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wasawattpadkid · 1 year

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Housewife

Part - 1

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: Poly! ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating,

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

"Do you have anything you'd like to tell us about yourself?" You hated this. First days were known to be horrible for a reason. Why on earth would you want to tell a room full of strangers some random fact about you? They don't care if you have a pet nor do they want to know why you're here. The room was dead silent waiting for you to hurry up and sit down. "Umm-"

"What's your cup size?" A boy asked making the other kids in the class snicker. The dark-haired boy next to him smiled shaking his head in disapproval. "Steven I'm not doing this with you today, out." Steven groaned already grabbing his books. "But miss-" With a stern point of the finger she spoke again. "Out!" The class once again fell silent and you couldn't possibly feel more uncomfortable. You've done nothing wrong yet within 5 minutes you feel everyone staring at you with disdain.

Once the door closed behind Steven the teacher spoke again. "I'm terribly sorry Y/n. Just take Steven's spot for today and we'll figure the rest out tomorrow." A simple nod was all you could muster. All you had was a pencil in your hand and a bright yellow notebook sitting on top of your new desk. You closed your eyes trying to fast-forward time. This was the last class of the day and it could honestly not be worse. "Don't worry about him he's a dick." The note on your desk read. The boy to your left looked at you then the paper wanting you to send the note back.

With a quick scribble, you handed him the paper. A huffed laugh left his lips as he read "You are what you eat." The note was then crumpled and shoved into his pocket. That seemed to be the end of your conversation with the stranger but you pushed further. Leaning to the side you whisper, "What's your name?" Instead of saying anything he opened up his notebook. The black and white cover was scuffed showing obvious signs of use. He lifted the book showing you the inside. With a single word written in big letters. 'Billy.'

The class went on, no more pleasantries being exchanged. The bell rang signaling the tiring day was over. You were going to say something else to Billy but he was up and gone by the time you looked up. "So much for that." You mumbled as you got up. The movies always showed the new girl getting all the attention. Everyone tries to quickly mold her into their cult-like clique. Maybe it was the dress you were wearing or the way you wore your hair that made you look like a prude. Growing up with your grandparents sets you up for a life of social isolation.

The parking lot was crowded but not crowded enough to not see your bright red car. Just as visible was the short-haired boy sitting on the hood. "Get off my car." You scolded flatly. "Holy shit this is yours!? How'd you get it?" He asked bouncing with joy. "It's my dad's so I don't want you sitting on it. Thanks." You tossed your bags in the car as he continued talking. Just a second ago you were praying Billy would keep up some conversation. Now you're wanting nothing more than to get home. "Man look it's Christine!" He shouted as the girl next to him covered her ears. "Is he always this loud?" She laughed at the question shaking her head up and down. "Unfortunately. I'm Tatum, so you're the new girl everyone's talking about?"

A puzzled look fell over your features. "Who's talking about me?" Before she could answer Billy walks up to the car. "This is nice." His blabbering friend seems disappointed with that answer. "Nice? It's fucking awesome! Can we ride in it?" He turns to beg you. Billy looked over at you raising his eyebrows in silent confusion. "I don't even know you." What part of 'dads' car did he not understand? "I'm Stu, this is Billy."

"We've met." Billy says gesturing towards you. "it's nice to meet you Stu but I don't give rides to strangers." He walks over throwing his arm over your shoulder. Way too much physical contact from someone you don't know. "Well you know my friend Billy and now you know me. I'd say we're all friends here." Tatum rolls her eyes at her friend's antics. "If you two are going to harass this poor woman I'm leaving. I've got to catch up with Sydney. See ya, babe." She blew a kiss at Stu which he caught.

"Pleaseeeee." He begged. Just as Billy was about to intervene you agreed. "Fine but no food, drink, cigarettes, or really anything that could mess up this car. Got it?" You laid out the rules as you climbed into the driver's seat. Stu bit his lip nodding his head. "Yes ma'am. Come on man." Stu said as he jumped in the car. Billy stood awkwardly looking down at his feet. His eyes nervously looked around almost like he was late for something. "Go without me I've got some errands to run." Stu stuck his head out of the window. You tapped the steering wheel impatiently. "Come on man Christine is like your favorite movie." At this, Billy laughed.

"No, I think you're confusing things. A murderous car is definitely more your speed." At this point, you regretted saying yes to Stu. "Please come with us I don't trust him." Stu covered his heart in fake hurt. "If you should be worried about anybody you should worry about Billy." You seriously doubted that. Sure he was quiet and a little unnerving but he might just be shy. "Fuck it." His hands smack his thighs in defeat. Stu loudly rejoices at his friend's surrender. "Get in the back."

You figured Stu would put up a fight considering he was there first. Yet he opened the door with sad eyes and quietly got into the back. It was strange. You weren't sure how long these two had been friends but it was an odd dynamic. "Why do you get to sit next to her?" Stu whined from the back seat. "Because she doesn't trust you." A laugh forced its way from your throat. "Who said I trusted you? According to him, I should be careful around you." You pointed to the man in the back who gladly smiled. Billy propped his arm on the window shaking his head slightly. "I'm sorry but dressed like that you need to be careful with everyone."

"Gotta agree with him on that. You look like Betty Crocker." Stu leaned his head on the seat between you and Billy. "Don't get me wrong it's kinda sexy but still very grandma." With a roll of your eyes, you started the car, hearing the engine purr to life. The boy next to you cracked such a small smile you'd have to catch it on camera for proof that it happened. "This is amazing! I fucking love you, Betty Crocker." Stu kissed you on the cheek making your nose crinkle. At that, Billy actually laughed. Nothing too dramatic though. "Ew can you not touch me at all? Jesus Christ." With one hand on the wheel, you took the other to wipe your cheek.

"Now you see what I put up with," Billy adds. "Oh, so you kiss him too huh?" You drove out of the parking lot heading to the main road. "Only on weekends." Stu shrugged. You giggled but Billy didn't seem to find anything funny. "So what brings you to this hell hole?" He asks still keeping his eyes out the window. "Me and my moved into my grandparent's house after they passed. He found a good job here too so ta-da here I am" Stu leaned forward to press buttons on the dash which you promptly swatted his hand away. "What is your deal with this car?"

Stu seemed shocked you had to even ask. "It's Christine baby! The man-eating car." You blinked a few times a little confused. "You know the John Carpenter film? Came out in 1983. Same guy that directed Halloween with Michael Myers." Billy seemed interested in this conversation more so than others. His whole body seem to turn towards you actively listening to anything you had to say. "Of course, I know Halloween I've just not seen Christine." It was Billy's turn to pick at you. "You're telling me you've never seen Christine but you've got the car?"

He must be brain-dead to think you got a car based on a movie. "This is a 58' Plymouth. It is way older than the Christine movie. I've got the original if you ask me." Stu looked like he was adding numbers to fact-check your math. Billy on the other hand had the same stoic expression on his face. His eyes dragged up and down you seemingly trying to figure out something. "Say where do you two live?" Stu gave out directions to his house without hesitation. "You can just drop me off at his place." You nod in Billy's direction as you focus on the road.

"Why do you dress like this?" Billy picks at the fabric of your dress. It seems no one in this town knows what personal boundaries are. But you guess it beats the awkwardness of a new friendship. With these two it's like you jumped ahead. "I like it." Plain and simple. Billy wasn't buying it either was Stu. "It's more than just that. You know people look at you differently do you get off on that sort of thing?" The question was rude. If you had a backbone of any sort you throw him out of the moving car. Being a people pleaser however made you give him an honest answer. "Maybe. Do I notice when people look at me hatefully? Duh. But at the end of the day, I'm happy they looked at me at all. I mean you both look like every other teenage boy out there. You don't want to stand out?"

Stu liked your answer it was honestly one he could relate to. "No, we like to blend in." That was all Billy said. It was a change from the chattiness before. "Well, what about you Stu?" Billy turned to look back at the boy. Meanwhile he was happy at being included. When it was just him with some girls he could say whatever he felt like. When Billy was around things were different. Just with his eyes he could tell Stu what and what not to say. He didn't mind of course he loved Billy more than he would ever know really. Plus he knew his personality could be a lot for new people. It was nice to have someone to let him know when enough was enough.

"Like he said we like to blend in. We're not big attention whores." He laughed. You don't think the comment was aimed at you but you couldn't help but feel a little hurt by it. "What's your name?" Stu asked while he lay down in the back seat. "Y/n." Billy once again needed more of an answer. "Y/n what?" He was looking for a last name. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Stu's eyes shot back and forth between you two. "I would. That's why I asked."

"Well, you ask too many questions. Unless you're looking to change my last name I don't know why you'd need to know." Billy wasn't mad. Aggravated sure but not mad. You were smart. Not smart enough to tell two psychos to fuck off but smart enough to not hand out personal information easily. He'd have to work for it which he loved to do. "Is your place down this road Stu?" The boy perked up. A little sad that the ride was over. "Yeah just go on down."

"What are you doing this weekend?" Billy asked seeing his window of opportunity was closing. "Nothing much why?" More boring and cryptic answers. "We should come over to your place this weekend seeing as nothing's going on." Billy looked at his friend for backup. "Absolutely! I could bring a copy of Christine and we could get mad wasted!" Billy closed his eyes regretting asking him for anything. "I don't drink. Never had a reason to."

"Well, Ms. Crocker I'm giving you one." Unfortunately for these two you had self-preservation skills. Getting drunk with two men you don't know at your house is not smart. They act like you haven't seen any scary movies. "I'm not getting drunk with you two. I'll think about hanging out this weekend but no drinking. My dad would kill me if he knew I had two dudes in the house let alone drunk dudes." Billy could work with that. Stu was practically jumping at the idea to hang with you. For once he didn't have ulterior motives. He couldn't say the same for his friend who had that gleam in his eye he's seen before.

You pulled into the driveway saying goodbye to your new friends. "See you at school tomorrow?" Billy asked knowing the seat you occupied today would be permanently vacant so you could stay next to him. "Unfortunately. Bye, losers." You waved at the guys ready to get the hell home. The boys watched as you pulled away, the bright red car was easy to follow down the road. "What do you think about her?" Billy asked his friend. "She's alright man. Needs better taste in movies but I can fix that." Billy agreed but something just wasn't sitting right with him. In one day you managed to weasel your way into their lives. He wasn't sure if he wanted to watch movies with you or make you the star of one.

Part 2

A/N: I've been writing for about 5 years now but I'm new to the Scream fandom. I just recently watched the first movie and I can't seem to get these two out of my head so feedback is greatly appreciated! See ya lovelies 💞

#scream #scream 1996 #ghostface #poly!ghostface #billy loomis #stu macher #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #scream fanfic #scream fanfiction #scream x reader #ghostface x reader #housewife #x reader #slashers #slasher x reader #horror

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bluetimeombre · 4 months

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──•~❉᯽❉ Third times the charm

Tom and you met over zoom whilst auditioning for your roles in the ballad of songbirds and snakes. Instant attraction and the chemistry was off the charts, everyone could see it, even you two fools. In every interview you did, as co-stars, as best friends and finally, as a couple…

(from me: hi, sorry, I’m dying for Tom Blyth content so I made so myself. I can't bring myself to write y'/n so i'm just going with 'you.' But I wrote it so you're british, oops. This is also to make up for choosing timmy in the 'call it what you want to' series, for the tom girlies, enjoy!)

──•~❉᯽❉~•──

' How well do the stars of Ballad of songbirds and snakes know each other? - Vanity Fair. '

Tom, you and Josh sat together in the Vanity Fair studio. While Tom kept his cards close to his chest (literally), you and Josh waited anxiously. You were sure you would win though, even Josh was sure you would win. Tom and you had spent almost every day together all year. People in the studio- who had only caught a ten minute glimpse of your friendship- knew your souls were made together.

'First question,' said Tom, pulling the cards back further. 'What is my biggest fear?'

Josh slapped his knee in frustration and you slumped in your chair, laughing to yourself. You must know, surely. 'Mine is gonna be, probably, a little bit more shallow,' said Josh before you could even make a guess.

You rose your brows focusing on a specific point on the floor. 'Shallow?'

Tom rested a hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. His lips were tilted in a fond smile at her concentration. 'You ok?' he laughed, 'you know this- you've got this.'

'No, I do know this, you've told me,' you say.

'You've told her?' gasped Josh.

'I've probably told you!' said Tom. He seemed completely absent minded over the fact he was still holding onto your shoulder, massaging it gently.

'Ok, I think it's- ironically- snakes. That's my guess.' Finally, you breath and cross your legs over.

'Interesting. Josh?' he asked, taking his hand from you. (Maybe eagle eyed fans would see the way his hand flexed at his side, just under the chair. And maybe twitter would blow up with the Mr Dracy like move.)

'I was gonna say mountain lions.'

You and Tom laughed. 'That's more shallow?'

'In what way is that more Shallow?' Tom laughed.

Josh gesture wildly to you. 'I thought you were gonna say something more conceptual.'

'Oh sorry,' you apologise.

Josh leant back on his chair. 'Yea, you should be.'

Tom finished writing on the card. 'So, it was my childhood fear, which I've obviously gotten over but it was-' he turned the card, revealing his scribble. 'Snakes.'

'Yes!' you cheered. 'I knew it!'

'I think it's because I used to watch a lot of Indiana Jones as a kid and because he was afraid of snakes, I think it transferred on to me,' he explained.

'Makes sense,' you shrugged.

'Cool people are afraid of snakes,' Tom agreed.

'And mountain lions,' added Josh, causing your cheeks to heat up with laughter. There was probably nobody who could be so nonchalant in how he makes you laugh.

'Point to you!' cheered Tom, holding up his hand. Quickly you high-fived him and held his hand for a flickering moment before moving on.

'What is my go-to karaoke song?'

You were safe to say, gob-smacked. You swivel in your seat, eyes wide. 'You have a go-to karaoke song?'

He stares at you, just as shocked at your surprise. 'We all do.'

'We do?' you asked. 'Then what the hell is Josh's?' you turn to him, curious.

'9 to 5, Dolly Parton,' he said, seriously. But even that got you cracking up.

'I expect one of you to know this,' said Tom, scribbling his song choice.

'Oh, no pressure then,' you said.

'We went to karaoke all the time.'

'Yes but I don't remember all the song,' you fold your arms over your chest, chewing down on your lips.

'Oh no,' Josh hunched over and you pat his back, mumbling to yourself. 'I feel like- I wanna say it was some punk-rock thing.'

'Do you want a clue?' Tom offered.

'Yes!' Josh.

'No!' You.

'Ok, not then,' said Tom, deciding.

'Wait, no, that's not fair,' Josh complained, 'I want a clue.'

Tom shrugged, holding out his arms. 'Boss said.'

'Yea I don't know why I said that,' you laugh, still thinking. You remember him singing to you, in your trailers or hanging out on set. He or you would strum a guitar and sing together. But karaoke?

'Mambo number 5,' Josh announced.

'Mambo number 5,' Tom checked.

Your brows scrunched up. 'That's punk rock?'

Josh looked at you, then remembered what he was saying. 'No, i'm gonna change mine to all the small things.'

'Ok, your guess?' asked Tom, nudging you.

'Oh I don't know,' you shrug, 'Sexy back, Justin Timberlake.'

'Close!'

'I was close?' you gasp, jumping up in your seat.

'It was,' he shows the card. 'Senorita, Justin Timberlake.'

You and Josh laughed together.

'I don't think I ever heard you sing that!' Josh argued.

'We definitely did, definitely.'

Josh shook his head, body shaking with laughter. 'I don't think I even know the words to the song.'

Tom shifted in his seat, changing cards. 'That's the point of Karaoke, they're up on the screen'

You turn to him, face screwed up and holding onto his knee. 'That's not the point of karaoke babe,' you said solemnly. It was a joke between the cast, how often you called people babe. As a brit. Sometimes you even said it in a Gemma Collins way.

'Anyway, half a point to you!'

You fist pump the air while Josh complains loudly. Whilst bickering, Tom moved on and had to repeat the question.

'What is my favourite mode of New York transportation?' he asked.

You chuckled to yourself, rubbing your head. 'That is the funniest question ever.'

Tom scoffed, his lips curling up. 'How is that a funny question?'

'I've just never known transportation to come up in one of our conversations. Imagine meeting someone and being like 'hey, guess what? my favourite mode of transport is...''

Josh laughed at the hurt look on Tom's face and your own sarcasm.

'Oh yea, what is it then?'

'Your motorcycle,' you said obviously.

'Well, you knew it didn't you,' he pointed out. The two of you bickering like a married couple. Even the crew behind the scene were blushing at you two and laughing.

'I didn't get to guess!' erupted Josh.

Tom and you laughed, holding onto each other and apologising to him.

Josh leant back in his chair, throwing his leg over his knee. 'Ok so motorcycle but i'm gonna go the extra mile and say- I think it's a Honda.'

Tom calmed down, wiping tears of laughter before showing the camera his answer. 'It is motorcyle but Josh is wrong, it's not a Honda so the point goes to you.'

You pat yourself on the back while Josh looks into the camera.

'This is what happens when you give 110%. Is this the example we want to set?'

Tom rests his hand on your back, un-consciously rubbing it. 'Ok so, point to you and Josh gets ... three quarters of a point.'

You nod your head. '75%. Have you got any points?'

Josh glared at you. He then noticed Tom's hand resting on your back. 'Why are you comforting her? i'm the loser.'

You clicked your tongue, pushing him. It was lucky you didn't notice how Tom blushed, turning back to his cards and made a mental note to keep his hands to himself.

The three of you continued down the questions:

'If I weren't an actor, what profession would I be?' Tom

'What are you? writing down a novel there?' You

'You'd definitely work with mountain lions.' Josh

'For some reason I want to say Fire man but that's not it.' You

'What is my coffee order?' Tom

'Oh, I know this, it's the same as mine. Josh, you know this?' You

'Of course not.' Josh

'What is my biggest pet peeve?' Tom

'So many things come to mind.' You

'Am I a grumpy old man to you?' Tom

'Tom has always been so relaxed and easy going, go ahead and put a point down for me.' Josh

For the next question, Tom looked pointedly at you. 'I really hope you get this. What is my hidden talent?'

Josh looked seriously at Tom, only suddenly playing the game. 'I think I know what mine is.'

'I think you should both get this,' he said, writing down the answer.

'Whistling,' you guessed simply.

Tom quipped his lips at you, head moving slightly.

'Well, I was also gonna say whistling,' Josh smirked.

Tom laughed. 'You're so full of shit.'

'I said it first, you're good at whistling. You can whistle like a disney bird,' you said, trying to win more points in flattery.

'Thank you.'

You looked into the camera. 'Tom's actually going to be playing a bird in the new Snow White movie with Rachel Zegler.'

The boys laughed.

Tom nodded, turning around the card. 'The answer is whistling.'

Josh and you shake hands and Tom started to show of his whistling skills, the familiar tune of the hunger games and holding up three fingers.

'I was- that made me nervous,' said Tom shakily.

'Yea, you were shaking,' you said.

Tom reached out for your arm, before remembering before and pulling back. 'I know, did you see my lip quivering.'

'I was nervous for you.'

'Yea, yea, yea,' agreed Tom.

Josh pretended to get out of his seat. 'I should go, i'll leave you guys to it.'

You pulled him back down while Tom moved on, asking the couple final questions. It ended with you earing 6 points, while Josh was at a lousy 2.75. But then, it was yours and Josh's turn to 'flip the script' on Tom. If he got them wrong, you guys got the points so you'd made sure to chose difficult questions.

You just hadn't expected Tom to know everything.

'Tom.'

'Yes,' he stared intently, ready for anything.

'What is my dogs name?' you smirked, thinking he wouldn't remember. Since you were on set and then traveling for press your dog was staying with your family and Tom had only met him once or twice.

'Easy. Padfoot.'

Your brows dropped and you turned away, pressing your lips into a tight line.

Tom nudged you. 'Did you think I wouldn't get it?' he asked and his jaw-dropped when you nodded. 'Of course i'd get it, I love your boy.'

'What the hell is a Padfoot?' asked Josh.

'It doesn't matter,' you waved of, trying to distract yourself from blushing. You really didn't think Tom would get it, would care enough to remember.

'It's a Harry Potter thing,' explained Tom. He stretched out his arm so it held onto the back of your chair. Not touching, right.

Josh asked his question. Tom got it right again and you were looking down at your card, wondering if it was hard enough for him.

Tom watched you set the cards down, tuck your chin into your chest and put your hands behind your chair. 'Oh no,' he chuckled.

'There is a piece of jewellery that I always wear. Now obviously i couldn't wear it whilst filming, but I had it kept in my trailer. And after we wrapped it went straight back on. The question is what piece of jewellery is it?'

Josh was laughing and trying to guess himself while Tom panicked. Every day for a year he had been around you. He'd had lunch with you, hung out in your trailer, you'd nap together and laugh together. He's seen you swimming in nothing but a lovely swim suit. He'd held your hands and you guys had even worn each others rings. How could he not know? He was beating himself up about it, all the while you smirked at him. Tom could almost excuse the fact of being a shitty friend to see how giddy it got you.

He tried to peek behind the chair but you shifted. 'Ok I don't think it's a ring because you change up your rings a lot.'

'Ok,' you hum.

Tom pulled at his lip. You weren't hiding your ears so it couldn't be an earing. That's when he remembered. Tom clicked his fingers. 'It's your locket! and it's gold!'

You sit up straight. 'How?!' Tom immediately looked to your neck- or maybe it was closer to your chest- where your locket dangled just under your shirt 'Well, I think we know who knows each other the best!'

──•~❉᯽❉~•──

Some months later, about eight, you and Tom were back at a quiz. The two of you were starring in different things. Tom's series which he stared in, 'Billy the kid' was having it's third and final debut while you staring in a adaptation of 'Malibu Rising' by Taylor Jenkins Reid for Apple Tv.

' The BFF test! ' - Glamour.

'How do you think we're gonna do?' asked Tom.

'That's not even a question Tom, we're gonna do great!' you threw a thumbs up at the camera and Tom copied you with a grin.

'Let's do this shit!' he yelled.

The crew behind the camera gasped and laughed while you hunched over, chuckling. He realised his mistake, how he wasn't supposed to swear and put his hand over his mouth.

'I am so sorry,' he apologised. Only when you caught your breath did you stand up and hold onto him. His arm wrapped around you back, holding you too.

Eventually, once you two had regained yourselves, you were asked how well you think you know each other.

'Pretty well,' you said.

'Very well,' Tom corrected.

'Very well it is, very well it is,' you said.

The crew behind the camera asked when you first met.

'Over zoom,' you said.

Tom nodded. 'it was a chemistry read for hunger games. Coriolanus and Lucy-Grey. You sang an acoustic version of Silver springs and I watched.'

'And the rest is history. Inseparable ever since,' you smile, swaying side to side while Tom watched with a fond smile. 'But seriously, it was a very lovely moment and since then, i've had a best friend in Tom.'

'Aw,' he said, throwing an arm around your shoulder and drawing you in. 'I love this girl,' he told the camera.

Eventually, once the two of you were finished with the introductions they had you stand opposite each other with a small notebook and pen. Your task: to write a compliment about each other.

Tom was already writing down his, page being filled up quickly. 'How much time you got?'

'Done,' you said, closing your notebook.

Tom looked up. 'What?'

'I'm kidding,' you assured him at his shocked and maybe slightly hurt face. 'How are you writing so much?'

'I have a lot to say about you.'

'Sappy.'

'Shut it, you love it.' Tom was focused on writing down, getting all his thoughts and a thousand unsaid words on page. He couldn't tell how you watched him with a smile and a shimmering glimmer in your eyes, but fans could, and they'd deem it the look of love.

After a moment longer of writing, you finished, looking at him. 'Ready?'

Tom finished his sentence and nodded. 'Ready.'

'Ok you go first,' you say.

'No, you go first,' he insists, the two bickering over each other. 'Ladies first.'

'Age before beauty,' you say.

Tom rolled his eyes playfully but held up his notebook. 'This is- this is nerve racking, woah,' he says, laughing.

'No, I know. I'll turn around if that helps,' you go to turn.

Tom grabs your arm. 'No, don't-' he cleared his throat, let you go and started to read. 'You are incredibly talented, that's the first one. Your acting, your voice, it's unbelievable and every time I watch you at your work, i'm in awe. As well as that, you are so dedicated to your craft, whether it's flying back and forth for your movies or not giving up until you've nailed a scene, you just- you give 110% every time and it's inspiring to watch. Not only do you make me want to be a better actor, but a better man-'

He read from his notebook, flicking through the pages as you watched, mouth covered and tears welling up in your eyes.

'You're insanely intelligent, you have such a unique style that is so you. You give confidence to others and always bring the best out in them. You're witty, you're hilarious, absolutely hilarious, I don't laugh with anyone the way I laugh with you. And you are just the most beautiful girl in the world.' Only when he had finished did he look up and see you wiping your eyes.

'Christ,' you mutter, turning away as the crew laughed.

Tom wrapped you in a bear hug, laughing and rocking you back and forth. 'You're not suppose to cry.'

'How can I not?!' you mumble into his chest. 'Ok.' you took a deep breath, calming yourself before standing back from him and looking down at your own notes. 'Well mine just seem so rubbish now,' you joke toward the camera.

'Tom. You're a talented actor. One of the most talented i've ever met, or ever seen. Watching you on the hunger games, I mean, I was speechless half the time. You're the kindest and sweetest man I know. It's no secret i've always said, men, they suck but you, you changed that. You, single-handily restored my faith in men,' you say, creating a laugh through the studio and him. 'Er, i've just listed compliments, funny, caring, talented, gorgeous, beautiful, so-so hot- I mean, the list goes on but it's not gonna be anything like you gave me.'

'It's perfect, thank you.'

You gesture to him, looking in the camera. 'He's a gentleman.'

Your next task was harder, looking into each other eyes for one minute.

'Is this gonna be like, a staring contest,' you wonder out loud as the two of you already keep your eyes on each other.

'I hope not, my eyes sting already,' says Tom. For a moment, the two of you are just there staring at each other. Your hands behind your back, his at his side as small smiles play at your lips.

'Your eyes are so blue, christ, i've never just stared at them like this before,' you compliment. 'Add that to my list.'

'Are you crying? You look like you're going to cry again?' asked Tom, peering closer at you.

'That's just me, i'm always in a state of verge of tears.'

He laughs, but keeps his eyes open and on you. After a minute, you two finally looked away, rubbing at your eyes. 'I think we were having a staring contest then,' he said.

'Yea, yea, yea, my eyes hurt.'

There was a couple extra challenges, trying to say the same word at the same time (you guys failed every time except last where you both said 'hunger games') and to mirror each others move. The last one, is a trust fall.

'Send it!' Tom pretended to fall back immediately as you lunged to catch. He didn't fall but laughed at your readiness. 'Send it!'

'Stop!' you yell.

'Ok, for real this time, you ready?' he asked, holding his arms over his chest and glancing back at you.

'I'm so scared!'

Tom looked at the camera. 'Why are you scared? i'm the one falling!'

'Ok, on the count of three,' you say, holding your arms out.

'Are you counting up or down?'

'Down. Ok, three... two...one!'

Tom fell back and you held him up, pushing his back. The two of you stumbled a bit causing Tom's eyes to widen, but you had him.

'You are heavier than you look,' you say. 'All that pure muscle.'

Tom struggled back up and then it was your turn. 'On the count of three?' he asked, arms out.

'No!' you whine. 'I hate this!'

'Trust me. Don't you trust me?'

You have your hands tucked to your side. You look into the camera. 'This is gonna send me right back to therapy.'

Tom laughs behind you but reaches over to hold onto your shoulders. 'C'mon, you can do this, i'll slowly ease you back.'

You squeeze your eyes shut and purse your lips, stifling a hum. 'That's cheating.'

Tom tuts, 'No it's not: now-' gently he held onto your shoulders and-bending at the knees- he gently eased you down, until he was crouching and until you were rocking on your heels. You took a deep breath as he held you back up. Your arms were still over your chest as your body wracked with a laugh.

'That was so dumb.'

Tom still had you in his hold, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you in.

──•~❉᯽❉~•──

A year later and finally, the fans dreams came true. When the video was released, fans went crazy, thinking it was fake or a mashup of clips put together. Instead, it was true. A very real video of the two of you doing a 'couples quiz'.

'Hello!' Tom waved at the camera, before gesturing between the two of you. 'We are here today to do the-'

'Couples interview!' you finish. 'Years in the making it would seem,' you added, slapping your cards over your knee.

Tom looked at his cards. 'What is my first name?'

'Tom Keir Blyth,' you answer easily, 'not Thomas. Against popular contradiction.'

He laughed, knowing you'd call him Thomas to annoy him if you ever bickered. 'Not Thomas.'

'Call him Thomas and he'll break up with you.'

'That hasn't happened!' he told the camera, whacking you playfully with the cards a you sat across from him. 'Ok, moving on, where did I grow up?'

'Birmingham,' you say, in your best Birmingham accent.

'What was my fist film role?' he asked, smirking at the question.

You sigh, throwing your head back. 'Ok so... I don't know if it was your very first one, or maybe it was like, the second or something but you were in Robin Hood, and you played feral child number three.'

'That's exactly what I have on my card,' he said, showing it off to you.

'I'm the best girlfriend,' you sing.

Tom laughed, marvelling at you for a moment before moving onto the next question. 'Oh ok, where was our first kiss?'

You shrug, thinking it obvious. 'On set.'

Tom looked back down to his cards. 'Oh yea, I should've specified- our first kiss like as a couple, or just not on set.'

You laugh. 'Ok, cool, I was gonna say, that's an easy one. So of set, I guess, it was my hotel room. In New York, yea.'

'See, I had down-'

'You had something else down?' you gasp, leaning over in your chair.

'Yea. I had it down as the picnic, when you came to see me on set of Billy,' he explained. He remembered the day fondly. You and him, riding horses into the sandy terrain, taking a picnic down and one of his breaks and rolling around the blanket, laughing and digging fingertips into each other. Lips clashing in the heat of sun.

'But we- ok fine, that was our first kiss.'

'We did, kiss in the hotel room, you're right,' he insisted.

'No, but if you're counting first kiss as a couple then you're right, the picnic.'

'No you should still get the point because that kiss does count.'

Your exchange could've gone on forever if someone behind the camera hadn't spoken up, saying how adorable you two were, causing blushes from both of you before he moved on.

'What is my favourite thing to bring with me when I travel?' he asks.

'Me,' you say, without faltering.

'Correct!' he chucked the card behind him.

'Was it actually?'

Tom nodded. 'Yea. Well number one was you and then the second was my motorbike key.'

You roll your eyes. 'Of course it was. Thank you for putting me above the key at least.'

'Always, darling, always. What is my favourite jacket to wear?' he asked.

You thought about it, carefully and for a while. 'You don't have many but I'm trying to think which you wear the most.'

'I think you'll know it, you should get it.'

You raise your head to the ceiling, taking it more seriously than probably needed. He concentrated on you, wondering how hard you were thinking. 'The thing is- i'm thinking practicality. So like, that would be your motorbike jacket. But the one that I see you in most, and that I wear the most, is like your long, black jacket?'

'I had my motorbike jacket down, so half a point.'

'It crossed my mind!' you defended.

'It did, yes. So 50% of a point.'

You laugh. 'Not 75%.

'Who was my first celebrity crush?' he asked.

'Me,' you answer sarcastically.

Tom rose his card, covering his grin. 'Do you want to try again?'

'No,' you say. You knew what it was, you were taking the joke from him.

'Please?' he asked quietly.

You laugh at how wide his eyes were. 'Your first celebrity crush was Jennifer Anniston, ok.'

'Correct. But if I knew you back then, it would've been you.'

'Thanks, babe.'

'Ok, so I feel like you got pretty much every one of them,' said Tom, tucking his cards away.

'I feel like I did too, how ready do you feel Tom?' you asked.

Teasingly, he leant over, showing his forehead. 'See that? not a sweat. I've got this. Gimme some.'

'What are my dogs names?' you ask.

'Your oldest one is Padfoot, your youngest, the puppy dog is Moony.'

'Correct. Easy one. Ok, next, what is my favourite city?'

Tom's face dropped. 'That got harder so much quicker.'

'What? I thought this was easy.'

'Yea but it's between two. London or New York.'

'Well you've got them. I'd say right now it's New York though. Just because you're there,' you say jokingly.

'We're such a good couple.'

'The best. Lightning round. Favourite food?'

'Pizza.'

'Yes, favourite taylor swift album?'

'Folklore.'

'Easy. What is my favourite bag?'

Tom paused. 'It's a tote, your tote. Is it your waterstones one?'

Sadly, you shake your head. 'To be fair it's a new one i've got, it's my 'I heart new york one.'

Tom groaned. 'Of course it is, how did I not get that? I was literally with you when you brough it.'

'I have it with me today.'

'You do! oh my god, quickly move on before I get annoyed at myself.'

'Oh ok,' you grin down at the question and then pull a face, wondering yourself.

Tom watches, laughs and puts his hand on your knee, squeezing it affectionately. 'Are you alright? what's going on?'

'No, sorry, i'm just thinking about how to word this,' you pause and then, almost as if you weren't aware you were doing it, you hold onto his hand and ask the question. 'What is my favourite thing that you wear?'

Tom's expression matches your puzzled one. 'That I wear?'

'Yes. And I want you to take your time, think about it because you know it. And if you don't get this, we might be over,' you tell him.

Tom's jaw drops and he leans back in his chair, thinking. 'Don't say that!'

'Ok, it was a joke, sorry. But you do know this.'

Tom looks down at himself, but it was a new shirt and there was nothing special about these pants. The shoes were nice but you'd never cared for shoes. He checked his rings. You liked rings and you especially liked his rings but that couldn't have been it. 'Oh!' he almost kicked himself for not getting it sooner. 'Is it my- is it the necklace? he asks, pulling it from under his shirt.

'Yes!' you cheer, throwing the card over your shoulder and reaching over to high five him.

'I've never been so stressed in my life,' he laughed.

'So the necklace-' you start to explain to the camera as tom holds it out proudly, showing every crew and every camera as you laugh and smile at him. Never had you felt so in love. 'The necklace he wears all the time is the initial from the first letter of my name, just like-'

'Just like the Taylor Swift song,' finishes Tom, knowing how much you love it. Even now, you're smiling with teary eyes.

You had not brough it for him, but on your first anniversary Tom surprised you with it. You cried, wept. It was the first time you felt truly seen.

'I think you should sing it,' prompted Tom.

'I'm not singing it!'

'Go on! I love your voice!'

'No!'

'For me?' he asked.

You roll your eyes but don't really sing the song, you more say it: 'I want to wear his initials on a chain around my neck, not because he owns me, but because he really knows me, but obviously, it's you wearing mine so...'

'Thank you for watching our couples quiz!' Tom waves to the camera.

'All in all I think we're couple goals, yea?' you check.

'Oh, absolutely!'

And the show was all done, with you two waving. But the camera's didn't turn off quick enough to catch how Tom held your hand and kissed the inside of your palm.

Yea, absolutely in love.

#coriolanus snow #the hunger games #tom blyth #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth fanfiction #coryo #tom blyth x you #fame dr #tom blyth x yn

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itsactuallywhitewolf · 2 years

Text

What I think Dating Eddie Munson would be like

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

• okay so this is a lot so get ready for a shitload of fluff

• alright so first things first

• eddie would be the biggest simp for you

• like really

• boy would worship the earth you walked on

• even before you started dating

• before you guys were a couple he had the biggest crush on you for years

• his friends in hellfire couldn't hear it anymore

• "You know what happened today in english class?", he'd start as he sat down on their usual lunch table in the cafeteria

• "Y/N came an-"

• "and walked past you? looked at you? Eddie, don't you think it's maybe time to make a move or... you know, let it go? You're always talking about her, and it's not even anything special, it's getting ridiculous," one of them would interrupt him

• "If you would have let me finish then you would know that she came and asked me to study. Together. At her place. Tonight", he explained through gritted teeth, shooting him a death glare, but smiling proudly when he shifted his glance to the others on the table

• they'd be speechless tho

• just as he was when you had asked him

• fast forward 2 months and he finally asked you out

• and after that everything was going just perfect

• Eddie is the most caring boyfriend there is

• he'll always make sure you're happy

• he'll try his very best to cheer you up again when you're down

• he'd cuddle you and hold you and listen to you talk about ehat was bugging you

• but you'd also do anything for him when he was in a bad mood or sad

• you'd take him somewhere safe and quiet where no one would walk in on you, most of the times his bedroom in the trailer, and calm him down there

• you'd hold his face reassuringly and he'd lean into your touch, slightly turning his head so he could kiss the inside of your hand

• however, mornings with him were the best part

• his raspy morning voice was your favorite

• don't even get me started on the bedhair

• another thing: HANDS

• you'd always watch his hands, no matter what he was doing

• if he was playing the guitar

• scribbling something down

• rubbing your clit

• you just loved his hands : )

• you'd also constantly play with his rings

• you once tried them on, most of them way too big on your fingers but Eddie insisted you keep the one that fit

• "take it, babe. as a promise ring."

• ASDFGHJKL

• when you weren't around he'd also refer to you as the queen or Mrs. Munson

• "Hey, Eddie! You free this friday for another campaign?"

• "I don't know, dude, gotta ask the wife."

• He loved you and was certain that it was only you for him

• No one else could compare

• therefore he would also be protective as hell, especially after you went to the upside down

• he was happy you both made it out of that hellscape, he wouldn't ever risk again to lose you

• would be so jealous tho

• if he ever saw a guy of the basketball team try to flirt with you he'd immediately come to your side, hand at the small of your back, and with the widest grin tell the dude to kindly fuck off

• same was for you, you weren't really keen on Eddie having a deal with a girl from the cheer team

• it's not that you didn't trust your boyfriend, it's just, you never know with those cheerleaders

• you'd be the goofiest couple in school

• always doing something weird that would make everyone would stare at you

• once when Eddie saw you walking down the hallway he dropped all of his things to the floor only to run towards you and spin you around in a hug as if he hadn't seen you for months

• he had literally seen you 5 minutes ago

• he'd also often obnoxiously swing out your arms together when holding hands and walking down the hallway to your next class, making you stumble and bump against other students

• calling each other freak, nerd and weirdo for funsies was a usual for you

• hugs from behind

• all. the. time.

• you'd be standing at your locker, putting some of your stuff away when he would suddenly appear out of thin air and hug you tightly, pulling you away to twirl you around

• he's such a dork

• a lovesick dork

• when he was rehearsing with his band you'd join him, watching him play on his electric guitar, practised fingers strumming the strings in a way you've never seen before

• it was so hot

• you sometimes even forgot to breathe

• it took everything in you not to jump him right then and there

• he once tried teaching you how to play, you sitting on his lap as he put his hands on top of yours on the instrument

• his breath fanning against your neck

• god have mercy

• this went on for about 10 minutes until he got aware of the state you were in and started to kiss your neck

• let's just say that the guitar lesson was over very soon and you moved on to do something way more interesting instead : )

• sometimes you'd draw little doodles on his forearm when you were bored

• which made him come up with an idea

• so one day he showed up at your place, falling through your window and onto the carpet in your bedroom to show you the new tattoo he got

• it was one of your little drawings

• "wait, is this real??"

• "Yes, sweetheart, new and just healed"

• you couldn't believe him

• but the next day you got an appointment with your local tattoo artist and got matching tattoos together

• at nights you would sometimes go out for late night drives

• you know that one scene from perks of being a wallflower? it would somehow be like that

• the windows of his van all the way down, music blaring loudly through the speakers while you'd lean out of the window and feel the air hit your face, getting lost in the moment

• Eddie would watch you from the side as you did so, one arm stretching out to hold your knee so you didn't fall off

• he would be wheezing tho when you climbed back in with a disgusted expression on your face "I think I just swallowed a fly..."

• you'd watch him do his homework while laying on his bed sometimes

• "what is it?"

• "nothing. you're cute when you're concentrated."

• "don't mock me, Y/N"

• "I'm not! It's just, I don't see you like this often," you'd laugh, him groaning as a response before continuing what he was doing

• one time he was trying to cook dinner for you

• and almost burned the whole kitchen in the trailer

• now he just sticks to takeout when he wants to treat you :D

• therefore he'd also never bring lunch to school so you'd always pack him something extra just so he'd eat something instead of just chewing on some cashew nuts

• don't get me started on the hellfire shirt

• you love when he's wearing it

• it just looks so good on him

• and it'd also smell so much like him, so you'd always steal it from his closet

• but the boy goes feral everytime he sees you in his shirt

• something in him just stops working at the sight

• therefore you're never wearing it for more than about 15 minutes until it hits his bedroom floor

• whenever you both go out and leave his place together he always makes you sit down on the small steps in front of his trailer to tie your shoes, kissing your thigh while kneeling down in front of you before pulling you up and opening the door of his van for you

• such a gentleman

• however date nights aren't really date nights anymore because almost evertime one of the kids he's friends with is third wheeling you

• or all of them are

• you've practically become their parents now

• sometimes you're lucky tho and you get Steve and Robin to babysit instead

• but you love those little shitheads anyways ♡

• just like Eddie, they would be so excited everytime you joined one of their D&D campaigns

• Dustin and Mike would eagerly explain you the rules each time you got confused while Lucas would quietly give you tips for your next move

• Eddie would watch with a grin on his face while you were trying to follow each of them in between their rambling

• and now listen

• THE EYE CONTACT

• the game was just about to end and all the nerves were high up, you were the only one that could make the final move and all of the players were counting on you

• "What are you gonna do now, Queen Munson?", Eddie would speak from his dungeon master's throne, looking you in the eyes with a shit-eating grin, curious as to what your last move is gonna be

• You held the eye contact for a minute until you stood up and took the dice

• "I'm gonna hit him with a freaking fireball"

• then you threw the dice, it rolled acrossed the table until it stopped just right in front of Eddie, showing the number 20

• "SHE DID IT! SHE KILLED VECNA!", Dustin screamed, making all the other stand up and cheer as well

• You just looked at your boyfriend on the other side of the table, your look telling him everything he needed to know

• You both told the other's you'd stay behind and put everything away, so as soon as the last of them left the club room, both of you rushed to the other, teeth clashing in hasty kisses while undressing each other in a frenzy

• after that you'd go to his trailer, putting on some old vinyl of his uncle, and just swaying gently to the soft tune of the music

• you were in love and nothing else in the world could change that♡

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #stranger things spoilers #stranger things season 4 vol 2 #stranger things season 4 #joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader

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swirlingthings · 7 months

Text

so… i accidentally wrote an entire scene based off an idea i posted on here about a month ago. it brought itself into existence honestly, i’m still not sure how it happened. never written anything like this before. it’s called ‘alien thing’. see if you can work it out before aziraphale does. enjoy :)

And perhaps, after a while, the team at the Saddlescombe and Poynings Observer newspaper office would be alarmed to discover that the crossword they had devised for today’s edition had mysteriously been replaced by one that nobody recalled sending to the printing press, or indeed seeing before at all. And in a cottage not too far away, Aziraphale would settle down into the sofa with the paper like he always did at this time of the afternoon; his slice of cake (Victoria Sponge today - “you can’t go wrong with a classic like that”, he’d told Crowley in the supermarket), his mug of tea and an HB pencil ready for him on the side table. And Crowley, on the sofa next to him holding a small book which had been miracled into existence the moment Aziraphale had gotten up to fetch the newspaper, would be so intent on doing everything possible to not look in the angel’s direction that he’d stare too hard at the potted plant across the room and cause it to wilt.

“How odd.” Aziraphale says, ruffling the page slightly as if he were testing to see if moving it would somehow change the way it was printed.

“What?” Crowley says, calmly. He was incredibly calm when he said this, calmly.

“This crossword.” Aziraphale replies, brow furrowing. “I think… look, look at this.”

Aziraphale shuffles across to the middle of the sofa, holding his arm out in front of Crowley so that he could see the newspaper clearly.

“Look. Here.” Aziraphale points with his pencil. “5 Down, six letters: ‘Luminescent dust between star systems’. I think it’s NEBULA.”

“Sounds plausible.” says Crowley, his eyes not moving away from the paper.

“Well, that’s not all. NEBULA gives us the ‘B’ for 12 Across, eight letters: ‘Parisian fortress’, which must be BASTILLE.” The pencil moves down and waves around a clue, then shoots back up again. “And the ‘E’ from that gives us SERPENT for 10 Down! Isn’t that funny?” Aziraphale says brightly. He looks up and beams at Crowley, who is still staring directly at the paper.

“Why’s that funny?”

“Well…” says the angel, his smile turning peaceful. “I don’t know. It just made me think of you, I suppose. What with your being a serpent in Eden, and rescuing me from the Bastille. And the nebulas, from Before…” Aziraphale laughs softly and settles back on his side of the sofa. “I don’t know. I’m being silly. I just thought it was funny.” he says, running a hand through his hair and picking up his mug.

And perhaps the minutes would pass, and Aziraphale would think between sips of tea and scribbles of pencil that there really was something rather odd about this crossword, wasn’t there? 17 Down, eight letters: ‘Machine run by rotating vanes’. WINDMILL. That was the name of the theatre in Soho where he had performed his magic show. Crowley had almost shot him. They’d had wine afterwards, in the bookshop. 2 Across, seven letters: ‘Remarkable and unbelievable occurrence’. That had to be MIRACLE. 21 Across, five letters: ‘Japanese vinegared rice dish’. SUSHI. His favourite.

And Crowley would sit excruciatingly still, in absolute silence, and make no attempt to actually read the book he was holding open in his lap. He would be far too busy trying to look cool.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale looks up at him, after a while, another smile creeping across his face. “26 Across is INEFFABLE.”

“Oh? You stuck?” Crowley says, stretching out his legs and keeping his gaze fixed on a page of the book. Wait… was he holding it upside down?

“What?”

“Well, if it’s ineffable you can’t describe it in words, can you? So you don’t have the answer?” Crowley slithers down the sofa cushion and holds the book in front of his face. He’s a very busy demon with important things to be busy with. “Finding the word’s the whole point of a crossword. You must be stuck.”

“No, I mean the answer is INEFFABLE, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s smile spreads wider. “You know full well what I mean!” he said, nudging him sharply with his feet. Another “Oh?” emanates from somewhere behind the book, which Aziraphale grabs and puts to one side.

“What on Earth have you done?” he laughs, his eyes first on Crowley then returning to the paper. “14 Down: ‘A small settlement without a church’... HAMLET! Oh Crowley, the play!” he says, jotting it down with the pencil.

Crowley smiles too. “How are you doing on the letters?”

“Yes, it’s six letters, HAMLET.”

“No, I mean the letters in bold. In the boxes. For the final bit.”

Aziraphale looks back at the paper, and notices that around a few of the letters he had already pencilled in, the margins of the boxes were heavier than the rest.

“It’s a puzzle thing. What’s it called… an anagram.” Crowley continues, leaning over on one arm and turning to face him. “Look at the letters in bold and it makes something else.”

Aziraphale gasps excitedly, and starts to note down the emphasised letters in a patch of empty space towards the bottom of the page. The ‘A’ from BASTILLE, the ‘E’ from SERPENT, the ‘L’ from NEBULA…

“Crowley…” he says smugly, and proudly folds the paper to his chest to indicate he is finished with it. “Is it AZIRAPHALE?”

“Don’t just guess. Work it out.” Crowley says gently. Aziraphale’s pencil resumes its scratching against the paper. He wonders how he ever lived in his flat in Mayfair, void of this softness and this warmth and this angel. They’ve been in the cottage now for a good few years. It’s all the things he loved about Aziraphale’s bookshop, with the added bonus of never worrying if he’s overstayed his welcome. It’s theirs, together, completely. He’s forgotten he was ever holding a book, let alone supposed to be busy doing something else, like trying to look cool.

“Oh, no, there’s the N from WINDMILL.” Aziraphale mutters, leaning forward to write on the paper which is now resting neatly on his knees. “Unless… I was wrong about that one?”

“Don’t look at me, I’m saying nothing.”

“No, I’m not wrong. Hold on.”

Crowley sits up a bit more, putting his elbow on the back of the sofa cushion and leaning the side of his head against his hand. He listened to Aziraphale continuing on - “I’ve got ALIEN. Hmm, wait…” - while he curled up his legs underneath himself. His nerves had eased slightly (Aziraphale’s smile had that effect on him) but had not dissipated.

“INHALE? No, no, there’s two ‘I’s. Oh, I’m still missing some!” Aziraphale says. There was another comfortable pause while he scanned the remaining clues.

“Right. 6 Across must be… PEAR. I love pears. That one doesn’t get us any further with the anagram, though.” Aziraphale says, looking over at Crowley as if he were learning this for the first time and might be disappointed by the news. As if he hadn’t snuck downstairs in the middle of the night on three separate occasions last week to draft every detail in a notebook which promptly ceased to exist once he’d finalised his plan. He’d sent off the miracle at one in the morning.

“16 Across, ten letters: ‘Destruction of civilisation’. Well, that’s rather dramatic.” Aziraphale looks up, a tad disapprovingly. “APOCALYPSE? No, that doesn’t fit with HALO - the penultimate letter must... oh, ARMAGEDDON! Of course. Wonderful! That gives us a second ‘N’.” he says triumphantly.

“Aren’t you clever.” Crowley says, which earns him another sharp nudge in the thigh.

“And then we have the ‘G’ from GARDEN, which gives us… the ‘T’, from BENTLEY. Is it definitely not ALIEN, then? I’ve got ALIEN THING.”

“No, angel, it’s not ALIEN THING. Stop guessing. You’re still missing some, look at it carefully.”

There’s another patch of silence. Crowley shifts uncomfortably on the cushion, unfurling his legs and stretching them out over the edge of the sofa again. He scratches the back of his head and resumes staring at the now fully wilted plant opposite him. His nerves are back. Not long to go now. Aziraphale’s clever, really clever, and he does one of these things every aftern-

As if on cue, the angel suddenly sits bolt upright.

The silence hangs in the air. Questions like ‘Why did I think this was a good idea?’ and ‘How am I going to pretend this never happened?’ start to creep into Crowley’s brain. His face feels hot.

“Oh, Crowley…” Aziraphale says, with almost palpable softness. Crowley dares to glance over: Aziraphale’s holding the paper with both hands and looking down at it, eyes beginning to water.

“Crowley…” he says again, frantically scanning every inch of the paper. He wants to be sure he’s right before he says anything. Crowley knows he will be, and briefly considers whether he could get away with stopping time, but it’s too late for that now.

“It’s NIGHTINGALES.”

Aziraphale looks up at him.

“Is it?” Crowley says, in a tone which he hoped sounded like he actually was learning this for the first time.

“Oh Crowley!”

He suddenly finds himself pressed against various layers of linen and wool.

“You sweetheart!” Aziraphale squeals, as he pulls him up from the sofa cushion and into the hug.

Crowley’s growl is muffled slightly by Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I’m not sweet, I-” Whatever he tried to say next would surely be drowned out by Aziraphale’s laughter anyway, so he lets it go.

“You’re so clever.” Azirpahale says, settling himself directly beside Crowley and reaching for the paper, which he had flung to the floor when he’d moved. He looks over it again. “It must have taken forever, to work out all of that.”

“Nah. It was nothing, angel.”

Aziraphale smiles at the paper. “Well, I am thoroughly impressed. I…” He turns to look Crowley in the eyes. “I should have worked it out sooner than that. I didn’t… I didn’t realise that’s what you were trying to say. That that was the point of it, I mean.”

“Don’t worry. I knew you’d get them all.”

“That was very romantic of you, you know. To do all of that and have it be about us.”

“Shut up.”

“Well, it was.” Aziraphale smugly folds the paper in half. “I love you too.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Make my day.”

He gets a kiss on the cheek for that.

“Gosh, I expect the rest of my tea has gone a bit cold now.” Aziraphale says, without any trace of complaint. He wiggles back over to his side of the sofa and has a forkful of cake. “Well, that was exciting. I didn’t know they let people submit their own crosswords.”

There was a pause.

“Crowley.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“Oh Crowley no, that’s awful. You should have asked for their permission.”

“Don’t worry.” He smiles at Aziraphale. “They won’t notice.”

the end :))

#good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #good omens story #well… it’s a fic really isn’t it #good omens fic

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owliellder · 8 months

Text

Two's A Crowd

College Bully! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5)

Description: College is proving to be a lot harder than you imagined. You cannot fail this math class. So when you've tried everything else, a well-known student is recommended to you by your professor for tutoring lessons, not really leaving you with much of a choice but to work with him.

Warnings: Not proofread, No Use of Y/N, Dub-Con, Unprotected Sex, Bullying, Yelling, Cursing

Tags: College AU, Bully! Leon, Shy! Reader, both are in their early 20's, Leon is Rude AF in the beginning, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Fingering, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags to be Added

Author's Note: Slightly shorter chapter since I got stuck watching the last two episodes of Fionna and Cake, but I hope y'all like where I'm steering this. Pick up what I'm putting down, eh??

Cross-posted onto AO3

Chapter 2:

“This is insane. You’re not even trying.”

Leon’s cruel comments had been endless since you showed up today. He was already irritated that you even showed to begin with, now he’s just taking all his frustrations out on you. The guy isn’t even passive aggressive, he’s just aggressive. “I showed you the formula like.. five times already.”

“I don’t need you to patronize me, please.” You asked with a meek voice, bringing your hands up to cover your face for a couple seconds before placing them down on either side of the new math assignment sitting in front of you. You understood his impatience though, you were even starting to grow impatient with yourself, having been stuck on the third question for over thirty minutes now. Leon stressed the fact that you got one hour only with him and you’d basically wasted half that time bouncing from the formula he’d written down to the question itself.

The formula was helpful, but this question included more numbers than you knew what to do with. The main issue was knowing which numbers went where in the formula and you wanted to know why they went where they did, but Leon was only giving you the formula and nothing else. One vague explanation and then he was right back on his phone.

You had a glimmer of hope for the frat boy sitting in front of you. Had, being the keyword here. One study session in and you were already starting to accept defeat. “Can you explain it to me again?” You tapped your pencil on the table nervously, keeping your eyes glued to your paper to avoid the obvious glare you’d receive from him.

The sound of his phone slamming down on the table accompanied with a groan made you grip onto your pencil tighter, now holding it still as he pulled the paper away from you. “Do I have to hold your hand, too? What’s so hard to understand about this?” He reached over, yanking your pencil from your hand so he could scribble out the first few steps to the problem. Afterwards, he tossed both the paper and pencil back over to you, tapping his finger down on the work he wrote down before circling it once. “Need anything else? A warm bottle of milk? Want me to read you a bedtime story?”

He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms with a sigh after picking his phone back up. “You’ve got fifteen more minutes.” The fuck’s his problem?

Letting out a small sigh of your own, you silently picked up the pencil and looked down at what he’d written. Surprisingly, it did help you make more sense of the rest of the assignment sheet, figuring out the placement of the numbers by using where Leon had put them. Soon, the assignment sheet was finished and you had him look it over.

“Is it-.. Is it good?” You watched Leon carefully, studying his face for any sort of emotion other than annoyance. You unfortunately didn’t find it, but his muttered “good” made you smile, taking your own turn studying your work once he handed it back. Not tossed or thrown, handed back.

He took in a sharp breath through his nose before standing up, focus still trained on his phone. There was only a few minutes left in the hour, so you guess he took your understanding of the material as his leave. “Can we.. uh.. study again on Monday?” His hand paused on the door handle at your question, looking back at you from over his shoulder with his lips pulled tight as he gave you a glare. “You just love taking up my time, don’t you?”

“Wait, is that-” The slam of the door cut you off, leaving you to watch him saunter off through the large window in the door. Your shoulders slumped and you turned back to give your math assignment one last look before stuffing it into your backpack. At least with this new understanding, you’d be able to hopefully do the next few assignments. Mr. Lebovic was kind enough to let you redo your past fails, meaning all you’re doing is slowly climbing your way back up to a better grade with make-up work.

You held out for Leon, constantly giving him the benefit of the doubt with each study session following the first. You did your absolute best to remain passive with him, but each session was filled with crude, nasty, hate-filled comments directed at you, so it was only a matter of time until you started throwing your own comments back at him. By the beginning of November, studying had been put on the back burner whenever you two met up, assignments left abandoned in favor of fleshing out full blown arguments. He always won since you’d never really had a loud voice to defend yourself and his favorite go-to was low blow insults, somehow always managing to sniff out your insecurities.

Leon’s pattern was always one step forward, ten steps back with you. He would help and then spend the rest of your hour together nitpicking your every attempt to learn. He hated you and it was driving you mad. It was impossible to learn anything like this.

You’d grown a sour mood leading up to your trek to the library for one of your regular study sessions, a scowl settling on your face. You decided hours ago that getting dressed wasn’t an option today, you just didn’t weren’t in the mood, so instead you threw on a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants to mind the brisk chill that had rolled in at the end of October.

The walk to the main building was dull; most of the leaves on the trees around campus had long since browned and fallen off, the grass was dead and crunchy, and it almost felt like it would start snowing anytime now with how quickly the cold had come. The feel in the air made you tired, it made you miss home. The weather made you long for the warmth a home-cooked meal provided, but you had to wait, and that wait was only contributing to your already piss poor mood.

Making your way into the library and into the reserved study room, you didn’t even notice Leon’s smile until he asked you to pull out your most recent assignment. It immediately put you off because it wasn't like his normal cocky smile or smirk, no, this one was oddly genuine. Soft, even.

“Can I see it?” He asked, smile widening slightly as he gestured towards your backpack. Even his tone was softer than usual. “Uh…” You weren’t quite sure how to react, not really processing his words as you tried to figure out whether he’s setting a trap or not.

“Your assignment. Can I see it?” Leon clarified, his arms resting crossed on the table as he glanced down to your bag and then back up at you. That was also weirding you out; the eye contact. Normally he only ever met your gaze when he was intimidating you with a deep glare and it wasn’t ever this long. He was making a point to look at you now.

Without saying a word, you unzipped your bag and pulled out a couple papers, only looking away from him twice to make sure you were getting the right ones. You made sure to hold eye contact with him, eyebrows furrowed as you searched for any insincerity.

You’d grown rigid with his kind behavior, even more so when he thanked you and took the papers from you. Questioning him was your top priority right now, though your mouth refused to work with your brain, causing you to stutter out a simple “..what?” Leon only hummed, tilting his head a bit as he looked down at your work, following the tip of his pen as it trailed down the paper.

“What-..” You repeated, swallowing dryly before finally getting the full “What’re you doing?” out. He seemed genuinely confused at your question, looking up to give you a puzzled look. “Hm? Whaddya mean what am I doing? I’m looking over your work.” He looked back down at your paper, clearing his throat quietly.

“No, you’re being nice. Why are you being nice?” You were quick to shoot back to try and draw his attention back to you. “If this is a joke, I’m not gonna fall for it.”

Leon sighed and dropped the pen down onto the paper to rest his crossed arms on the table again. “Why are you asking so many questions? It’s not a big deal.”

Not a big deal?! “Not a big deal?! You’ve argued with me every other day for the past three weeks!” Your hands balled up into fists on your lap, completely baffled by the dismissiveness of his complete 180° in demeanor. “I-” You stopped yourself, taking a moment to breathe. This was.. actually a nice change of pace now that you think about it. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?

He gave you his normal annoyed look at your sudden pause, seemingly waiting on you to finish talking. “You..?” Shaking your head a bit, you let out a soft laugh and waved your hand. “Nevermind, uh.. yeah, nevermind…”

“Ooookay, well, you did good on this one so you can turn it in.” Leon held up the first paper before sliding it across the table to you, then picking up the second paper. “But this one needs a bit of work. I circled the questions that need to be redone, not gonna tell you what’s wrong with them, though.” You watched as he slid the other paper to you with your own smile now forming. Pulling out a pencil, you started to relax for the first time around this guy, bringing your attention down to the circled questions.

Your study session has never been more productive. He was being helpful; answering your questions, talking you through each step, giving you smiles and the occasional thumbs up. You’re not sure what changed or why, but you definitely weren’t complaining. When Leon wasn’t acting like someone shoved a stick up his ass, he was actually pretty handsome. You’d mentally recognized his good looks when you first met him, yet his demeanor as a whole masked those good looks entirely.

There was no way he could throw anymore surprises at you, but you stood corrected when he walked over to you at the end of your session, stopping you from walking out. “Listen, I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting. I don’t want to be mean to you, it’s just…” He paused to laugh to himself, looking down at the ground with an almost bashful expression. “I’m only tutoring because it’s a big part of my grade in my class, so..” Not a complete lie on his part.

“Oh. Oh, it's.. it’s fine.” You didn’t want him to revert back to his old style, so you chose to just dismiss it. His attitude did make sense, you wouldn’t want to tutor random people for a grade. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks. Uh.. oh, here-” Leon opened and held the study room door open for you, giving you a small wave as you walked out, which you returned. That was a nice mood booster, not being degraded and demeaned every time you see the one person who’s supposed to help you.

Your friends had their own opinions about the experience after you described it to them. You’d been relaying every bit of info relating to your study sessions from the past three weeks to them, a second and third opinion was good to have for such an odd trade.

“I don’t trust it. Plain and simple.” Sky placed their hands down on their thighs with an audible slap. They didn’t seem impressed by Leon’s sudden chivalry, and to your disappointment, neither did Ella when you looked over from Sky to her. She just looked back at you with a shrug. “Sorry. I’m gonna have to take Sky’s side on this. There’s just something off about that.”

You sighed in defeat, turning your head around to look out the window in the dorm room. It was nice that Sky and Ella shared a dorm, you can’t discuss stuff like this in your own dorm in case your roommate decided to randomly appear. “Yeah…”

Ella scooted closer to you on the bed and pulled you back so your head was resting in her lap. “I know you got your hopes up, but please be careful. I don’t wanna see you get hurt because some pretty boy decided it would be fun to manipulate you.” You groaned, covering your face with your arms. Nothing even happened and you’re already feeling embarrassed.

“It’s okay if you like him, he is kinda cute.” Ella giggled and moved one of your arms to poke your cheek. “But just remember that the guy’s got a bit of a reputation for being a major douche.”

Sky, sitting over on their bed, pointed at Ella in agreement. “Emphasis on major douche.” They smiled and leaned back, their head plopping onto their pillows. “It was just one instance of him being sweet, after all. Who’s to say he won’t revert back to being an asshole by Wednesday?”

“I know, I get it.” You swatted Ella’s hand away and sat back upright. Even if he was putting up a front, it was still nice to get some real help with your math without being insulted. Everyone deserves a second chance and he seemed honest enough when he told you why he’d been so rude, so why not try again with him? Start fresh, maybe you’ll get to make an unlikely friend out of this popular frat boy.

A bit of a far fetched idea, considering the vast differences between you and Leon, but anything like that is worth another try. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

tags:

@kayotee4 @k-fallingstar @bobastayhigh @mi-zer-y @chasingkennedy @l30nva @espressonerd @jjouki @5tarx @bunnybreadloaves @whoisgami @cyanscribe @c4b3r1a @darichvep @mmmangel @kingtacocat @klee-iii @baby--vera @dakiniii @kenma-izhu @aliidarling @leonsmamacita

(a few of your blogs won't show up but i tried)

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 month

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Why Don't You Flirt with Me?

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: 5 times you're jealous of someone flirting with Tim Bradford, and the 1 time you tell him why.

Warnings: so much jealousy and flirting, angst, fluff at the end! number 3 has spoilers for The Rookie 2x03

Word Count: 3.7k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

1. You get jealous because of another police officer flirting with Tim.

The best part of roll call is getting to sit beside Tim. You’ve had feelings for him for almost as long as you’ve known him, but Tim has never seemed open to a relationship like that. So, you are happy to be his friend and remain by his side until the time is right. Your other friends at Mid-Wilshire describe you and Tim as “inseparable” or “joined at the hip,” yet he seems oblivious to your attention and feelings toward him.

When you cross the threshold, you see someone in your seat. A beautiful woman is sitting next to Tim, in your seat, and leaning toward him as she speaks. She’s too pretty to be a cop, you think. Sergeant Grey enters before you can say or do anything, so you take a seat in the row before Tim. He looks up toward you but doesn’t say anything. When Wade reaches the podium and looks out at everyone, he stops and glances between you and Tim several times. His brows raise, but he remains professional and begins giving assignments to each officer.

“And I’d also like to welcome Mid-Wilshire’s newest officer,” Wade says before introducing the woman beside Tim as a transfer from another division.

Even her name is pretty. You fight the urge to turn and look at her, to get a better view. The jealousy you feel is, so far, unfounded. She didn’t know that it was your seat – technically, it’s not. When she starts whispering, however, your jealousy has the perfect opportunity to worsen.

“If you’d been my TO, I would have been a rookie forever,” she whispers to Tim. “How could anyone be okay moving on and away from you?”

“Easier than it looks, I guess,” Tim replies.

“Tell me something, how often do you get flirted with during traffic stops? Because if you pulled me over, I would happily provide my identification… and my number.”

You lean back and glance over your shoulder before immediately regretting it. She’s leaned over further, practically draping herself across the table to be closer to Tim, and her well-manicured hand is resting against his bicep. Looking away as quickly as you can, you set your jaw. People look at Tim, gawk, even, but this blatant flirtation is new, and you hate it.

When you stand after being dismissed, Tim says your name. You plaster on a fake smile and give him your attention, though you ignore the woman beside him.

“Meet us for lunch?” he asks.

“Ooh, will you?” Lucy adds as she walks toward Tim.

“Where are you going?” the new transfer asks.

Tim tells her the name of the restaurant, and your smile turns to a grimace.

“Room for one more?”

She sounds like she purrs when she speaks to Tim, and you hate it.

“Sure,” Tim answers. “It’s a popular spot among patrol cops.”

“Here,” she adds. She lifts his hand and scribbles something on his palm.

Without seeing it, you know that her number now has a new home on Tim’s skin. Your smile is long gone, and you can feel Lucy’s eyes on your face.

“You’re in, too?” Tim asks you.

“Not today,” you grumble before leaving. Enjoy lunch with your new friend.

2. You get jealous because of a witness flirting with Tim.

You’re just starting to accept that other women can flirt with Tim when you get a radio call from Lucy.

“We’re responding to the Redondo call and need backup. Are you close?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’m two minutes out,” you say.

“We’re code 2.”

You flip the sirens on and park behind Tim’s shop exactly two minutes later. Lucy is standing at the curb and watching Tim talk to a witness. She looks over at you as you approach and shakes her head.

“What?” you inquire.

“He’s trying to get information because the guy in the shop had a partner, but he took cover when we pulled up.”

“How’s that going?”

“It would be better if she’d stop flirting and start answering the questions.”

At the word ‘flirting,’ you tune Lucy out to listen to Tim’s conversation instead. He’s smiling and nodding along, but the woman isn’t saying anything of importance.

“And I just don’t know how to thank you. Big, strong… beautiful men like you are the reason that women like me can feel safe here,” she says.

“She looks like she’s twitching,” Lucy says when the woman bats her eyelashes.

“Thank you,” Tim answers with a smile.

He smiles at you often, but this smile is different. Your chest burns with new jealousy as the woman lays her hand on Tim’s chest and steps closer.

“I’m happy to keep women like you safe,” Tim says.

You cross your arms over your chest as if it will hide your growing jealousy. Whoever said jealousy makes you green was lying, because you look perfectly normal. To everyone but Tim, maybe, and he’s not paying attention to you.

“So, could you help me out with this?” Tim asks. His voice is soft and slow, and you wish he would talk to you like that, just once. “I really need to know where that other guy went, or I’ll feel like I failed you and every other beautiful woman in this city.”

You scoff before you can stop it, and Lucy looks between you and Tim.

“He doesn’t mean it,” she offers quietly.

“Have you ever heard him talk like that?” you argue. She doesn’t answer, and you say, “Me neither.”

“Look, Tim is bad at expressing his feelings, but he clearly has them. For you.”

You shake your head, but Lucy doesn’t want to give up yet. She watches you and Tim interact every day, so she knows how close you are. And how close you want to be.

“Chen, this is not the time,” you snap as Tim steps away from the suspect.

Tim’s brows raise when he sees you. He asks what you’re doing there, and you happily let Lucy answer that she called for backup to assist in the search for the second criminal.

“I think we’ve got it. The witness gave me good intel,” Tim says. “Thanks for coming so quickly, though.”

“No problem.”

You turn to return to your shop without another word, oblivious to Lucy and Tim watching you go.

3. You get jealous because of Lucy’s friend flirting with Tim.

Working at the front desk is your least favorite assignment, but you agreed to cover for another officer while he visits his son out of state. When Lucy and Tim enter with two new arrests, evidence of a prostitution problem spot, your day brightens. You sat in your usual seat beside Tim this morning and he promised to bring you lunch later, so things are looking up. They lead the women into the holding area, and you hope to see them again before the day ends.

“Hey,” Lucy says from behind Tim. “I know you’re gonna say no, but… I think I can help.”

“With what?” Tim asks.

“Well, you know, I know how hard it is to meet people in L.A. It’s what keeps them in business.”

“Wait. You wanna set me up?” Tim asks. “Forget it. Even if this wasn’t your dumbest idea yet, there is no way you’d be able to pick someone right for me.”

Lucy scoffs and argues, “I bet I can. I’m serious. If I can fix you up on one good date, just one, I get to, uh- I get to wear short sleeves.”

Tim considers the bet for a moment. “Okay. But you’re paying.”

“Whatever.”

“And if you lose, you’re gonna do 50 push-ups after every call we take.”

Several hours later, you’re still sitting at the front desk when Lucy comes in again. She’s alone this time, and you miss Tim more than you thought possible.

“Rachel?” Lucy asks.

“Look at you! All official,” Rachel replies as she hugs Lucy. “You were the talk of the reunion, you know.”

“I was bummed I couldn’t go. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, just trying to cut through some red tape. But so far, my scissors haven’t been sharp enough.”

“Problems with child services?”

“Yeah, civil standbys. LAPD needs a faster response time. I’ve had four go sideways in the last month. Hey! Maybe you can help me.”

“I- I wish I could, but I am below the bottom of the food chain here.”

“Boot, get a move on,” Tim calls from the doorway.

“Who’s that?” Rachel asks.

You give the conversation more attention once Tim enters the conversation. The last few days have not been kind to your emotions, and you hope that this isn’t going to add to the list.

“That is my training officer. Hey, uh, you’re single, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Would you want to go out with him?”

You drop the clipboard in your hand and hope Lucy catches your look of betrayal. She widens her eyes briefly, but you don’t understand what she’s trying to communicate.

“Uh, he’s hot… but I-I made a vow. No more jerks.”

He’s not a jerk, you think. You just have to know how to see who Tim is inside.

“Okay, so, you don’t date jerks,” Lucy says. “But how would you like to help me win a bet against one?”

“Boot!” Tim calls again as he walks out. “What’s the holdup?”

“I’m sorry, Officer Bradford,” Rachel interjects. “That was my fault. I was asking Lucy for some help with a social service problem I’m having. If I’d known I was keeping her from such a handsome man, I would have waited.”

Tim nods before turning to Lucy. “Grey needs the paperwork finished.”

“I’ll do that now. Bye, Rachel,” Lucy says before leaving.

“So, you’re Lucy’s TO?” Rachel asks. “I always pictured training officers as chubby, grey-haired ride-along partners who refuse to retire.”

You can’t see her face, but you’re sure she’s giving him a beautiful smile. Your eyes drop to a paper on the desk before you, and you get angry with jealousy. Tim is supposed to be your friend, and more someday. Why didn’t he ever care enough to see me?

“Is that not what I look like?” Tim asks with a smile.

“Not at all. Would you maybe wanna get dinner with me?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Are you free tonight? A woman like you has to be turning down offers left and right.”

“You’d know something about that,” Rachel replies. “Tonight sounds great.”

“I’ll see you then.”

You raise your eyes to watch Rachel leave. You don’t know that both she and Tim know that the date is for a bet, one Tim intends to win because he is uninterested in Rachel.

“How’s desk duty?” he asks.

“Fine,” you answer shortly without looking toward him.

“I’m going to get lunch; you still want something?”

“No thanks. I’m not hungry.”

Tim’s brows furrow as he looks at you, and he taps the desk before leaving. Maybe you should turn green, at least Tim would notice that he is affecting you more than any of the women flirting with him. And being flirted with by him.

4. You get jealous because of a suspect flirting with Tim.

“You’re under arrest,” you say, out of breath as you handcuff a kidnapping suspect after chasing him through a suburban neighborhood.

“Nice,” Tim praises as he exits the shop behind you.

“I’ll talk, I’ll talk!” the woman yells. “Everything I know, I’ll tell you. I’m not the kidnapper; I’m a woman for goodness’ sake!”

“Why did you run?” Tim asks.

She sits up with an awkward tug of the handcuffs. When she sees Tim standing at the curb, she takes a deep breath and looks up at him through her lashes.

“Officer, I was terrified,” she begins. “You have no idea what it’s like to be a woman – a single woman – here. When he told me to do it-“

“Who?” you interject.

The woman doesn’t look away from Tim as she answers, “My neighbor, Ben Charles. He asked me to let him, and his little girl, spend the night in my basement. How was I supposed to know that it wasn’t his kid?”

“You said you’d tell us everything you knew,” Tim says. “What else?”

“If I had a neighbor like you, I’d always feel safe. Although, I don’t think I would be home, much.”

Tim looks down at his boots before returning her intense gaze; he tilts his chin slightly and says, “I’m sure you’re a great neighbor. But I think you can be a greater help to that little girl. Her parents want her home.”

“I can imagine. I mean, I don’t have kids.” She licks her lips before adding, “Yet. But I want to help that little girl get home.”

Tim squats before her and lays a hand on her knee. “I’ve gotta take you in for evading arrest, but if you help us get that little girl home safe, maybe we can drop the charges.”

Easy for you to say, since you didn’t chase her through the streets, you think. Tim’s hand on her leg holds your attention, and you can’t decide whether to be angry or heartbroken. All the time you spent “waiting for Tim to be ready” has been wasted, because he’s ready now and not sparing a glance in your direction.

“I’ll be in the shop. I’ll fill in Grey,” you mumble before climbing into the passenger seat.

Tim takes most of her weight as he lifts her from the sidewalk, and you nearly rip the radio from the dash when you grab it.

5. You get jealous because of a neighbor flirting with Tim.

Tim’s house is the house to be at for game night. He has a huge, HD television, good snacks, and is always excellent company. Sitting on his couch and watching the pre-game opinions, you’re surprised to hear the doorbell ring.

“You made it!” Tim cheers as he opens the door. “Come on in. There’s pizza, drinks, help yourself to anything.”

You watch the doorway as Tim’s neighbor walks in. She’s never been to a game night before today, but that’s not what bothers you. Her hands on Tim’s shoulders threaten to make you uninterested in the game. Tim looks over and introduces you, and you shake her hand before offering your seat beside Tim. Once you’re in a chair by yourself, you can breathe a little easier. That ends when Tim sits beside his neighbor, and she leans against his side.

No game is worth this.

“So, I have a confession,” she whispers. You’re not sure why she’s whispering, because you can still hear her, yet she continues, “I’ve never watched a game before, and I have no idea what the rules are.”

“Seriously?” Tim asks. He leans forward to set his drink down and turn the volume up slightly. “I’ll explain what I can if you want.”

“I’d love that!” she gushes.

You keep your eyes on the screen, but you’re aware of her leg pressed to Tim’s, and her hand moving toward his abdomen as she presses her weight against him.

“How many sports did you play in school?” she asks.

“What makes you think I did?” he responds.

She giggles before running a finger along Tim’s bicep and over to the line between his pecs. “All these muscles. While I can appreciate them, I know they serve a purpose.”

“I am a cop.”

“So?”

“Yeah, I played some sports.”

Your phone buzzes, and since you can’t focus on the game anyway, you use it as an excuse to leave early.

“We’re almost to the playoffs!” Tim says as you stand.

“Sorry,” you reply. “I’ll watch the highlights. Enjoy the game.”

In the privacy of your car, you hit the top of the steering wheel. Why doesn’t he ever flirt with me?

1. You stop Tim from flirting with someone at a restaurant to admit your feelings.

The staff of the Mid-Wilshire division has had an incredibly busy week. When Wade suggests you, Tim, Lucy, Nolan, and Angela join him at a nearby restaurant to celebrate the wins of the week, you happily agree. Spending time with your friends out of work sounds like the perfect way to wind down after long days and sleepless nights.

“Oh my gosh, I need, like, six more of these,” Lucy says as she takes the last sip of the waiter’s recommended drink.

“Looks like everyone could use a refill,” Tim says. “This one’s on me.”

The restaurant is as busy as the police station, and your waiter encouraged you to get up and find him at the bar if you needed anything. When Tim stands, you offer to go with him and help him carry drinks. He nods and smiles before offering a hand to help you out of your seat. You don’t hear Angela and Lucy ask each other when you and Tim will make a move on one another.

“Any plans for the weekend?” Tim asks.

“A fifteen-hour nap,” you answer.

Tim shakes his head and taps his elbow against your back. He then moves his hand to the same spot to lead you through the crowd surrounding the bar.

“Hey!” your waiter greets over the noise. “Refills for your whole table?”

Tim nods and thanks him before leaning his forearm against the bar. His body is turned toward you, and you smile as you move closer, acting like the crowd is forcing the proximity. Someone bumps into Tim and says something that you can’t hear. He straightens and turns toward her, and you close your eyes against your building jealousy.

“I was going to apologize again,” the woman – who looks like she just left a Victoria’s Secret fashion show – says, “but now I’m glad I bumped into you, handsome.”

“Not that I would have complained before,” Tim begins.

“Tim!” you yell. He looks toward you quickly, and you press your lips together before asking, “Can we talk?”

A crease appears between Tim’s brows, and he nods before leaning over the bar. He asks the waiter to take the drinks to the table when he has time and thanks him again when the waiter says he will. Tim’s arm presses against your back as he leads you toward a side door. The noise and stress of the restaurant fade as the door closes behind you. You don’t give Tim a chance to ask what’s wrong before you turn to face him.

“What is so wrong with me?” you demand. “Why am I not good enough?”

“What are you talking about?” Tim asks. His voice is raised to match yours, but the genuine confusion on his face hurts worse because he doesn’t know.

“Why don’t you ever flirt with me?”

You are still jealous of every woman that you’ve seen Tim flirt with or accept flirtation from over the last few weeks. After all the time you’ve spent with him and the love you’ve shown him, you deserve to know why he ignores you.

“I-“

“No, Tim, just tell me! Because I love you and you don’t seem to care enough to even notice when I’m around!”

Realization about what you admitted hits you, and you drop your eyes to Tim’s chest. Pushing your feelings on him was never your intention.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

You move to return to the table with your friends, but Tim reaches out and wraps a gentle hand around your wrist.

“It didn’t mean anything,” he says.

As you slowly raise your eyes and your skin burns beneath Tim’s touch, you see that his eyes are steady on yours. You have no reason to doubt him, nor do you want to.

“What didn’t?” you whisper.

“All of the flirting! None of it meant a thing to me.”

“Then-“

“The way that I talk to you, though? The time that we spend together? That means something.”

“But-“

“Let me finish,” Tim demands gently. He rubs his thumb over your knuckles and steps closer. “When I talk to other women, like Rachel and the witness last week, and accept their attention, that’s not flirting for me. That is not how I show my feelings or desires, whatever you want to call it, and it never will be. Talk is cheap, but time? That’s how I prefer showing people I care about them.”

You nod but don’t say anything yet.

“You’re jealous,” Tim accuses. “And while I can understand why, there’s no reason to be.”

“I’m not jealous,” you argue. He raises his brows, and you add, “Currently.”

“You never have to be.”

“Why? Because you’re telling me you prefer quality time to verbal flirtations? Because the last time I was at your house you seemed to be having plenty of that with your neighbor!”

“Is that why you left?”

“I thought you were explaining something.”

Tim rolls his eyes before raising his hands to hold either side of your face.

“Listen to me very closely, just for a minute. It meant nothing.”

You look down, and Tim huffs before pulling you against him. He brings your lips to his and does something that you’ve never seen before. You wanted him to flirt with you, but now you want to be kissed by him every day for the rest of your life. With his touch and the promise that the flirting didn’t mean anything, you know that your jealousy was unnecessary.

“Is that enough explanation?” Tim asks as he pulls back.

“Um, I may need just a little more,” you say softly. “I’m sorry that I yelled at you.”

“Jealous,” Tim teases.

“I don’t know how I was supposed to know that you didn’t mean it.”

“You get special treatment and are still blind to how I feel.”

Tim releases you and opens the door for you to enter first.

“How do you feel?” you ask.

“Hungry. Get inside. And don’t get jealous of Malibu Barbie at the bar; I was just going to say that I was glad she didn’t spill her drink on me.”

You purse your lips in offense, and Tim reaches forward to pull you inside with him.

“I’ll give you more explanation later, but only if you promise to trust me from now on. And, in the future, just tell me that you love me instead of getting jealous.”

You’re almost back to the table when Tim leans in and says, “Oh, and, by the way, I only flirted with Rachel right in front of you because I knew Lucy was trying to win the bet.”

#hanna writes✯#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford fic #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie abc #requests #fem!reader

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dancingtotuyo · 1 month

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Part I

High Infidelity | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: Tommy gets himself into more trouble than he can get out of.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: US justice system (it don't work, probably bad understanding of how it operates), mention of drugs & weapons, alcohol consumption, let me know if I missed anything

Notes: when I planned this out, I didn’t realize I’d scheduled the first chapter to drop on Pedro’s birthday! So happy birthday to him!

Shout out to @janaispunkfor beta reading and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me scream about this endlessly and shaping this world. Finally, @saradika-graphics for sustaining our fic writers with an endless supply of dividers!

Words: 4396

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

You’re asleep, or at least you should be except the phone is ringing and the bed is cold next to you. That’s a bad sign. It always is.

A small grunt echoes from your gut as bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor. You can’t find the phone before it stops, buried under clothes you haven’t folded, scribbled crayon drawings, and bleary eyes. It starts back almost immediately.

“Tommy?”

“He called me.” Joel’s voice echoes through the line. “It’s bad this time.”

“How bad?”

“He asked for a lawyer.”

You press your palm to your forehead. “Shit!”

“The sitter is on her way to yours. I’m getting Sarah up now. We’ll be there in 10.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

“Of course. See you soon.” Joel hangs up.

You roam through the laundry basket for a clean pair of jeans and an acceptable t-shirt. You run a toothbrush through your mouth to freshen your breath. You do your best to push back all the possibilities running through your brain.

You crack open the door to Nathaniel’s room. Your two-year-old son sleeps tightly, his mop of black curls spread out on the pillow. You want to run your hand through his curls and kiss his cheek, but he’s the world’s lightest sleeper, just like his daddy.

The sitter is there 5 minutes later, all too familiar with this routine for your liking. Joel ushers in a bleary-eyed minutes later. He tucks her into the spare room bed. Sarah doesn’t ask questions. She’s asleep before he can kiss her head.

You move like the well-oiled machine that you are. He grabs your purse, ensuring the checkbook is there while you say a few words to the sitter. Joel hands you the small black bag and a light jacket.

Doors open before you and close without you touching them. You and Joel are riding down the highway. The windows are cracked, the breeze playing through your hair as street lights play off the windows, growing bigger and brighter as your eyes fill with tears. You chew on your thumb as the thoughts finally begin to take over.

You’ve felt Tommy slipping these past few months. You’ve tried to ignore it, excuse it. He’s had a hard time adjusting. This is hardly the first time he’s been in jail. It feels like a weekly occurrence at this point, but he’s never needed a lawyer. He’s never been held longer than overnight.

“Did he say what they got him for?”

“No… he asked me to come alone.”

“Fucking hell.” You run a hand over your face. Tommy’s antics are aging you prematurely.

“He’s going to be okay.”

“Says who?” You snap. “We’ve been doing this dance for months, Joel! I know he’s having a hard time adjusting, but maybe we’ve been giving him too much room.”

Joel sighs, letting silence fall over the truck cabin. His blinker clicks as you turn into the familiar station. You wonder if the night shift is actually going to fulfill their punch card offer this time.

Joel has barely pushed the truck into park before you’re out of the vehicle, flying through the front doors. Joel is hot on your heels, not bothering to lock his beat-up pickup.

Your ID is already on the desk, you don’t even have to say a name. The officer at the front desk doesn’t need your license. He barely looks at it. It’s all a raging formality. They escort you to a room, not a holding cell as you’re used to.

Tommy sits at a table talking to a tired-looking public defender. His head snaps up, eyes jumping from your face to Joel’s behind you. “I told you to come alone.”

“The fuck you did Thomas James Miller!” You say before Joel can defend himself.

Tommy stands to his feet, the chair skidding back. “You’re not supposed to be here for this!”

“I’m your wife! You call me!”

“Or maybe you should be home with your child!”

“Oh, I should be home with our son? And what about you?”

“I’m not having this fight with you right now.” Tommy throws his hands in the air moving his attention to Joel who leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “You were supposed to come alone!”

“What’re you in for?” You ask, not giving Joel a chance to answer. Not that he was going to. He knows not to let Tommy deflect to him when you are around.

Tommy sighs falling into the chair like a rag dog. Stress lines engrave themselves deep into his forehead.

“Tommy…” A pit drops in your stomach. “What did they get you with?”

“A gun-“

“Without a permit.” The Lawyer speaks for the first time. There’s a roll to Tommy’s eyes.

“And?”

Tommy can’t meet your eyes. He shuffles in his seat.

“Tommy,” Joel says, voice low and gruff. It’s automatic, parental even.

“A couple grams of coke.”

“Fucking hell, Tommy.” Joel hits his head against the wall.

“I didn’t- I never took it. I promise.”

You take a shaking breath, trying to calm your worn nerves. “So what are we looking at here?” You ask, eyes trained on the lawyer.

You see Tommy out of your peripheral vision using his pleading puppy dog eyes on you. You square your shoulders determined not to fall for it. They’re the reason you’re in this boat in the first place.

“Babe-“

You hold up a hand cutting him off, eyes trained on the lawyer. “What are we looking at?”

“Probably Jail time. DA’s office has been cracking down on these kinds of cases the past few months.”

“Is he getting out tonight?”

The lawyer shakes his head. “We have to wait until tomorrow for arraignment and bail.”

“Then, I’ll see you two tomorrow.” You give them a firm nod, exiting the room in a flash.

The Texas air wraps around you as you exit the stale police station. Joel’s pick-up is cool under your fingers, anchoring you to something.

This can’t be happening. You’ve felt him slipping through your fingertips for months, but you wonder if this is it if this is the moment you lose Tommy for good.

Firm arms wrap around your waist. It’s a warmth you’ve become way too familiar with over the last couple of years. You turn around, letting your tears soak Joel’s shirt as they have so many times before. You twist his shirt in your fists as he cradles your head against his chest. There’s a slight sway in his movements, soothing your wrenching soul.

“We’re going to get through this.”

“He had cocaine!”

Joel sighs. “I know.”

“I can’t keep doing this. It’s going to kill me.”

“Let’s get you home. Get some sleep.” Joel squeezes you and then guides you into the passenger side seat. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

“What time is-“

“Lawyer said about 11. Wants us to meet them at the courthouse at 10.”

You nod, clearing the tears. “Okay.”

The drive home is quiet. You’re used to Tommy throwing out every excuse in the book, promising he’s going to change. The silence makes you want to scream. How do you go forward? How do you explain to Nathaniel that Daddy won’t be home for a long time? Jail Time. It bounces off the walls of your brain like a gong over and over.

You’ve done this before. Raise your son alone. Tommy was overseas when Nathaniel was born. You did the first 3 months on your own- or sort of alone. Joel and Sarah spent many nights at your and Tommy’s home those first few months helping you through the learning curve of being a new parent. If you’re completely honest, you’re still doing it alone, but now with a shell of a man to look after as well.

Joel hands the sitter cash and she’s gone without a word. Your purse and jacket are forgotten on the chair as you collapse onto the couch, holding your head in your hands. The weight of the night threatens to finally break you.

“Here.” The cool weight of a bottle presses against your jeans.

“Thank you.” You take it, tipping the bottle back in unison with Joel in a quiet ritual.

“I think I’m just gonna crash on the couch tonight.”

You nod, a humorless huff leaving your chest. “Just like the good ole days, I guess.”

Joel looks over your profile, catches the wear in your frame, the silent tears slipping from your eyes. The rattle in your chest changes from sarcastic to sorrow and then a sob slips from your lips.

Joel sets his beer on the coffee table, arm slipping around your shoulders. He pulls your loose body into his side. For the second time that night, your face burrows into his chest.

“Shhh, I’ve got you, Darlin’. We’ll get through this.” His voice is soft and soothing. His fingers brush softly over your head down to the back of your neck. You fall asleep like that, lulled by the steady beat of his heart.

You wake up to the morning sun, your body stiff from sleeping on the couch against Joel. He’s up, the smell of coffee wafting toward you. You hear him talking to Sarah and Nathaniel in the kitchen.

You stand, stretching out your sore muscles in wrinkled clothing following the promise of caffeine. Sarah and Nathaniel sit at the kitchen table with syrupy smiles.

“Mommy!” Nathaniel yells.

You force a sleepy smile, kissing his sticky cheek. “Morning, sweet cheeks.” You dip your finger in the syrup on his plate, licking it off your fingertip making him and Sarah laugh. “Morning, Sarah Bear.”

“Morning, Auntie,” She says. “Your clothes are wrinkled.”

Joel’s hand lands on your back and a cup of coffee lands in your hands, sending warmth through your body. The hum in your body is automatic. “Thank you.”

Joel only nods, returning his attention to the pancakes sizzling on the stovetop. You sip on the hot coffee. Joel prepared it exactly how you like it, just like he always does.

“You hate pancakes.”

“Yeah, but the gremlins love them.”

“That they do.” You grin, sipping on the coffee again. “Ugh, it’s infuriating the way you come into my home and make better coffee than I do.”

Joel chuckles, flipping two fluffy pancakes onto a plate. He tops them with cut-up strawberries and whipped cream handing them to you with the biggest shit-eating grin. “And pancakes.”

For a minute you forget it all, the impending arraignment, your husband in jail for unregistered weapons and drug possession, the two children sitting mere feet away. It’s just you and Joel and a stack of whipped cream-covered pancakes. Joel who held your hand through labor and helped you with midnight feedings. The man who got you through Tommy’s deployment. The one who always calls the sitter and drives you to the police station when Tommy gets himself in trouble. You and your rock.

The shattering of glass echoes through the kitchen. “Uh-oh!”

You spin around, taking in the broken glass on the floor. Orange juice leaks over the table, dripping over the edge. You and Joel spring into action, pancakes forgotten. “Both of you stay in your seats,” You say.

Joel grabs the broom before you, sweeping up the shards, his feet already protected in his boots. You turn off the stove, keeping an eye on both children to ensure you don’t add bloodied feet to your morning agenda.

“Sorry, Daddy,” Sarah says, keeping her feet crisscrossed beneath her. She looked up at you. “Sorry about your glass, Aunt Bonnie.”

You smile at her, handing Joel a towel to soak up the spilled juice. “It’s okay, Sarah bear. I just want you to be okay.”

She nods back, curls bouncing around her face. “I’m okay.”

You sigh, staring at the pancakes on the counter. The whipped cream has melted into a lopsided mound, half of it turned back into cream that soaks through the pancakes. You take a bite, the flavors settling nicely over your tongue even if the texture of the pancakes is slightly off. For a man who claims not to like them, Joel Miller sure knows how to make a mean pancake.

Your mind plays back to the nickname. Not many people call you Bonnie anymore. Just a few years ago, it had been a constant. Stemming from Tommy’s group of army buddies, they declared you Bonnie for always stealing Tommy away from their group cookouts and whatnot, and Tommy was Clyde due to his propensity for getting into trouble. For whatever reason, probably just to annoy you, Tommy had introduced you to Sarah as “His Bonnie.” So that’s what she calls you.

Joel empties the remaining shards into the trash can. Several high-pitched clinks sound off until the shards settle. Your fork stirs the whipped cream and syrup together.

“Pancakes are usually best eaten, not played with.” Joel teases, picking his coffee up to take a sip. His fingers graze your arm as he sets it back down, returning the broom back to its rightful place.

”You don’t even like pancakes.” You furrowed your brow, taking another bite. Whipped cream marks your upper lip. You take another bite. “God, one day you have to tell me your secret.”

Joel chuckles. He leans across the counter, elbows resting against the granite much like yours. He sips on his coffee, eyes watching as you stuff another bite into your mouth. “I’ve got many secrets, Darlin.”

You laugh, mouth full of fruit and cream. “You’re an open fucking book, Miller.”

”I think I could surprise you several times over.” He chuckles. Something sparks behind his eyes like he’s actually keeping something from you. You’ll figure it out. You always do.

“These are delicious, Joel, but if I take another bite, I’m gonna be sick.”

Joel frowns. “You feeling okay? You don’t have a fever do you?” He presses his fingers to your forehead before you can roll your eyes.

“Anxiety.”

Joel nods. “You’ve got a little-“ He motions to his mouth.

You cock your head to the side brain not picking up on the obvious signals. He sighs in mock exasperation. Reaching forward, he wipes the whipped cream from your lip with his thumb, pressing the excess to his mouth. The moment catches you off guard, something stirring in the back of your mind as you zero in on the thumb pressed to his lips.

“You should go get ready.” He says as if nothing happened, taking your plate. “We need to leave in an hour.”

You nod, pushing back from the counter. The weight of the day at hand keeps that moment from playing over and over again on a loop.

”Daddy,” Sarah says. “Isn’t it time for school?”

”You’re going to stay here with Nathaniel and Miss Lacy today. Your aunt and I have some things we have to do.”

”Oh,” Sarah nodded. “Uncle Tommy things?”

You stop, sharing a look with Joel. You’ve tried your best to keep Tommy’s troubles from the kids, but it’s inevitable. Sarah is almost 6 after all. She’s always been incredibly perceptive and observant.

“Daddy?” Nathaniel asks, looking around. Your heart breaks a little bit.

Your mind wanders. When will he get to see Tommy again?

Joel takes the lead when you arrive at the courthouse for which you’re grateful. You’re both dressed in nice clothing. High heels clack beneath you. A tie reaches around Joel’s neck. You hold Tommy’s suit in a garment bag as a guard leads you to an office-like room. Tommy sits at a table with his layer from last night and another man you don’t recognize. They seem to be deep in a serious conversation.

All three men turn as you enter, making you feel like you’re in the wrong place. You can’t tell if Tommy is relieved to see you or not. A pit forms in your stomach, like you’re not going to like the outcome of this meeting.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

The door clicks shut behind you as Joel’s scent creeps around you.

”We’re talking.” Tommy says.

“About?” You press.

Tommy sighs, unable to meet your eyes. “A plea deal.”

You bite your lip, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. This is easier. It’s probably better in the long run, but you’re not ready to face the music. You prepared for court, not a plea deal. Not for Tommy to admit guilt with a stroke of a pen, not a judge in sight.

“What’s in it?”

”Baby…” Tommy pleads like he wants to make amends right now.

“What are you signing us up for, Tommy?”

“Two years and a half years. Probation after that.”

You inhale sharply.

“It’s a good deal,” The man you’ve never seen says. “He’s looking at at least twice that if this goes to court, and he will be convicted if this goes to court.”

You look to Tommy’s lawyer for confirmation. He doesn’t make it obvious but gives you a solid nod.

“You were about to sign it.” You look at your husband. It’s not a question.

“Yeah.”

”I’d have appreciated it if you had talked to me first,” you say.

“You’d have told me to sign it.”

You nod, barely keeping the tears at bay. “Yeah.”

The DA holds a pen out to Tommy. Tommy looks back at you for final permission. You give it, watching that expensive ass pen glides across the paper with Tommy’s chicken scratch of a signature. Your heart breaks with each stroke, crumbling a little more as he dots the I and crosses the T.

Joel places a hand on your shoulder. The heat spreads, anchoring you to the moment, keeping you afloat as you stare down the barrel of being a single mother yet again.

Tommy slides the paper back to the DA. He looks them over, tapping them against the table with a satisfied nod as if a family hadn’t been torn apart.

“You have about 30 minutes before they come to get him.”

”That’s it?” You ask. “We can’t even take him ourselves?”

The DA shrugs like he’s being generous, igniting a deep hatred of him inside you. You don’t even know his name. He holds up the papers before sliding them into his briefcase. “Terms of the plea deal.”

You clutch your fists as he walks out of the room. Tommy’s lawyer slips out with him, and then Joel, leaving just you and Tommy.

He stands and you finally realize it’s all happening again. You’ll be alone, worrying about your husband though this time for different reasons.

“Baby, I-” He steps towards you. You don’t move offering zero indication that you register Tommy’s movements.

He reaches for your hands, but you pull them back. “You weren’t supposed to take the Bonnie and Clyde thing seriously.”

You fight back tears, turning so he can’t see them. “Pretty sure they both died.”

A humorless laugh leaves your body as you collapse onto a couch, holding your head in your hands.

Tommy kneels in front of you, slowly peeling your hands from your face, taking them into his. Despite it all, you feel yourself melting into his familiar touch. It only confirms what you are beginning to fear. It doesn’t matter what Tommy does, you’ll always be here waiting for him. He is the love of your life and you would burn the world down to look into his sweet brown eyes and feel his skin against yours.

You look at him through blurry eyes, sniffing back the congestion gathering in your sinuses. He gives you that crooked smile you love so much, and you feel better despite the weight bearing on your shoulders. The past three years have aged him ten. You suppose time has done the same to you.

Slowly, he presses his lips to your hands. “I know I fucked up. If-” He pauses, swallowing. His thumb plays with the thin gold band on your left hand. “If you’re not waiting for me when I get out I understand.”

You squeeze his hand. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Tommy snorts. “Easily? Just last week you were yelling at me for putting you through hell.”

“Yeah, well…” You run your fingers through his black curls as you sniff back your tears. “You kinda hold my heart in your hands, Tommy Miller. I don’t think I could get it back if I tried.”

He smiles at you. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his. His hands creep up your thighs as he rises to his feet. Your back collides with the plush back of the couch as your fingers tangle in his long hair. Tommy presses his tongue into your mouth, a smile growing across your face. This is the first taste of your Tommy you’ve had in months, the one you fell in love with.

The door opens, and before Tommy can pull away, Joel’s gruff voice echoes through the room. “Prospect of going to jail really puts you two in the mood, huh?”

Heat surges to your cheeks. You’re not sure why. You and Tommy had been caught in much more compromising positions throughout your relationship.

“Gotta get what I can while I’m still a free man.” Tommy grins at his big brother, pressing another exaggerated kiss to your lips. Joel’s eyes move to the corner of the room. Your smile feels a little more forced after that.

Your thirty minutes fly at lightning speed. They take Tommy before you’re ready. Any energy you gain from Tommy’s affection is drained the moment he’s led out of sight. You barely catch the look he gives Joel.

”Take care of them.”

Joel nods, gripping his brother’s shoulder. There’s a silent exchange between them. “Take care of yourself.”

A clerk goes over everything with you and Joel. You’re given a strict list of items you can drop off for Tommy at the prison. You don’t process a word, the weight of it all falling on top of you. You came to the courthouse today expecting an arraignment and bail, not to be kissing your husband goodbye for the next year and change. It feels unfair like something was taken from you.

Joel is the one who keeps it together. He always keeps it together. He asks the questions and makes note of the important things. He secures the horde of important documents held limply in your hands.

When the clerk says your name for a second time, or maybe a third, you’re not sure, it snaps you out of the fog. Joel’s eyes are sympathetic as he holds out a pen. His single nod tells you he has all the information in his head. You can sign. You don’t have to think. You sign as flashes of Tommy doing the same filter through your vision.

The pen drops to the table as you push back headed straight for the nearest exit. You feel like you’re in a dream. Joel catches up, tucking everything you forgot under his arm. He grabs your elbow, steering your aimless body in the right direction. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He knows the answer.

You feel like a toddler, wandering and lost, relying on Joel’s firm grip to get anywhere. He opens doors and boots you into his pickup, patting the door once it’s closed. The car is warm from the sun. You fumble with the seat belt, but Joel’s calloused hands are there, guiding your weary bones.

The ride is silent. You basket in the warm sun, head pressed to the window with your eyes closed. The world feels so far away, but you’re extremely tuned into the heat of the sun, the rumble of the truck on the shitty roads, the blinking indicator light, and Joel’s listless tapping on the steering wheel when the vehicle draws to a stop from time to time, toeing the line between consciousness.

This is just a dream, right? You’ll wake up soon and Tommy will be behind you, drawing random patterns around your stomach hip, or thigh. The past year of your life and the past 12 hours have just been the world’s longest nightmare. That’s all.

The truck lurches to a stop. The engine turns off with a distinct click. Your eyes blink open slowly. Your stretch out, toes curling in your dress shoes. Joel’s tie lays haphazardly on the dash. His cuffs are unbuttoned, pushed to his elbows, and the top couple of buttons of his dress shirt are undone. He still looks out of place in his dress attire, but a little more like himself. He hadn’t dressed this nicely for your and Tommy’s courthouse wedding.

Your eyes drift out the windshield. A neon light reflects off your irises. This isn’t home. You look at Joel. “Why are we here?”

His seat belt comes undone with a click, snapping back. “We’re going to go in there and get drunk off our asses.”

”It’s the middle of the day.”

Joel raises an eyebrow at you.

”Can we just go home?”

”No.”

”Why the fuck not?”

“Because we have a sitter all day, and you deserve a night before the weight of the world falls back on your shoulders.”

”Joel.” You want to go home and crawl in bed.

”This is three times longer than his deployment.” The statement hits you square in the chest. “You need this. Give yourself today. If you don’t do it now, you never will.”

You sigh, staring down the flickering neon in front of you. He’s right. You know he is. You might be exhausted, but it’s tempting. When was the last time you let go? Maybe that one good month you had after Tommy got back? When it was all making up for lost time and shit.

“We’ve got a sitter for the whole day,” Joel says. “My treat.”

You inhale deeply, allowing the memories of drunken nights past to fill your brain. You can feel the thrum of alcohol already. You haven’t cut loose in a long time unless you count the nights spent at home alone drowning away the world after you’d tucked your son in for the night.

Your fingers press the red release button of your seat belt. The metal buckle hits the window. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

Joel smiles, dragging you inside.

Taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love @justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal

#the last of us #joel miller #tommy miller #tlou hbo #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tommy miller x reader #joel miller x reader #pedro boys #ppcu fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro stories #high infidelity (joel miller)

330 notes · View notes

msgexymunson · 8 months

Text

Forbidden Fruit Part 5

Description: the situation has come to a head, and you prepare to run off into the sunset with Eddie. But, will you be able to come back?

A/N: so, this 'one shot' turned into a 5 part freakin' torrid romance! Thank you guys for the support! This is the final part, I hope you enjoy it. Remember, I live for your reblogs and comments, I need them like Tinkerbell needs claps.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Minors DNI this ain't for you! Dom Eddie, Fem reader, age gap, reader 21 Eddie early 40s, fingering, p in v unprotected sex (that's how you make babies) anal (that's NOT how you make babies), eloping, spit play, like one spank, parental confrontations, angst with happy ending.

7.5k words

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Is this even happening right now?

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the figure in front of you. He looks frantic, eyes wide and a little wild, hairs flying free from the low bun on his head. The mark your father gifted him has blossomed on his eye; it's a little swollen, glowing with a flesh flower of purple and yellow.

"How did you even get in-"

"Oh, your Dad forgot he gave me a spare key. I saw your mom leave. I've been waiting for days, your house has been like fuckin' Alcatraz."

You nod, fully aware of how crazy it's gotten.

"Eddie… Vegas?" You say, reaching for his face with a soft touch. Wincing, he holds your hand with his, enveloping it as he brushes his lips against your fingers sending a shiver up your spine.

"Listen. The weekend we had, all I could think was that I wanted it to be real. Every time I heard Mr and Mrs Munson, it fucking hurt." He looks away briefly; it's like this is difficult to admit. You wait patiently, hand still in his.

"I- I love you sweetheart." Gaze back on yours, his eyes are soft and glassy.

"I love you too, so much. But Eddie, you still haven't said. Vegas?" Prompting again, your heart in your throat, airway constricted with feelings. You know what he's saying, but you want him to say it. You need him to say it.

"I wanna marry you sweetheart. I want… no, I need to wake up with you every day, in my arms. If you'll have me?" Large hands find your waist, holding you in front of him as you look into his bourbon whiskey eyes.

"Yes. I'll have you." Grinning like an idiot, you wrap your arms around his neck, the gesture so natural and right it brings tears to your eyes. The kiss you share is soft, but brief.

"As much as I want to just hold you right now, we need to go, in case you're widowed before we even get hitched." He's chuckling, but the edge of nerves is prominent in his voice.

"OK, gimme like five minutes."

Never has a duffel bag been filled so fast. Clothes, underwear, shoes, toothbrush; you're not even sure what you've packed, but the bag is full, so that will have to do. Eddie grabs the bag as if it's weightless and throws it on his shoulder, ushering you out with his hand on the small of your back.

"Wait, I need to leave a note at least, otherwise he might call the police or something."

He might anyway, he's lost it.

You scribble down that you've gone on a trip and you'll be back, so you can all talk about this like adults. That last part is underlined. Signing your name, you both hustle out of your house and into Eddie's waiting truck.

As he drives away, the magnitude of what you're doing truly hits you. Is this what you want? You and Eddie, Mr and Mrs Munson, until death do you part?

You steal a glance at Eddie whilst he's driving. His strong jaw, the spackling of day old stubble, his serious concentration face he wears when he's driving. Any doubts you have melt, disintegrating into those beautiful eyes. He's the one. He's always been the one.

********************

Sunlight is dwindling, fading over the horizon slowly as you pull into a motel car park for the night. The room is… well, it's there. A bed and a bathroom, fitted with outdated decor that would look more at home in the 70's, including the lumpy mattress. It will do for now, merely a pit stop on the road.

Flumping down onto the ancient mattress, a dust cloud fluffing up, you stretch your arms towards Eddie, making grabby hands at him.

He laughs, dumping your bags before dramatically falling on top of you with all his weight.

"Eddie, I'm dying…" you croak out in a feigned weak voice, shutting your eyes and allowing your tongue to loll out of your mouth.

The drama is short lived however, as he runs the tip of his tongue over yours.

"Eddie!" You admonish, "I'm trying to die here, stop making it sexy!"

"Sweetheart, I can't help what turns you on." Smirking, he lands sloppy kisses on your mouth, all wet spit and smacking noises.

"Baby, you animal, can we eat first?"

"I was planning to." The kisses turn sultry, lips and nips trace up to your earlobe, sucking the skin in the way he knows you love.

"Eddie…" a warning tone, but there's an obvious lack of bite.

"OK, food. Gotcha." He's off you then, bouncing to his feet, leaving you breathing hard and heavy on the bed.

Eddie knows. The grin he's wearing is sinful, but for once he doesn't tease you. All he does is grab leaflets for nearby places and gets you to choose. Settling on a nearby pizza place, a gentle kiss is perched on your forehead as he leaves to get your order.

The grime that had gathered on you for the last few days is getting to you, so you take a long shower whilst he's gone. At the very least, the showers are hot. Basking under the steaming water, you rinse the dirt away and grab a less than fluffy towel from the rack, drying off.

You slip on the silk robe you managed to bring and sit cross legged on the bed just in time to see Eddie hustle through the door.

Eddie makes it inside, shutting the door behind him, moving with purpose. Until he sees you, that is. He staggers back dramatically then, as if he's about to faint.

"Sweetheart, you expect me to eat whilst you're in that robe? How can I concentrate on food with you looking hotter than sin?"

You smirk, tying it tighter around your body, perky nipples creating peaks in the fabric.

"Give me my pizza and then you can have what you want."

"Oh… might have to hold you to that" He smirks, passing you the take out boxes.

You both sit and eat, drinking a couple of beers between you. The pizza is soon demolished and you lie back in lumpy pillows, sated and content.

"So…do I get my dessert now? Please?"

Eddie's raking over your form with hungry eyes, mentally stripping you bare of clothes with just one heated glance. A nod and he's on you, sucking a bruise so hard in your neck you fear it might be permanent.

As he starts to run his tongue down your throat, you push him off with a little force that shocks him completely.

"What's wrong? You OK?" He asks as he pulls away, deeply concerned by your actions.

"We're getting married right? I forgot, I need something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue!"

"Really?" He chuckles, looking at your panicked eyes, "right now?"

"Yes! I mean, it's bad luck, isn't it? What if we get there and I don't have them, or what if-"

"Stop. Just breathe sweetheart." His soulful eyes drill into yours, finding the calm and bringing it to the surface. You take a deep breath and squeeze his hands with yours.

"OK. I mean, I've got something old, my birthstone ring, had it for as long as I can remember." As you speak you flash your hand at him, indicating the tiny band with the small sparkling stone set in it.

Eddie plants a kiss over the top of it, setting your insides on fire.

"Right, one down. As for something borrowed, you can always borrow this."

He takes a small unassuming ring off his finger. It doesn't sit well with the rest, tarnished and old looking; what looks like a mood stone is set in the centre. Wordlessly he hands it to you.

Turning it over in your hands, you look up at him with glistening eyes.

"It was my moms."

"It's really pretty."

"So was she."

Seems that's all the information he's willing to give. You try it on a couple of fingers before you settle on your thumb.

"Hmm, tiny hands" He laughs, rubbing your palms with his thumbs.

"So, what about-"

"Listen. I was gonna wait for this, but if you need this now…"

He gets up, striding toward his abandoned leather jacket and fishes around for a moment. Then, he's back, a small black ring box in his hand.

"I was gonna do this in Vegas but-"

Flipping it open, you see a dainty ring inside. A beautifully cut diamond nestled in the centre, surrounded by what appears to be a ring of rubies, set in a thin white gold band.

"Eddie, what the- when?" You ask, a lump forming in your throat, constricting it with emotion.

"The day after my little confession. It was wild I know, I thought I might have a chance to talk to you, talk to your dad, but he lost it and I… I panicked." He shrugs, like buying some expensive engagement ring is normal behaviour.

"Eddie…" words escape you momentarily as you stare dumbfounded at Eddie.

"Do you like it?"

"Do I like it? It's like you pulled it out of my brain, it's gorgeous!"

Eddie grins massively, slipping the ring out of the box and sliding it gently onto your ring finger. Surprisingly, it fits. Turning your hand this way and that, you watch the stones glimmer in the lamp light. Words cannot express the feelings churning through you as you watch the light refract from the diamond.

"Eddie its too much-"

"Nope. Not having it. It's for you, if anything it's not enough. You deserve, like- a herd of ponies and a private island or something."

You laugh loudly, sheer joy overrunning all senses as you stare at the ring.

"So, you wanna tell me what this is really about sweetheart?"

"Huh?" You tear your eyes away from the sparkling rock and look him in the eyes.

"Come here." He says, patting his thigh.

You swing your legs over him, thighs sitting side saddle against his muscular jean clad legs. Immediately he grabs the back of your neck, his other hand stroking at the inside of your knee. Face forced to look at him, you can't escape the serious look in his eye.

He continues, "what is this about? You having doubts about this, 'bout us?"

Shock widens your eyes.

"No! Not at all, it's just… well it's silly."

His look softens as he begins to stroke your inner thigh. "No it isn't, not if you're worried. What is it?"

His hands are all consuming, filling your senses with nothing but his touch.

"It's just… I'm a student. I'm not earning any money. And after that, I've got more training so I can be a teacher. I don't want you to have to… I dunno, provide for me I suppose." Your eyes dip downwards, almost ashamed of your own deepest thoughts.

"Hey. Look at me, my good girl."

Your body won't let you disobey the command in his voice, no matter how soft it is. Your eyes flash up to meet his in an instant.

"I want this. I want you, and everything that means." His hand on your leg traces higher, whispering over the soft skin and dipping unseen, but not unfelt, underneath your robe.

"I know you're still getting your qualifications and that's fine. I've got a big house sweetheart, two cars, hell I own the mechanic shop outright. I've got more money than I know what to do with."

His hand trails even higher, rough fingertips grazing your slit making you gasp. Running his fingers up and down your folds gently, gathering seeping wetness, he continues.

"The only thing I'm missing- is you. I can't stop thinking about you being mine, my partner, my wife. I'll pay for your schooling if I have to, I don't care. I need you in my life."

"Eddie… I don't know what to say. Do- do you mean it?" You ask, eyes glossing over.

"Sweetheart, I've never been more serious in all my life."

His middle finger breaches your entrance then, just enough for you to feel it and start clenching. It's toying with you almost, just up to the first knuckle.

"So, you still want me, sweetheart?"

"O-oh of course- oh fuck!"

He plunges two thick fingers deep inside you suddenly, pulling a needy howl from you at the unexpected pressure. Plunging them in and out of your wet heat he continues to hold your neck in place, keeping you staring at him.

"Keep looking at me. I need to see you come. Can you do that? Can you come for me sweetheart?"

You whine in response, a shake working its way over your skin and outstretching into the air around you, the room practically humming in anticipation.

"I asked a question…" his voice is lilting, as if amused. His fingers keep his persistent drilling into your soaked cunt, the squelching noise echoing through the trashy room.

"Y-yes Eddie" you respond, a whisper, a shadow of a promise.

"That's my girl."

The relentless pounding of his digits into your sodden pussy continue, unrelenting. You wail, convulsing almost, your slick heat contracting around his fingers hard as a ring of your creamy wetness circles them.

Pressure mounts in your abdomen, the force pressing on your belly in waves. Eyes flutter shut briefly until Eddie's grasp on the back of your neck borders pain. They snap back open.

"Eyes on me sweetheart."

His gaze on you is unwavering, staring straight at you and into your soul.

"You gonna come for me my girl? My beautiful, dirty girl? You look so pretty when you come."

His words push you over the edge, striking straight at your cunt. You fall apart on his command, the magnitude of your release shaking your limbs. You're only dimly aware of the impossibly loud squelching sound that keeps going as he works you through your orgasm.

As the stars start finally clearing from your vision you stare back at him gormlessly.

Eddie finally removes his fingers from your core and shows his shining hand to you.

"Soaked me sweetheart. Pretty sure you've ruined my jeans."

Swinging your legs away from his lap you see the full extent of your release. The dark patch on his jeans is surprisingly large, absolutely drenched with your cum.

"Fuck, I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologise. That's hot as hell. Now, take my pants off for me sweetheart."

Quirking an eyebrow at his request, you still oblige, unhooking the belt and shimmying his jeans off of his taut frame. You notice, with a flash of embarrassment, that your release has even soaked through to his boxers, leaving a damp patch on one side. Removing those too and flinging them away, you gawp at his rock hard length. Every time you see it, you think it's not going to fit, even though you have literal evidence to the contrary.

"What now, Mr Munson?" You jokingly ask, mischief lacing your words.

"Hmmm" He hums deeply, eyes impossibly dark, "so polite. I want you to ride me a little. I want to see that sexy body of yours bouncing in my lap. Think you can do that for me sweetheart?"

You're nodding enthusiastically before you realise, slipping your silk robe off to join his bundle of clothes.

Straddling him, you tease him just a little, your soaking lips dragging across his hardened length. Almost expecting him to admonish you for your bating movements, you stare into his eyes. Oh, he just looks amused, lips pulled into a playful half smirk. A look you have seen before, many times, which makes you realise that you were really in for it.

Petulantly you tug at the hem off his shirt and give him a childish pout. "Off."

"As you wish." The grin remains as he pulls his shirt over his head and throws it into the void.

Stunned by his body for a second, you run your fingertips over muscles, tattoos and chest hairs, feeling him tighten under your ministrations.

Enough teasing, you need him now.

Holding his throbbing member with one hand, you line him up and slowly sink down until you're sitting flush on his lap. A mutual groan flies out of both of your lips; the feeling of him filling you completely, unsure where one ends and the other begins, is simply otherworldly. If you could bottle it you could make a fucking fortune.

Eddie's hands grasp you firmly by the hips, dragging you forcibly up and down his staggering length. You do your best to keep up, using your thighs and your hands on his chest as leverage, but he is relentless today. Before you realise it, your head is lolling to one side, bones in your neck a distant memory. You can't think, only feel.

Eddie knows.

"Aw, sweetheart, fucked dumb already huh?" He asks, mocking words dripping from his tongue like bitter sweet honey.

"I- I can't" are the only words you can manage, his unbroken pounding into you filling your entire being.

"Shouldn't tease me so much then," he half laughs, and sits up, climbing to his knees to flip you backwards onto the bed. His arm hooks underneath your knee to bring it close to your chest as his powerful thrusts continue.

"Holy shit, Eddie!" You squeal, cunt clamping around him hard.

"My sweetheart gonna come again? That's it baby," his words are soft, juxtaposed against his ruthless drives into your sodden heat.

You clench even harder if that were possible, fingers winding into his hair and pulling hard. Eddie grunts in satisfaction at the gesture as he bites his lip. His pleasured face pushes you over the edge, falling into the deepest depths of your orgasm, moaning your release to the heavens.

"What a fucking good girl" He groans, releasing your leg so he can grab both of your hands, holding them above your head as he pumps out his release deep inside. You feel the throb of it which gives you that extra wave of pleasure.

Lips crash into each other, arms pulling tight, the need to be closer palpable.

You're kissing, and kissing, until an unexpected ringing brings you both out of your post sex daze.

Is it the phone in the room? Who knows you're here? Panic sets itself deep behind your eyes. Maybe your parents had tracked you down?

Eddie must sense your unease as he shushes you gently, planting a soft kiss to your forehead which helps release some of your tension.

He gets up, pads naked over to the phone and picks it up as you tug the bedsheet around you.

"Hello?"

You hear the scratchy sound of a shitty phone line, no real words, just noise. Eddie starts smirking bizarrely, twisting the cord with one finger.

"Of course. We'll keep it down. Sorry."

Replacing the receiver with a click his grin spreads further as he looks at you.

"Reception said they had two noise complaints, and asked us to be a little quieter."

"Oh my God." Your cheeks flush with heat as you pull the blanket higher up to hide, only your eyes and the top of your head visible.

"Don't be embarrassed." He says, laughing.

"Easy for you to say, you're proud of yourself!"

He pulls the cover down to get at your mouth, kissing you softly, and breathes the words on your cheek.

"Yeah, maybe a little."

Giggling, you slap his arm and he pulls you in for a squeeze of a hug, strong arms pinning yours to the side.

"Hey, I've got a young, hot fiancée, I'm allowed to be a little cocky."

********************

The first thing you noticed about Vegas was the noise. It was early afternoon but the place was a bustling hive of activity; loud chatting groups of excited tourists mingled with the cries of people pushing pamphlets and coupons into their hands. The dings and crashes and tinny music blaring from casinos, along with the honks of car horns and engines, and the weird and wonderful racket of street performers all blended into an overwhelming cacophony which filled your brain like some sort of drug. You could understand how people could get lost in the pull of it; hours, days passing in a place that never sleeps.

The hotel you were staying in was at least better than the motel, but it was still a little… odd. Only dumping bags and running you had little time to take in your surroundings, but what you did see made you laugh. There was an actual stuffed tiger in the lobby, along with several pieces of erotic art. The weirdness didn't stop there; the massive mirror over the circular bed in your room piqued your interest, as well as the sparkly wallpaper and fake zebra skins on the floor. Not that any of it mattered. You and Eddie were getting married, and that was at the forefront of your mind the whole time.

Mr and Mrs Munson. Mr and Mrs Munson.

Stupid things were making you panic. You needed to practise your new signature. You would have to change your passport. Why your brain was focusing on the craziest things, you had no idea. Chalking it up to pre wedding jitters, you walk arm in arm with your future husband, eyes seeking out the next goal: a wedding dress.

A glitzy store with full glass frontage and brass fixtures caught your eye, and you stopped to look at the dresses in the window. It wasn't a bridal boutique by any means, but the gowns in the window were more tasteful than any you had walked past in the hour or so you'd been searching.

"This, this is the place." You halt in front of the shop, squeezing Eddie's hand.

"OK, let's go."

"No." You say forcefully, placing your palm on his chest. He looks at you confused, and a little hurt, but doesn't say a word.

"You can't see it, it's bad luck!" You explain as his features give way to a smile.

"Fine, you win. I'll find a Chapel. Anything I should know before I do?" He asks, cocking his head with the question.

"Yes. Please, no fat Elvis impersonators. I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face."

"You sure? Don't wanna be married by The King?"

Your scrunched up face makes Eddie laugh, throwing his head back. "OK, I get that. I'll find somewhere… tasteful. Well, I'll try to." He smirks, placing a card in your hands.

"What's this?"

"My credit card. Go nuts sweetheart."

A lump firms in your throat at the level of trust. Despite that, it just doesn't feel right.

"Eddie, I can't accept this."

"You don't have a choice. Just take it, I'll feel better knowing you ain't counting pennies. Honestly, it's cool. This way you can get what you want."

Shoulders slumping in defeat, you give in, accepting the card and slipping it into your pocket.

"Now, wait for me here. I don't wanna lose you."

He plants a kiss on your forehead and walks off.

Inside the shop, you know Eddie giving you his credit card was the right choice. It even smells expensive. The woman waiting for customers greets you with an enormous smile, and you explain what you are looking for. After a little search and a try on, you leave the shop with your dress, new shoes, and even a small veil from another place the store sent out for. You were ready.

Eddie finds you twenty minutes later, with a love sick grin on his face.

"I found somewhere, I think you'll like it. So, you find what you need?"

"Yeah, I'm good" You smile back, handing him his card.

"You can keep hold of it sweetheart."

"Nooooo" you say with feeling, forcing it into his hand, "that's just fucking dangerous."

He laughs and takes your hand in his, ushering you into a waiting taxi.

The cab pulls up to an unassuming building, pastel pink stucco covering the outside, along with a tiny steeple and fake bell. Taking a deep breath, you walk in, Eddie's hand firmly in the small of your back to guide you. At this point, you'd let him guide you anywhere.

They know you are coming, the smiling ladies at the desk, and one of them leaps up in a cloud of perfume and blonde hair, leading you away immediately.

"Heard all about you, so lovely to meet you! We've got somewhere for you to change, just come with me!"

She introduces herself as Brenda, and leads you to a tiny back room with a full length mirror and a clothes rail and insists on helping you with your dress. She's talking a mile a minute, helping you to calm your nerves.

"Oh he is handsome isn't he! And you are just lovely, I can see why he likes you. And the way he looks at you! Oh it's just so lovely. Let me help you with the zip honey. Oh, aren't you just a vision! Do a twirl, that's it, just perfect! You ready?"

Am I ready?

You stare at your reflection; the last time you'll look at yourself single. Butterflies dance in your belly, but searching your feelings you know it's excitement and not nerves. You want this; you can feel deep in your soul that this is the right decision. Staring down at your engagement ring, your birthstone ring, and his mother's ring on your thumb on the other hand, you smile.

"I'm ready."

With a final spritz of perfume at your retreating back, Brenda waves you off and you walk into the room where you will marry the love of your life.

The wedding march plays on a creaky organ as you walk down the short aisle.

As your gaze lands on Eddie, your heart beats in your throat. He's wearing that tailored suit of his, but a white shirt now hugs his torso. No tie, as you could have predicted, but a sprig of cornflowers is tucked into his suit jacket pocket.

Something blue.

It makes you smile, and cements the fact that this is right. He couldn't have known you'd pick a blue dress for the same reason, but here you were, matching.

Your beautiful satin gown mirrored the powder blue in the flower, flared slightly at the waist to sit gently on your knee. The tasteful neckline scooped, sitting at your chest with an elegant fold. You had blue paper flowers interwoven in your hair, with a net veil tucked backwards away from your face.

Your eyes never left him for a second. Vision locked, you stared at him pouring every ounce of your love into your gaze with each step you took towards him. Eddie's eyes seemed glassy. Was he about to cry? The thought made tears of your own well up.

Reaching the end, you stop and face him.

"Something blue huh?" You whisper, nodding at his flower accompaniment.

"Something blue" He smiles, gesturing at your dress. "You look incredible."

Keening at the praise, you look down for the first time and notice his heavy black biker boots.

He shuffles uncomfortably in place.

"I, er, forgot my shoes."

"It's perfect. Very you." Smiling, you grasp his hand, and nod at the officiary in front of you.

The officiary goes through the vows, up until it's time for the rings.

The rings! How could I forget the rings?!

Eddie's small smile is enough to calm you, as he reaches into his inside pocket and hands you a simple white gold band. He's holding a matching one.

You flash a warm smile at him, one he reciprocates with a disarming wink. This is the man you fell for; always ready, fixing a situation, making everything OK with just a glance.

The service ends quickly. They must have a quota to meet or something as before you know it, you are ushered outside and another couple are making their forever I Do's.

"So, what now, Mr Munson?" You ask, threading your arms around his waist.

"Hmmm, whatever Mrs Munson wants" He replies, nudging his nose with yours.

The giggle that bubbles out of your mouth comes unbidden and doesn't seem to want to stop.

"I think we should drink to our happily ever after, don't you?"

"OK" he sighs, "one drink. Then, hotel. I wanna consummate this thing right now."

The giggle turns into belly laughs as you respond, "I bet you do. But first a toast!"

********************

Well. It turns out, Vegas gives a lot of things to newlyweds. A free steak dinner, some free spins, and free drinks. A lot of free drinks. The afternoon had bled into late evening, and your cheeks hurt from the permanent smile etched on your face.

You both stumble towards the rented room and open it with a key card on the third attempt. Making your way into the room, Eddie stops you in your tracks.

"No, I gotta do this right" He mutters, as he lifts you up and cradles you in his arms to cross the threshold.

"Eddie!" You shriek, wiggling in his arms as he lifts you into the room, banging the door shut with his foot.

Eddie places you less than gracefully on the bed, the mattress wobbling under your weight. He hovers over you, looking distressed for a moment.

"Fuck" He says, almost defeated, his knee forcing your legs apart.

"What?"

"I used all my moves on you. Dunno what to do" He huffs into your neck, the hot air making you shiver.

"You silly bastard" you laugh, grabbing at his arms in a futile attempt to pull him in.

"No, 'sgot to be special!" He whines childishly.

"Eddie…" you attempt to get his attention, but he continues to look distraught, lips dragging soft and sloppy kisses over your neck. Inhibitions have truly left the building; the alcohol, eloping, and the feel of his hands all over you had you feeling rebellious.

"Well, you can always- stick it in my ass."

The statement pulls him out of his overcome revelry and lifts his head to gape at you, soft brown eyes trying to judge if you're being serious or not.

"Huh??"

"Well, you want to. You said it before. It'll… mark the occasion." You smirk at him, lifting your dress over your head and discarding it on one of the garish rugs in the room.

Pretty underwear displayed, Eddie's eyes rake over your frame. All barely there light blue lace hugs your curves. His gaze covets your physique, roaming up and down your body with reckless abandon.

"Well, you want to?" You ask, turning around beneath him so that your ass is pointing at him, almost wiggling in anticipation.

"Ooh you dirty fuckin' girl" He breathes out, quickly freeing himself of his suit jacket and shirt.

The rough pull of his hands forcing your hips up elicits a squeak from you, and before you know it he's running his tongue across your clothed pussy, dragging it up and up, and over your hole. Whimpering at the new sensation, you find yourself pushing back unconsciously onto his tongue.

"Fuck, my dirty girl. My dirty wife."

Suddenly he hooks his tongue into the flimsy stripe of your panties, and you feel it against your bare ring. The sensation is new; different but very welcome. Moaning wantonly, your fingers grip onto the bed sheets.

Eddie wrestles your underwear off you then, roughly working them down your thighs and off. Your bra goes too, flung into the abyss. Manhandling you back into position, your ass unceremoniously up in the air, he massages your cheeks with coarse hands.

"Legs wider for me, sweetheart."

You shuffle your knees, starting to feel self conscious in your position, but it's not good enough.

"I said wider."

A sharp smack to your ass takes you entirely by surprise, buzzing over your skin. A moan comes out of you at the sensation.

"I think she likes that!" You can hear the smile in his voice. You move your knees further out to accommodate him. The lack of sound coming from him is making you feel uncomfortable, until you feel a soft kiss, just a simple brush of his lips against the cheek he just struck.

"So fuckin' beautiful."

He's licking into you then, tongue breaching your hole as he slips a finger deep into your cunt.

"Oh fuck, Eddie!"

It feels so messy, so naughty; the wet noises of Eddie's wiggling tongue, and of his thick finger pulling squelching sounds from deep within are loud and salacious. He hums satisfaction into you, the vibration driving you wild. The need is throbbing from you, your clit twitching at nothing.

It's almost getting too much to take, his incessant movements making you feral with desires.

"Eddie, please!"

You expect teasing from him, a sarcastic comment, a pouting voice, but nothing comes. You just feel the emptiness of his tongue and finger exiting you, leaving you clenching at nothing. Then, the sound of his belt, clear as a bell. There's rustling, and a very quiet 'fuck'.

"What's wrong Eddie?" You ask, trying to look over your shoulder.

"Forgot my boots" He laughs, as he frantically tries to rid himself of his pants, boxers and boots in one go. You giggle at his eagerness.

All laughter stops however when you feel him release a globule of spit directly on your hole. It has you clenching around nothing, thighs clenching at the seediness of it all.

Then, his arms are on either side of your shoulders as he crowds over you, bare skin sliding on your back, his cock pushed between your legs. Hot breath fans the shell of your ear; his wavy hair tickling your neck.

"You sure you wanna do this, pretty girl?"

"Yes, please Eddie."

He kisses your cheek, then your shoulder, soft, loving kisses that make your insides melt.

"You tell me if it's too much sweetheart."

Kneeling up, he lines himself up with your hole, spitting down again at where you are so close to being joined, and pushes against you.

The tip slides in and you gasp. It's not painful as such, just uncomfortable. Eddie's large hand strokes down your back, soothing you.

"Just relax sweetheart."

Heeding his words, you breathe through your nose and out through your mouth.

"Look at you, doing such a good job. I'm gonna go further, OK?"

"Y-yeah" you manage, the praise fluttering in your tummy. As he softly caresses your back with his hand, he pushes his length into you slowly, until he's fully seated inside.

"Fuuuck… so tight sweetheart, holy shit."

His breathing is laboured, both hands now grasping onto your hips for dear life.

You feel… full. Not unpleasantly so. As you relax around his length, your pussy begins to flutter in the absence of attention. A mixture of your slick and his spit is wetting your thighs, a cooler contrast to the heat throbbing inside you.

"Eddie, you can move."

"No I fucking can't" He half laughs, though it sounds slightly strained as he's stroking your skin.

"Eddie!"

"OK, OK," he mumbles, pulling out slightly and pushing back in. The feeling is odd, foreign, but with each thrust it pushes the sensations into those of pleasure. You're moaning now, losing yourself in it as pressure mounts in your abdomen.

"Fuck" Eddie's hips stutter slightly, "forgot about the ceiling mirror."

He stops for a moment, clearly losing himself in staring at the two of you conjoined in your sinful position. From here, you couldn't see even if you tried, and the heat pooling from you, the pulsating need, is taking over. So, you push back on his cock, moving your own hips back and forth, chasing your release.

"Holy shit, look at you, think I married a fuckin' porn star, fuck"

His grip tightens again as he thrusts into you harder, grunting with the effort.

Your climax is hurtling towards you violently, the force of it shaking you from the inside out.

"Eddie, Oh I'm gonna- I'm cumming!"

You explode, liquid fire running in your veins, pulsing out with each roll of Eddie's hips. It doesn't burn, how could it? You're barely there, floating to the heavens on a cloud of ecstasy.

"Sweetheart, gripping me too tight, w-where-"

"Inside, please baby, cum inside me I wanna feel it!"

Eddie releases in you with one final powerful thrust. The throb of his orgasm extends your own, wildfire licking at each nerve ending in immeasurable waves.

Finally, you slump into the mattress, sweating and spent. Eddie flops on top of you, peeling away the hair that had stuck to your neck.

"You alright there princess?"

"Yeah" you breathe out, "didn't think it was gonna be that good. I think I left my body for a second there."

He chuckles, slipping out of you and rolling onto the bed. You lie next to him, snuggled contentedly into his chest. You glance up and see your two bodies entwined, legs wrapped up in each others, fitting together like perfect puzzle pieces.

"The mirrors a bit creepy."

"That's a shame, I kinda want one now."

You giggle, lightly smacking his chest.

"Pervert."

"Hmm, now, who was the one who was begging for a dick in the ass?"

"Eddie!" You shriek, embarrassed.

"Just saying. We're both perverts. Wanna take a shower, Mrs Munson?"

"Only if you join me, Mr Munson."

You feel the smile on his lips as he presses them against your forehead.

"See? Pervert."

********************

Your stomach is tied tight into a clump of a knot, stressed strands intermingling and tugging on your organs. You try to breathe, feeling the tension in your head subside slightly, but it's still there. Glancing over at Eddie in the driver's seat he gives you a small smile and a reassuring pat on your knee, rough thumb brushing encouragement. It helps.

You're parked outside Eddie's house, having driven back after a couple of days of marital bliss, but now the real world is knocking. Eddie had to go back to the shop to check on things, and you need to talk to your parents.

"You can do it, I know you can" Eddie whispers softly.

"Yes, I can. Come on."

Setting your jaw in determination, you reach out for the handle to let yourself out of the truck.

Both of you stand on the sidewalk, his hand firmly grasped in yours.

"Are you sure you want me to come with you?" Eddie looks worried, discomfort evident. No surprise considering what happened the last time he saw your dad.

"Yes, definitely. They need to know we're serious. Let's go."

He lets you lead the way across the street and outside your parents house. Both cars are in the driveway, a good indication that your mom and dad are both home. Taking one final deep breath, you knock on the door.

The door opens a crack, and your mom's face appears. Then it's flung open wide crashing in the frame and she's crushing you in a bone crunching embrace.

"Oh thank God you're safe I was so worried! Honey I'm so sorry, come in, come in!"

She's dragging you inside and Eddie sheepishly follows just behind you. Her hands are cradling your face, as if she's looking for signs of pain.

"Mom, I'm OK. I'm great. I'm happy" You reassure her with a tight smile, pulling her hands down to her sides. It's as if she just notices Eddie is there, eyes flitting between you two as you grasp his hand firmly again. For your strength, as well as his.

"Honey, you know all I want is for you to be happy. If he's the man you want, I'll stand by-"

Her encouraging words are cut off by the gruff tones of your father from the kitchen.

"Is that her?" He booms, and you jump slightly, trying to will the confidence that you just held back into your spine.

He appears then, cheeks an angry red, the stern look set into his face slightly marred by the tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

"Now Mick, we discussed-"

Your mom begins but he moves her aside to try and step towards you. His eyes quickly move to Eddie but you stand in front of him like a shield.

"You can get out of my house right now!"

"Dad, can we just-"

He points a finger at you, eyes dragging away from Eddie and towards you again.

"Now you listen here young lady-"

"No!"

It comes out loud, louder than you expected it to. Shock emanates from him in waves as he stares at you open mouthed.

Softer, you continue.

"No. You listen. You've said enough and you've not let me speak, through any of this."

Your father attempts to regain composure. The accusing finger is laid to rest, and he nods at you. Taking it as the best sign you can, you finally have your say.

"I'm not a kid anymore. I'm a woman. I can make my own decisions, and I've decided. I love Eddie. I love him with all my heart. He's the one for me, now and always."

Eddie doesn't say anything; he's letting you have your moment, so he just places his hand on your shoulder and squeezes. You reach up with your own hand, your left hand, and squeeze right back. Mom's eyes widen when she notices the rings.

"I want you to accept this, to accept us. This happened, whether you like it or not. Eddie's a good man, you know he is. I love you all. Please don't make me choose between you, because-" biting back tears, you try and stay strong, "because I'll always choose my husband."

The silence is loaded and deafening. All you can hear is your own heart hammering in your ears.

Your dad's voice breaks the quiet. It's low, bordering on a whisper.

"So… this is serious then?"

You can't help it, a laugh barks out of your chest before you can contain it, the release of emotion allowing a tear to run down your cheek.

"You could say that."

"Honey, I- come here." Your father opens his arms to you and you fall into them, tears tumbling freely down your face. He's crying then too, bubbling sobs that he buries into your hair.

"I'm so sorry honey, so sorry" He blubbering, wet apologies spilling from his mouth like a dam has burst. "You're my little girl, I just w-wanted to p-protect you."

You shush him, rubbing his back.

"I know dad, I know."

He finally releases you from his grip, wiping tears furiously from his face.

Eddie steps around you, holding his hand out to your father. He takes it in his, and then grasps it with the other as well, holding it firmly as he looks him in the eyes.

"You love my daughter?"

"More than anything." Eddie says emphatically. Your dad nods, but doesn't let go.

"You promise to take care of her, make her happy?"

It feels like you're saying your vows all over again, only this time it's to become part of the family.

"I promise Mick. I'd do anything for her."

Your father pulls him forward suddenly, taking Eddie by surprise. He whispers something in his ear, and envelops him into a crushing embrace.

You look over to your mom. Tears are cascading down her cheeks and she grabs onto you for dear life.

"You're married?! I didn't get a chance to buy a hat!" Your laughs and tears intermingle at that, smiling broadly.

After a few more hugs and tears, you excuse yourself, going upstairs to collect yourself and freshen up. Two minutes later, Eddie's barging in, clearly forgetting how to knock again. Not that you care anymore. You're in each other's arms immediately, his large hand stroking the back of your head.

"Well, that went better than last time."

You laugh, nodding agreement. Pulling away to look at him, you can't help but ask.

"What did my dad whisper to you?"

He chuckles back and fills you in.

"Something along the lines of, 'if you break her heart I'll break both your legs.' "

"Wow, extreme."

"Fuckin' fair if you ask me sweetheart."

His lips are on yours, soft plush pillowed against you.

"I gotta go to the shop, sort some stuff out. Oh, and get a key cut."

You tilt your head at him. "A key?"

"For you, for your new home. Our home."

Your tears brim with tears anew.

"You want me to move in, what, straightaway?"

"Hmm lemme think" He says, index finger dramatically tapping his chin. "Hell yes?"

You don't answer. You don't have to. You just fling yourself into his arms and kiss him over, and over, and over.

********************

Tag List (Thank you for all of your support it means so much to me)

@hereforshmut @g4ys0n @winchester-angel @eddiemunson95 @corrodedcoffincumslut @shazzie33 @severusswife @daluamaia1 @callsignraver @lightvixxen @newlips @eddiethefreakkmunson @ali-r3n @bebe07011 @roanniom @eddiesprincess86 @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @daisyridleyyyy @lolalanaie @dandelionnfluff @latedawnsearlysunsets92 @luv-flor7777 @topaz1983 @pixxie2004 @harmfulb1tch @findmeincorneliastreet @eddies-puppet @fertilitygodkiszka @freshsagegarden @josephquinnsfreckles

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lexisecretaccx · 18 days

Text

A+ Student pt.3

Other parts on my Masterlist!

(Fem reader, kinda drama at the start, slight angst, smut☺️, suggestive, not revealing who the smut is with xoxo, not proofread!)

Summary: Y/n is a great student in her college, always getting good grades. Her college professor Matt, thinks she can get even higher ones with some “extra credit.” That is until she meets her new gym teacher..

The next day..

I couldn’t sleep well, I was stressing out about Matt and Chris and everything going on. I walk into the English lecture 5 minutes late, I didn’t mean to I was just lacking on time. Matt is at the front of the class, not teaching even thought the lecture started already.

“Now we can start.” Matt spoke as I walked up to my seat. I noticed Kelly sat at the front of the class watching Matt the same way I used to when I first met him.. with utter devotion.

I can’t help but feel a sense of jealousy fill me even though he doesn’t seem to be paying attention to her. That is until she raises her hand to answer a question that I also raised my hand to answer. “Kelly?” He spoke.. he let her answer it instead of me. I mean that’s okay I shouldn’t answer all the questions.

“Is it option 2?” She asks him, smiling cheesily. He breathes through his teeth, “that’s the wrong question but,” he leans on her desk. “We can work on getting you up to pace.” He smiles before patting her shoulder and walking past her slightly. He patted her shoulder. He does that to me, that’s our thing! Why am I feeling like this?

“Y/n?” He asks me, bringing my attention from her to him. “Hm?” I hum sadly. “Do you know the answer?” I sigh before shrugging. “You had your hand raised.” He spoke again, “yeah but I wasn’t gonna answer the question, it’s fine now.” I look back down to my notes. “Okay..” he says hesitantly before telling us all the correct answer.

“Is this right?” Kelly giggles, he leans down to her notes before nodding, “yeah good girl.” He smiles and looks straight at me. I don’t know why I feel so jealous but he calls me that. Why is he treating her how he treated me? It isn’t fair I thought he liked me. Why-

My thoughts are cut off by the door opening and Thomas walking in, “you’re late.” Matt instantly spoke, “sorry..” he mumbled. He came and sat next to me, smiling briefly before looking at me fully. “Are you ok?” He whispered, I sighed sadly, “yep.” I lied.

“Sorry you have to help me in the lessons.” He looked down, “it’s okay don’t apologise, it’s a distraction at least.” I smiled at him and he smiled softly. We continue the lessons and I help him out and we chat and he’s a sweet kid. I keep glancing at Matt, who I find watching me and Thomas. I was scribbling on a random piece of paper, doing doodles and stuff and Thomas noticed.

He drew a little reindeer on the corner of my page, causing me to chuckle gently. “That’s a good deer.” I smile. “Thank you.” He smiles back. “Stop talking.” Matt made me jump as he stood right next to me. “Sorry.” Thomas muttered.

Matt hands me a note, it read. Stay after class, we need to talk about yesterday - professor Sturniolo I shook my head. “What?” He whispered, “I don’t want to do that.” He scoffs, “it wasn’t a question.” He walks to Kelly and starts talking to her.

“Hey I gotta leave right now but here’s one of my notes that’ll help you okay?” I say quietly to Thomas, who smiles at me and nods. “No worries.” I pack my stuff away and get up. I walk past Matt and Kelly who were laughing and giggling and I go to walk out, “where are you going?” Matt spoke. “Bathroom.” I lied before walking out fully and making my way down to the hallway.

I look at the sign on the wall GYM I walk in, luckily nobody is in there. I see Chris near the storage cupboard door, “Chris.” I say and he turns around quickly. “Oh hey! Shouldn’t you be in Matts class right now?” He tilts his head. “Yeah but he was flirting with some new girl, purposely to upset me.” I sigh.

He scoffs, “he’s a dick y/n, you should know that.” He laughs. I laugh softly, “what’re you doing?” I look at the basketballs and dodgeballs on the floor. “Putting these away in here,” he motions to the cupboard, “wanna help?” He smirks. I nod before placing my bag on the bench next to his laptop. I pick up a basketball and take it into the cupboard that was larger than I thought.

“Where do I put them?” Chris kicks all of them into the cupboard with me and walks in, closing the door behind him. “There.” He points at a bag full of dodgeballs and one full of basketballs.

He turns the lock and I look to him, “uh.. am I being kidnapped or what’s the plan here?” I chuckle. He joins in before walking up to me, “one more to put away.” He leans into me, handing me a dodgeball. I nod quickly. I put it in the bag and turn around back to him. “Can I leave now or..” I smile, he walks up infront of me, I lean my back against the wall.

“You know how I like to take risks?” He whispers in my ear, I nod. “Can this be one of them?” He breaths out against the skin on my neck, “yeah..” I feel myself get hot at this sudden experience. He plants kisses against my neck, “you know the good thing is..” he spoke against my skin. “There’s no cameras in here or in the gym..” his hand travels down to my skirt.

“You wear this for Matt?” He grins against my skin. I shake my head, part lying. “Maybe skip gym class today, this’ll be all the exercise you need hm..” he kisses a sweet spot under my ear causing me to fold. “Okay..” I whisper in a trance.

“Do you want all of me or do you just want me to make you feel good, I don’t mind either.” His hand rests at my skirt “i want all of you.. please.” I nod before he pulls my skirt off, leaving me in my white undies. “Fuck..” he mutters. He removes his own sweatpants, leaving him in his black boxers, a slight visible imprint of his cock.

I swallow harshly as his hand strokes my clothed cunt slightly, making me moan softly. “Fuck.” He whispers, wasting no time to remove my panties and pulling his boxers off revealing his large dick, a vein prominent down the side. My eyes widen at the sight, “you’re big..” i say smirking slightly, “Don’t stroke my ego y/n.” He smirks back at me.

His hands find place on the back of thighs as he connects our lips in a kiss. I feel more of a passion in this kiss with him, my hand tangles in his hair and the other one rests around the back of his neck. One of his hands slip between my thighs as he places pressure on my clit and starts to rub circles on it.

I moan into the kiss and my grip in his hair tightens and we deepen the kiss. He removes his hand causing me to whine slightly from the loss of pressure, he grips my thighs and lifts me up, breaking the kiss to look down. “You ready?” He says lining himself up with my entrance holding me up as my back is leant against the wall.

“Yes.. please.” I lean my head into his shoulder. He lowers me down onto his member and I let out a loud moan, muffled by his shoulder. I hear a groan grumbling in his throat as I sink down fully until nothing more fits. He starts to lift me up and down on him and i bite my lip to hide my moans, my arm wraps around his shoulder as the other one is placed on his bicep. He pulls my back off the wall so I’m only supported by his arms holding me up.

He’s more muscular than Matt, and he’s nicer. But why do I still feel guilty? I don’t have a reason.. I am taken out of my thoughts by Chris’ tip hitting my g spot. I moan loudly and dip my head into his shoulder even further, gripping his bicep so hard I swear I left marks. To stop myself from moaning so loudly I bury my head into his neck and place kisses, sucking slightly.

He moans out deeply, continuing to bounce me on his cock. “Fuck I’m close y/n..” he groans out, his tip repeatedly kissing my g spot as his movements become sloppier. “I’m gonna cum..” I whimper slightly. The knot in my stomach tightens and snaps as I release all over the base of his dick. “Should.. I pull out?” He whines.

I forgot he didn’t put a condom on, it all happened so fast but luckily I’m on the pill for situations like this. “I’m on the pill..” I breathe out, my body feeling weak and limp, he has slowed his movements as to not overstimulate me. “Fuck..” he groans, his head falling on my shoulder as I feel him shoot his cum inside of me.

I wish this moment could’ve lasted forever but sadly it can’t. “Shit that was.. your perfect.. fuck.” Chris groans as he lifts me off of him slowly, as my feet hit the ground my leg goes limp and I stumble. He laughs slightly, placing his underwear and sweatpants back on and helping me with mine.

“We should do this again.” I suggest, smirking at him as I try to adjust my clothes. “Yeah def-” the bell rings. Both of our eyes widen, this is signalling that it is the break period. We need to get out of the closet before anyone comes into the gym.

He unlocks the door and I walk out quickly, rushing to my bag to brush out my slightly messed up hair. “See you next period.” Chris walks out the closet after me smirking, my mouth drops slightly. His face drops too, “what?” He speaks anxiously, I hadn’t realised my ‘light’ kissing and sucking on his neck was much more.. harder.

There’s 3 hickeys on the side of his neck. “When I kissed your neck.. I accidentally gave you hickeys.” I whisper and his eyes widen before relaxing. “Ah it’s fine, no one will know who gave them to me.” He smirks and I nod, “okay.. can I stay here for break? I don’t feel like walking much right now.” I sigh and he chuckles cockily.

“Fuck you.” I roll my eyes and laugh.

“You already did.”

A/n: hehehehehhe fucking love writing smut. Sorry I can only write this every weekend I’m just super busy during the week bc of exams and shit like that! Love yall tho! Hope u enjoyed this part I think it’s pretty long lol😭😂 am I making u all mad at Matt yet?🤭

Taglist: @blahbel668 @mattsleftnipple03 @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @hysteria-things @mattybslover @jakevwebber @braindead4l @mattybearnard @st7rnioioss @junnniiieee07 @bueckerssturns @fratbrochrisgf @sturniol0s @alwayssublimedelusion @certifiednatelover @freshsturns @riasturns @sturniololvrrr @maryx2xx @whicked-hazlatwhore @cammie4298 @sturnsjtop @sturnzblog @chr1sgirl4life @evie-sturns @milasturniolo @jaxyy219 @mattsturniolosbae @h3arts4harry @littlebookworm803

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolos #smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #matt

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titancanvas · 5 months

Text

LATE NIGHTS ARE MEANT FOR REMINISCING (G. SATORU).

𖥔 ݁ ˖ CONTENT WARNINGS : NSFW CONTENT. MDNI. ex! husband gojo, mentions of divorce, gojo is an asshole but what's new, fem! reader, messy relationship dynamics, fingering.

LENGTH : 1.5K words

MAI MUMBLES : happy birthday to my baby daddy ♡ᰔ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა this was inspired by me blasting after hours from the weeknd. but I'd also love to explore more of this drabble hehe. but for now, enjoy <3

Your manicured nails drum against the marbled counter as you stare down at the bouquet of lush red roses in front of you. There must've been at least two dozen of them, tied together with a neat, black silk ribbon.

It had been the first thing to catch your eye, along with the white envelope that you still haven't dared to touch, your name scribbled in glittery gold ink in front.

There's only one person who could've done this and it makes your jaw tick. He didn't even have keys to this apartment anymore, but considering that he still owned the building it didn't come as that much of a surprise to you. Too bad he'd disappeared and left that burden for someone else to take care of.

He seemed to be awfully good at disappearing, lately.

Your initial surprise soon bleeds into irritation as you fish out your phone from your handbag, fingers flying furiously over the screen as you type out a message to him.

Why you still have his number in your contacts you don't know. And if he asked you about it you wouldn't be able to give him an answer, either.

Were you in my house??? (5:24 PM)

There's a flurry of emotions that are bubbling in your chest, ones that you can't pinpoint no matter how hard you tried. He had been the one who called things off, initially. He had been the one who packed up his things and left in the middle of the night, leaving you to wake to a stack of divorce papers on the kitchen counter. He had left with no calls, no texts, no explanations — nothing except a pair of keys to the apartment.

You chased after dead ends and unanswered calls for months until you decided it was enough. You weren't about to fall to your knees and beg a man that couldn't give two shits about you to come back.

I know you like roses, don't lie to me. (5:34 PM)

It's our anniversary, after all.

You roll your eyes at the message that flashes across the screen minutes later, typing back a fury flooded reply.

Oh. I forgot. The day your ass left me with nothing? Thanks. I needed the reminder. (5:40 PM)

You don't even bother looking at his reply, throwing your phone on the counter and going on the hunt for a bottle of vintage red you had stashed away somewhere in the cabinets next to the fridge. Heaven knows you need it tonight.

You don't even get as far as pouring a dollop into the glass before a husky voice reverberates right through your entire body, so close that you can nearly feel every syllable breathed against the nape of your neck, "Pour me some too, won't you? You know I love a good vintage."

You whirl around, hands curled into the tightest fists you could muster because you could recognize that damn sly voice from anywhere, raising one of your hands to shove at his chest. But your fingers stop the moment your eyes snag on what's hanging around his neck.

His wedding ring.

Locked around a silver chain, glimmering in the low lights of your kitchenette, a testament to the promise he made you years ago. He eyes your empty ring finger.

Your breath stutters, comes out in short little pants, sentences you intended to spew at him dissipating into the air. Your hand limply falls back to your side as your gaze slides up, past the peeks of slim, toned muscle you get off his chest underneath the soft cotton white shirt he wears, up to his face.

His eyes are captivating, brilliant blue, and glimmering brightly as he takes in every single inch of you, carnally, hungrily, drinking in every inch of skin and committing it to memory, as if this would be the last time he'd see you.

"Don't look so surprised to see me," he says slyly, reaching behind you to pick up the glass you had so half-heartedly filled, drinking deep and long until red wine stains his lips, his gaze never wavering from yours.

He can see the questions as they pile up in your thoughts, answering your own question before you can even spit it out. "You silly girl, you never took those keys away from underneath your doormat."

The initial shock of seeing him again, after all these damn years of him leaving you with nothingness, seems to ebb away, and soon enough your face twists into a frown.

"How dare you march into my house like you belong here," you spit. "Get out, Gojo."

"Don't be like that."

"Don't be like what?" you snap, your voice sharp, threaded with venom that seems to drip with every word, despite the fact that his chest is still practically pressed against yours, wine glass resting comfortably between slender fingers. "Sorry if I'm like this, you fucking asshole. You left, left me like the past six years meant jack shit to you!"

Your hand shoots out to grab the wine glass, but he's faster, stronger, and more perceptive and his fingers curl around your wrist before you even know what's happening. He gives your arm a gentle tug, pulling your body forward and right into the trap of his embrace as he lowers his face to yours.

"You know that's not true," he breathes, and the warmth of his voice feels like sun rays on your skin, chasing away the cold of loneliness that's held you captive the last few months. His thumb glides over your wrist, back and forth, idly soothing the skin as he watches you break out in goosebumps. If he moved any closer you were certain he'd pick up on the erratic thump of your heart pounding almost painfully against your ribs.

You had tried so hard to put up your walls as high as you could possibly build them, ensuring you'd be bulletproof should something like this ever happen. You were prepared to push him out of your thoughts and move on. But the smell of his cologne, his body pressing against yours, your back digging into the kitchen counter and the way he's holding you - fuck, it's all too much.

He closes his eyes as he leans his forehead against yours, exhaling one slow breath after another. You briefly wonder which one of your two needs to calm down the most. "I'm sorry, baby," he whispers.

Your throat feels thick and you're ready to pull your hand from his grasp, to push him away and chase him out of your apartment. Yet all you do is go limp in his hold, lashes fluttering as you mimic his position.

"No, you're not," you reply and you hate how your voice shakes.

He nudges his head against yours, places the glass on the counter behind you in favor of taking hold of your hips. "Let me make it up to you," he pleads. "Please."

Gojo doesn't beg, but he's ready to fall to his knees if need be.

If there's one thing he's always excelled at is the ability to steal your own thoughts away and selfishly take them all for himself, leaving you with the inability to focus on anything else but him. Damn him for it, but you needed that right now. More than ever. You didn't want to think about what he's done, who he's been with, you don't want one part of it.

You just want him.

A hand at the nape of your neck, his lips on yours - feverishly and hungrily, stealing your oxygen and his body against yours, pressing against you hard. Your hands in his hair, your tongue in his mouth, your moans swallowed by his lips.

You don't know when or how he spun you around but he does with ease, slender fingers and warm palms sliding across dips and curves, hips and thighs, under the soft satin of your sleep dress till he meets the apex of your thighs. Whispered words of praise against the shell of your ear as he threads closer to where you need him the most.

"Did anyone else touch this pretty pussy while I was gone?" he teases, fox-like and strained when the pads of his fingers dip past your folds and he groans, tightly - surprised at the wetness he finds.

You shake your head furiously, resisting the urge to grind back against him because fuck, that's exactly what he wants and you won't be giving him any satisfaction of having the upper hand tonight. He doesn't seem happy with a verbal answer and presses his lips against your neck, waits for you to take a breath, then another before he bites. Hard, hot and wanting, sucking and threading the skin between sharp teeth till he's sure it'll leave a mark, till he hears you squeal and press into his awaiting hand.

"No one touched me!"

He hums, a pleased sound vibrating in the back of his throat. "My good girl," he praises, voice like silk. He spreads your folds with two fingers, waiting oh so patiently till he feels some of your slick dripping into his palm. "Gonna make her remember what it feels like to be fucked properly, poor thing, she's dripping all over me and I haven't even touched you."

You shudder.

"Gonna make you remember who only gets to fuck you, touch you. You understand, baby? No one else gets to touch what's mine."

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fic #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo x reader smut #jjk fic #jjk drabbles #jjk scenarios #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk art #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #⌨️. notepad!

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poeticpascal · 10 months

Text

Trouble (Pedro Pascal x Rockstar!Reader)

Masterlist | Request here!

Summary: Pedro had never heard of (Y/N) (L/N) before his latest appearance on The Graham Norton Show. By the end, his assistant wishes it had stayed that way, and he wonders how it took him so long to find her.

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: mentions of drug abuse (now recovered), allusions to but no specific mention of an overdose.

A/n: I am very nervous to post this! I've never written a fic about an actor like this before, so depending on how this one does lol, you may be able to expect more from me like this. Please let me know what you think, and don't forget my requests are open!

“And he used red this time! We were getting so worried that he wasn’t interested in all 3 primary colours-”

Pedro sighs, glancing towards the door to see if his assistant was coming back yet. No sign.

He turns back to the old lady who’s been talking now for what - 4 hours? 5? It felt like it. She was sweet, and he didn’t want to be rude, but god if he had to spend one more minute hearing about her grandson’s latest finger painting-

“So sorry I took so long! We’ll have to get going Pedro - your next interview is in 10.”

His assistant - Alicia - burst back into the room and Pedro was sure he could feel his eyes well in relief. He takes the lady’s hand, shaking it and giving her a warm smile. “Mrs Alderman, I’d love to hear all about Harvey, but I’ve gotta go. It was lovely to meet you!”

She smiles in understanding and clasps her own hand on top of his. “It was lovely to meet you too, Peter!”

Alicia snorts behind him, and Pedro gives up with a final, defeated smile before heading out of the cafe and back towards his car. He’d only wanted to nip in for a second, to grab coffee and a pastry, but then Alicia got a phone call, and Mrs Alderman started talking to him in the queue, and by the time they left his goddamn coffee had gone cold.

They clamber inside, Alicia pushing a few files onto the backseat as Pedro stares. “I almost died, you know,” he quips, half muffled as he takes a bite of his croissant. He hums at the taste, light and buttery; maybe it had been worth it.

Alicia rolls her eyes, used to his antics by now. “I was on the phone to the BBC. They’ve confirmed who you’ll be on The Graham Norton Show with.”

“They have? Who?”

He generally felt nervous going on the big chat shows, especially with how in demand he'd been recently. But Graham had been so warm, especially for his first time on the show, that when they asked him to come back he'd accepted without hesitation.

And really, he was quite looking forward to it.

Alicia doesn't seem quite as excited though. She flips open her notepad, littered with delicate but hasty scribbles of various projects and dates, and begins to read out the names.

“Robert Downey Jr, he’s promoting Oppenheimer.”

“I'm gonna meet Iron Man?” Now he was nervous.

“Kate McKinnon. She's in the Barbie movie, I think.”

“Amazing.” He'd always wanted to meet her.

“And…” she sighs. “(Y/N) (L/N).”

“Who?” No seriously, who?

Alicia snaps her head up to look at him. Surely he didn’t not know who she was? “(Y/N) (L/N)? The singer?”

Pedro just shakes his head, unbothered. “Nah, never heard of her. She any good?”

“No, Pedro, that’s the point.” He cocks an eyebrow, gesturing for her to continue as she looks back and forth between him and her notes. “She’s a publicist’s worst nightmare. She’s the lead singer of this band, The Heartbreakers, they’re huge. Like, Taylor Swift-huge. But if Taylor Swift did heavy metal.”

“And why don't we like her?” he asks.

“Because she’s trouble. She’s had big drug problems, she argues with everyone, she goes on stage and pulls all these crazy stunts. She’s always in the news, Pedro.”

He can’t help but think she sounds like fun.

“Can’t be that bad, right? If she’s that famous?”

Alicia shakes her head, “she's famous, but that doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous. People love you right now, Pedro. I’m just concerned that if you’re seen to be… friendly with her, people will raise their eyebrows. It won’t look good.

He thinks for a second. It really wasn’t in his nature, this whole PR thing. He liked meeting new people, and listening to them, and connecting. Maybe not Mrs Alderman - and now he's thinking about that nightmare again - but, for the most part, yes; Pedro liked people.

And not giving someone a chance because of his public image didn’t feel right.

Alicia sees the cogs turning in his brain, so she flips the pad closed, giving him her full attention now. “I know it’s strange, but I mean it. It’s not a hole you want to get dragged into. Her fandom is huge, the media's obsessed with her, parents hate that their kids listen to her and kids love to piss off their parents by listening to her. I’m going to speak to them about getting you sat on the opposite end of the couch... I just want to make sure you’re not linked with her. Trust me.”

With that, he nods his head. He does trust her - at the end of the day, he didn’t even know who this (Y/N) person was. So what if he didn’t speak to her much on the show?

—------

“WHAT?!”

He had to pull the phone away as Bella’s near-screech pierced his ears. They yell again, something along the lines of “are you serious? Pedro, are you serious?!”

“Yes I’m serious, what’s the big-”

“Oh my god I can’t believe it! You’re going to meet (Y/N) (L/N)! Will you mention her to me? I saw her tweet once that she watched the show and oh my god I need her to follow me on Instagram-”

“Wait, Bella, wait,” Pedro rubs his thumb and forefinger between his brows, not exactly thrilled that what was supposed to be a call to calm his nerves the night before the show was now filled with so much rowdiness. “I don’t even know who she is! You listen to her?”

They gasp, and he just knew they were pulling a dramatic, jaw-dropped face on the other end of the line. “Come on man, I know you’re not the hippest guy around but you have to know who she is!”

He giggles, throwing his hands in the air. “‘Fraid not, Bella. I’ve no clue. I do know i’m not supposed to talk to her though.”

Now there was a real gasp, not the purposefully dramatic kind. “What? Pedro, you can’t not talk to her. You have to. She’s the coolest person, like, ever.”

Pedro scoffs, “what about me?”

“When you get sleeve tattoos and banned from performing at the VMAs, you might get considered dude.”

“She was banned from the VMAs?”

You know that feeling, when someone tells you not to do something, and you don’t want to do anything else?

Yeah, that.

“I’ll send you the link, it was so cool. She said she’ll be allowed back next year anyway 'cos they need her to stay relevant.” He giggles again at that, and yeah, he couldn’t deny his intrigue.

“So that’s why you like her? She's all rebellious and stuff?” Pedro chews on his thumb as he asks, the anxiety of tomorrow not quite forgotten, but listening intently as Bella rants on.

“Nah, I mean she is controversial, but I just think she’s amazing. She acts all tough and rock 'n' roll, but she's really great deep down. I went to see her band once a couple of years ago, and this girl fainted so she stopped the whole show to make sure she got water and was okay. She’s just misunderstood, man.”

“Is it true she’s a drug addict?” He's not sure why he felt the need to ask. Why he cared. Maybe it was just to build a better picture, or maybe because Bella loves her so much, and he cares about their interests. Maybe, he had a sort of… concern, for her. For this enigma.

They knew each other well, and Bella could sense Pedro’s interest. More than anything, they were just excited to tell him about their favourite singer. “She used to be, it was crazy. She’d go on stage high and everything, people really hated her then. But she’s been sober now for, like, a year? She talks about it a lot. This is what I mean dude - everyone remembers all those shitty things but I think she’s so strong.”

He hums in agreement, thinking back to Alicia’s warning a few days earlier.

“Do you think it’d be bad? If I talked to her?”

It was Bella taking a moment’s pause, now. “I mean… Alicia’s not wrong. She’s not exactly got the cleanest image a celebrity’s ever had. I guess it’s up to you to decide what matters most.”

It was quite profound really, and Pedro was reminded of just how mature they were for their age.

“The most important thing is that you give her my instagram handle.”

And just like that, the moment’s gone. He laughs, shaking his head and muttering “you’re a dick”, before falling into conversation about other things. He fully intended to look up (Y/N) (L/N) before he fell asleep, but the hours went by quick and soon enough he'd drifted off, phone in hand and tomorrow's nerves dispelled for now.

—------

Maybe this whole Graham Norton thing was a bad idea.

Pedro was tired.

It had been a long flight to London, a long drive from the airport to his hotel. And a long, long wait at the studio before they even thought about getting filming started.

He’d been in hair and makeup for a good while, and according to Alicia, it would still be another two hour’s wait until they got him sat on the big red couch.

Yeah, he was tired.

He steps out, the muddied skies of London painting a grey-cast shadow on his face, the frosty winds hitting his skin. It was nice. Different. Much harsher than the LA sun he was used to.

He looks around; it’s just him there in the car park, leant against the windowsill and letting his eyes drift shut. It’s peaceful, and if it weren’t for the rushing of the motorway that ran just beside him, he’d almost feel alone.

“Mind if I join?”

He jolts awake, startled out of his near-tranquility, facing the woman who’d crept outside through the same doors he did. She was casually dressed, far more so than the BBC staff he’d seen today; she must be a temp, or an intern or something. A heavy black hoodie swallows her frame, and he wished he had a similar one as his ice-cold breath fell into the air. His eyes draw upwards, and he thinks to himself just how pretty she is. (Y/H/C) hair is bundled in her hood, loose strands blowing messily in the wind. She has no makeup on, so he can see greyish bags hung under her eyes, her lips stained pink, a soft blush blooming over her cheeks from the frosty air. There’s a roughness to her, something harsh, and it makes her so utterly alluring.

“Yeah- yes, of course. Of course.” He offers a smile, and she smiles back, and his heart races.

He shuffles to the left, unsure of why he’s making room for her on the windowsill; they’re outside, he’s a stranger. There’s a bench not far from the door, perfectly fit for her to sit on. And yet she follows his movements, and leans against the porcelain outline of the large window, searching for something in her pockets.

“D'you smoke?” She produces a pack of cigarettes, and digs out a lighter from her back jean pocket. Pedro watches as she slips one of them between her lips, covering the end with delicate hands as she lights it, revelling in the taste and taking a long drag. He notices then her long black nails, perfectly painted and delicately holding the cigarette in place, elegant and weapon-like at the same time.

There’s a nonchalance to everything she does, and it’s enticing. She doesn’t look at him when she asks, or when she expels the smoke from her lungs, keeping her eyes set forward and undoubtedly feeling the weight of Pedro’s on her face.

He forgets he’s supposed to answer.

“Er, no, thank you. I’m being good.” He offers her a smile, forced as he tries to remember his own whereabouts, too entranced by the beauty and the charisma that fell from this woman in droves.

The two are silent for a little while, he can’t be too sure how long. He smells the smoke from beside him, sees the wisps drawl from her tongue and into the cool air, and for someone who considered himself rather charming, he couldn’t for the life of him think of something to say.

He doesn’t have to.

“What're you doing out here, then?”

And this time she is looking at him. They’re sat close, and his eyes meet hers with ease, warm and welcoming. He feels a little more comfortable now, like she’s a friend; her warmness makes it hard to feel anything other than at peace.

He smiles, bashful. “I’m working.”

“Working?”

He looks down at his shoes, rubbing them against one another. It was always a strange conversation to have, explaining who he was to people who didn’t know. It felt like showing off a little; more than anything, he didn’t want to make a big deal of it.

“Yeah, I, uh… on the show.”

She giggles, and it sounds so sweet that his tummy heats up. “I’m only kidding. I know who you are. The Last Of Us, right?”

There’s a sincerity to her tone, nothing like this thick, false charm people try to use when they know he’s famous. It didn’t feel like she wanted anything from him in that moment. He nods, looking back up at her and his breath hitches when they immediately lock eyes again. Her lips are turned into a sly smile, cheeky almost, and he can’t help but grin back.

“I liked that show,” she says before taking another long drag.

“Thank you. That means a lot to me. Makes this fuckin’ huge press tour worth it.”

She laughs. Not the quiet giggle she gave him before, but a proper laugh, one that makes her eyes brighter and her nose scrunch up. Pedro laughs too, caught up in her, and when their chuckles die down they relax into a comfortable silence for a few moments before he turns to her again and asks, “how about you? Are you on the production team?”

She ponders her answer. It’s the first time - in the 10 minutes since they’d met - that she’d seemed to falter. Like she was unsure. “Yeah, you could say that.”

He didn’t push it. Maybe his fame was a problem. Did she feel overwhelmed? Or judged? He didn’t know - but a twang of sadness settled in his gut, and he wondered what to say next.

She recovers quickly, though. Stands back up a little straighter, puts the butt of her cigarette out against the wall, and faces him once again. “You seem nervous."

Pedro chuckles, nervously. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only when you scuff your shoes within an inch of their life and readjust your glasses every 10 seconds.”

“And here I thought I hid it well.” Cocking an eyebrow, the woman looks at him knowingly and tilts her head, encouraging him to go on.

“I always get nervous before these things... it feels worse this time, though. I just know Robert Downey Jr is gonna think I’m so weird, and then there’s this other lady I gotta avoid-”

“Who?”

She was abrupt, quickly apologising for interrupting him. He didn’t mind. “She’s like this... musician? I think. I’m sure you’ll know who she is. I’m awful at keeping up with whatever the kids are doing now. (Y/N)- (Y/N) something.”

There was a pause, awkwardly long. “My assistant says I gotta stay away from her” her continues, feeling a need to fill the gap. “Just doesn’t feel right to me, you know? To judge someone like that before you’ve even met them?”

He watches as she nods her head, deep in thought. She meets his eyes and nods again, faster, showing to him now that she agrees. She understands. He’s not quite sure how she understands, but he believes her; she didn’t strike him as the dishonest sort.

Pedro’s phone vibrates in his pocket, startling them both and they share another soft laugh. He grabs it, seeing Alicia's text flash on the screen - You’ve got a meeting with the producers to go over filming. 10 minutes. Ah shit.

“Everything okay?” There’s concern in her voice, and Pedro wonders if she knows he has to go. If she’s just as disappointed as he is.

“Yeah, yeah. I just - I gotta go.”

She’s definitely disappointed. He knows because her bright eyes fall the same way his did.

He’d never quite felt like this; like a magnet was drawing him to someone and like it would hurt in his soul to let her go. It occurred to him then, he didn’t even know her name, and he’d be damned if he was going to crawl back into the world of PR and publicity stunts and rehearsed answers without finding it out.

“It was nice to meet you. I don’t know if you- you want to get a coffee? Or something? After filming?”

The same harsh edge she had when they met, the one that had slipped and softened as they talked, seemed to have crept back as a once-sweet smile became that sly, cautious smirk. He couldn’t quite understand what she was thinking, what the cogs that so clearly turned in her mind were churning up, but he knew he didn’t care as long as he got to see her again.

“I’d like that.” Pedro sighs in relief, smiling again and sticking out an ice-bitten hand. “I’m Pedro.”

She giggles, offering her own hand and he stalled at the feeling of her fingers wrapped around his own. “I know.” She retorts, and he laughs, and just when she opens her mouth to tell him her own name-

“Pedro! We gotta go!”

Alicia shoves the door open, not even looking up from her phone which was presumably inundated with countless emails and phone calls, and Pedro sighs before looking desperately into the still nameless women’s eyes. She just smiles, dropping his hand and digging hers into her pockets. “Go on. I'll catch you later.”

He nods, swallowing and offering a small, regretful smile before pushing himself off the wall and following Alicia back inside. She huffs at him, speeding back off down the corridor and muttering something along the lines of “these goddamn producers”. He looks back a final time, to where the woman still sits in the windowsill. She waves, and he grins, unable to hide the childlike excitement her little gesture gave him before waving back and letting the door shut behind him.

—------

“We’ve got a fantastic show for you tonight, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s get some guests on!”

Pedro hears the roar of the audience, only a single wall between them and him as he waits to hear his name. He looks around the room; Robert and Kate are stood with him, chatting away at something he’d stopped listening to a little while ago. He felt better now he’d met them - they were lovely, so down to earth and genuinely happy to chat to him and hear what he had to say. It made him less nervous, and you might even say he was looking forward to this now.

There was no sign of her though. The singer - (Y/N). Alicia had scoffed, “typical,” just 10 minutes earlier, when there had been no sign. And she still wasn’t here.

“We’ve got the newly Emmy-nominated actor, best known for his amazing roles in The Mandalorian and HBO’s The Last Of us,” the audience’s roars got louder, “Mr. Pedro Pascal!”

It’s time.

He pulls his suit jacket a little tighter around himself, laying his palm flat against the bottom of his chest. With the other hand, he waves, smiling brightly at the crowd who cheered him on. Graham greets him, pulling him in for a hug and welcoming him back, before pointing him towards the end of the couch. Pedro gives the audience a final wave, mouthing ‘thank you’s and trying to express his gratitude for the love that filled the room.

Kate and Robert came next, shaking his hand and ‘introducing’ themselves again, despite the fact he’d already met them an hour earlier. A producer runs up to Graham, whispering something in his ear before darting off in the other direction. Graham rolls his eyes playfully, turning towards the audience and announcing, “we’ve got a late one!” The audience laugh, and Graham just organises his cue cards as producers usedthe extra time to prepare the camera angles and get the lighting right.

Graham looks at the couch, smiling with a wink. “Don’t worry - she’ll be here in a minute.”

“Is this (Y/N) again?” Robert asks, grinning.

“You’ve met her?” Pedro jumps in, falling into small talk among the four of them.

“A couple of times now yeah,” Robert replies. “I think she’s great, really funny. She's just… not the most put together person.”

They laugh, and Kate recounts her own story of having to wait on some celebrity or another, entertaining the crowd.

Graham parts from the conversation after around 10 minutes, holding a finger to his ear piece and nodding at whatever he was being told from the other end of the line. He stands up, smiling wide and turning to the audience, “she’s here! We have our rockstar ready.”

Cheers immediately erupt, and Graham turns to the guests to check they’re all ready to carry on with the show. Pedro nods, anticipation building as he spots Alicia from the corner of his eye, keeping watch.

“And don’t worry everyone, we’ll cut that little intermission out!” The room laughs. “Now I’m very glad introduce our last, but certainly not least, guest of the night. She’s the lead singer of Grammy-nominated band The Heartbreakers, she’s one of the most famous women in the world right now, and she’s only a tad terrifying. Ladies and gentleman, please welcome - (Y/N) (L/N)!

The audience becomes the loudest they’ve been all night, standing and yelling as the final guest takes the stage, and -

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It’s her. The woman from outside, the one he’d been thinking about all afternoon. The one whose name he never learned.

She looks different; she looks like the woman he’d been warned about. She looks dangerous. Where a black hoodie had hung from her shoulders, a black lace dress now clung to her figure and he could see the tattoos that littered her sleeveless arms. The bags under her eyes were gone, as was the pink on her cheeks; her skin was painted, perfected, sculpted with darker shades and glowing radiantly. Her lips were black and glossy, so neatly done that she almost looked like a doll. Thick eyeliner carried a smoky shadow across her eyelid and beyond, drowning the same (Y/E/C) eyes he’d memorised in black.

She was ethereal.

And she was his one, single instruction for the night. Don’t get involved in her.

She waves at the audience, smirking in the same sly way she’d done to him earlier; he saw more clearly that they were the same now. She has the same charm, same charisma, same allure and yet she seems all the more potent now as she strides across the stage in 6 inch heels and pulls Graham into a tight hug, like old friends. She whispers something in his ear, and he throws his head back with a laugh before she saunters to the couch, where the three guests stand up to greet her. She and Kate introduce one another with a kiss on the cheek and a warm smile, before she gives Robert another tight hug and they share a word that Pedro can hear now. “I have to stay here an extra 10 minutes ‘cos of you” Robert quips, causing (Y/N) to pull back and look at him with a cocked brow.

“You know I’m worth it, Downey.”

With that, she turns to face Pedro, and his breath hitches the same way it did when they’d first met. Her grin falters slightly, and there it is again; that honesty. She almost seemed like she was putting on a show, with her slow saunter and cheeky remarks, but there was nothing false about the way she wrapped her arms around him and looked into his eyes.

“My name’s (Y/N).”

He just laughs. He can’t help it. She makes him feel giddy. “I know.”

The audience’s applause dies down, and (Y/N) takes her spot as the star guest, and the first on the couch closest the Graham. He talks between them and the crowd, commenting on what a great line up they had today, despite certain delays, which has the audience howling again. (Y/N) laughs with them, shaking her head and pretending to cover her face with her hand, before looking up at Graham and saying, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay? I got held up!”

“Well you have to tell us what happened,” Graham retorts, and they banter as (Y/N) recounts getting stuck in the backstage toilets. She has everyone wrapped around her finger, listening to everything she says and laughing at her jokes, and Pedro can’t find himself believing the warnings Alicia had given him.

He remembers Bella, and how much praise they had for her, and he gets it. He sees what they see.

“Well you’re here now, that’s all that matters. We actually haven’t seen you for a while!”

(Y/N) nods, her demeanour becoming slightly more serious. “No, it’s been a strange few months.”

Graham continues, “the last time you were on the show was 2021. And obviously as most of us here know, you've had quite a difficult time since then, right? Tell me how you’ve been.”

She takes a sharp breath, and Pedro could’ve sworn she glanced up at him before she answers. “Well, yeah. I’m sure it’s no surprise to anyone that I was struggling with addiction for… most of my career, really.”

“‘No surprise’?” - Graham interjects - “you used to get high on stage!” It seemed judgemental, but it quickly became clear that he and (Y/N) had that sort of friendship, the kind where you can talk to one another so blatantly. She purses her lips at him, and he giggles, which makes her break the feigned offence and giggle too.

“Look, man, that’s rock and roll.” The room laughs again. “No but seriously, yeah, it just got worse and worse until… well, you know what happened. it was hard. But I’ve gotten clean, I haven’t touched that shit in what, 8 months?” The crowd launch into cheers and applause, echoed by Graham and the other guests. Pedro could see how much it meant to her, how she tried to keep a stoic appearance despite the tears beginning to glisten in her eyes. She mouths a thank you, and he longs to skip right past Robert and Kate to be by her side, to hold her. She recovers quickly, something Pedro notes she seems to do a lot; cover her moments of weakness as soon as they start. Instead she sits up straighter and jokes, “I think everyone’s worried I’m gonna be boring now, without the drugs.”

Graham laughs, “I mean, you are known for being one of the more controversial artists out there.”

“If anything, I think being high slowed me down. I’m just gonna get worse, now.”

“Oh god, don’t say that,” Graham jokes, “you’re going on tour again soon, I’m not sure we can handle it.”

The audience cheer even louder at the mention of the tour, making (Y/N)’s smile grow wider. “Yep, new album, new tour. It’s all happening.”

Graham turns to Pedro suddenly, as if remembering he had three other guests to rope into the conversation. “Do you listen to this sort of music, Pedro? The Heartbreakers?”

And, shit. Pedro can feel Alicia’s eyes burning into him from off-stage, and he recalls her warnings about this very situation.

Don’t make friends with her

Don’t give the media something to talk about

Don’t ruin your reputation

And yet, her voice got quieter and quieter in his head, as the sound of (Y/N)’s laugh and the pierce of her eyes became all he could think about. The decision was pretty easy to make, really.

“I actually hadn’t heard of them, until today.” Graham chuckles at his reply. “But I think I’ll have to start listening.”

The crowd cheer, and the pair lock eyes for what could’ve only been a few seconds, but felt like so much longer. She tries to fight the way the corners of her mouth pull upwards, white teeth poking through painted black lips, but when she sees him smiling back at her she lets them go and drowns in the butterflies she’s so unused to feeling.

God, he was in so much trouble.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x yn #pedro pascal x you #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x yn #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #poeticbarnes writes #my stuff #my writing #pedro pascal oneshot #pedro pascal fluff

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sluttyminghao · 1 year

Text

for every question... j.ww

✧ pairing: tutor!wonwoo x fem!reader ✧ genre: smut // 18+ ✧ w/c: 1k ✧ warnings: orgasm denial, fingering, mentions of a blowjob, mentions of another denied orgasm, slight bondage themes ✧ synopsis: having wonwoo as your maths tutor was exciting, especially when he rewarded or punished you based on how you answered your questions ✧ a/n: this is just a very short thought I had bc he won't get out of my mind, if you would like a part 2 please let me know i'd be happy to write something!

"what's the answer to question 4?" wonwoo's soft voice fills the room and you wrack your brain for an answer. you tap your pencil on your lip absentmindedly, not even noticing wonwoo's gaze falling to where the pencil lies, his mind drifting off.

your math teacher had noticed your failing grades and decided to pair you up with wonwoo, the smartest in the class. you had been against the idea at first, seeing as the man in question was extremely reserved and didn't really speak to anyone.

however, when he was alone with you his true personality flourished and you were able to see how cocky and teasing he could really be underneath the layers of reservation. you were beginning to enjoy maths now that he was involved.

he had a very specific tactic that he used with you when he came to tutor on a Wednesday evening. for every question you got right, you received an orgasm. for every question you got wrong, he denied it. so far the tactic had worked well, and you had rarely been denied an orgasm.

but tonight, you were both distracted and it might've just been because wonwoo had come straight from the gym, his tank top exposing his glorious arms that could crush your skull if he pressed hard enough.

"darling, i need an answer," wonwoo chuckles, bringing you out of your train of thought. you feel your cheeks warm as you look down at the question in front of you again, the numbers and letters scrambling into one giant pile of confusion.

"i- i don't know," you mumble, your cheeks growing warmer and you just know that wonwoo is staring at you coldly. he knows you know the answer, but he's not sure if you're just not all there tonight or you have some different motive.

"sure you do, angel, you just need to divide these two numbers, add the second number to this one and-" you cut him off by pressing a finger to his lips, your brain moving a mile a minute and your heart beating as fast as a rabbits.

"wonwoo, i truly don't know the answer, i will just take the denial later on," you smile, and you see a spark in his eyes that you haven't seen for a while. he smirks and places a hand on your upper thigh, squeezing the flesh, but not moving any further.

"alright, let's just move on then, something a little harder for you." he enunciates his sentences by sliding his hand up your thigh a little further, now underneath your skirt and fiddling with the hem of your underwear.

your breath hitches, and you try your best to concentrate on the question at hand. calculus always had you stumped, and this time it was no exception. you stared at the question for a good 5 minutes, before even attempting to try and answer it.

wonwoo keeps a small smile on his face while he watches your body react to his touches. he knows you're trying hard to focus on the task at hand, but he also is aware that you're probably already soaking your panties and he wants to be buried inside you as soon as possible.

he's daring, that's for sure. just when you think you've got an idea on how to answer the question and begin scribbling onto the paper, he slides his slim fingers across the front of your panties and press against the distinct wet patch that has you gasping and spreading your legs.

"stay focused, and don't cum."

his words bounce around in your mind which soon turns to mush as he pushes your panties to the side, the pad of his thumb quickly finding your clit and rubbing slow, teasing circles. your body jolts at the coolness of his fingers, and he has to drape one of his legs over yours to keep your legs open.

he works on your clit for a while, before alternating between running down your slit and back up again, teasing your hole and chuckling when you pulse around nothing. he can see your facade slowly breaking and shifting into one he's grown familiar with, but he wants to see how long it can take you to crack.

"so, do you have an answer yet? remember if you get this one wrong that will be 2 denied orgasms," his voice has dropped an octave and he's taken his teasing further by now pressing a finger inside you, your entrance sucking him in and pulsing rapidly.

"i think s-so, is it 207?" your voice is shaky, you hope you haven't given him the wrong answer, although your mind isn't so worried about it currently when you can feel the pit of your stomach beginning to tighten with an impending orgasm.

he checks over your working out and answers, now sliding a second finger inside you and scissoring you open while you spread your legs and let a moan slip. he glances at you over his glasses and smirks darkly when he comes to the conclusion that you've gotten the answer wrong. again.

"sorry sweetheart, that's two in a row that you've gotten wrong. you know what to do now."

his fingers slip out of you, a strangled whine escaping you as you're once again left clenching around nothing. he watches as you stand and begin removing your clothing piece by piece, until you're standing in front of him stark naked.

he grins and unzips his jeans and removes his hardened cock from them, stroking himself at the sight of you all worked up and dripping onto your thighs. he beckons you over with his eyes, and you drop to your knees in front of him, awaiting his next move.

"so you've had one denied orgasm already, you have one to go. but first, you are gonna suck me off and then maybe I'll consider fucking you until you can't walk. you still won't be able to cum though, so watch your actions."

you nod and extend a hand out to grasp at his cock, but he playfully slaps it away. you tilt your head in confusion, watching as his removes his tie and leans over you, tying your hands behind your back so that they're restricted by the black silk.

"you can only use your mouth, no hands."

boy, was he having your work cut out for you.

#svthub #sluttyhao fics #kpop smut #kpop scenario #kpop imagine #kpop drabble #seventeen smut #seventeen scenario #seventeen imagine #seventeen drabble #wonwoo smut #wonwoo scenario #wonwoo drabble #wonwoo imagine

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wannaeatramyeon · 2 months

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Seong Taehoon x Reader: Letters

Final chapter spoiler! G/N. Taehoon in the military and you ask for-

"Letters?"

"Yep!" you grin, popping the 'p' as Taehoon looks on incredulously.

"Why the fuck would I send letters when I can just text you?"

"Because," you tip onto your toes and reach up to kiss him, "It'll be romantic."

Profanities are mumbled under his breath.

Taehoon feels like an idiot. He feels so cringe he's going to crawl out of his skin.

He texted you today, video called you last night. Yet your request for letters runs round and round his head.

Rattling like an incessant, annoying bug. Reminding him of your request accompanied by hopeful eyes and a sweet kiss.

Fuck.

The paper looks so very blank. Large and looming and intimidating. Like an exam sheet 5 minutes before the end and nothing has been scribbled down.

How is he even supposed to start this?

'Dear Y/N,'

-is immediately scratched out, scrunched up then tossed towards the garbage can.

You receive a letter a few days later.

Your name and address written in scratchy chicken script. The fact that it was delivered successfully is a miracle in and of itself.

With uncharacteristic patience and utmost care, you peel open the envelope.

A few paragraphs fill half the page. You read over his words, feel the hesitation between the lines, and soak up the love that you know has been poured into this act. Just the fact that he has done this says more than enough.

Taehoon is snippy, snippier than usual on video call tonight. His short dark hair and uniform seemingly amplifying his hard edges.

You know his leg is bouncing out of shot.

"Haven't you received it yet?" He cuts you off mid-sentence.

"Received what?"

"What do you think?"

“Your letter?”

Taehoon confirms it with a scowl.

You give him a grin, brushing past his question and leaving his mood sour.

There's mail waiting for him. Correspondence.

In a plain white envelope, with simple stamps.

But the writing-

His name, with your particular slant of characters and loops as unique to him as your laugh.

The way he opens the envelope is the opposite to you. Teared open, fingers urgent.

(When was the last time, anyway, that he received a handwritten letter?)

His eyes scan the words. What could be cringe, he finds endearing. What could be sappy, warms him.

Feels your absence more than ever after reading, counts down the days until he can see you again.

He regrets his letter. That he has none of your poetic ramblings, or interesting turn of phrases. That he isn't able to express his emotions, taking pen to paper like a duck to water, as well as you do.

He’ll have to do better with his next one.

Yet-

Taehoon is left love drunk, mood light and floating on air when sleep takes him that night.

#taehoon seong #seong taehun #taehoon seong x reader #seong taehun x reader #how to fight #seong taehoon x reader #seong taehoon #taehun x reader #taehoon x reader #how to fight x reader #how to fight headcanons #how to fight manhwa #viral hit headcanons #viral hit manhwa #viral hit x reader #viral hit taehoon #viral hit #wannaeatramyeon

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1427 · 2 months

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would you? (pt 1)

Negan x Reader

Summary: Your mom died when you were 15, your Aunt Lucille was given custody even though she was battling cancer. When the world gets upended and Lucille dies, Negan is all you have, but he isn’t cut out to be a parent. When he becomes the leader of the Saviors and takes residence in the Sanctuary he’s almost a stranger. No one wants anything to do with you because you’re Negan’s “daughter”. So when you confront Negan about needing company, he obliges. You don’t realize that the feelings you’re developing are inappropriate, but Negan does.

Setting: height of the Saviors-era Sanctuary.

Warnings: step-dad!negan (kind of), still it’s all morally questionable (morally objectionable probably), Negan being manipulative and neglectful (listen it’s Negan at his most King Dick okay??? Just know what you signed up for if you’re going to read it), mentions of dead relatives, masturbation (m and f), sexual themes (obvi), virgin!reader

Word count: 4k

17+ mdni

// part 2 //

masterlist

You were off limits. It’s not as if they weren’t allowed to talk to you, but no one wanted to even find out where that line was. Being Negan’s “daughter” had more downsides than perks as far as you were concerned. A glorified prisoner that just happened to have all your needs met. Well, except one. Human connection, physical contact.

You’re so sick of being in your room. The Sanctuary was suffocating enough, but one room? The only time you ever left was to go down to get food, and even then it’s not like anyone spoke to you. You just grabbed whatever you needed, from whatever table. From the Saviors down to the prisoners, everyone avoided even making eye contact.

You didn’t live in the same area of the Sanctuary as Negan and his wives. You used to. You’re sure that one of his wives had probably taken up the space that you’d left, the room next to his. You’d left after he took his second wife. You’d been debating it since he’d taken the first one, the noises coming from his room alone were enough to send you packing. But isn’t that what adults do? So you’d tried to just ignore it. Like you imagined you’d have had to do if none of this happened and you were still with your mom.

Two wives, though? You’d never felt close to Negan. Not like he was your father. But… shouldn’t he be? Shouldn’t he have acted like it? He’d protected you like you were his own when you were still out there - but once he founded “the Saviors” and became their oh-so-ruthless ‘leader’ he almost acted like you didn’t exist. Or worse, that you were some thing he had to look after. Some sniveling little child that he seemingly wanted nothing to do with.

That was a few years ago. Now you’re 18, and totally fucking bored to death. Trapped in a Fuckin’ smelting facility like it’s a goddamn high tower, and you’re the lady of Shallot. Interacting with the world around you, but not really. Oh, and he has 5 wives now. Gross.

You’ve finally fucking had it. Negan has a strict policy about you leaving the Sanctuary even to just go outside. He can come collect you himself if he really cares that much. Stupid fuckin’ rules.

You bring one of your notebooks and a pen. With no plans of leaving, or doing something stupid, you just want some fresh air. You just want something different. And maybe, a little bit, you wanted to piss him off.

You’re sitting on the ledge right outside the Sanctuary, legs dangling off the concrete. Your notebook at your lap and your pen in your hand, scribbling little doodles and shapes. Writing out small flashes of feelings as you feel them. Just wanting to document the outside as if you’d never see it again.

You were in bliss a grand total of twenty minutes before you heard his tongue clicking behind you. Maybe you’d have been better off just running while you had the chance. “I know you know better than to be out here, kid.”

You roll your eyes and look up from your notebook, taking in the scenery while you still could, “Eighteen. Not a kid.”

“Shit, 18 already?”

It hurts. That he doesn’t remember your birthday, or how old you are. That no one in the whole world cares that you spent three birthdays by yourself, with no one to even remember or know that they’d happened. You try to be grateful, you have really really tried. But everyone’s got a breaking point. “At least, I think so. If no one wishes you happy birthday, does it still count?” Okay, so you could have come at him a little harder, but he was still Negan and you were fairly sure that he didn’t feel any responsibility for you anymore. Especially if you’re an adult now. You try to gauge things on if this were the real world, if things were still how they used to be. And 18 meant Negan held no legal responsibility to be your guardian anymore.

“Goddamn that is sad!” But he makes no attempt to comfort. Doesn’t even wish you a belated happy birthday.

“Yup.” You don’t move from your seat even as you hear him suck on his teeth, clearly expecting you to get up and get back inside.

“Alright, come on, kid. Can’t have you out here.”

“Not a kid.” You bite back again.

He stifles a laugh, “Yeah. Right.” He’s smiling that same shit eating smile that seems to be plastered permanently on his face nowadays. You can’t figure out what’s so fucking funny all the time. Especially now.

You don’t know how to ask him, what words to say I need a friend. I need a boyfriend. No one talks to me because you’re terrifying. You think about it the whole walk back to your room while he shadows behind. You get to your door and as he starts to walk away you manage to stammer out, “I-I need a friend!”

He turns around, a confused (but still amused) look on his face, “So get a friend?”

“No, you don’t get it. No one will even look at me because you scare the shit out of everyone.”

He looks at you like he’s trying to hold something back, rubbing a gloved hand over his clenched jaw, “Ever think maybe you’re just not very like-able?”

You look back and forth on the ground in front of you. Honestly? you’d never even wondered that, it takes you back that he’d even suggested it. Negan smiles, Gotcha. Obviously that wasn’t why, and obviously it was because of Negan and the way he’d decided to lead through fear. Fear was all he had. But you were 18, emotionally neglected, and desperate for approval. Your own self worth was paper-thin. He knew that. And instead of letting you, or himself, feed into the idea that he’d failed you, he’d put all the blame elsewhere. Like he always did. Like he was good at.

“Tell ya what, kid. I’ll spend time with you.” Your hero.

You could see through it, but what could you really do about it? You chew on your lip trying to figure out how to respond to such a ridiculous and ludicrous display of manipulation. “Fine.” After all, it was better than being stuck in your room. Maybe you’d meet someone, maybe one of the Saviors was cute. Maybe something could happen organically and Negan would lighten up on you a little bit, “Not a kid, though.”

Negan laughs, “Yeah, alright. Lunch tomorrow, come to the common room. You remember where that is, right?” It felt like a taunt.

“Okay.” You nodded without looking up at him, and finally turned the knob you’d been holding behind you. Letting your body fall back into your room, and shutting the door behind you.

This was a bad idea. You could feel it down to your bones.

✨🦇

You’re silently grateful that he sent his wives away to do other things. And though he’d told you to meet in the common room, you were sat in his bedroom eating lunch. You’d never seen so much food put out for just two people, but you weren’t surprised. Any and every opportunity Negan had to show off, he did.

You felt awkward, uncomfortable, and worse - afraid. Negan could tell, and while a part of him reveled in it, another part of him could tell that he was fucking you up. That he already had. No 18 year old girl should be this afraid of having lunch with the only family she knew. The only person she knew. Fuck yeah, he’d fucked you up. “So, kid - I mean, shit. Sorry, gonna have to get used to not calling you that.”

“I think you’ll manage.” You grumble, pushing the food around on your plate. You should have just stayed in your room. One thing that you’d picked up over the year or so with Negan out there? His attitude.

He laughs in response, “Yeah,” he nods, chewing his food with an open mouth, “Guess I’ll have to, you’re going to have lunch here from now on.”

Your eyes shoot up from your plate to look at him, “Why?”

“Because - you’re getting all fucked up and stupid.”

That makes you snort a laugh in response. “Yeah.. wonder who’s fault that is,” you say sarcastically back at him, taking a bite of food.

“Probably your dead as shit mom.” Negan knows he went too far as soon as he says it, but he doesn’t make any attempt to take it back, to apologize. Instead he just looks at you, a half smile cocked on his face, twirling his fork in a giant helping of spaghetti. Like he’s almost impressed with himself for taking it there.

“Wow.” You mouth, completely taken aback. You’d cried over your mom so many times, and this? From Negan? You were too shocked to react emotionally. Not here, not now. Maybe he was right and you were more fucked up than you realized.

“So, uh, what do you do all day?” Negan had been genuinely curious. Well, for the last day or so. He had more or less forgotten you even existed until then.

You push food around on your plate again, “Write, sew, read, draw. Started painting a few months ago but I fucking suck at it.” You sigh, “anything to keep my hands busy.”

Negan chokes on the water he’s drinking and you give him a look of mild disgust. “Not that.” His eyes twinkle a little in disbelief. Yeah right you didn’t do that. You were 18, of course you did. But without anything, or anyone, to think about it got boring quickly. Sometimes a good book came your way and you’d have some material, for a little while. A chapter, or a page, or more usually just a few paragraphs that would keep you somehow sated. Somewhat.

Still, you weren’t about to have that conversation with him. And Negan was more than grateful, his mind reeling at the idea that no one had ever had ‘the talk’ with you. And now, in this end of times, you didn’t even have television to teach you. No, Negan could absolutely not discuss the birds and the bees with you. He was not built for that.

The rest of lunch is uneventful. He talks, you listen. He feels better about himself, and you feel nothing.

✨🦇

Lunches with Negan get better. Less awkward, more like an actual friendship… or something. You find yourself laughing at his shitty jokes, at least they’re jokes. At least it’s something. You stop needing to convince yourself that you only enjoy it because it’s better than nothing, you actually seem to like his company. You look forward to lunch, getting out of your room, laughing with him. Negan enjoys it too, but it’s still off. You’re still.. how he would describe ‘fucked up’ or ‘not normal’. You flirt with him. Relentlessly. He tries to ignore it, tells himself that maybe it’s just your personality, but he knows. You don’t. You’re completely oblivious. After all, you really have nothing to go off of. Nothing to base anything around.

He gets you romance novels, asks the Saviors to grab them when they’re out on runs. He thinks this is the closest you can get to having television, to having someone or something teach you about that kind of stuff. Maybe that they would teach you the difference between platonic and romantic feelings.

Really, though, he’s just making you horny. Even more than you had been, and he’s still the only person you talk to. He figures he could and probably should use his position to get you some kind of boyfriend, but it feels all wrong. Like some sort of arranged marriage, and it disgusts him.

You touch yourself more often than you ever have. The romance novels finally feed this need. You think about the characters in the books, the lewd imagery described. It’s all so new and exciting. You never think about Negan, or something gross like that.

It’s been a few months since the last one he brought you, but today at lunch he pushes over a whole stack. You jump up from your seat, too excited to contain yourself, and you jump on him in a hug. Burying your face into the crook of his neck. You can feel your heartbeat all the way down to your fingers as you pull back and, with a blush, sit back down in your seat, “Thank you.”

Negan’s body is stiff while you hug him, and while you sit back down, an uncomfortable smirk on his lips. “You are very welcome.” Even through his discomfort he can’t help the pride bubbling over within him. Every other aspect of himself is weak to his desire for worship.

When you leave that day, with your stack of books, you hug him again and kiss his cheek before running off to your room.

Shit, Negan thinks to himself. Shit fuck shit. You’re only getting worse, more obvious. Now you’re hugging him and kissing him on the cheek? Maybe you’re just grateful for the books. But he knows.. this is wrong. He’s making it worse, maybe you’re past the point of being able to fix. For now, he ignores it. Maybe… hopefully… it’s just the books.

If he had asked you, you would have reassured him. Obviously it’s just the books. You don’t wonder if it’s weird that you touch yourself after lunch, before even opening one of the new books. You don’t think about Negan, just the feeling of stubbled skin under your lips. The warmth of a person in your arms, your chest pressed up against someone. It was the first human contact you’d had since you got to the Sanctuary, and it set you on fire.

✨🦇

Negan knows he fucked up. You hug him now after every lunch. Only giving him a kiss on the cheek when he brings you a new book or some other small gift. He doesn’t acknowledge within himself that since you started doing that, he’s started getting you more gifts.

Eventually, though, he can’t keep ignoring it. One particularly bad week, where it seems everyone hates him, none of his wives will have sex with him. Not even a fucking handjob. He’s forced into the degrading task of jerking himself off, something he hasn’t done in years. And, while the shame doesn’t come until after he’s finished, he thinks about you.

You, with all your nervous glances of prying eyes. The way your developed chest feels against his when you hug him. He fantasizes your lips asking him questions like, “Is this what I’m supposed to do?”

“Do boys really like that?”

“You want me to use my mouth?”

His forehead pressed firmly against the closed door of his bathroom, he opens his eyes to look down at himself. His swollen member in his hand, throbbing over the thought of you.

“I don’t think that’s going to fit inside me.” He groans keeps going, imagining his cock is the first thing ever pushed inside your tight hole.

Streaks of his cum paint the door, and he peels his forehead back before slamming it against the wood again. Fuck, this shit is not fucking okay.

✨🦇

Negan doesn’t know that he absolutely would not be the first thing inside your precious virgin pussy. No, you’d started to get creative. Finding your fingers almost useless when it came to hitting that spot you’d discovered deep inside. They were never hard enough, fast enough, thick enough. The handle of your hairbrush was your favorite. It was the easiest to keep clean, the easiest to maneuver. But it still wasn’t exactly what you wanted. Nothing ever seemed to be quite enough. Every orgasm left you wanting.

Wanting what? Because you never found yourself wanting a boyfriend anymore when it used to be all you thought about. You think of feeling Negan’s facial hair against your cheek, and your body is rocked by its second orgasm for the night. Tossing the hairbrush to the end of the bed, you roll over and fall asleep.

✨🦇

You startle awake to the sound of a knock on your door. It’s loud, demanding, Negan.

Getting off the bed you turn on the light with a sleepy grumble. You pull some pants on, and he knocks again. “I’m awake!” You yell, “hold on!” But this only spurs him to knock more aggressively.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is going on?” You mutter as you finally unlock and open the door. Obviously it was Negan, but what you weren’t expecting was how absolutely disheveled he looked. “Woah, what happened to you?”

“Remind me to teach you manners.” He says as he pushes past you and into your room.

“Come right in.” You say sarcastically, turning around and shutting the door behind you. He’s sat on your bed, looking around at all the things in your room, his eyes settling on your rows of romance novels. He gets up from the bed and walks over to the bookshelf, pressing a finger into one of the book spines before pulling it out and skimming through it.

“Are you… drunk?” You ask him, the smell of alcohol emanating from him only becoming more obvious the longer he stands there, slightly swaying on his feet.

“Why?” He asks defensively, his eyes not moving from the page of the book he’s trying to read.

“Because you smell like booze?”

He ignores your question and your reason for asking, slamming the book shut as he gets to a particularly dirty part and he can’t bear to read anymore. “We need to talk.” And he looks at you.

You’re nervous, standing there anxiously you start to play with your hair and look away, “Oh, okay… wha- what about?”

“This!” He exclaims with an extended arm, motioning at you, “You. What are you doing?”

You look at him confused, brow knit together trying to purse some sort of answer, “I’m not… I was sleeping.” You shake your head, not understanding at all what he was getting at.

“You’re twirling your goddamn hair.” Oh. He was right, you had been. But what does that mean to him? You look at him even more confused.

Closing your eyes, one hand comes up to massage the bridge of your nose, “Okay, I’ll never twirl my hair again?” You shrug your shoulders as if to ask him if that would be all. Too sleep-kissed to comprehend what the hell he was going on about.

“No, Jesus-fucking-Christ, girl, the flirting. You gotta stop. I’ve let it go on too long, and it’s not.. shit, it’s not appropriate, all right?”

You rub your eyes harder as you hear his words, what a fucking idiot, you think. You can’t help the smile that starts to form on your face as you answer him, “Negan, I’m not… I don’t….” You can’t even bring yourself to say it.

He puts the book down and shakes his head, even now you were clearly into him. All nervous, smiling. Giddy.

“You are. And you need to stop. I can’t… I can’t keep having meals with you if you’re going to be hugging me, kissing me on the cheek. It’s wrong.”

You actually manage a laugh at his ridiculous behavior. Coming in like this, filled with liquor and angst and thinking he’s figured something out about you. “I’m not into you, Negan. Hugging and kisses on the cheek aren’t always romantic.” You say it like you’re letting him in on something he’d never considered.

He nods, “Yeah, that’s true.” Negan turns to face the wall away from you, shaking his head as he looks up to the ceiling. “It’s not just that. It’s the way you look at me, the way you laugh. Shit, girl, it’s the way you’re lookin’ at me now.”

“Don’t you think I’d know?” You cut in, without responding to his most recent accusation.

“I don’t know, kid, would you? You probably have a bunch of hormones running wild in your body and you have no idea what to do with them. I’m not blaming you. I mean…” he stops himself before he starts talking about how attractive he is, and how no one could blame you for feeling this way.

“I know what to do with my hormones, Negan.” You say blankly, is he really trying to have this conversation? You’re not. Jesus Christ, he can’t really think that you don’t know how to relieve that ‘tension’ on your own. What did he think you were doing with the romance novels?

He smiles at your little admission, nodding and rubbing his jaw, “Yeah, I’m sure you do. Let me ask you something..” he takes a step toward you and you feel your heartbeat skyrocket. His eyes staring you down with such intensity you have to look away, “how do you feel, huh, when I get close to you?” He steps closer, now only a foot away. Your eyes cast down to the ground, a knot forming in your throat, “you can’t even look at me,” he whispers.

As if to prove him wrong you look up at him. Your breath hitches and he can hear it. You can hear it. Your heart hammering against your ribcage, you swallow. Shit.

Big doe eyes look up at him, and he feels all the blood rush between his legs. Hard as a rock for you in seconds, that deft innocence, those pretty lips moving without a sound. Trying to form some kind of response. You… looking up at him and having feelings you’ve never felt before. This is why it has to stop. Negan’s never been good at controlling these urges, and the more you look up at him like that the less he wants to.

You try to speak, to tell him he’s wrong, but your voice quivers, “I… I don’t. I’m not…” Your smile that you can’t manage to stop only confuses you more.

“You are.” He slams his fist on the wall next to you, causing you to jump a little. He looks back down at you, your eyes enveloped in fear and nervousness, cheeky smile gone. Negan takes two fingers and holds them to your throat, “Do you feel your heart beating out of your chest? I bet if I..” he takes your throat in his hand and you whimper out the slightest moan.

His lips turn up in a smile as he brings his face even closer to yours. “See? I’ve barely got my hands on you and you’re already moaning.”

It hits you fast, the shame and desire all at once. Mostly the desire, with his hand at your throat and his voice saying words you’ve only ever read. Shit.

You don’t know how to respond, you can’t think straight. You just nod, he was right, it seems. Right? Because this certainly was having an affect on you. You wanted him to keep going, your body begged for it, but you couldn’t move. Too caught up in a fearful nervousness. This was wrong? It didn’t feel wrong.

“Doesn’t feel wrong,” is all you manage to breathe out, unable to break your gaze from his lips. In response Negan leans back as his grip grows tighter at your neck, and you panic, bringing both of your hands up to his wrist to try and pull him away. He doesn’t let go but his grip loosens.

Negan isn’t thinking clearly either, he hadn’t anticipated all of this. Having to convince you, prove to you, that you were having inappropriate feelings only made his own envelope him. And he was drunk. You, completely at his mercy and seemingly happy to be. Fuck shit fuck me.

He finally lets go and pushes past you and out of your room. Leaving you completely blindsided. For once, though, you’re not confused. Not unsure. No, there was no question what you were going to do next. You were going to make it absolutely impossible for him to say no.

Burning up your core and through your chest, into your brain. That spot, that insatiable feeling, that desperate heat that throbbed through you. Now you knew for sure, he could satiate it.

pt 2

#Negan #negan request #negan x you #twd negan #negan smith #the walking dead negan #negan fanfiction #negan x reader #negan smut #jeffrey dean morgan #jdm #the walking dead

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melrodrigo · 9 months

Text

Tardy, part 10

Tara Carpenter x Fem Reader

Summary: Tensions rise as two of your friends are found in a suspicious position.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, angst

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: I’m sorry if this sucks…writing this chapter sucked the life out of me.

Sitting in the ambulance doesn’t feel right.

You don’t think you deserve to be here, getting taken care of; while the rest of the gang goes on searching for clues. You lean against the van door, struggling to keep your eyes open.

You can’t bear to watch as the police lift Ethan’s body and wheel him into their black van.

You’re so tired that you can’t even cry.

You turn and bury yourself in the crook of Tara’s neck, trying to distract yourself with her warmth, her smell, her. She hasn’t left your side for a second since the paramedics arrived, and she doesn’t seem to mind you clinging desperately onto her either.

It might be how exhausted you are, or the fact that her comfort makes you feel so safe, it lulls you to sleep quickly.

It feels like a blink of an eye before you’re getting woken up to the sound of Sam interrogating Anika and Mindy.

“Found them just a couple minutes ago, they were knocked out,” Tara whispers to you, reading your face in the blink of an eye and knowing exactly what you were going to ask.

You inspect the pair carefully. They look like they’ve been through it.

Along with red marks all over her arms, Mindy has a little scrape of peeled skin at the top of her head.

Anika’s looks even worse.

There’s a huge purple-ish green-ish bump just right above her eyebrow. It’s in the shape of a perfect rectangle like someone had tried to knock her out with a brick.

“Where have you guys been?” Sam’s asking, sort of calm but sort of rough at the same time. There’s no doubt there is an underlying tone of suspicion in her voice.

Mindy sighs heavily, seeing right through the fake calm facade Sam’s putting on.

“Sam, we swear we do not know anything.” She’s saying, eyes wide. “We saw Ghostface coming, we ran! And the next thing you know we both got knocked out. I mean, look at the wound Sam. I know Ghostfaces have done this before, the whole hurt yourself thing. But I swear. Please, Sam.”

She looks put-together, all things considered. But Mindy’s always been one of those people, she goes through life swiftly; with nothing on her mind except for obscure indie horror films and her girlfriend.

She doesn’t sound like she’s lying, you’ll give her that.

“So you just left Danny alone?” Sam asks, clearly not as persuaded as you are.

Anika breathes loud, a sound of growing impatience.

“We were being chased. I’m sorry Sam but if it was between Mindy and Danny there’s no way I’m picking your boyfriend.” She explains, waving her hands wildly. “And we don’t even know if he’s Ghostface.” She ends, the last statement said in nothing but a hushed whisper.

Sam can’t say much about that. She breathes heavily, very much resembling the look of an angry dragon as she stands; towering.

You snuggle into Tara, deciding that you in fact do not want to be a part of this conversation.

She looks down at you and smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Then she’s wrapping her arms around you and slipping a hand in your back pocket.

She wiggles around in there a moment before you feel her fish something out and shift away from you slightly, smiling.

“Now what’s this?” She’s whispering teasingly, quiet laughter shaking her body.

You crane your neck to look at it, but all you see is a backside of a tiny piece of paper, all yellow and old looking.

Paper? You don’t remember having paper in there.

Tara stills as she reads it, her heartbeat under you quickening at a rapid pace.

“What is it, babe?” You question, tightening your grip around her waist.

She tilts her whole body to show you what’s written on the paper.

Scribbled crazily on the note in thick red liquid, are five words.

NITEHALK CINEMA - TONIGHT. BE THERE.

You stare at it for a long time, like if you looked at it hard enough it’ll dissolve into thin air. The words look almost anthropomorphic, threatening to jump out and grab you by the neck.

“Huh.” You state, turning to blankly stare at Tara. She blinks back at you, obviously also taken aback.

You guys have a silent conversation until Tara carefully untangles herself from you and makes her way toward the older Carpenter.

You see her hand Sam the paper, all eyebrows furrowed and soft voices. Sam snatches it from her, but your view gets blocked off when a paramedic comes to stand in front of you.

You eye her a little wearily, confused as to why she’s standing there.

“Hey, hon.” She says, eyes crinkling at the sides when she smiles. She has some age, you can tell, but she still looks youthful and full of life.

You relax, almost melting at her term of endearment.

You were always a sucker for one of those. Especially if they were coming from an attractive middle-aged woman.

You quirk an eyebrow, signaling that she can keep speaking.

“So, I had a quick look at the wound on your stomach there. You’ve got an infection, sweetheart. It’s nothing to worry about if you get to the hospital immediately.” She tells you, sternly.

An infection?

You open your mouth to answer her, tell her that there’s no way in hell you have enough time to do that, but Tara’s heading back before you can say a thing; and you mumble a quick, “Don’t tell her anything.”

Because the last thing you need is Tara fussing over you when there should be Ghostface hunting to do.

“So what happened?” You ask your girlfriend, grabbing and positioning her so she’s standing in between your legs.

She doesn’t say a thing about it, but you see the blush start forming.

“We’re going to the damn theater together, and we’ll end the motherfucker. Once and for all.” Tara says and then tilts her head to the side, eyes flirting between you and the paramedic as if she’s just realizing she’s here. “Everything okay?”

You cut in quickly, shooting the paramedic a look and wrapping an arm around her waist for reassurance.

“Everything’s great.” You smile.

“Aren’t we rushing into this kind of fast? Like..why are we going to a random place Ghostface clearly wants us to go to?” Chad asks, his voice betraying his fear for the whole plan.

You’ll admit, it was a sort of sudden decision, even for you.

As soon as Tara showed Sam that paper, Sam turned into an animal. Asking for papers from the medical staff still around and gathering all of you to listen to her new plan; excluding Anika and Mindy.

“Seriously?” Anika’s saying, right after Sam informed her that they weren’t invited to listen in.

Sam doesn’t relent, just stares her down with those fiery eyes she only has reserved for situations like these.

“If you want me to believe you, you’ll have no problem staying out of this,” Sam says, nodding matter-of-factly.

“Well, I don’t want to be kept out of the loop and die.” Anika mumbles, but backs down nevertheless; walking back to join Mindy dejectedly on the sidewalk.

Now, you guys are stuffed into Sam’s van, ready to take on the weirdo in the white mask once again.

Funny, this is giving me déjà vu.

But after Sam’s monologue last night, where the older carpenter had talked about sacrificing herself, it seemed to ignite a fire deep in you; one that still wanted to fight.

You know you’re not the only one who’s feeling this way.

One quick glance at the gang and you can tell everyone’s feeling motivated. You can only hope it lasts so long.

Well, everyone except Chad.

You contemplate reaching over and gripping his hand for support, but wonder if it’ll be weird because you haven’t exactly had the best relationship with him, but decide fuck it, we’re friends, and do it anyway. He sends you a nervous but supportive smile back.

Sitting still hurts. Any kind of movement only worsens the pain. It’s like the conversation with the paramedic opened your eyes because you can feel every little thing bothering you now.

By the time you guys get to the theater, your anxiety’s at an all-time high.

Beads of perfectly shaped droplets fall from your forehead at a rapid pace, and your heart feels like it’s up in your throat.

You push open the doors and try to quell your fears by acting brave. The facade disappears immediately when you see what’s in the theater.

You pale.

It’s a shrine. A goddamn shrine of Ghostface.

“Well isn’t this nice? Ghostface has a fan.” Tara mumbles, pushing past you to see further in.

Everyone slowly files in and looks around curiously, murmuring soundlessly between pairs.

You sway as you walk further in, head whirling. You stumble and hit a glass box, and you have to grip it to steady yourself.

You stare at Sam unloading the big black bag shed packed full of weapons from just last night, getting prepared.

It doesn’t help with the haziness. You need to get your mind off this shit…you need something. Your head drops to peer inside the glass box.

You think your heart literally stops when you see the collection of pictures, paintings, a summarized biography, and a bloody knife. A familiar photo makes your breath hitch.

Stu Macher : The Second Ever Ghostface

You blink. Try and steady your heartbeat by closing your eyes and sucking in a deep breath.

Just when you feel like you’re about to pass out, Tara steps up beside you, putting a hand on your back to help steady you.

“You okay?” She whispers, a concerned expression painting her features.

You look down at her, flash her a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah.” You try and say with as much positivity as you can muster.

She sees right through it, frowning so big you’d think you’d just told her you were Ghostface.

“I know when you lie to me.” She says pointedly, pouting.

You sigh, it’s no use to lie.

“No, I’m not doing great currently, but that’s not our top priority here Tar.” You murmur softly.

She punches you in the arm, with all the power of a marshmallow bouncing off you and crosses her arms.

“It’s a priority to me.” She huffs.

You raise an eyebrow. Tara wasn’t one to give you words of affirmation, but whenever she would, she’d get adorably shy.

She’s not this time. She’s standing tall and sure of herself, staring at you like if she lets her eyes off you for even a second you’ll run away.

You contemplate telling her about what the paramedic said.

You should, you know that, but you don’t want to worry her more than she already is.

She’s tired too, you can tell. It shows through the dark circles beneath her eyes and the way her hair is just a little more ruffled than usual.

Tomorrow I will, you think. After all this is over.

You settle for wrapping your arms around her and whispering an I love you in her ear.

Tara stills, obviously surprised at your confession. It surprises you too. You guys had never really said it before, even though you’re sure the both of you felt it.

“Um..I’m sorry. It just sort of came out, you don’t need to say it back. I understand.” You say quickly, sheepishly.

Tara quells your fears with a kiss, full of passion and urgency.

It feels like it always does, so goddamn dreamy. Her and her kisses never fail to send you straight into cloud 9.

When you pull back, you’re a little dazed.

“Well…okay.” You say, smiling goofily.

Her expression matches yours, albeit a little more composed. Her red cheeks and neck don’t fool you though.

“I love you too….idiot.” She says, adding the last bit to help put her racing heart at ease.

You snicker and shake your head. Your eyes drop down to the box again, but you don’t feel nearly as bad anymore.

“Man, I’m related to that guy? He looks like an alien dog.” You whine, only sort of half joking.

Tara chuckles heartedly and pats your back softly.

“He kinda does.” She murmurs.

“What does that mean…are you saying I look like that too?” You question, eyes wide and piercing, trying to look intimidating. To Tara, you look like a lost puppy.

“I never said that.” She quips, smirking. She’s teasing you.

“Yeah, but you didn’t rebut me so I’m led to believe you agree.” You press, forming your lips into a pout.

She reaches out to try and wipe it away, but you tilt your head; trying to fight for some semblance of control here.

She tries again, leaning to grab your face and kiss you, but you swerve as quickly as possible, a small part of you a little sad at the act.

The part that wants you to win this “argument” is bigger though. And it takes control once again.

“Nuh-uh. No kisses until you admit I don’t look like an alien dog and that I’m actually mighty gorgeous.” You say, proud smile; sure you’ve won.

“Oh really?” Tara smirks, leaning back until her back is pressed against the box and your hands on both sides of her waist.

She calls your bluff. “I don’t think you’d be able to take it; not kissing me.”

You have to bite back a gulp at her boldness.

God this girl was going to be the death of you.

You challenge her, happy to have your beloved banter with your girlfriend back.

“Funny…I vaguely remember you being the one who couldn’t keep her hands

to herself for a second. And who was the one that was so impatient the first time we had sex she tripped over and landed face first into the mat?” You tease, watching Tara’s cheeks heat up.

“Hey! We promised not to talk about that.” She grumbles, disregarding her bet from 5 seconds ago and tilting up to meet your lips.

You smile against her lips, victorious.

When she sees it, she huffs slightly, mouth still connected to yours.

“Whatever.” She says, pulling back.

“Guys!” Sam’s voice booms through the theater, echoing a couple of times before fading out.

Creepy.

“Get over here! Safety in numbers, remember? Who knows where Ghostface is? For all we know, he’s already in here watching us.” She continues to yell, watching as you and Tara saunter over; hand in hand.

Her words send chills down your body, and you’re suddenly aware again of your beating heart.

You look behind Sam, seeing multiple Ghostface mannequins standing tall. It’s scary how much eeriness some pieces of fabric can create.

“Well, isn’t this a dainty place to be having our conversation?” You chuckle nervously, turning your head to the left, then the right; where you see nothing but all 9 Ghostface mannequins from the Stab franchise, or in this nightmare reality, real life.

“Can you just shut-“ Sam begins, obviously done with your bullshit attempts at lightening the mood.

The lights turn off in the theater all at once, leaving you guys in complete darkness; all stunned.

“Up.” Sam finishes, and you can already hear her feet start to shuffle as she looks and grabs around.

You feel her rough hands as she grabs at your wrist and pulls, too hard for your liking.

“Sam- Could you be a little gentler please?” You huff, trying to weasel your way out her grip.

“What are you talking about?” Sam voices, but it feels kind of far away from you. The grip around your hand suddenly feels weighted. “I’m not touching you Y/N.”

Before you can react, the hand is coming up to your mouth and pressing hard, muffling any sounds that’ll come out.

“YN? Baby? What’s going on?” Tara asks, worry seeping through her words.

You try and scream, or say anything, but the sound dies in your throat when you realize there’s something pressed against your nose.

It’s a cloth: a smelly one at that. You realize what it is immediately, all those true crime documentaries finally coming in handy. Chloroform.

The fumes are practically shoved up your nose, and you feel your knees buck underneath you.

Fuck, Tara.

You wiggle and thrash around, but nothing works, the chemical’s doing its job, because in the next second; you’re gone.

#tardy #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #scream vi #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n #wednesday addams x reader

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