.

It’s not much longer before Duc de L’Isle is summoning the demon princess, Angelique, into a woman’s body. Even with the movie accelerating, you’re processing none of it. The small television doesn’t give off enough light for you to see everyone, but it does cast the perfect amount of illumination on Billy. The movie progresses without your attention, and even with Randy’s animated reactions, Tatum’s commentary, and Stu’s childish (and inappropriate) jokes, you have no reaction. You feel as though you’re watching yourself from the other side of the room, desperately trying to look uninterested enough to avoid any attention coming your way.

You and Billy are playing the same game. From his spot on his floor, you are just in his peripheral vision. He can make out that you're sitting with your knees to your chest, but he can't see your face clearly without making it obvious he was looking. He is actively fighting every urge to steal a quick glance at you, truly hoping to find you looking right back. Every so often, he adjusts, the hard floor starting to be a literal pain in his ass. Each time, he manages to look at you for what feels like half a second.

Thirty minutes later, your couple of shots of tequila are starting to wear off, making you painfully paranoid about a certain someone. Just as you'd done before, you get up quietly and pad over to the kitchen. The tequila bottle is sitting in the same place you'd left it, your empty shot glass by its side. You sigh softly, taking the top off and pouring another to the brim this time. You quickly scan the counter for something to chase it with, but all the sodas are empty. You take a few steps to the fridge and pull it open, bending over to look for something. You spot a lone can of root beer in the back and grab it.

When you turn back around, another lanky figure is waiting for you. You gasp instantly, and the root beer falls from your hand. Nobody in the living room stirs at the disruption; the movie is too loud.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you begin, your mouth immediately snapping shut as your brain catches up to your body.

"No, just me." Billy gives you a placid smile. You don't say anything in response, stepping around him. You make it a point to hit his shoulder.

"Fair, I deserve that." He nods in understanding, hands clasped behind his back. You deserve a hell of a lot more than a shoulder-check, you think to yourself.

The can opening fills the space Billy expects you to take up with a response. He watches you intently, chin turned down, while you chuck back the shot and follow it up with root beer. You do your best not to show it on your face.

"Arizona, I'm just trying to apologize," he begins, taking a step towards you. Immediately, you fall back and hold your hand up between the two of you.

"Like last time? I'm not interested in hearing it." You snip back at him. "Why can't you get the hint that I don't want to listen to your fake sympathy? And I sure as hell don't need to be reprimanded by someone like you." You keep your voice low enough to keep this conversation as private as possible. The last thing you want is another confrontation like last time.

He stays silent and stares at you, his face falling just enough for you to notice. It's clear he fully expected his ambush to work, but there was no way you would go through this again. Not if you could help it. His nostrils flare so fast you almost miss it, but what you do miss is how fast his hand is wrapped around your elbow. You begin to protest and try to yank it out of his grasp, but Billy is intent on getting you upstairs. You both struggle up the stairs, and you are nudged into a bedroom with gaudy blue and red plaid sheets. The door is almost slammed behind you as Billy stands in front of it.

"What the hell is your problem?!" He demands an answer, and you laugh incredulously.

"Are you serious? What part of I don't want to talk to you do you not understand?" You attempt to leave the room, but he intervenes by stepping over to the left. You huff and try the other side, but he mimics you.

“I rarely apologize, you should feel grateful. Are you that goddamn stubborn?" His height is an advantage in this situation, and he uses it to make you step backwards towards the bed.

"Do I need to remind you that this entire thing is your fault?You are always so out of line; you just can't help yourself, can you?" Days of pent-up anger at the boy in front of you bubbled up to the surface. Your fists are clenched by your side, something Billy finds quite endearing. You were right; he couldn't help himself. It was too easy to get you this way: defensive, riled up, with a spunk nobody else in the group had seen except for him. He knew it was in there somewhere; he just didn't expect to find your buttons so quickly.

"What did you say earlier?" He cocks his head to the side, and his forehead creases. A beat passes, and he snaps his fingers. "That's right, you'd rather rot than talk to me. Rot, Arizona. Bit harsh, isn't it?" He speaks evenly, his words laced with condescension.

"I meant it, and I still mean it," you confirm. "You had no right to do what you did."

"Oh, I know that. For the record, I am very sorry about how it all happened," he says, rocking back on his heels a couple times. You allow his words to go in one ear and out of the other.

"But if I hadn't, you wouldn't have told them. You and Tatum seem like two peas in a pod again, so was it that horrible?" His hands are held out, palms facing up as if to say, see? It all worked out.

It takes a moment for you to decide if you want to even entertain this.

"That's... Billy, that's not the point. It turned out okay, but it's the principle of the situation." You are too exhausted by the subject to continue holding your ground.

"Girls and their principles," he chuckles. You raise your eyebrows and shake your head once, about to really force your way out, but Billy tries to dial it back.

"It's a joke, Arizona. Relax. I really am sorry. I was a dick that night, and I would probably be one again. But everything is fine now." This boy needs an extensive course on the art of a meaningful apology.

You sigh, almost in defeat. Billy was so caught up in the specific situation that he was neglecting everything that occurred before it. You'd opened up to him; you'd trusted him with your feelings. You told him something you hadn't even told your best friend, and he used it against you.

"That night in my room?" You start, jogging his memory for him since he had clearly forgotten. "I thought you were actually hearing me. I thought I was gaining another friend before I left, and you didn't care. You embarrassed me in front of everyone, yeah. But you also just..." You trail off, and this is why you didn't drink tequila. You can feel your eyes heating up, and you have to catch your lip between your teeth to keep it from trembling.

"I what?" He asks. He's speaking softly now, inching closer to you.

You don't want to say it. You'd come to terms with the fact that Billy was not your friend, but it was unusual how simply unkind he could be. You had only been crying because of hurting Tatum, but you hadn't fully processed your feelings about what Billy had done. You were so intent on soaking up more good with your best friends that you ignored the other side of the coin. Now it was just the two of you a third time, and even after your bold display downstairs, you are still scared to tell him how you feel.

"You really hurt me, Billy." You finally breathe, and Billy is right in front of you. As quickly as the air comes in, it leaves again. You blink profusely, trying your best to keep any rebellious tears at bay. For the first time, Billy feels. a pang of guilt. He wasn't the most emotionally intelligent guy on the planet, but he thought he had enough awareness to remember that this was a layered betrayal for you.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." It's the first offering of regret that you believe, albeit not completely. Each shot of tequila has relaxed you up to this point, but you feel that familiar air coming around you again, of your defenses being broken down with hardly any effort. You don't respond, and Billy takes it as an opportunity to move closer. Now you are almost nose to nose, Billy shrinking down to meet your height.

His eyes have that same look that you'd seen the night in your bedroom. His hair is falling in the exact same place. Deja-vu strikes you in the gut when you realize that once again, you haven't moved an inch. Billy's hand comes up to cup your cheek, head tilted slightly so he can get a good look at you.

"You are so confusing," you confess, mustering up enough nerve to make eye contact. The corner of his lip comes up in a half-smile; he knows he's confusing. It's not an accident.

"I know; it's what makes me interesting." He remarks, and your head shakes in disagreement. His hand is cupping your chin now. You're talking in order to keep yourself from passing out from the overwhelming heat beginning to build in the pit of your stomach.

"You don't have to be an asshole to be interesting, Billy." Your head is spinning from the proximity of your bodies. You begin to think back to your first encounter in Stu's garage—how charming he appeared to be and how easily his compliments rolled off his tongue. Even in your bedroom, he seemed endearing before it went downhill. In a different circumstance, you actually might've liked him.

"Then what else should I be, hm? Any suggestions?" Before you can answer, his thumb swipes languidly over your bottom lip. It seems to draw a deep breath out of you, much to Billy's satisfaction. He has you exactly where he wants you, where he's so easily been able to get you.

"You could try being decent for once," you retort, your voice barely above a whisper. But even as you stay firm in your conviction, his touch is getting more distracting as the seconds pass.

Billy's smile widens. "Decent, huh? I can be decent," he replies as his thumb continues its slow descent along your jawline. You almost laugh. He can be decent despite proving otherwise at every turn.

"Everything is okay with your friends. And we're finally alone. Do you want to keep talking about that, or do you want to talk about us?" He challenges. You want to push him away to reclaim some control over the situation. But there's a part of you that's satisfied the longer you stay this close to him. After all, he was right; everything was better now. He was the only loose end that hadn't been tied up. Tatum's advice is echoing in your head; it couldn't possibly be that bad. Could it?

"I don't want to talk." Your voice is low but no longer hesitant. Your eyes trail from his lips up to his eyes, and without needing to say a single word, Billy understands.

His other hand cups just under your ear, and he pulls you the few centimeters of space to close the gap between you, pressing his lips to yours gently. The first thing you notice about his lips is the lingering taste of alcohol. You wonder for only a second if he did the same as you, downing a few shots in preparation for some kind of confrontation. Billy takes his time, his grip on you loose enough that you could pull away at any moment if you wanted to. After weeks of dancing around each other and playing tug of war, every logical part of you wanted to stop this. But the other part of you that never gave in to anything but always wanted to try—that part was much stronger right now.

Your hands come up to wrap around Billy's wrists, and slowly but surely you stop fighting all of your urges to stay away from him. Billy takes this as a signal that you want this just as much as he did, likely for very different reasons. You feel his hands trail down to your lower back, resting right on the dip before the top of your jeans. Your hands find their way to his shoulders instead, and Billy begins stepping back towards the bed.

You follow his every move, completely enthralled by the warmth pooling between your legs to take notice, or really to even care. Billy's tongue swipes along your lower lip just as he sits on the edge of the bed, using his hands to guide you onto his lap. You welcome his tongue into your mouth and greet it with your own, your fingers moving to clasp around the back of his neck.

The excitement was starting to kick in, and kissing Billy turned out to be the most incredible thing you'd done in a while. Your best friend's words come back again, and this time you have every intention of listening to them.

Your lips are still moving with his near-perfectly. It is a shock after telling yourself how incompatible you were and putting so much of your energy into making sure he knew just how much you couldn't stand him. A wave of urgency passes over you, and you're pressing yourself against him without a second thought. Billy groans when you brush against the steadily growing bulge in his pants, so you do it again.

Billy pulls away just enough so he can speak, his lips even pinker than usual. "Slow down, Arizona. We have plenty of time," he teases you, and this time you don't take it personally. Your heart is racing, and you don't know what's making you feel more drunk: Billy or the tequila.

"Sorry, sorry." You shake your head, attempting to get yourself to think clearly. Billy's hands are comfortable on your hips, his fingers dipping just below your waistband to rub small circles.

"It's okay. Just come here," he says softly, easing you forward, his lips touching your throat instead this time. He places a few kisses, and a shiver runs down your spine that makes your back arch. He catches your lips again, but it's even slower this time. He's torturing you. You whine, beginning to get a little greedy when you hear someone who is definitely not Billy.

"Well, well, well," Stu leans against the doorframe, shaking his head in amusement. You've never moved so fast before in your life, hopping off of Billy's lap and scrambling to try and look like you weren't just devouring him.

"I fucking knew it; I told you!" He pumps both fists into the air triumphantly. Tatum and Randy soon pop up right behind him, and you begin to swear under your breath, hiding your face in your hands. Billy is sitting next to you, leaning back on his hands as if nothing was happening.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Randy is beside himself, pointing between you two with a look of horror. Stu nearly collapses in a fit of laughter, and Tatum stands with her arms crossed, trying to hide her smile.

"Movie's over, freaks. Let's go home." She cocks her head to the side, signaling for you to get up so you can catch your ride back. Thank god for Tatum, whether it’s intentional or not she is helping you avoid further humiliation.

Billy remains quiet, and you almost look to him for some kind of help. What were either of you supposed to say?

You clear your throat and adjust your shirt, avoiding giving him a second glance, and do the short walk of shame out of the bedroom. Randy is speaking nonsensically—a string of questions and words that don't make any sense. What you don't see is Billy hiding a smile of his own, even coughing to try and remain as stoic as possible. You hustle down the stairs, flushed with embarrassment, and follow Tatum outside to her car.

Your seatbelts are on, and the radio is off. Now that you're out of that room, the reality of what just happened settles on you. Tatum is looking at you from the corner of her eye, trying to gauge if she should say anything or wait until tomorrow. You look at her, and a few more seconds of silence pass between both of you, and you burst into laughter.

The third time was most definitely a charm.

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