#reader is a bowler
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Bowled Over (Roy Kent x Reader): Chapter One
You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.
Roy Kent x female reader
Will try to update roughly every two weeks
Chapter One: The Other Beautiful Game
Words: 1.9K
Content: Kent-level language (you know what you're in for)
Cricket. Polo. The real football.
There were many popular sports in England, but the downfall of all of those was the fact that they were all at the mercy of the weather. That was why, in your humble opinion, the best sport in the world was bowling.
You were fully aware that the rest of the world definitely didn’t consider it a real sport, and that was fine. But to you, it was the best. No other sport could be enjoyed by 4 year olds and 94 year olds at the same time, all while having full access to a pitcher of beer and never being rained out. Nor did any other sport create friendships so instantly while in good natured competition. It certainly had for you.
You, the army brat, who had moved every year and always ended up being the new kid with the accent different from everyone else’s, had always found common ground in whatever bowling alley had been closest to base. Bowling was its own language, its own gateway into other people’s lives. When you’d finally stayed somewhere for more than two years when you were in high school, you’d made yourself a fixture at the lanes. You stayed in England for college – no, university – and worked your way through every beer league and youth camp you could. The bowling alley was your home, and you ended up staying even after your father retired from the army and returned to his hometown with your mother. Your place was here, behind the counter and coaching leagues.
It was a shallowly connected life. You had a few friends from your own league, as well as your coworkers, and some regulars that you absolutely loved, but mainly, you saw people for five minutes while they paid and figured out which size their rental shoes needed to be before they went to the lanes and you watched from a distance, telling yourself that it was fine.
One day, and especially lonely one, you were scheduled to work a children’s party. You were slightly hung over from the pitcher you’d shared at your league the night prior, and weren’t looking forward to all of the noise that children would inevitably cause. Taking a preemptive Excedrin, you pulled up your hair and braced for the worst.
The birthday child was a blonde girl who was all smiles, leading seven little friends and their adults behind them. You plastered on your best customer service smile and got through the chaos of check in, shoes, snack bar follow up, and lane assignments, then collapsed in your chair to stare into space for a while, until someone needed you.
The respite was brutally short.
You didn’t notice at first, but eventually you realized that you had somebody standing at the side of the counter. It was because of his shirt. Anywhere else, it would have stood out obnoxiously, but the red, orange, and yellow tie dye blended into the colorful walls. You turned quickly once you realized he was there.
“Sorry, I zoned out,” you blurted. “How can I help you, sir?”
The man – you recognized him from somewhere, you realized, but you couldn’t place where – startled at how quickly you acknowledged him. He had very expressive eyebrows, which shot up his forehead in surprise. He pointed at the lanes where the blonde girl’s group was bowling and grunted, “One of the little shits that my niece is friends with threw a ball right after another kid and hit the thing that pushes the pins out of the way, and now it won’t go back up. Can you fix it so their days won’t be ruined?”
You couldn’t tell if her was mad at the lane or at you; it seemed like he was angry in general, judging by the deep creases between his eyebrows. Best to take a cautious approach with him.
“I can’t fix it, but I can call the tech. Just a second.” You grabbed the intercom, but didn’t click it on. “It’s the gate on 15, yeah?”
“The what?”
“The black sweepy thing, on Lane 15?”
“Oh. Yeah.”
Quickly, you called out, “Pete, I need a gate reset on Lane 15, please” over the speakers. Then you turned back to the tie dye man.
“Cheers,” he said. “Phoebe will be happy now.”
“That’s your niece? The blonde girl?”
He nodded. “Yep, that idiot.” He smiled and waved toward Phoebe, who was trying to get his attention. “She made me this shirt. I wouldn’t have picked it, but she made it, so I wear it to all her things.”
“It’s a good look. Matches the décor here,” you teased. “I almost didn’t see you, and you were right in front of me.”
A grunt was the only response you got. Fearing you’d been rude, you cleared your throat and continued. “Well. I’ll be here for the rest of the day, if you guys need anything else. You know where to find me.”
Another grunt, and eyebrow guy was gone, leaving you to put your head on the counter in embarrassment. That was so awkward!
You stewed in your awkwardness for another half an hour; nobody else came in to distract you. Distraction didn’t come until you got a call from the snack bar, signaling that they needed you to run the pizza to Phoebe’s group. Inwardly groaning, you picked up the tray and a stack of plates, and expertly balanced them as you walked to Lane 15. Phoebe and her friends were excited to see you, and their enthusiasm evaporated some of your self-pity. These seemed to be good kids.
“Okay,” you said, putting your hands on your hips and leaning down conspiratorially, “I only have two rules for you. Rule Number One: No pizza or drinks on the approach. Rule Number Two: I don’t want to see any pizza fingers in those balls, because someone will have to clean them.” You pointed at yourself as you said “someone,” which made all the kids laugh. “And Rule Number Three-”
“You said there were only two!” interrupted a young boy. Tie dye guy glared at him.
“Well, I lied,” you shrugged. That got a laugh from everybody. “Rule Number Three: Help Phoebe have a happy birthday!”
All of the kids cheered. Satisfied, you walked over to their grown-ups. “If you guys need anything, I’m Splits.” You tapped your nametag, bearing the kitschy bowling nickname that the manager had made you pick. “I’ll be at the counter.”
Your nickname drew a few chuckles and sympathetic smiles. One of the younger adults, who you also recognized in addition Phoebe's uncle, fixed you with a flirty look.
“Do they call yah that because you can do the splits, or…?”
“No, because I leave plenty on the lanes.”
He looked like he was trying to come up with another quip, but Phoebe’s uncle elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up, Jamie. Not everyone loves you.”
Jamie, unperturbed, elbowed him back. “Whatever, Coach. It was worth trying. Sorry, Splits.”
You realized where you had seen him before. AFC Richmond was the local football club, and the young man was none other than Jamie Tartt. And now that you had figured out who he was, you had to ask, no matter how much it pained you…
“Can I get a quick photo? The owner likes us to whenever we have a celebrity guest.”
Jamie’s chest puffed out before he looked at tie dye man; you got the feeling his coach had lectured him before about showboating. “Sure, yeah, if that’s how it’s done here.” He checked his hair and grabbed a bowling ball. “Where do you want meh?”
“Uncle Roy should be in the picture, too!” piped Phoebe, shooting her uncle a pout. “He’s more famous that Jamie!”
The man you’d talked to at the counter, who you recognized but didn’t know where from, was named Roy? And Jamie had called him “coach?” Was he Roy Kent? How had you not realized?
It had to be the tie dye. Had to be.
“Fuck no, I’m not getting in a picture with that prick.”
“Please, Uncle Roy?” pleaded Phoebe. “It is my birthday.”
A grunt. You were beginning to think that they were his primary language, in combination with swearing. Roy Kent stood up, rolled his eyes, and got next to Jamie Tartt, glowering.
You reached into your back pocket and took out your phone to check how things looked. Bowling alley lighting was never great, but it was especially bad today. Jamie popped, because of course he did, but Roy melted into the wall, his obnoxious shirt effectively camouflaging him.
Thinking quickly, you went to the racks, grabbed a bright blue bowling ball, and brought it to Roy. He just stared at it.
“And what am I supposed to do with this? Throw a fucking strike on camera?”
“No, I just need you to hold it,” you huffed. “The camera can’t see you; your shirt blends in too much. Just take this, please, and this can be over.”
Without giving him a choice, you pushed the bowling ball against his arm. He took it awkwardly, his fingers brushing yours. You thought he shrank into his shoulders after that, but it could have just been him settling the weight of the ball, so you couldn’t be sure.
You took the picture and sent it to your manager, who started freaking out and texting a sentence at a time, but you retreated back to your counter after that. The rest of the afternoon went quietly. Phoebe’s party ended, and you watched as Roy and Jamie gathered all of the kids’ rental shoes and brought them up to you to return.
Sorry for flirting with yah earlier,” said Jamie, dumping an armful of footwear. “Old habits and all that.”
“It’s no problem,” you replied.
He gave you a wink and sauntered off. Then Roy deposited all of the shoes he was carrying.
“Thanks for being cool. Phoebe enjoyed it.”
“My pleasure. Sorry for the picture.”
“It happens. People are weird about fame.”
“Sorry all the same. Hopefully it wasn’t too awkward.”
Roy Kent wouldn’t look at you, and instead focused on a spot on the counter. Then he gave a last grunt and walked away, sticking out a hand to hold Phoebe’s. You watched them leave before grabbing a bottle of disinfectant to spray down the shoes. As you did, you mused that, for being a football manager and a player before that, Roy Kent was really awkward when it came to being recognized.
The sound of running feet tore your attention away from your thoughts. You looked up, ready to shout at some kids for horseplay, but it was Phoebe, running back to the lanes and grabbing a jumper that she had left. Then she jogged back to the desk, stopping on the way out.
“I had a really fun time,” she said.
“I’m glad,” you replied warmly. “I hope to see you come back.”
Phoebe smiled. “I think I will. I overheard Uncle Roy telling Jamie that he shouldn’t call strangers ‘fit,’ even if they are, and I think they were talking about you. Bye!”
She pranced off to rejoin her uncle where he was waiting for her at the exit, taking his hand once more. You could see them talking, and something she said made him look up abashedly at you. He held your gaze for just a moment, then threw Phoebe over his shoulder and stomped away. You had the rest of the night to ponder the fact that Jamie Tartt and maybe Roy Kent had considered you attractive. It made up for the awkwardness of the photo. Almost.
#roy kent bowled over#roy kent#roy kent x reader#ted lasso#ted lasso fanfiction#mutual pining#slowish burn#reader is a bowler#because I was a bowler#hence the terrible pun title#my writing
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older! eddie finally having enough of reader calling him old man and he decides to show her how much of an old man he really is😏😏😏
“old man yeah?” he says grinning ear to ear when you whine pathetically underneath him, “wanna say that again?” he coos
18+ only pleaaaase!
The ball rolls down the lane, heavy and awkward, knocking into the pins and only sending a couple falling.
“That was possibly the worst throw of the night, Munson!” Robin says, smiling proudly when Eddie glares at her.
He groans, swiveling his arm to stretch out his shoulder.
“Not fair, this shit used to be easy. ‘S fuckin’ killing my shoulder tonight,” he comments, picking up his bottle of beer and clinking it with the top of Steve’s in a sort of pity toast to his bad turn.
“Oh, come on, old man!” you tease, standing to take your turn. You pick up your bowling ball from the bunch, giving Eddie a devious glance. “Let me show you how it’s done, sans any shoulder pain or back pain or pain in any other body part,” you smirk, earning a laugh from Steve.
“Ouch,” he says. “She’s got you there, Ed. Shoulder pain, really? When we’re not even halfway through this game.”
“Oh fuck off, Harrington. Wasn’t it two nights ago I saw you buying Epsom salts complaining about sore muscles? From a day at the pool with your kids?”
“Listen, the amount of times I had to pick them up and toss them into the water—”
You giggle, letting the two of them bicker as you take your turn. You let the ball go in a more elegant manner than Eddie, standing at the end of the lane as you wait to see the outcome. Sure enough, all ten pins fall with a scattered crash, and you bounce up and down eagerly.
“Woo!” Robin and Steve cheer, Eddie rolling his eyes as you high-five them.
“Alright, sweetheart, so you think you’re the superior bowler?” he asks, pulling you against him.
“I know I am, old man,” you draw out the last two words, pressing a polished finger to his chest. “Unless you really think you can show me up. But I wouldn’t want you hurting that shoulder while you try,” you pout, seeing the way the look in his eyes changes at your teasing. “Can’t have you doing too much… physical activity.”
“Alright, so that’s how you want to be, hm?” he asks, his voice low. “Just wait ‘til we get home, darling.”
The comment makes you shiver, his figure slipping away from you as soon as the words are out of his mouth. You watch him leave to get another drink, your mouth slightly agape as film reels run through your head, showcasing the activities that probably await you when you return home. Chewing on your lip, you return to your seat next to Robin, knowing full well you’re going to get under Eddie’s skin as much as you possibly can before the night is over.
Stumbling through the door just before midnight, a couple shitty bowling-alley-bar mixed drinks in your system, Eddie’s got his finger hooked in the waistband of your too-tight jeans, pulling you into him.
“That was real fucking cute, the way you kept mocking me all night,” he rasps, his warm breath fanning your ear, his lips barely grazing the shell of it. “If I had to hear you call me an old man one more time, I swear I was going to put you in the car and fuck you right there in the parking lot,” he says, kissing at your jaw.
You whine a little, tilting your head to the side to allow him better access.
“This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asks, knowing the answer.
“Ed—” you pant, trying to paw at the buckle on his jeans.
“It is, god of course it’s what you wanted. I know your angles, baby,” he purrs, his voice dripping with lust.
He presses a hot kiss to your mouth, his tongue licking against your teeth. Your hands climb up his back, clawing at the fabric of his shirt as if your plan is to rip it off of him. He picks you up, carrying you down the hallway without breaking the kiss. He’s tossing you on the bed before he pulls his shirt off, exposing his modest muscles from years of hard work at the shop. You never tire of looking at the tattoos that decorate his pale skin, the ink fading with time.
He’s undoing his belt while you’re stripping bare on his bed, feeling your face heat when you catch him staring at your tits.
“Damn, I’m going to fuck the absolute shit out of you tonight,” he breathes, smiling boyishly, betraying his age despite the soft wrinkles in his face.
“Are you?” you ask, one final taunt, pushing him over the edge.
“Oh, sweetheart. G’na have you crying for me,” he says, moving to hover on top of you on the bed. “You’re not gonna be able to fucking walk tomorrow,” he murmurs, nipping at your earlobe.
It’s quick and without warning when he slips two fingers inside of you, making you mewl as your hands tangle in his hair. He curls them expertly, he knows your body like the back of his hand by now, knows exactly what to do to have you screaming for him.
His eager mouth licks and sucks on your breasts, tugging your nipples gently with his teeth as your back arches. Your body accepts a third finger from him easily, sucking him right in as wet, filthy noises fill the bedroom.
“Eddie,” you whine, already on the edge of your orgasm. Your breathing is heavy, eyes pinched shut beneath him as he works you to your breaking point.
You cum around his fingers with a cry, body shaking violently as he works you through it. You feel like you’re on fire, his touch igniting every inch of you. All you want is more.
“Old man, huh?” Eddie muses as you come down from your first high of the evening. “Looks like this old man still knows how to please. So do you wanna call me that again, sweetheart?”
You shake your head, knowing you’re already in for quite the night.
“Good,” he says, dipping down to kiss your lips, your jaw, your neck. “Cause we’re just getting started.”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#older!eddie munson#older!eddie munson x reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson blurb#leah’s got mail 💌
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The Cake
MASH X READER (Taking requests 📲 pls send some!) **SMUT
“Come on, spit it (Y/N)!” Lemon groaned as she shook me. “Spit what out Lemon?” I asked, while continuing to be shaken up. “Have you and Mashle… done anything intimate yet?” She whispered the last part. “Did you forget that I’m right here?” Finn sweat dropped. “No, but I mean you’re one of the girls, Finn. Plus it’s either this conversation or the guy’s one where Lance and Dot argued over the cutest girl, and Lance’s only option is his sister,” Lemon explained. Finn and I sighed, she’s got a point. “But still Lemon… that’s a little too private to talk about…” I blushed. “So you have done it!” Lemon screeched. “How was it? Was it nice or was it bad? I heard if I guy is a good bowler then you know… and Mash is… well he’s just strong so he can take down all the pins,” Lemon said. “And the alley,” Finn added. “Nevermind that! Details, (Y/N)! Was it romantic? Freaky?” She asked. “No… well none of that because we haven’t done anything,” I said softly. “Oh…” Lemon said. “Yeah, well I don’t know Mash has never seemed too interested in that kind of stuff, I don’t know,” I shrugged. “What do you mean, have you tried hinting at it?” Finn asked. “Sort of? One night we watched a movie in my dorm and a… scene came on! I thought it would spark the mood a bit so I scooted closer to Mash and I decided to… place my hand on his thigh,” I blushed, covering my face from Lemon’s sly smile. “You go girl, show him who’s boss!” She laughed. “But… he then asked if I thought the muscle was softer than usual. I guess he noticed a difference between the two and my hand placement confirmed his suspicions,” I sighed. “Jeez,” Finn winced at the comment. “I mean we all knew Mash was dense but I didn’t think it was that bad,” Lemon frowned. “So maybe it’s for the best that we just hold off,” I smiled. “Have you thought of talking to him? I mean Mash probably wants to do stuff like that too, but since you never brought it up he doesn’t see the reason to either,” Finn said. “You’re probably right Finn, but… it’s embarrassing… We’ve been together for almost a year and I’ve given a couple of hints already. I was hoping he would’ve caught on by now,” I sighed. “Well why don’t you give him a love potion? It’ll probably boost his spirits, if you know what I mean,” Lemon whispered. “I don’t think drugging my boyfriend without his consent is really the best idea!” I shouted. “Kidding!” Lemon smiled. “I don’t think she was…” Finn sighed. “I’ll just keep things the way they are. Plus he has to catch on one day right?” I asked them, both of them shrugging at the question. “Oh I have to go to the library! I told a friend I would help her with her project!” Lemon shouted and ran off. “Bye!” She yelled and we waved back. “I should probably get going too, we left the group in my room… I just hope they didn’t break anything…” Finn cried and walked off. “See ya (Y/N),” he moped. “Bye,” I laughed and headed back to my dorm.
I laid on the bed thinking about the conversation with Lemon and Finn. “It’s almost been a year… and I think I’m ready, but maybe Mash isn’t…” I sighed. “Oh well,” I shrugged. I can’t be upset that he’s not comfortable with engaging with any of the hints I’ve given him. “Why don’t you give him a love potion?” Lemon’s words are repeated in my head. I quickly shake my head. No. No. No. That’s a crazy idea, plus super wrong. “I think I’ll just nap all this off, get my mind off all this stuff,” I sighed to myself and got ready for bed and quickly fell asleep.
I woke up later to a knock on my door and got up to answer it. I opened it and saw Mash on the other side holding a bag. “Hi Mash,” I said sleepily. “Were you sleeping?” He asked. “Yeah… I felt stressed so I thought I should just take a nap,” I explained and stepped aside to let him in. “Then Lemon was smart to give me these things,” he said as he walked in and dropped the stuff on my desk. “What did she give you?” I asked as I shut the door. “She gave me cake and tea,” he said. “Cake and tea…?” I thought suspiciously. She wouldn’t… “Can I just have a quick look?” I asked and snatched the cake box. “Uhh…” Mash mumbled. I opened the box and… it looks fine? Well the box is from a local café and it seems like an average cake made at the shop. “(Y/N)?” Mash asked, peering over my shoulder. “Haha, sorry. I just got so excited to see the cake,” I said awkwardly. “Ah… well there’s also some tea-“ he said and I swooshed over to the prepared tea and opened it. I mean it looks ok… or does it? Don’t all potions look like regular tea?? “Oh well… I think this is Jasmine tea… and I’m allergic to Jasmine tea!” I said and headed to toss it. “Oh, but I’m n- oh you tossed it…” Mash said disappointedly. “Sorry Mash,” I apologized. “It’s fine, you’re just having a stressful day,” he said and patted my head. “I just… I just had a weird conversation with Lemon earlier so I think I’m just being paranoid. Let’s just enjoy some cake,” I smiled. “Conversation? What was it about?” He asked. I blushed, “Nothing! It was girl stuff, don’t worry about it!” “Oh… well ok,” Mash shrugged.
We cut the cake and luckily I had some strawberry milk saved. “That was a good cake,” Mash said. “You only had a bite…” I sighed as we sat on my loveseat together. “Yeah, but I had a lot of cream puffs earlier, and I only worked out for 2 hours today. Don’t want to eat to pass my calorie intake,” he explained. “Just 2 hours?” I laughed. “Yeah, Lemon stopped me to tell me you were having an off day,” he said. “Ohh, well sorry for interrupting your workout, but thanks for coming over and the cake was delicious! I almost ate the whole thing,” I said and kissed his cheek. “It’s fine,” he smiled. I think I'm getting hot..? “Hey Mash, mind if I open a window? It’s getting hot in here,” I said and quickly opened my window to let in some fresh air. “It is?” Mash asked. “Yeah it’s super hot… and the fresh air isn’t helping!” I huffed and stuck my head out the window. “(Y/N) are you ok?” He asked and placed a hand on my lower back. I winced, his hand was hot to the touch. “Yeah, w-why do you ask?” I responded and looked back. “C-C-Cause it’s f-f-freezing in h-here,” he chattered from the cold. “O-Oh, I’m sorry!” I closed the window and sat back down. I felt my body beginning to feel like it’s on fire, but not sweaty but burning… “What’s wrong with me…?” I whispered. “Hey, it’ll be alright,” Mash said and pulled me into a hug. God the hug was burning me even more, but in a good way. I want more. “Mash, touch me more,” I said desperately. “(Y/N)?” Mash said, confused. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, my body's on fire. Even you touching me makes it burn more, but I want more…” I whispered before pulling him into a kiss. “Mash…” I gasped when we pulled away for air. “Y-Yeah?” He panted. “Why haven’t we ever done anything… more?” I asked, feeling my cheeks heat up even more. “M-More? I don’t know. You never asked or talked about it so I thought-“ I interrupted him. “I always gave away hints, it’s kind of embarrassing,” I laughed nervously. “You did?” He asked, shocked. I nodded shyly. “Well… then let’s try it,” he said and pulled me into a rough kiss. God my mind is going blank.
Mash carried me to my bed and laid me down softly. I watched as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. Exposing his bare chest, and god-like body. “N-No compression shirt?” I blushed. “Not today,” he said and got on top of me, quickly pulling me in for another kiss. He pulled away and quickly went for my neck, licking, sucking, and nibbling every inch. “M-Mash,” I said, feeling dizzy. “Let’s take our time,” he whispered into my ear, causing goosebumps to crawl over me. All I could do was whimper in response. “I never knew you could make these kinds of noises,” he said against my skin. “Let me hear more,” he said in a demanding tone, and began biting my neck a bit harsher. “Mhm!” I let out. He finally pulled back and stared at me. I took the chance to try and catch my breath. “Sorry about this (Y/N)…” Mash said, and before I could ask he placed his hands on the buttons of my shirt and ripped them apart. Exposing my bra, “Mash!” I blushed, and tried to cover myself. Before I could Mash pinned my arms above my chest. “Don’t hide them, please,” he pleaded. “M-Mash…” I gasped and relaxed. “Good girl,” he said deeply, but keeping his hand pinned against mine. With his free hand he traced his thumb from my lips to the tip of my waistband. “W-Wait! I don’t want… to be the first one…” I bit my lip, too embarrassed to finish my sentence. “Don’t wanna be the first one naked? Alright then,” he said and slowly got off of me. I watched as he quickly removed his belt, allowing his pants to fall. Leaving him in only his boxer shorts, I gulped and wanted to follow his lead. I slowly grabbed the hem of my skirt and slipped it down, Mash helping me throw them off. Now we were both left in nothing but our underwear. “You’re so sexy,” he said as he pounced on me again. I moaned and gasped at each nip or kiss he would leave, my body still feeling like it’s on fire. “M-Mash, stop teasing me,” I said desperately. “Someone’s impatient,” he chuckled. “But that’s fine, I don’t think I can hold off any longer either,” he said as he placed my hand over his bulge. I blushed and pulled him in for another kiss, I felt bad that he was the only one taking the initiative. “Lay back,” I said. He nodded and sat back and I slowly got on his lap, he placed his rough hands on my hips. I began to reach for my bra and removed it slowly, I finally unclasped it, letting my breasts fall. I watched as Mash stared at my body, letting his eyes roam over every inch. “Do they look n-nice?” I said awkwardly. “They’re perfect,” he said as he cupped one of them with his right hand, surprising me.
Before fully reacting he pushed me down, “Ma- Ah!” I moaned, feeling his mouth swallow my breast. I grasped onto his hair tightly, and covered my mouth with my other hand, not wanting my neighbors to hear us. As soon as I muffled myself, Mash looked up looking disappointed. He pinned my arms again with one of his hands, “Don’t do that again,” he demanded. I blushed and nodded shyly. “Good,” he said. “Mash, I think I wanna do-“ before I could my sentence Mash ripped my underwear off. “H-ahhh?” I laid there in shock. “Me too,” he said and pulled down his shorts. I looked up and saw his cock ready to go. “A-Ah,” I let out. “Let me prepare you,” he said. I nodded and spread my legs a little wider. I gasped when I felt a finger slide inside me, “Mm!” I gasped. Then another. “Ahmm!” I moaned, quickly biting my lip trying to muffle myself. “It’s so hot and wet,” he said, huskily. I looked up and saw his eyes staring down at me, hungrily. “I’m gonna move now ok?” He asked. I nodded, and felt Mash slowly insert his fingers in and out. Oh god I’m gonna go crazy, he’s going so slow! I began moving my hips slightly, trying to increase the speed. “Too slow for you?” He chuckled, as his eyes glowed in amusement. I suddenly felt the increased speed, “Ahh~! Mashh~!!” I cried out. “Is this better now?” He asked and continued using his two fingers to thrust and occasionally widen my pussy. After what felt like an eternity I was done! “Mash!” I huffed. “What’s wrong (Y/N)?” He smiled slyly. “I’m ready now, please?” I pleaded. “Please what?” He asked as he slowly removed his fingers, causing me to whimper to the sudden loss. “P-Please?” I repeated. “Come on say,” he said as I felt something hard begin to rub my lips. Oh god this man is making me crazy. “Just fuck me already!” I practically shouted. “Whatever you say, princess,” he smirked and thrusted himself deep inside. I quickly felt full and needed a minute to catch my breath. “H-Hold on…” I gasped. “Tell me when you’re ready,” he said softly and dropped down to kiss me softly. After another minute or two, I nodded and allowed Mash to start moving. He went slow at first, but after a few minutes he quickly began thrusting faster and harder. “Ma-aash…” I drooled as I gasped with each breath. “Fuck (Y/N)… you’re pussy feels so good,” he grunted and let go of my pinned hands. “MmMM!” I moaned in response. I quickly arched my back, feeling an overload of ecstasy as I felt a thumb brush over my clit. “I really liked that reaction,” Mash panted and continued to rub my clit at an intense speed. “W-WaiT!” I cried, feeling a knot in my lower stomach grow bigger and bigger. “I think I’m- maSH!” I let out and threw my head back as I felt a wave of pleasure rush through my body, but I quickly threw it back up as I realized Mash wasn’t stopping. “Ma- Sensit…ive!” I moaned and grilled onto his shoulder tightly. “I wish I could, but someone’s pussy won’t let go of me,” he smirked and continued thrusting me at the same pace and began rubbing my clit again. I quickly placed both hands over my mouth and again Mash quickly pinned them above my head. “Nice try,” he grunted. “Ah! Mm! Mash~!” I moaned, filling my room with the sounds of my moans and Mash thrusting in and out of my pussy. “Fuck… I’m close,” he said in ear. “Cum! Cum!” I begged him. “Not before you do, one more time,” he whispered in my ear. He unpinned me and returned his hand to my clit, playing with it again, bringing me closer and closer. “Mash… I’m-“ I choked and threw my arms around him. “Me too,” he grunted, thrusting deeper each time. “Mashhh!” I cried and dug my nails into his skin, once again my body flowing with ecstasy. “(Y/N)…!” He moaned with one final thrust, filling me before pulling himself out and falling next to me. We both took our time trying to catch our breaths and Mash soon pulled me in for some cuddles. “That was nice…” he said sleepily, before I heard some light snoring. I giggled and snuggled into his arms before falling asleep as well. Before I forget… make a mental note to thank and also kill Lemon tomorrow.
The Next Day
“You guys did it? Well… you did skip classes today, so it all makes sense now,” Lemon laughed. “Yeah, the cake sort of did the trick,” I blushed. “Cake?” Lemon asked, confused. “Yeah the cake and tea you gave Mash because I wasn’t feeling too good. You put a love potion in it didn’t you? Well… it’s fine cause I’m the one that ate it so I’ll forgive you this time-“ I was quickly interrupted. “(Y/N) what are you talking about? I bought that cake at the café we always go to. I went with my friend after we finished the project. I remembered you said you wanted to try the red velvet,” she said. “H-Huh?” I blinked. “Y-You thought I put a love potion in it!?” Lemon laughed. “Y-You didn’t?” I blinked again. “Girl… you must’ve had a placebo effect or something…” Lemon said. “Oh…” I said, speechless.
#anime fanfic#fanfic#fluff#x reader#anime#mash burnedead x reader#mashle: magic and muscles x reader#mash x reader#mash burnedead#mashle#mash#smut#mashle: magic and muscles smut#mashle: magic and muscles#mash smut#smut fic
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consider this: down on her luck reader who needs cash and tries to sell something at joel’s pawn shop but he lowballs her and she insists she needs more money and he says “there’s something else you could give me” 👀
Pawn Shop
2.3k / sleazy GILF!Joel x fem!reader / masterlist
mood board by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog
WARNINGS: I8+ Big girthy age gap (68/20s+) dark / perverted old creep Joel, dubcon nudity. Joel jacks off. Sex dream (oral m & P in V sex) and coming in public. Non-outbreak AU. TW Clowns, Drug/addiction references, transactional. Accidental horror then I kinda rolled with it, possible nightmare fuel?
He sighs, puts down the magnifying glass, and swivels his stool around to face you. "Best I can do is twenty, darlin'." His tired eyes are apologetic, wrinkling under the shade of his brow as he looks up at you. "And that’s pushin’ it. Rock's not real, no market for this."
Your face goes cold. You don't know what else to do. The ring is all you have. You need $75 for your bus ticket, then you're out of here, going to get a fresh start somewhere new. You hold your hand out and the chain of the necklace pools into your palm as he lowers it into your hand. You swallow thickly. It comes out in a broken whisper: "Thanks anyway."
You walk to the door, dejected, being careful that your backpack doesn't hit any of the junk piled up everywhere on your way out. You’ve never seen so many ceramic clowns. There’s a market for all those, but not a necklace? You barely have the energy to push the metal bar of the door. It’s so bright outside your eyes ache as soon as you touch it. When the bell on the door jingles, the man says, "Hold on, sweetheart. C'mere."
You look back to the register and he's sitting with his arms crossed, thumbing a suspender. You walk halfway back to the counter. "Told ya I don't have anything else," you say, tears welling up in your eyes.
He squints and looks you up and down, then scratches one side of his silver beard. "How 'bout that pretty dress?"
You sigh. "I can't, I don't have anything else." Your eyes fall to his biceps bulging out of his short sleeves. There’s a faded tattoo you can’t see. He has the face of a grandfather but the body of a muscular DILF with sun damage.
"Gimme a minute, darlin'." He puts his hands on his thighs and stands up with a groan. He quickly adjusts himself then reaches under the cash register, unzips something, and his hand emerges with some bills. He turns away to thumb through them, pockets them, then hobbles around you to the door, his denim brushing the skirt of your dress. He turns the sign to "closed" and turns the lock.
"Lunch time," he says with a raise of his eyebrows. A pit forms in your stomach, but you suppress it. "Come on back, I'll show ya what I got."
-
You hesitantly follow him to the back of the store. He walks slowly, like he's in pain. His jeans are tight on his ass, and one side of his shirt collar is creased. If you only saw him from the back, you'd peg him for fifty or so, but his face and mannerisms are older. In the back of the store, there's more junk. One corner has an old sofa and an armchair. He sighs and his knees pop as he sits down in the armchair. He looks at you and nods at the sofa, as if you should know what to do.
"Fifty for the dress."
Your eyes burn with tears of frustration. "I don't have anything else to wear."
"Oh, you'll get it back, darlin'. Don't worry," he says soothingly.
The blood drains from your face as you realize what this is. He stands up slowly again with his hands on his thighs and shuffles over to a desk to get a bottle of lotion. A ceramic sad clown in a bowler hat sits atop the desk. On his way back to the chair, he looks you up and down and his voice goes up an octave like he's talking to a pet. "Hey, it's okay, sweetie. I'm not gonna touch ya." He takes down his suspenders and sits back down with a sigh. He leans back in the chair with one hand on his beard as he watches you think it over. He spreads his legs and rests his heels on the ground. Your eyes follow the grooves in the tan soles of his boots as you think.
Finally, you ask, “Is there anything you need help with? Any work you could give me?”
He smiles and chuckles to himself, looking down. His smile fades when he looks up again with a darker tone. “Fifty for the dress, sweetheart. And ya get it back.”
You take a deep breath.
He lifts his hips and shoves a hand into his pocket. He peeks at the cash and takes out a fifty-dollar bill to show you. "If ya don't want it, I'll let ya go."
You put down your backpack. "All I have to do is take it off?"
"And lemme look at ya for a lil bit," he adds. He folds the bill vertically and holds it between his middle and forefinger on the arm of the chair and palms himself with his other hand. It makes your stomach turn. But it's fast money, and you're so tired, you just need to get on the bus and sleep.
"Okay," you agree quietly and feel a little piece of yourself float away.
"Good girl," he says.
-
You rip the bandaid off, pulling the dress over your head right away. You hold it in front of your body timidly. At least you still have your shoes and underwear on.
"I'll hold onto that," he says as he lifts his hips to unbutton his tight jeans. You stand frozen as he unzips then reaches into his pants. He takes a deep breath as he takes his cock out. You’ve never seen an old one, and you’re curious, but you don’t look. He extends his free hand for your dress.
You stand as far away as possible and lean forward, extending your arm and practically tossing the dress to him. You avoid looking, but it’s hard not to see it in the corner of your vision. You quickly go back to the couch and sit down.
He drapes the dress over the arm of the chair and pumps some lotion into his hand. Then he wraps his hand around his cock and his fist begins to go up and down, moving a distance that tells you he's well endowed.
You cover yourself with your arms, cower, and look away.
"Don't be shy, darlin'. Only make it take longer."
You put your hands down by your sides. He strokes himself slowly and watches you. "Sure are pretty," he mutters. "sorry you're down on your luck." You look away. "Nuh-uh " he says. "You look right here." Your eyes begin to water. You look past him, to the sad clown on the desk. You're never, ever coming back to this town again.
When he closes his eyes for a moment, you steal a glance and curse the pang between your legs when your eyes fixate on the thick pillar in his weathered, veiny hand. He sees you see him. He looks down at his cock then at you and a wicked look spreads across his eyes. "Yeah, that's right," he murmurs. "Like what you see?" He nods slowly as he pumps himself. He adds more lotion.
The slurping sound makes you sick. Sick enough to snap. You're never coming back, why are you doing this? You feel yourself floating back together.
You offer a small nod of admission, stare at his cock, and wet your lips. Because you know that's what he wants.
“You can have it if ya want,” he says. You act tempted but shy. "That’s okay, sweetie. Just take off the rest and this'll go faster." You don’t take anything else off. “Another fifty for the rest.” He pauses his hand, holding his hard cock at attention as he gets out another bill from his pocket. Arousal stirs between your legs, looking at his stiff member jutting into the air, ready to be mounted. But no, not with this sleaze.
-
You “pretend” to be turned on. "How much faster?" You ask. He accelerates his stroke considerably to demonstrate, then slows it way down. He wets his lips with the darkest look on his face, and now that you're looking at his cock unabashed, butterflies swarm in your lower belly.
"Ok," you say, and stand up. You walk toward him slowly, taking down the straps of your bra, eyeing the bills in his hand. "How much is in your pocket?" His eyes rove you hungrily. You stand in front of him and ask, “How much if I just do it myself?" You put your hands on his jeans and squat down. He's pumping himself at a snail's pace now.
"Hold it for me," he says as he digs in his pocket. “Lemme see.”
"Not for free," you tell him.
He chuckles and hands you the two fifties. You yank your dress out from under his elbow and make a break for the front of the store.
"Hold on now, darlin'," he protests over his shoulder. You're putting your dress on as you scurry away, leaving your bag. The chair groans as he slowly stands up. You bump into a clown and it crashes off its table to the ground, shattering. You reach over the counter and under the cash register. His silhouette hobbles down the hall, suspenders swinging at his hips, as you grab the pouch of cash.
"You don't wanna do that," he says flatly, footsteps getting closer. You glance back and he's got his pants still undone, grabbing a shotgun off the wall. You tip over a display shelf behind you on your way to the door. You fumble at the lock, then push it open and it jingles as you spill onto the sidewalk, blinded by the sun and stumbling with nerves, part of your dress hung up on your panties.
You fall on your knees and as you're getting up, he emerges from the store with his gun raised. Thankfully, there are other people on the sidewalk who stop and stare at him with his pants and suspenders hanging down exposing his silver pubic hair, biceps bulging as he points a shotgun at you. He notices the stares and lowers the gun as you run away crying, pulling down your dress.
The worst part is your primal brain finds this image of him to be one of the hottest things you've ever seen. You stuff the pouch in the band of your bra under your arm and it gathers your sweat as you walk to the bus station.
-
At the station, you open the pouch. It's quite a stack of bills and also a few loose pills. Oxy which is the last thing you need, but god, after that experience. You count the money, close to $1,600, and you feel a rush. It’s more than enough to replace everything you lost. You walk to the pharmacy across the street to buy some water, a snack, and some wet wipes to wipe down with because you feel filthy.
Once you're on the Greyhound bus, you settle into the big, gray velvety seat with an eighties-looking rainbow design on it. You still feel disgusting, especially because you can't shake the image of him in your head or the feeling between your legs. A DILF sits next to you but you're too ashamed to let yourself look at him. You discreetly take one of the pills from the pouch and doze off.
-
You're back in the pawn store, sitting on the sofa completely nude. He's shirtless with gray and white chest hair and a little tummy, but he's not too wrinkled. He’s wearing red suspenders. There’s a faint trace of faded makeup or tattoos stemming down from his eyes - narrow triangles, pointed downward. Somehow he makes it look sexy.
"Spread your legs for me, baby," he says gruffly as he moves his hand up and down his cock. You spread your legs wide and touch yourself.
"Fuck me," he exhales. "Gotta have ya, darlin'," he sighs in resignation. He stands up with no difficulty, crosses the room cockily with his big dick in in his hand, and puts his hand on the wall behind the sofa. He looks down at you darkly, looming over you, stiff cock less than two feet from your face as he strokes it. You scoot forward and suck his tip between your lips. He puts his other hand on the wall and thrusts his huge cock slowly into your mouth, bracing himself with both hands.
You suck him hard, salivating around his delicious cock as his hips push him into your mouth. He grunts and moans and says "yeah, just like that," fucking himself with your mouth. His soft, deep voice stirs a feral desire within you. "Just like that, baby.” You take him out of your mouth and he watches from above, stroking himself as you stretch out on the sofa. "You want this cock, sweetie?" You nod. He brings a hand down to the back of the sofa then cages you to the cushions with his body. "You want it in your pussy?"
He reaches between your legs and lightly taps your cunt a few times, wetting his lips, then rubs your slick around it. You grab his dick and gently tug him closer. You wrap your legs around him and he slams his big cock into you, stuffing you completely full of him. "Yeah," he sighs. He retreats slowly then slams into you hard. "Take it, sweetie." You moan and he grunts.
He repeats the action again and again, and it feels better and better. His belly grinds into your clit and you watch his biceps flex. He pounds you and grinds into you and finally you burst.
You wake up moaning on the Greyhound bus and the DILF next to you looks away, blushing.
All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl
#gilf!joel#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller drabble#joel miller fic#dark!joel miller#pedro pascal fic#perv!joel miller#pedro pascal#pervy!joel miller#pedro pascal smut#toxicanonymity ☠️#creepy!joel miller#cw clowns#cw sex work#cw dubcon#PPCU jacks off#PPCU jacks off ☠️#someone jacks off
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first strike
mark estapa x fem! reader
warnings?: cursing, one kiss, fluff
masterlist
-
you sat anxiously at your vanity, teasing and touching your hair every minute until the hockey player texted you that he was in your driveway. when your phone lit up with the text your heart sank into your stomach.
“this is gonna be good.” you said to yourself, grabbing you wallet and heading out the front door. you opened the car door and got settled while you were greeted by the smiling brunette.
“you look great.” he smiles at you.
“thank you mark, you too.” you replied, his smile warming your heart. you and mark had been texting for a while. flirting, small talk, the whole shabang, but the two of you had never once hung out in real life, at least not alone. you’ve liked the boy for months and you’re finally on your first date with him.
“just so you know, i’m a great bowler.” he says, sparking an idea in your head. you had always loved to bowl with your family, and even won tournaments with them, so what if you could get this going a little quicker?
“oh i wish i was, i honestly suck.” you confess, totally lying out of your ass.
“hey no worries, i got you.” he says, ego booming through the roof of the car. the rest of the short drive was filled with your usual conversations, nothing out of the normal. you two walk into the bowling alley and make your way over to the counter.
“what’s your shoe size?” the woman asks the two of you.
“13 and she’s a?”
“6.” you smile.
“perfect, now let me ring you in,” she pauses, “your total is 24 even, are you splitting it?”
“no maam, im paying for it.” mark speaks up causing you to blush.
“thank you.” you whisper to him, his only reply being a smile. once you get to your lane you grab a 7 pound ball and he grabs a 12 pound.
“oh big and strong are we?” you laugh.
“what? oh this ball? if i had a 7 pound it would end up in the ceiling.” he laughs.
“woah okay mr macho.” you reply, giggling.
“okay i’m putting you as first, let me see what i’m working with here.” he says backing away and watching you bowl, purposefully shitty of course, but he has no idea. miraculously, you hit the two pins in the end.
“how’d i do?” you ask and he laughs.
“let me help you.” he says handing you the ball once it returned. you pick it up and you walk over to the lane, mark standing flush against your back. he grabs onto your wrist and lands his other hand on your waist.
“okay now bend your knees and lean forward. and don’t throw the ball, push it.” he say and you move together, picking up a spare.
“oh my gosh.” you say jumping and turning around as he smiles brightly at you.
“see it’s not so hard.” he says as you go sit down for his turn. he knocks 9 pins.
“damn look who’s winning.” you laugh and pick up your ball. it was show time. you walk up to the lane and send the ball effortlessly down the lane, knocking over 6 pins.
“see, i knew you could do it.”
“first to get a strike gets what?”
“a kiss.” he raises his brow.
“deal.” you reply and your heart sinks into your stomach. you couldn’t lie and say being around him didn’t make you nervous. a good nervous of course. you send the ball one more time hitting 2 more pins.
“your turn hot stuff.” you say patting him on the back.
“hot stuff?” he asks.
“mark im not blind, now go.” you laugh. much to your surprise he gets two gutter balls.
“you threw me off my game y/n.” he laughs sitting down next to you.
“i did no such thing.” you say getting up for your turn. as much as you wanted a strike, the idea made you nervous. you took a deep breath before walking up to the lane and sending the ball as fast as you could, knocking over all 10 pins. you turn around with wide eyes and jump for joy as he stands up and walks over to you, opening his arms to hug you.
“that was fucking awesome dude.” he says putting you down.
“it was pretty epic.” you laugh. once you’ve come back down you lock eyes with the tall boy.
“i was the first strike.” you say looking down at your feet.
“yep.” he replies, the building now feeling empty like it was no one but you two.
“hey look at me.” he says lifting your chin delicately with his hand.
“sorry i’m nervous.”
“why are you nervous?” he asks gently running his fingers down my arm.
“because you’re you. you’re tall, handsome….. let me not inflate your ego too much.” you laugh nervously.
“and you’re beautiful, smart, kind. i’ll inflate your ego any day.” he smiles, which you return as he finally closes the gap between you and presses his lips to yours. your stomach filled with butterflies as you melted into the feeling of his hands around your waist onto the small of your back. once you separate all you can do is smile at him.
“let’s finish this game yeah?” he says.
“yeah.” you say quietly. you go sit down in your seat, over the moon about what just happened, realizing you’re gonna have to tell him you lied about being a bad bowler sooner or later. once you finished the game that you had barely won, you exit the bowling alley and walk back out to his car.
“mark, i have to tell you something.” you say.
“what’s up? everything alright?” he asks buckling his seatbelt.
“oh yes of course. i just had to tell you that i lied about being a bad bowler,” you sigh.
“why?”
“because i wanted you to show me how to bowl, i wanted to get the ball rolling, figuratively, between you and i.” you say embarrassing yourself, “i also didn’t wanna hurt your ego too quickly.”
“y/n it’s okay, you’ve hurt my ego a tiny bit now, but i like you anyway. i was fully planning on kissing you regardless of if you were good at bowling or not. at least you getting the first strike makes way more sense now.” he laughs, reassuring you.
“thank you mark, i like you too….. and i have for a while honestly, and besides all that, you’re a good bowling teacher.”
“am i actually?”
“yes, you did perfectly.” you laugh.
“ego has been boosted again.” he states, placing his hand lightly on your leg as you pulled out of the parking lot. once you arrive back at your house he pulls into your driveway and puts the car in park.
“thank you for tonight.” he says turning toward you.
“you too, i had so much fun.” you smile.
“see you tomorrow? lunch?”
“yeah sure, what time?”
“don’t know yet but i’ll text you when im on the way.”
“perfect.” you smile as he leans over to kiss you one more time.
“bye mark,” you smile placing a hand on his cheek once he backs away a few inches.
“bye y/n.”
-
#mark estapa#mark estapa x reader#mark estapa fluff#umich imagine#umich hockey#turcs’ talk#i love him
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📰 | prologue: capulet.
info: Carl Grimes-less chapter (sorry!), Negan x Daughter! Reader, pre/start of apocalypse, violence and minor gore, morally grey reader, mentions of child abuse/neglect.
summary: When the apocalypse breaks loose, you find yourself in companionship with your sport teacher, Mr. Smith.
THIS was so much fun to write!!!! Genuinely my favourite chapter I’ve done so far. Let me know what you all think, because I’d love to do more little tidbits that stray from the original story. But with that in mind, this instalment IS required to understand parts of the fic going forward. Prologue is mandatory…..I’ve just finally done it.
Chapters 1, 2, 3, and 4 are already out! 5 will return to our regularly scheduled program of Carl and (Y/N) bickering.
You valued consistency.
Doing the same thing, every day.
Even if your life was shit, at least it was consistently shit.
You always knew how to behave. What could just go unpunished. How to enter the house without making a sound. The perfect patterns to ensure your location wasn’t given away. What exactly to say to avoid being hit.
It was routine, comfortable. You permanently lived on the edge, waiting. Listening, watching. Observing those around you.
As routine, you were late. It was becoming quite the pattern, but you couldn’t help it. The bus ran late. Or, you suppose… if it ran late every day, then it was on schedule. Maybe you should start catching an earlier bus.
Whatever, it didn’t matter.
Second period, Tuesday.
Sport.
Now, you didn’t necessarily dislike sport. But you didn’t really love it, either.
The uniform always made you feel insecure. Which, at the ripe age of 13, doesn’t seem to be an emotion your peers are experiencing yet. Or maybe they are just better at hiding it than you are. It’s also incredibly performative, sport, which you hate. Being singled out, going one by one, choosing teams. All of it was terrible.
You didn’t mind your teacher.
Which, went a long way, considering you disliked most people who resided within these buildings. Teachers and students alike.
But Mr. Smith was nice. To you, at least. And to everyone. He was loud, had too much energy, but you didn’t mind. It just meant that he cared about his job.
You absentmindedly tugged at the sleeves of your shirt, the fabric wrapped around your arms to make up for the breezy garment of the girls tank top. It made you look different, set you apart. You hated that.
Regardless, you fall in line with the others.
Baseball.
Granted, you’ve never played baseball before. Sure, you’d watched it, on the small occasion that you were allowed to stay with a friend. It was a vivid memory. Watching from the hallway, over her father’s shoulder, whilst she was asleep.
You wished that your father liked sports. Or maybe cooking. Or collecting things, cleaning things, fixing things. Anything.
It’s almost the end of class, you’re standing at the back of the line. Three kids, then two, then just one. You. The others are standing on the bleachers, already collecting their equipment, preparing for break.
“Batter-up.” Mr. Smith says, though you don’t understand the colloquialism. Nonetheless, you move forward, accepting the bat from the previous student. Another is further down the field. Bowler, you presume.
The metal bat is cold between your fingers, clenched in your dominant hand. It’s heavy, but not an unmanageable amount, just enough to keep you aware of it. There’s weight to the swing, weight on your arm, shoulder. It takes a moment to find your footing.
But when you do, the other student has already thrown the ball. It’s hurdling towards you, faster than comfortable. Spinning through the air with a distinct whizz, perfectly curved, heavy. Dangerous.
It’s instinctual. Your body twists, landing a hit on the spherical object with laser accuracy, the impact ringing in your ears as it soars away, towards the end of the pitch.
Your head snaps in the opposite direction, recalling the match you’d silently observed years ago. There are beige bases in the grass, thin plates. The bat falls from your grip, hitting the ground with a thud, and you move to start running.
It only takes a few steps before reality clicks in, and you realise the feat is pointless. Nobody else is playing. There is no-one to catch your ball, to cheer and clap. Everybody has already begun to leave. They didn’t watch you, didn’t continue the game. Three seconds tick over before the bell rings, releasing the crowd of children awaiting their freedom.
Suddenly the summer breeze is too hot, the sleeves of your shirt itching, sticking to your skin. The tank is too tight. It hugs your body in the wrong way, vulnerable, at their mercy. And yet, you are unseen in a similar manner, and there’s an inkling of you that wants to be judged, simply to say you’d been recognised.
You’re collecting your things, and by that, putting your muddied sneakers into a plastic bag and slipping on new ones. There are footsteps behind you. Heavy, easily identifiable as an adult. You have impeccable hearing.
Before he can announce himself, you’ve turned. There’s always been respect in your tone when conversing with teachers, well aware of the authority they hold, despite your frequent disagreeable on their methods.
“Never mentioned you were good at baseball.” Mr. Smith quips, already packing up the equipment left behind from the lesson into a large bag. Those concrete-hard balls, the plastic bases, the metal bats.
“I’ve never played, sir.” You tell him, flashing that usual, awkward smile that doesn’t really count as a smile, but just the pursing of your lips. An attempt at civility from somebody too irreversibly damaged for their age.
“Well, we’ve got a team running,” He continues to speak whilst organising, and though he does not look at you, your attention is drawn. “Could come find you later, give you the permission slip.”
That bursts your bubble. There’s no chance in hell that you could persuade your father to sign it. There was forging the signature, but this game would run in after-school hours, an extra curricular. You wouldn’t be allowed.
“I dunno,” You shrug in premature defeat, slinging the bag over your shoulder, coming to stand at the feet of the bleachers. “Not really a team player. Wouldn’t fit in with the older girls.”
Though there’s no visible indication, it’s obvious that Mr. Smith disregards this as a valid excuse. Which, it definitely isn’t, but it’s the little statement you tell yourself in order to feel less shitty about missing an opportunity.
“How about I get you the slip, and then you’ve got the option?” It’s said as a question, but clearly isn’t, as he’s then reaching into the duffel bag and pulling out one of those heavy, metal bats.
He holds it out to you, and you have no choice but to take it.
“Get some practise in before the weekend.”
Then Mr. Smith is leaving, and you’re left standing there, on the muddy field. The second bell rings out.
You’re late.
Now, this habitual lateness may not be all so coincidental.
Tardiness was handled rather vigorously in the seventh grade, for whatever reason. You didn’t understand.
But it hasn’t taken too long into the year to crack the metaphorical code. Detention was mandated for wrongdoings, ergo, another hour before you had to be home.
You’d take detention over home any day of the week.
So it was unsurprising when you ended up there this afternoon, settling into your usual spot near the back. There were a other kids, the typical troublemakers, and a few poor souls who genuinely had misfortune befall them.
Mrs. Hagerty, the librarian, overlooked detention. She was old and slow, grey hair, grey lips. Grey… skin. Well, she looked half-dead, which was saying something. You weren’t surprised, though it was a little suspicious how she hadn’t chastised you for bringing the baseball bat into the room.
It sat propped up against your desk.
Despite your adamancy against pointless procedures, public humiliation, gossip, and assholes in charge, you were quite good at school. English, primarily, was your strong suit. Reading, writing. All of it.
The peace that you’d carefully crafted was interrupted roughly halfway into the lesson. Or, babysitting session, as Mrs. Hagerty was yet to look up from her desk. Talk about worlds easiest job.
You still remembered that day, even now. Years later.
At the time, Mr. Smith was nothing but your sport teacher, someone with authority who you detested less than most other figures. A reasonable constant in your life, so far.
Now, he was Negan. Everything to you, in a way. Alike to how you were everything to him. Though you didn’t know it then, this was the day that he’d consume an entirely different part of your mind, forging a new identity that would terrorise, ravage, and torment communities.
But in the same breath, protect you, help raise you, construct an entire empire with you as the sun. Though you’d never succumb to the hive mind, you were not Negan. But you certainly were his.
Nonetheless, it all started within that room. The detention room.
“Permission slip.” Negan announced, placing the small pink paper on the desk in front of you. He attempted to keep his voice hushed, mindful of the other students who were meant to be studying, but appeared more to be sleeping.
Now that it was out of school hours, and he was likely printing, Negan wore reading glasses. Later, you would mock him for these, making comments about him being old.
It always awarded you with that same distinct look of warning. Yet, it never made you feel threatened, but appreciated. Seen.
You slide the permission slip closer, reading the small black writing. In the same motion, you fish out a pen, jotting down cursive letters in the underlined section.
You slide it back.
“I can’t take this,” Negan points out with a sign, gazing down at the signature that is obviously not one of your parents. “You’re really making me go back, and print another one?”
This causes you to roll your eyes, “So I can take it home and do the same thing? That just wastes both of our time… our you could take it now.”
However, he won’t budge. “It’s policy. Go home, get it signed. I don’t need to know how.”
Though you feign annoyance, the insinuation made you want to smile. Turns out, Negan knew more than he was letting on. Gossip spread across faculty quickly, and it didn’t take a genius to deduct your… poor living situation.
The long sleeves, the turtle necks, the gloves. Jeans in summer. Never a parent to attention parent-teacher conferences.
He’s about to turn and leave, when there’s a slight commotion at the front of the room.
One of the younger students, Jasmin, is talking to Mrs. Hogarty in a hushed voice. Goody-two-shoes.
When she gets no response, the student only continues talking, trying to elicit a reaction from the teacher that has otherwise remained silent. In an irreversible mistake, Jasmin reaches out, gently waving her tanned hand in front of glazed over eyes.
Mrs. Hogarty lunges at her, finally in motion, chubby hands gripping at the forearm of the girl and taking a bite from plush skin. Blood spurts from the wound, Jasmin screams in horror, alike to the rest of the few misdemeanours in the room.
Everyone is in motion. Some try to help Jasmin, others flee. You’re stuck. Truth is, though you boast agility, you’ve never been in a situation like this. Your mouth gapes like a fish, open, closed, searching for something to say, to do. A reaction befitting of this complete, disgusting travesty.
“C’mon, up. Let’s go.” Negan is talking to you, you realise. It’s like everything finally clicks back into motion, the water no longer clogging your ears, making everything muffled and distant. This is reality.
You scramble from the chair, grabbing books, pencils, hastily shoving them into your little brown bag.
But there’s a hand on your shoulder, urging you forward, towards the exit sitting towards the back of the classroom. “Leave it, no time.” Negan is telling you, helping you off the floor. Before the two of you can make a break for it, your hands clasp around the metal baseball bat.
It swings at your side as you leave the building, feet padding against the concrete of the pavement. It’s strangely… desolate. There is no increasing urgency, nobody around. It almost makes you question whether what happened was real. But you’re still walking, forward, away.
“Shouldn’t we help her?” You ask, to which Negan finally stops to look back at you. His brows furrow, confused, so you clarify. “Jasmin.”
“No, no, there isn’t any helping her,” He clarifies, talking slowly to try and get the idea in your head. “I read about this shit online, it’s in other countries. Europe. They aren’t people anymore.”
You don’t quite catch on, understand the severity of his words. But it makes sense. No person would act like that. Your feet begin to move again, travelling the familiar path.
“Hey, where are you going?” Negan calls out, and it’s only now that you become aware of the distance between you. Your head snaps into the direction of the bus stop, a silent answer, and Negan seems to deduct your intentions. He nods in the opposite direction. “C’mon.”
You obey, needing to skip in order to catch up with his longer strides. The bat is still clenched in your dominant hand, cold metal occasionally making contact with the side of your leg. It’s heavy, but you’re getting used to it.
As you approach the car park, the sun beats down, warming the asphalt. A few paces away is Negan’s truck, but before that, another person you quickly identify as an older student.
Stringy hair, grey skin, dull eyes. Arms reaching out, wandering aimlessly. The animated corpse seems to have some semblance of consciousness, as it spots you, limping over.
Preemptively, you take a step back, that familiar feeling of panic flooding your system at an unavoidable danger. Luckily, Negan appears to be significantly more composed than you are, as he’s reaching back for something. Extending a hand to you.
When you don’t react, he whistles, a high-pitched noise that instantly gets your attention. You did not know it yet, but this would become a familiar constant in your life. Nonetheless, you catch onto what he meant, letting the metal bat fall into his extended hand.
“Are you gonna…?” You don’t finish your question, as you’re unsure what exactly you think may happen. There’s a small part of you that doesn’t want to know.
Luckily, Negan provided little answers. “Go around and get in the truck.” He tells you, instructs you, and you listen simply because you trust him. Which, in this day and age, is dangerous.
You busy yourself with the seatbelt in order not to watch, able to mentally fill in the blanks as to the measure that Negan was taking. It made sense, you supposed. They weren’t alive anymore, couldn’t feel. Only wanted to hurt other people. Therefore, they needed to be put down.
There’s a clang as he places the baseball bat in the back of the truck, getting into the drivers seat and starting the engine. You watch this interest, unable to remember the last time somebody drove you anywhere. Never, if you recall correctly.
Thankful, Negan opts to ignore the way you inspect his every movement, like a little bird. Or a startled cat.
“Your address?” He requests, already making a start down the street that he would presume lead towards your house. It snaps you out of the little daze, face scrunching up.
“No, gross. I can’t give you my address,” You say in a matter-of-fact tone, as if the idea of completely insane. “You could be a predator, for all I know. That’s private information.”
Negan gives you that look again, the same one when you’d forged the signature. He can’t quite understand you. “Why would I work in a school if I was a predator? Tell me, how would I get that job.”
You shrug, “Maybe because that’s exactly what you want.”
He becomes fed up with your inane accusation, rolling his eyes. Yet, despite the attitude you’ve adopted, he does not get frustrated with you. “Address, now. I’m takin’ you home.”
There’s a large part of you that doesn’t even want to go home, yet you obey, providing Negan with your address to which he turns down the proper street. Luckily, you don’t live too far from school… or, unlucky, you suppose. For it isn’t long until you’re pulling into your driveway.
You get out, footsteps cautious against the pavement. A few meters away is an older lady, half alive, clinging to the path with desperate hands despite the concave appearance of her head. Your neighbour. She groans upon noticing you, but her legs are broken, and cannot move forward.
Remembering earlier, you move backwards towards the truck, fishing out the metal bat. It’s shiny metallic end is caked with reddish blood, stringing bits of decomposing guts hanging from it.
You can only make it a step forward until Negan is holding your shoulder again, pushing you in the opposite direction, towards the house. “Nope. Just leave her, she ain’t hurting anyone.”
Usually, you would detest being controlled. Told what to do. The shadow of an adult so close behind you, watching, letting their hands intrude on your space. But you didn’t feel threatened by Negan, which was odd. You weren’t going to complain about it, that’s for sure.
You ascend up the shallow stairs, coming to a stop in front of the door. When you reach out, pressing on the doorhandle, you’re shocked to find that it simply swings open, already sitting ajar. Dread fills your body.
It’s not that fearful, sickly dread that you get when you know you’ve done something wrong, and are awaiting the inevitable consequences. No, its.. different. You’ve felt it very few times before. Concern, worry. Knowing that something is wrong, and you cannot stop it.
Nonetheless, you enter the house. It’s in its familiar state, which provides a slight comfort to you, but Negan finds himself taken aback. It’s practically a mess. Every surface has something on it, whether it be pointless junk, or the garbage of bottles and cans. A few areas remain spotless, like the kitchen counter, and the bin remains empty and carefully tucked away.
It’s clear that you upkeep the small areas which you require for your autonomy. The rest of the place? Not your problem. It’s no wonder you don’t like being there.
As you pat further down the hallway, Negan draws his attention to the entrance. There’s a large bookshelf, though the books are dusty, likely long since actually used. A few slots are unusually empty, indicating that you’ve taken some to keep elsewhere.
But it’s the top shelf that draws his attention. Two photographs, positioned around thirty centimetres apart, with two respective urns behind them. One significantly smaller. Mother and daughter, he recognises. Mother and baby, actually.
It’s apparent that this is the home of a family that’s lost half of its inhabitance. He can’t help but wonder, is this the fate that will befall him, come Lucille’s death? Hopefully not. Nothing like this.
“Dad?”
Negan regains his sense of reality, curiosity piked as you’re speaking down the hall. He moves further into the space, standing in the kitchen as he observes you, there on the porch.
You stand near the doorway, that bat still hanging from one hand. In front of you, a figure, sitting down. Next to him, a half-empty case of beers. Part of Negan becomes increasingly alert, aware, prepared to avoid letting any harm befall you. A harm that you’re likely accustomed to.
There’s no response.
“C’mon. Just say something.” You urge, sounding utterly defeated. And yet, your father gives no response, despite the impending doom blanketing the situation.
It doesn’t take a genius to understand. The vicious, red welt on your fathers neck gives it away, jagged and seeping blood that stains his already unkept shirt. It’s a matter of time, at this point. You’d like to extract at least one, genuine conversation. Absolutely anything before he disappears forever.
That isn’t seeming very likely.
Your eyes drift around the yard, welling with tears not of sadness, but frustration. This is it? You are to become an orphan, the world is ending, and your piece-of-shit father won’t even look at you? In this moment, you wished he was angry.
You wished he would yell at you.
Pin you against the wall by your neck.
Bruise you. Beat you.
Anything other than this.
“I made the baseball team.” You tell him, another futile attempt to elicit any sort of reaction. Pride, maybe. Congratulate his young daughter for her achievement. Even the smallest hint of recognition would go a long way, pull you from this spiral you’ve begun to succumb to.
And what does he do?
He scoffs.
His arm lifts, taking another swig of the near empty bottle.
Finally, you’ve gotten your sign. A signal, a hint. The divine intervention that sets everything straight, reminds you of your place in this world. Just enough attention to keep you subdued, but satisfied. Complacent.
Anger overtakes you before you’re even aware of these emotions, wielding a surprising amount of strength for a pre-pubescent girl. You want to scream and shout and hurt him.
So you do.
It’s a knee-jerk reaction, really. Unplanned, messily executed. But would you have done it again? Certainly.
You cannot feel remorse for causing pain to a man who’s soul died long ago. Died with your mother, died with your infant sister. Tried to kill yours along with it all.
It’s already happened before you can understand.
There’s a distinct soreness in your shoulder, strained from swinging the metal baseball bat with such force. There are little blisters forming on your palms from how tight you’re gripping, clawing, clenching around the handle. The movement has shifted your whole body, but you don’t look down.
You don’t acknowledge the mess you’ve made.
Blood splattered across the wooden porch, some even hitting the adjacent fence. Skull broken, concave. Oozing sticky red.
The glass bottle rolls down the steps. Clink, clink, clink. It hits the plush grass, silenced.
It was inevitable, anyway. Whether to the virus, or your own hands, your father was going to die.
It was a mercy-kill, at best.
Vengeance at worst.
But that didn’t matter anymore, because when you turned around, he was there.
Negan.
Standing in the kitchen, watching you through the open door. He didn’t appear horrified, or disgusted. Maybe unsettled, sure. There was a darkness within you that he recognised, understood. Sure, he didn’t put it there, but over the years he would cultivate it, guide you. Raise you as somebody who would never be taken advantage of again.
Untouchable.
#carl grimes x reader#the walking dead x reader#twd x reader#negan smith x reader#negan smith#twd x you#the walking dead#carl grimes
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Dream Girl.
Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader
Words 4810
Warnings Smut, fluff, language, alcohol, angst...just, tread carefully.
This was an anon request, how exciting! This was my first request and I am very open to receiving more! I embellished the plot request a little bit, to add some angst as I've not got a lot of that in my other stuff so far. I hope I did your request justice, whoever you are!
"Heyy i have a request if you ever wanna try it, I meet Travis at Coachella this year I was thinking if you could do a fic x reader where they bump into each other at a concert/festival and one thing let to another"
The crowds were busy and the sun was hot, which only made it worse. People were shoulder to shoulder, stranger skin's touching and you were trying your best to keep your personal space.
But you loved it.
You had counted down the days to Coachella. Planning the trip, organising travel and accommodation. Each year you had wanted to go but finances and work commitments made it impossible. But since you had launched your own beauty brand, everything seemed to fall into place. You were able to attend this year as an influencer, securing luxury accommodation in one of the Safari Campground's stunning yurts.
"Okay, let's get a drink and then go to see Blondie?"
You quickly glanced at your watch before looking back to Ayla, your best friend and business partner who was attending the festival with you.
"Sounds like a plan."
You both made your way across the grass to the nearest bar, stopping to take a couple of photos. As you joined the end of the line, you pulled out your phone to post the photos to your business page. You were slowly getting close to the front of the line when you were bumped into by someone behind you.
You shot Ayla a look of annoyance but decided to ignore it. You were expecting this and you had attended festivals in the past with a similar issue. It was busy, you understood that, but when the stranger behind you bumped into you again, you turned your head slightly and cleared your throat.
In your peripheral vision, you could see a small group of tall men behind you, talking loudly and fooling around.
Ayla nudged your arm, "Just boys acting like little boys."
You nodded in agreement and stepped forward as the line moved along when a loud voice behind you pierced your eardrums.
"Hey yo! Can we get some beers here?"
Your eyes furrowed and you spun around, "Excuse me, but-"
Your heart dropped at the sight of the man before you. Nike baseball cap, colourful striped t-shirt, white denim shorts and bright sneakers. He had a trimmed beard and sunglasses covering his eyes but you recognised him straight away.
"Travis?"
"Y/N." He smiled back, reaching out for a hug.
You awkwardly accepted the embrace, wrapping your arms around his 6 foot 5 inch frame. You pulled away, your breathing quickening it's pace. You could barely keep eye contact with him as he tried to catch your gaze.
"How've you been? It's been a while."
"Y-yeah...I've been great."
"What can I get you?" You heard an unfamiliar voice behind you.
You spun around to face the bartender and froze, your mind still focusing on the burning feeling in your chest.
"Four beers, please." Ayla shouted over the noise of the music.
You smiled at Ayla and picked up the bottles, quickly turning and walking briskly away from the bar. Ayla tried to keep up with you before stopping you with a hand on your shoulder.
"What the hell, Y/N? Who was that?" She pushed her braids away from her face as she turned her head over her shoulder to get another look at him.
You blinked and took a sip of your beer, "That is Travis Kelce. Tight End for the Kansas City Chiefs. Two-time Superbowl winner. Eight-time Pro-Bowler and four-time All-Pro. Fastest Tight End to reach-"
Ayla waved her hands in front of your face, "Stop, stop. I have no idea what you're talking about."
You took another sip. "My childhood sweetheart."
Ayla's mouth dropped open, "Oh dang."
"Oh, dang indeed." You took another sip and started walking further towards the crowd gathering at the stage. "But it's no big deal, it was 10 years ago or something."
Ayla stood in front of you, "Yeah...but you should totally go and speak to him. He's fine! And he's looking at you."
You felt your cheeks blush instantly. You and Travis had been friends all through High School. He was a year older than you but you had grown up together and your parents were friends so you spent a lot of time in each others company. You were his date for his senior prom and he told you he had always had a crush on you. Since then, your friendship blossomed into an intense and long relationship. You eventually joined him at the University of Cincinnati but when he was drafted to Kansas City after college, you couldn't take it.
"So, are you saying that football is more important than me?"
"No, but you are just as important as my career." Travis tried to reach out for you, "Move with me."
You pushed him away. "I can't, I have work and school."
"This is an amazing opportunity for me."
"You just don't get it."
Ayla grabbed at your arm, "Oh shit, he's coming over."
You raked a hand through your hair quickly and looked down at yourself, making sure that you looked good. Ayla winked at you and stepped back a bit, pulling her phone out to pretend she was making a call.
You felt his presence behind you and took a deep breath before turning around.
"Hey." You breathed.
His eyes travelled down your body and back up to meets yours.
You held up a finger, "And you can stop doing that, right now."
Travis laughed and glanced to the floor, rubbing his palms together, "You haven't changed one bit."
You cocked your head to one side, "I hope you have."
He held his hands up, "Woah, where's all of this hostility coming from, man?"
You sighed in frustration, "What do you want, Travis?" Folding your arms across your body.
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "Ah man, do you still hate me that much?"
"I don't hate you, I-" You stopped yourself immediately. You sighed again.
Travis' eyes flickered around your face, hoping for a sign of what you were going to say to him.
After a short silence, you shook your head, "Look, I'll see you around."
You started to walk past him when he grabbed at your wrist, stopping you with his face inches away from yours.
"I hope so. You look good, Y/N." His voice was low and gruff and it made you go numb for a second.
You managed a small smile before walking towards Ayla, your heart aggressively beating out of your chest.
_______________________________________________
"Call me! On the line, call me, call me any, anytime!" You screamed as your arms waved wildly in the air.
Ayla had her phone pointed at you, singing along with you. The tassels on your denim jacket swirling and shimmering in the light.
You felt your phone vibrate in your bag. You reached for it and unlocked the screen, your eyes narrowing as you opened up an Instagram message.
"killatrav: Come meet me by the VIP entrance. We could talk?"
You locked your phone and placed in back into your bag, choosing to enjoy the festival, instead of dragging up old memories.
"I love you so much, Y/N." He grasped at your hands, desperate.
"I love you too, Travis."
"Just not enough, huh?"
"Will you stop? It's difficult. We're both young, Travis. You have this huge future in front of you. I need to stay here and focus on my last year of school. I need to have a future too."
"Not with me? Is that what you're saying?"
"I need to give myself a chance. I can't be hanging onto you all of my life. I need something for myself. I want to graduate, start a business, make something of myself, just like you will. But I need to do this on my own."
Travis looked utterly defeated.
Suddenly, Ayla's phone was in front of your face and she appeared next to you, ready to take a photograph of the pair of you. You plastered on a wide smile and winked for the camera, wrapping an arm around her waist to get in closer, allowing the past to fade from your mind.
_______________________________________________
You gently rubbed your clouded eyes as you walked back to your yurt for the night. Ayla and yourself had danced and laughed all night, enjoying the music and drinking beer. Now, you were heading back to sleep for as many hours as you could grab before starting the next day of the festival. Ayla had planned to go to an early Yoga session at the Wellness Oasis the next morning and you had agreed to go, although you were currently regretting that decision.
"Ooh, no line at the bathrooms, hold on. I'll be just a minute."
You took hold of Ayla's bag and smiled, "No problem, I'll wait here."
She disappeared into bathroom area as you scrolled through the photos you had taken that day when someone blocked the light shining from the lamp next to you.
Looking up, you saw Travis grinning down at you. You rolled your eyes and returned to you phone.
"Oh man, come on! Are you not pleased to see me?"
You looked back up at him, "Travis, I came here to have a good time-"
He came closer to you, your bodies almost touching, "I can give you a good time."
You playfully hit his chest, instantly reeling at the hard muscle under his shirt, "Will you stop?"
There was a slight giggle in your voice which lightened the mood. Travis rested against the fence next you.
"Will you at least just tell me why you hate me? You broke up with me remember?"
You looked down at the floor, "Travis, I said earlier, I don't hate you..."
He almost reached for you but stopped. You looked down at his hand.
"...I love you."
Travis' mouth opened slightly. You finally met his gaze and blinked away some tears that were pooling around your lower lash line.
"Shit, I'm too drunk for this right now." You shook your head and started to walk away.
Before you could make one step, Travis blocked your path. He suddenly grasped at your waist, pulling you close and pressing his lips to yours. The kiss felt frantic, messy but you melted into it for just a second before pulling away.
"Travis." You stayed close to his face.
"Y/N?" Ayla said from behind you.
You whipped your head around and stepped away from Travis.
"Am I interrupting?"
You cleared your throat, "Yes, thank you. Come on." You took hold of Ayla's hand and left Travis where he was standing.
"What is going on?" Ayla panted as she tried to keep up with you.
"I just need to get away from him."
"Why?"
"Ayla, I've spent 10 years of my life trying to forget about Travis Kelce. And him being here now...it's just bringing all of these feelings back that I don't think I ever got over." You slowed down to a stop.
Ayla reached forward and stroked your hair, "Aww, honey."
Your eyes darted around to make sure he hadn't followed you, "Can we just go back to the yurt and go to sleep?"
"Sure." She gave you a gentle and sympathetic smile before taking your hand.
_______________________________________________
You breathed in deeply, listening to the relaxing music and stretched into your next pose. You had decided to go to Yoga with Ayla, figuring that an hour of relaxation would do you some good.
You closed your eyes and focused on the sounds of the rain stick, but it only made your mind wander to memories of Travis' senior prom. The sound of the rain against the roof of his car. The smell of Travis' cologne. The feeling of your dress resting on your knees.
"Shall we go in?" You asked him.
"Wait a minute...at least until it stops raining."
You laughed, "Travis, that could take all night!"
He smiled, "I don't care. I'd much rather sit here with you than go in there anyway."
"You're crazy!"
Travis took a deep breath, "Y/N, I need to tell you something." He was looking down at his hands, fiddling with the bottom hem of his blazer.
"Oh, there's Stephanie!" You spotted your friend at the driver's side window, waving your hands wildly, "Stephanie, we'll be there in a minute!" You shouted through the window.
Travis took your hands in his own and held them tight, "Y/N, I'm trying to tell you something!"
You blinked and lowered your voice slightly, "Okay, okay, go ahead."
He hummed gently, "We're friends, right?"
You squeezed his hands, "Best friends."
"Yeah." Travis paused, "But...have you ever thought that we maybe could be anything else?"
You pushed your eyebrows together, "What do you mean."
Travis began tracing small circles on the back of your hands with his thumbs, "Y/N, I like you, I always have." He breathed a laugh, "Shit, I've had a crush on you since we were, like, 13."
Your eyes widened as he spoke.
"I've never had the guts to tell you but since I'm going to college I...I thought I had nothing to lose?"
Your lips parted slightly, a small breath escaped and you looked into Travis' eyes. They were full of apprehension and nerves, emotions that were rare for him. You were so used to seeing him being confident, almost cocky but here he was, completely vulnerable and open to you.
You smiled, "Travis-"
"If you don't feel the same way, that's fine. And we can just go in there and enjoy prom and pretend that this never happened. But before you say anything else-"
"I love the way you eat hotdogs in two bites. I love the way you dance every time you score a touchdown or a three pointer. I love the way you smile at me from across the cafeteria and the way you always let me pick the movies we watch. I love that you're always the first one to back me up with anything, even if I'm being a jerk. I hate that you're about be 3 hours away from me but most importantly, I hate that it has taken you this long to tell me how you felt, because...I love you, Travis."
A slow smile crept onto Travis' face before he leaned forward and kissed you, the most gentle but most passionate kiss. His hands stayed grasping at yours, his cologne filling your nostrils.
"You're my dream girl."
You opened your eyes as the sound of the rain stick stopped and the instructor stood up. You could feel tears building up in your eyes and you attempted to sniff them away.
As you made your way out of the Wellness Oasis, you looked up at the morning sun. You needed to find Travis, to speak to him and get some closure.
Reaching for your phone, you quickly typed out a message.
"I need to see you."
You kept your eyes glued to the screen as you waited for a response.
"Where are you? I'm coming now."
_______________________________________________
You found a relatively quiet area in the camp lounge, sitting yourself down on a yellow beanbag. You were nervous and anxious, chewing on the inside of your cheek.
A figure blocked the light streaming in through the entrance to the large tent. Travis looked just as nervous as you felt, but he smiled when he spotted you. You stood up, instinctively, to give him a hug as he got closer to you. He felt stronger than you were used to. He had grown in 10 years and you sighed at the safe feeling his arms gave you. You sat back down and he followed by pulling up another beanbag in front of you.
He glanced at your mint green leggings and matching cropped shirt, "You had a workout?"
You smiled, "Eh yeah, I did some Yoga this morning."
"Wow." He smiled, "I remember when I could barely get out of bed for class."
You nodded, "Things have changed."
The smile almost faded from Travis' face, "Yeah, it seems so."
There was an awkward silence.
"Why didn't you call me?"
Travis widened his eyes and sat up slightly, "What?"
"Why didn't you call me? Text me? Anything?"
"You said you didn't want me to." There was almost a crack in his voice.
You frowned, "Because I was hurt. I felt like you didn't care about me."
"I cared about you a lot, I did care about you...I still do care."
Another silence. You weren't sure what to say. Resting back onto your beanbag you looked around at the small pockets of people around the tent. Relaxing, reading, cooling off from the sun and chatting. You turned back to Travis to see he was still looking at you. Your heart ached and your chest burned with a mixture of feelings, but the emotion at the fore front was love. He had changed physically; his stature was somehow even taller than you remembered and his shoulders had broadened. His face had aged well, growing into his features making him undeniably handsome. His eyes hadn't changed, though. They still pierced into yours, causing your stomach to bubble with excitement just as it used to.
"I saw you launched a beauty brand?" He fidgeted with his fingers.
"Uh, yeah. Last year, actually. It's...going really well." You nodded and smiled.
"That was always your dream." His lips flattened against each other into a sad smile, "I'm really proud of you."
"I'm proud of you too, Travis."
He rubbed his palms together, "I missed you though. It isn't the same without you at the games."
You smiled, "You've done just fine without me."
"I didn't want to though." He cleared his throat gently.
You opened your mouth but Travis leaned forward.
"Can I take you on a date?"
You laughed, confused, "What? Here?"
Travis looked around, "Why not? Look, come to my cabin that I'm staying in."
You chewed on your bottom lip and your chest was rising and falling quicker. "O-okay."
His mouth moved into a smile, "Okay, great! I'll send you the location."
_______________________________________________
"Oh my God? Oh my God. Are you really doing this?" Ayla looked at you with wide eyes.
You ran your hands through your hair, reaching for your compact mirror, "Yeah, why not?"
"Well, just yesterday you were saying that you didn't want to bring up any old feelings? Now, you're doing the complete opposite."
You sighed, "I just want to spend some time with him. I think...I think we could still have something."
Ayla paused and raised her eyebrows, "You think?"
"Don't look at me like that." You snapped.
Ayla leaned back, "Woah, woah, relax. I just don't want you back here in a couple of hours upset and crying and saying you never should have gone. I'm just looking out for you, honey."
"I know what I'm doing." You tried to reassure her as you closed your mirror and returned it to your bag.
"And what is it that you're doing?"
"I don't know. But I want to see him. Whatever happens, I have to at least try?"
_______________________________________________
The sounds of the festival were low and muffled through the walls of Travis' cabin which was luxuriously decorated in warm oranges and neutral greens. You had already had some beers before you arrived to calm your nerves and now you were sipping more on Travis' bed.
"Remember when you broke the ladder to my tree house? My Dad was so mad at you." You laughed. "He'd only just built it!"
Travis placed a hand over his stomach as he laughed, slightly rolling towards you, "Oh shit, yeah. I thought he was gunna kick my ass that day."
"I still don't think he's forgiven you." You looked away, "He's also a Raiders fan."
Travis' hand moved up to his chest as he groaned, "Ahh, Mr Y/L/N! Why you gotta do me like that?"
You relaxed slightly and laughed along with him.
"Remember when my Mom walked in on us when we were...?"
Your eyes sparkled as you sipped your beer, "Mmmm, oh yeah! Bless her heart!"
"She was happy in the end though, she always liked you, she still does. She asks about you sometimes, you know? Asks me if I've spoken to you."
Your tipped your head to one side, pouting your lips and touching his arm subconsciously, "Aww I love Donna. I miss her." You placed your drink on the small table next to the bed.
Travis leaned across you, putting his beer bottle down next to yours, "Do you miss me?"
Your eyes burned, "Everyday, Travis. I miss you everyday."
His gaze lowered to your mouth before returning to your eyes. He licked his lips as he leaned in closer, hovering over your mouth.
You froze, just inches away from his face, a throbbing starting to grow in your core. Travis took a deep breath before you closed the gap between you, pressing your lips to his with a firm pressure. Your eyes flickered shut and your mouth moved with his. Travis brought his hand to your face, gently caressing your cheek as you rolled your body towards him, your chest pressing into his. As the kiss became deeper, he lifted himself slightly so that he was almost leaning over you and you responded by grabbing his shirt and pulling him on top of you. Your back hit the soft mattress and Travis' hand began to explore you. You smiled slightly as he ghosted over your breast, almost unsure if you welcomed his touch.
Almost immediately, you placed your hand on top of his and pushed it onto your chest, allowing him to grab at the flesh underneath your clothes. Travis's hips bucked forwards into your pelvis and you could feel a hardness that made you tingle. You groaned into the kiss, tugging at the fabric covering his body. He stood up quickly, pulling his shirt off over his head. Your eyes gleamed at your studied his torso, sporting more hair and defined muscles than you remember. He bit down on his bottom lip and he crawled back towards you, fingers running over the low neckline of your sequin dress. You sat up and lifted the dress off, exposing your matching lace bra and thong. Travis' face froze as he stood up and he breathed hard and fast, eyes tracing your body longingly. You raised up onto your knees as Travis remained still at the foot of the bed.
Looking up at him through your eyelashes, you kept eye contact whilst you slowly lowered his shorts and black briefs in one motion. His cock sprang free and bounced slightly in font of your face. It was hard and a small bead of moisture had formed at the tip. You licked your lips and slowly took his entire length in your mouth, your head starting to bob. Travis let out a low grunt and carefully placed his hand at the back of your head. Your tongue ran up and down his entire length and you saw his thighs start to twitch. Quickly, you pushed your head to take his dick deeper, the tip pushing against the back of your throat.
"Oh, baby." Travis moaned.
You gagged slightly, saliva forming in your throat. With a gasp, you tilted your head back and swallowed. Travis took his thumb and ran it over your bottom lip.
"Babygirl, I've missed you so much."
You smiled, letting him guide you back down onto the bed. He kissed you lazily from your neck to your hips, his hands pulling your thong down. His eyes looked at you hungrily as you took your bra off, your nipples hard with arousal and your skin speckled with goose bumps. His head lowered down and you watched as his soft lips placed small kisses around your waist and inner thighs, waves of pleasure forming every time he was close to your pussy. You whimpered when he nibbled at your sensitive skin, his action getting closer and closer to where you wanted him. He quickly looked up at you to see your face before his tongue flicked at your clit. You cried out and he smiled that he was causing you to make those noises again after so long. As his tongue expertly worked at your folds, you were becoming more and more breathless.
"Travis...Trav-uhhh...that feels..."
He hummed as he pushed his tongue against your pussy, licking your folds slowly and gently. He lapped up the wetness that was forming before bringing himself back up to you. You lifted your head to kiss his lips, his trimmed beard glistening.
"You taste so sweet." His voice was a low groan.
With one quick action, Travis lifted one of your legs over his shoulder and ran his length down your folds, your wetness coating his dick. You gasped as he ground his dick against your pussy, his tip grazing your clit with each motion.
"I need...I need you."
Travis pressed his forehead onto yours and looked deeply into your eyes, "You want it?"
You nodded, shakily, "Yes, please. P-please, Travis. I need you inside of me."
He carefully lined himself up before pushing the whole length of his hardness into you, your eyes widening with each inch. You cried out again, your mouth gaping open. Travis began thrusting gently, keeping full eye contact with you. You looked at him pleadingly as his eyebrows lowered more with every thrust. Your breasts were bouncing quicker and when your eyes rolled back into your head and your back arched upwards, Travis responded by pushing into you even harder.
You squealed and grabbed onto the bed sheets with both hands, biting down on your bottom lip. Travis brought his mouth to your neck, gently sucking and groaning against your skin.
Travis' shoulders seemed to tense and without warning, he flipped you around on top of him and your knees landed either side of his hips. His thick cock was still inside of you and without missing a beat, you started bouncing. Travis reached out for your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers. You looked down to him and his face was quivering. You could see he was close so you leaned down, his dick now grazing your g-spot. You wanted to climax at the same time as him so you arched your back and bounced your ass up and down. Travis moaned even louder with your action and closed his eyes, his jaw clenching.
You sped up, the sound of your inner thighs slapping against his hips loud in the air. Travis opened his mouth, grunting breathlessly. You could feel your own core tightening at his impressive stamina, his hands lowering to your waist, leaving red marks in their wake. Your bounces became lazy as your muscles were tiring so you leaned forward and angled your body downwards, letting Travis' entire length fill your pussy. Grinding back and forth, his tip grazed your walls, making your arousal cover his cock. You smiled at how wet he was making you, a shiver travelling down your spine as your nipples rubbed against his chest hair. His hips bucked upwards, making his dick go even deeper than you thought it could.
Suddenly, Travis rolled over, his length exiting you with a wet sound. He turned you onto your side, moving close in behind you. You lifted your knee, making your pussy accessible for him. With one hand holding your breast and the other hooked around your lifted leg, he pushed his cock back inside of you with ease, causing a soft moan to escape your lips. He moved slowly and gently, massaging your breast with a light touch. Your skin tingled and you squeezed your eyes closed, pushing your face into the pillow. Travis snaked his hand around to your chin and pulled your face towards him, peppering your cheek with sloppy kisses. His grip on you tightened and he groaned in your ear, making you close to orgasm.
"I...love you. I always have." He grunted through his breaths.
His words made you clench your walls around him, making your swollen clit burn and release an intense high across your whole body. Travis lifted himself slightly onto his elbow so he could look into your eyes. He stared deep, watching your face squirm with every thrust. You could feel his pace labouring, signalling his nearing approach to orgasm. With a few aggressive thrusts, Travis' eyes grew wider and he let go of your leg, his hand moving directly to your clit. He growled as he filled you with his semen, covering your lips with kisses.
You laid in his embrace for a moment, letting your breathing slow down. His hot breath against your neck, he loosened his grip. He relaxed onto his back and you rolled over to rest your head on his chest. Pulling your arm over him, he stroked your hair.
"You're my dream girl, Y/N."
_______________________________________________
That got rather smutty. More than I anticipated, actually. I hope you enjoyed it. I may consider doing a request/prompt list if I start to get more and people are enjoying them!
#travis kelce#travis kelce x reader#travis kelce imagine#kelce x reader#nfl imagine#travis kelce smut#travis kelce fic#nfl smut#original story#kelce smut#kelcemenow requests
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Burning Bridges
[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]
Synopsis: Upon an incident that was out of your control, Dexter comes to the realization that it wasn't just a coincidence.
WC: 1951
Category: Slight Angst, Hurt/Comfort
I forgot how much I missed this show (him), so I decided to write another. It's been so long since I last wrote for him that I actually see the difference in my writing. It's wack.
『••✎••』
Dexter was many things… a brother, a son, a pro bowler, a serial killer… but what he lacked was being a good friend.
He didn't understand friendship or its value. It was something that he simply couldn't grasp. Sure, he was able to fake it well enough in order to make sure that people liked him and didn't find him too creepy or strange, but there was never any real emotional connection. In his mind, everyone was either someone he needed or someone he didn't need, and he would treat them accordingly. The only exceptions to this rule were his sister, Debra, and you.
The two of you had met back in college, having been assigned to be each other's partners for a group project. It was a poetry class and a course that Dexter hadn't really wanted to take, but a general education requirement and the promise of an easy A convinced him to at least show-up and suffer through it. Well, for a guy who had to fake every single aspect of his personality in order to fit in with society, it turned out that poetry didn’t come quite as easily as he thought it would.
He had always found the art form to be rather silly, with all the emphasis on metaphors and flowery language. There was no purpose or goal other than to be creative and artsy, and it bored him to no end. The first time you had sat down with him to discuss the project, you could tell how much he didn't want to be there, and the look of complete disinterest on his face as he tried to figure out what your poem meant was the most hilarious thing that you had seen in a while. You couldn't help but laugh, the sound of which made him sit up and give you a quizzical look.
"What?" He asked, tilting his head slightly, confused.
"Nothing," you replied, still giggling. "It's just that I can tell that you don't like poetry."
"Why would you think that?"
"Because you haven't said a word; you're just sitting there, staring off into space and twirling your pencil between your fingers," you told him, and he glanced down at the utensil as if he didn't realize that he was doing that.
"Oh. Sorry, I guess," he apologized, his tone making it clear that he was actually a little annoyed at having been called out on his inattentiveness.
"That's okay. I like poetry, so I'll be happy to do most of the work," you offered, smiling sweetly, and his eyebrows raised.
And that you did. In fact, you loved it so much that you majored in English and planned on getting your Masters, while Dexter got his degree in criminology. It was a nice trade-off because while he struggled in poetry, getting down into the debts of his feelings that were nonexistent, you struggled with chemistry, unable to wrap your head around the subject no matter how hard you tried.
So, the two of you had a mutually beneficial agreement. You did all the work for the poetry class, and in exchange, he tutored you in chemistry and made sure that you got a decent grade. Once the class was over and done with, the two of you stayed friends, though you had very little in common. Dexter had no interest in books, and you had no interest in criminology. He was a loner, and you had plenty of friends. You were a romantic, and he was completely unromantic. He didn't even have a girlfriend, and you had been in three different relationships over the course of the two years that you had known him.
Still, the two of you got along well enough. You were one of the only people that Dexter could actually stand for more than five minutes, and he was the same to you. So you went out to the bar sometimes, hung out with his sister, and did your best to keep him company while also doing your best to try to set him up on dates, hoping that one of these days, he'd actually find someone. It eventually did work out when you found him Rita, but as of right now, she had broken up with him, and he was back to being a lonely bachelor which it didn't bother him much until now.
You were in the hospital, your head wrapped and bandaged like a mummy. You were apparently attacked outside the grocery store, and if it wasn’t for the small instructions he had given you for self-defense, you most likely wouldn’t have survived.
At first, Dexter didn’t think of it as anything important in terms of his line of work. He believed it to be a coincidence, a random crime in the night. But it turned into something more the night he decided to visit with some cake.
“How’s the head?” He asked as he came inside, seeing you propped up reading. Of course, you were reading.
You shrugged. “Like I’m wearing a sweater hat, but it doesn't hurt, so there's that." You paused, setting down your book and glancing at him. "I’m still salty about my groceries. Almost two hundred dollars I spent on that stuff. Gone. Wasted. Poof."
Dexter had to chuckle a bit. "Hey, I can't do much about the food, but I brought you something," he said, revealing the white box.
"Is it chocolate? If it is, I love you," you joked.
"No, it's just vanilla. But, here."
He opened the lid and showed you, and you immediately lit up.
"Awww, Dexter! You are the best friend ever," you gushed, giving him a warm smile.
He smiled back. "It's the least I could do."
He was cutting it up for you when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. You didn’t seem to notice, but out in the hall, a shadow passed by the window. His body went on alert, eyes flickering towards the door. He couldn’t see much, but he could make out an elderly man with gray hair and a beard.
Dexter's face remained unchanged, though his body language betrayed him as he sat the cake knife down. He knew that look. That look in a man's eyes when he was looking at prey. This was a predator.
"Hey, uh, what was that description again? Of the man who attacked you," Dexter asked, his tone a bit distracted.
"You mean Santa Claus on drugs? That pretty much sums it up. Why?" You looked up, confused.
"I don't know. It's probably nothing."
But it was something. The man had apparently come back to finish the job, and Dexter's jaw clenched at the thought. He was already planning his death in his mind. It wouldn’t be pretty.
He gave you a piece of cake, swearing that he’d be back soon before going after the man. He stopped at the lobby momentarily, informing Angel to keep an eye on you, which, of course, the cop complied with.
Angel was a good cop. He was loyal, smart, and a damn good shot. But there was one thing that made him a great cop. He cared about his city and the people in it. He would protect the innocent no matter the cost, especially when it came down to those he was closest to. He was the kind of guy who would risk his life without a second thought if it meant saving others.
This is why Dexter liked Angel and why he was the only one that he trusted with this job.
Finding the man was extremely easy on his part. Dexter already knew what the guy’s plan was, so he stuck around outside the parking lot, watching the shadows. After a few minutes, the man appeared, heading towards the entrance once again.
He never got that far.
A hand was clamped over his mouth while the other dragged him away from the double doors and towards the side of the building. Dexter didn’t pull out his knife, though, only resorting to his arms as he applied pressure against his throat. The man fought, trying to break free, but he didn't get the chance. Dexter didn’t kill him, no, not yet, but his arm was still strong, and he had no plans to let go.
“Listen closely. If you so much as look the wrong way, I will rip your heart out and shove it down your throat. Understand? Nod if you do," he threatened, his voice calm and even.
The man nodded, terrified, his eyes wide.
"Good," Dexter replied, “Why are you here?"
The man was quiet, but he was breathing heavily, and his eyes were watering.
"Talk. That girl, why are you after her?"
"I’m not—”
"You attacked her, and now you came back to finish the job, did you not? Who sent you?"
The man was sweating; his face was flushed and red. Dexter was pressing too hard, and his victim was starting to lose air. He didn’t care.
"Who?" He repeated.
The man choked, unable to speak.
"Last chance. Who sent you? And don't lie to me."
The man didn’t answer, and Dexter tightened his hold. That finally did it. The man began to squirm violently, trying to break free, but it was too late. His face started to turn purple, and Dexter had to adjust his grip and pull him closer.
“It wasn’t personal! I had to! I didn't have a choice! It was just a job!" He gasped out, struggling for air. “I got paid to do it. I was just doing what I was told! Please, please, don't kill me."
"Who was it?"
"I—I don’t know. It was some lady. I met her at a bar. She didn’t give her name, but he wasn’t American. She gave me ten thousand dollars and told me that the job was to attack this chick in the parking lot and make it look like an attempted robbery. Said it had to be done in a couple of days. Listen, man, I didn't want to do it. But the money—"
"What did she look like?" Dexter cut in.
"Dark hair. Young. I don't know! I don't know, I swear. She wore sunglasses the whole time. Please, don’t kill me. Please."
Suddenly, it hit him like a ton of bricks. The Dark Passenger was roaring, the realization washing over him like cold water.
Lila.
Everything made sense now. The way she had suddenly showed up out of nowhere, the incident outside the bowling alley, her sudden interest in you. It all made sense. She was behind it. She had done it.
Dexter wanted to snap the man's neck. He wanted to rip his throat out. He wanted to take his knife and stab him over and over again, to punish him for what he had done to you, but he refrained. He had the answers he needed, and the cameras around were still running.
He dropped him and watched him collapse, gasping for air. He didn't move, too scared and in shock to do so. Dexter didn’t say a word; his anger was silent, but it was boiling beneath his skin.
He was going to kill her. He was going to hunt her down and end her, and there was no place on Earth where she could hide.
“You ever, and I mean ever, come near her again; I will tear out your spine and make you choke on it. Understand?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I understand."
Dexter didn’t say anything else; he simply walked off, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He had a lot to think about.
#dexter morgan x reader#dexter#dexter series#dexter morgan x female reader#dexter x reader#dexter x female reader#debra#debra morgan#deborah morgan#dexter morgan#michael c hall#michael x hall x reader#florida#slasher#slasher fandom#dexter fanfiction#dexter fandom#dexter tv series#dexter tv#darkly dreaming dexter#angst#hurt/comfort#protective!dexter#dexter book series#fanfiction#reader#x reader#plot driven fic#heavy angst
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Hold My Hand
Plot: Tensions and feelings arise when you and Sherlock end up in a precarious situation when running from a murderer.
Prompts: Forced Proximity, Sexual Tension (mild), “Hold my hand and don’t you dare let go.” <changed slightly, I hope you don't mind
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes (Enola Holmes) x Gn!Reader
Written for @multifandomfix for their birthday event. Happy Birthday! I couldn't decide on one prompt so I kind of mashed a bunch together lol.
Warnings: Nothing really.
Words: 1k.
A/N: After watched Enola Holmes 1&2 I've been debating writing for Sherlock. I have a Christmas fic planned for him, and I thought this might be a good time to test it out. Also I had no idea what to title this lol.
-
Your throat was hoarse as you ran down the cobblestone street. You glanced behind you, seeing the man chasing you not far behind. Glancing to your right, you saw Sherlock, jaw clenched, hair flying as he ran beside you.
When you agreed to help Enola with her current case - which she fervently assured you wold be an easy one - running from a murderous and crooked inspector with Sherlock Holmes beside you, was not how you thought it would end up.
Slipping through a small group of people, you stumbled to a stop, as your eyes cast over the busy market square.
"The market?" You asked out of breath.
"Yes, we could lose him in here."
The bustling crowds would surely provide you cover from your assailant, giving you time to lose him, but you risked being split up in the busy crowd.
Apparently Sherlock had this same thought, as you felt his hand reach down and grab your own. You felt your heart jolt in your chest as you looked from his hand, to his eyes, which he locked with yours.
"Hold my hand and don't let go." His voice was tense, and his gaze sharp.
You nodded, before he quickly started off into the crowded market. His hand was gripped tightly around yours as you ran close behind him, slipping through the crowds of people.
Looking back behind you, you spotted the familiar bowler hat of the man chasing you, as he bobbed through the crowd. You could tell he was losing sight of you as he hesitated in his steps.
"Were losing him!" You called to Sherlock as you weaved past a large group of vendors.
Taking a sharp left, and slipping past a market stall, Sherlock pulled you into a thin, darkened crevasse of an alleyway.
The alleyway forced proximity between the two of you, as your chests pressed together. You felt Sherlock slowly let go of your hand. You moved your hands and planted them against the wall behind you. The pressure of Sherlock's grip slowly fading.
Noting the closeness of your bodies, you found yourself holding your breath. Your eyes locked for a moment and you felt something pass between you, before you both broke eye contact and peered out into the crowds.
If your sudden avoidance of eye contact was to avoid the tension that palpitated between you, or to look for your assailant, you weren't sure.
Your eyes moved from one person to another, waiting to see the man pass by. After a few moments of not seeing him, you felt nervousness and relief wash over you. You may have lost him for now, but he could be anywhere.
Looking back to Sherlock, you felt a small jolt course through you, as you saw his eyes already locked on you. You felt the back of your neck heat up, as his eyes bored into you.
The detective had made you nervous from the moment you met him. The way his eyes seemed to follow your every movement, the way he studied you, you couldn't help but wonder what he could see. It had to be something notable since he seemed determined to keep you with him since he agreed to help Enola with her case a day prior.
Finally breaking the tension that seemed to be growing heavier between you, you spoke with a hushed voice. "What now?"
Sherlock seemed to snap out of his thoughts as you spoke. He paused for a moment as he took a breath.
"Now, we slip out into the crowd, grab something that could disguise us, and find our way back to Enola. Hopefully she and Tewkesbury have gathered the evidence she needed while we were being chased through London. She should have had plenty of time. Once we have it, we take the evidence to Lestrade, and then-" He paused, his voice going silent.
You rose your brow lightly "And then?" You asked.
"And then-" He began, his voice soft, but you saw his thought falter as he spoke "And then the case is done."
You weren't sure why you thought he intended to say something else, but you felt the disappointment of it anyways. You nodded your head as you forced yourself to look away from him.
Peering out into the crowds, you mumbled softly. "Sneak out. Find a disguise. Find Enola. Case closed. Sounds easy enough."
Looking back at Sherlock, he had a soft smile on his face "Something Sounding easy, and being easy don't always coincide."
You smiled softly and shrugged your head "I guess we'll find out if it does this time."
As you began to step out from the alleyway, you jumped back when you felt Sherlock grab your hand
"Wait."
"What?" You asked as you looked around hurriedly "Did you see him?"
"No, no, we're fine, it's just..."
You eyed him with curiosity as he seemed lost for words. "What is it Sherlock?"
"I- I don't know how much time we will have to talk once we leave this alley and get back to Enola."
You felt your heartbeat speed up as your neck grew hot again. It was unusual seeing Sherlock Holmes uncertain.
"Yes..?"
"I- I have enjoyed my time with you these last few days. You...pique my interest in ways I find to be unexpected. So, if- if it is desirable to you. Perhaps, once this case is over, you would be willing to have dinner with me?"
His previously downcast gaze slowly rose to meet yours. The restraint you had to use not to show your surprise was great. But you remained stoic, before you smiled softly at him.
"I would love to have dinner with you Sherlock."
You saw the small hint of relief wash over his face before he smiled. With a nod of his head he spoke softly "Great. I could pick you up tomorrow, around six?"
You repressed the grin pulling at your face as you nodded "Alright, six it is."
His smile grew wider for a moment before he remembered your current situation. He cleared his throat.
"Perhaps we should go now, before we are found here."
You were jolted back into the moment as you nodded your head "Yes, right."
You both spared each other soft knowing smiles before you slipped from your hideaway. Sherlock's hand reluctantly slipped away from yours as you quickly returning to your previous business. But both of you anew with an excited and expectant energy.
xx End xx
General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry
I have every intention of writing at least one more Sherlock fic, so if you wish to be tagged in that, or any future Sherlock fics, let me know! (Please be specific which Sherlock Holmes as there are multiple I write for)
#sherlock holmes x reader#enola holmes imagine#cavill!sherlock holmes x reader#enola holmes sherlock x reader#i dont know what to tag him as to make it easy to seperate from other sherlocks lol#enola holmes reader insert#henry cavill x reader#sherlock holmes (enola holmes) imagine#cavill!sherlock holmes imagine#cavill!sherlock holmes fic#birthday writing challenge#multifandomfix#multifandomfix birthday event#sherlock holmes/reader#fic#oneshot#cavill!sherlock holmes#enola holmes
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— room for two
agent ortega x f!reader
rated e - 3k
tags: pwp/stagecoach sex, reference to sexual harassment, implied mutual pining, flirting, teasing, semi-public fingering, shared tasting, dirty talk
a/n: as a rdr2 enthusiast and with the amount of stagecoach fics I’ve read - as soon as I saw one in the pilot I was like 👀💖
You find your ride back to Brimstone is spent with some very unexpected but very welcome company.
He had made room for himself in your thoughts before, but never quite like this.
Close enough to touch, in the cramped stagecoach.
Just a few moments ago, opting for the smaller of the two had seemed appealing - the cheaper cost, the journey back quicker with only two horses instead of four.
Never thinking you’d be sharing the space.
And now - it feels as if your knees would brush, if you uncrossed your legs. Already trapped within his spread ones.
The morning had been spent two towns over. That carriage shared with other girls, all with their own tasks for Madame. An envelope sealed with bright red wax clutched between fingers as you had clambered out at the first stop - as they had continued on to the next town.
A little bit of stolen time amongst the shops, after your letter had been delivered. The coins slipped to you in thanks spent on something sweet to eat, a new ribbon for the straw hat you had been repairing at home.
The sun creeping past noon, before you had found a carriage to take back. Just managing to settle inside, when you had heard a friendly voice calling from outside.
A hand catching the edge of the door, as the driver had moved to shut it.
“This coach heading to Brimstone?”
The Agent, with his sharp clothes and his dark eyes. You’ve seen him in the Emerald Palace, slipping upstairs to meet with Madame Hume.
The curiosity had sparked even then - unable to keep your eyes off him. Heat rising to your cheeks at the wink sent your way, the caught smile as he followed behind his partner.
His appearance becoming more common. In the past weeks. A little jolt in your stomach when you saw the two of them, standing out amongst the regulars.
Those dark eyes always seeming to find yours, for just a brief moment. But one that lasts, lingering long after he’s gone.
It had been enough to just think about him.
Wishing for another life - one where you weren’t felt up by strangers while serving drinks. For one where you were whisked away by him, instead.
A much different kind of stranger.
There was a fluidity in the way that Agent Ortega moved - folding himself inside the carriage, an easy smile shot your way. Bowler hat discarded, set down on the bit of seat next to him, as he settled in.
“You don’t mind, do you darlin’? This ride is on me.”
And you hadn’t. Not at all.
Now - your eyes drift, across the gray shades of his suit. The sharp vest, the golden chain of his pocket watch where it tucks into a pocket. Everything nearly in place except for the buttons popped at his collar - exposing that extra inch of his throat.
A silver badge glinting against his chest, in the afternoon sun.
With an effort, you tear your eyes away.
But you can still feel the weight of his own exploration. His gaze as warm as the sun that peeks in through the opened windows, settling across you skin.
“Never seen you outside the Palace,” Ortega comments, breaking the silence as the driver cracks the reins. A creak of the carriage as the horses follow - taking you down the main road.
The implication that he’s noticed you at all is not lost - your attention quickly drawn back. Your own smile shy, as his grows wider - pretty curve of his lips.
“Nothing interesting, I’m afraid. Just runnin’ errands, sir.” You shrug, intentionally vague - missing the way his eyes drop to your mouth at the word. The little shift in his seat as you glance out the window, as a rider on horseback thunders by.
“Miss Hume keep you busy?”
It’s an understatement. Running the Emerald Palace was hard work - and combined with a powerful woman and her short temper meant there was rarely a moment to breathe.
Your face must show your answer because he laughs - an arm slinging across the back of the seat, the movement bumping his knee against yours.
“She’s keepin’ us busy, too.” He confides, “Been runnin’ all across New Mexico. But I think we finally found what she’s lookin’ for-”
Agent Ortega catches himself then, his smile apologetic as his hands raise, “Sorry, shouldn’t divulge any more.”
“I understand.” You smile.
Everything behind doors with Madame Hume was hushed - half-spoken whispers and sealed letters, drowned out by the piano downstairs. The only quiet thing about her business.
But you had found yourself leaning forward at his confession - drawn in by him, the secret of the detective’s recent and sudden appearance.
There’s a jolt then - the wobble of the left wheel as it rattles against a deep divot that cracks the dirt road. The speed of the stagecoach has the carriage lurching, a wheel lifting as it crosses the narrow gap.
A little yelp rips from your throat, as you lose your balance. Already off-kilter, drawn in by the almost-reveal of his secret.
Hands catch on your hips as you tip forward. A swift tug as he spares you from slipping into that narrow gap between his knees, the force behind his pull bringing you into his lap.
Chivalrous, in his intent.
A clucking tongue for the driver - a glare as if the uneven road was their fault, as your fingers bite into his shoulders. Wrinkling the fine fabric as you steady yourself.
Acutely aware of the strong arm that curls around your waist. The pull of your cotton skirt where the layers bunch up around your knees - thighs spread wide where you kneel in his lap.
The warm scent of his aftershave, curling over your senses with how close you now are.
“You alright?” There’s concern in his tone, the words stringing together with his worry. His grip still firm, as you blink down at him.
It takes another second - him repeating his question more slowly, with the cock of an eyebrow - before you get your bearings.
“I am.” Your head ducks, “Thank you.”
But you find, that you don’t move.
And neither does he.
His lips part, with a slight upward tilt of his head - a movement that you just begin to mirror, without thought.
Before there’s another uneven rattle - hitting the carriage even more strongly than before - and you find yourself clinging to him, again. Flattened against him, as his face buries in the bare curve of your shoulder.
Your hands ghost across his chest, sliding over the buttons of his vest. Leaning back as heat creeps across the back of your neck, up to your cheeks.
“‘m sorry-” You’re murmuring, the mortification from before, now fully catching up. “So sorry-”
Just now realizing the position that you’re in - how incredibly inappropriate it is, with your knees pressing into his ribs.
With his breath ghosting across your shoulder, so close to the soft curve of your breast.
It has you leaning back - though the hands at your waist tighten, for the briefest of moments.
“No need to apologize, sweetheart.” There’s none of the worry in his expression. The part of his lips as you shift - a short, inhaled breath, “‘s not every day I get a beautiful girl in my lap.”
That has you freezing.
Wide eyes blinking down at the grin that pulls across his face, tugging up one side.
The words - softly breathed out, “You think I’m… beautiful?”
His eyes drag down like they do before - like they’ve done. Slower this time, with the knead of his fingers against the fabric of your dress.
“Thought I made that obvious.”
This time when his head tilts - you meet him.
The press of his mouth against yours. A fluttering in your chest as the soft sound of his groan, as his hands slide around to your back.
One dropping against the curve of your ass, nudging you forward. The slightest inhale of breath before you’re leaning into him, fingers sliding into the dark hair that curls at the nape of his neck.
Your own moan swallowed, as his tongue brushes your lip, licks inside your mouth. The upward tilt of his hips, an unconscious grind of his hips against the layers of your skirt.
A moment as you tug at them - a need to get closer. His hushed “yes” when you settle, when you can feel the stiffening curve against you.
Hands wandering, tugging at the dark tie around his throat, teasing at the peek of skin where the button strains at his chest.
His own tracing up near your ribs, spanning beneath your breasts. Warm through the thin layers of your bodice, and with the next breath - you’re pulling his palm higher.
Ortega groans a curse, sharp on his tongue as he cups your breast, the tips of his fingers brushing against bare skin.
There’s a building heat inside your chest, your tummy. You’ve been touched before, but not like this. Never with such want. Never so openly.
That second thought is what pulls you out - an unconscious glance from over your shoulder. Peeking out at the stretch of road behind you, the trailing path of kicked-up dust.
“Where did you go?” He coaxes - his voice low, strained.
Eyes blown wide, those pretty lips parted again. Your smile shy and embarrassed, your lower lip caught between your teeth.
“I just…” You squirm, “I haven’t done this before.”
His hand drops from you, the dazed look disappearing from his eyes, “We don’t have to, pretty girl. I didn’t know-”
A little laugh then, as you realized - drawing his hand back.
“No.” You smile, “I’ve, um… I just mean here. The stagecoach, it’s so open-”
With the three windows and the driver above. Soft noises already pulled so easily from you - you’re sure if things went any further, there would be no mistaking what was happening inside.
The frown transforms into a knowing smile. Relief lacing his words as his thumb teases against your nipple, the tight pucker of fabric that betrays your need.
A second, before he’s coaxing you off of him. Your disappointment mounting, before he spins you around - only to pull you back against him again.
Your ass snug against his front, with the layers of your dress settling around you. His nose ghosting along the column of your throat, mouth pressing a kiss against your skin.
“How is this, then?” He asks, his voice low in your ear, “I’ll take care of you, and you can keep an eye on the road. See anyone, and I’ll stop.”
A hand flattens across your stomach, lips on the back of your neck. Sending your skin prickling as he inhales, a soft groan bitten back between teeth.
“You’ll… you’ll-” You’re distracted by the sweep of his fingers, the slow rock of his hips. The thudding of your pulse between your thighs, an ache that has them pressing together.
“I’ll make you feel good, honey.” He sighs, “Anythin’ you want.”
It’s tempting. The desire that pools low in your belly. Your thoughts running wild - wondering just what he had in store. What he will give you.
The thought is enough to have you nodding, settling more comfortably in his grip. Perched on his strong thighs, your breath hitching as he starts at your shoulder.
A kiss pressed against the skin, as he works his way up the curve of your neck. A hushed groan as the rock of the carriage grinds him against your ass, his own need evident.
The slow drag of his hand as it rises from your stomach, spanning the space beneath your breasts as his head hooks over your shoulder.
“Christ. Just look at you, darlin’-“
The peek of your breasts above the low neckline. Fingers lifting to play with the pale, pretty ruffles that line the edge - the tip of one stroking against the tight bud just beneath.
Another jostle of the carriage coaxes the dress down further. His thumb slipping up, and then hooking beneath.
Ortega’s groan is soft in your ear. Your hips rocking against his, with the slow sweep of his touch.
“This okay, darlin’?” He husks, before his mouth presses against your neck, “If it isn’t, I’ll get out and walk. Don’t you worry.”
“S’okay.” You sigh, arching into him, “Feels so good-”
With your words, he’s tugging the hem down. Baring you as you send the briefest glance out the back of the coach - but there’s only the sun and sky above you, the rising streaks of red and orange layered in the rocks of the canyon around.
He teases you. A peek of his tongue as it swipes the pad of his thumb - smearing the slick tip across the tight bud, before he’s pinching it.
Your moan is a high, bitten-off sound before you’re catching it. Desperate for more, as you begin to move with him. Meeting the slow rhythm of his hips, your fingers fisting in your dress.
Before you’re catching his hand, dragging it down. Letting him cup you over the layers, where the low ache has settled, simmering.
“Please-” You whine, needing more.
He gives it to you, as he promised he would. Gathering up the layers of your dress, letting them pool around your waist - spreading out the fabric to cover you.
Your bare thighs pressed against his, and it’s now that you can truly feel him. That hard, swollen curve that strains against the fabric. Adjusted to press snugly against your core - an urge rising to touch him yourself, but he’s catching your hand before it wanders far.
“You first, honey.” His jaw grits, “Said I would, and I’m a man of my word.”
Fingers trace over your knee, up over the bare skin of your thigh. Cupping you again - like before. A wide palm against the thin fabric, another needy sound ripped from your throat, that he hushes through a grin.
Before he’s teasing at the waistband of your drawers, then dipping under. Meeting warm, soaked flesh, his own sound unrestrained as your thighs press together.
“Fuck.” His fingers trace your seam, splitting as they part you. Sliding back up until the tip is pressing at a spot that makes your hips jolt. The same tender place that you’ve only found at night, when you’re alone.
“So fucking wet, sweetheart. All for me, isn’t that right?”
Your answering hum is high, as he begins to circle. Turning into a sharp gasp before his hand is covering your mouth, muffling the sound.
“Hush, honey.” He coos, “Don’t want the driver to hear you, now.”
Somehow - the thought is thrilling, now. The thought of an errant moan overheard, the peek of a passer-by seeing the flash of your skin, his mouth at your neck.
But you clamp your teeth together, as his hand drops to curving over your breast again. Holding you to firmly against his chest, the jerk of your hips now stilted as you chase his touch.
The soft sounds caught in your throat, as each breath grows shorter. His soft hums at each one you make, as he teases at your opening.
The tip of a finger pressing inside, before he’s dragging the soaked pad up, pressing just a little harder, a little faster.
“Bet you taste so fucking good. Wish I was between those pretty thighs right now.” He growls in your ear - a thrill at his words, even if you don’t quite understand them.
Clarity coming a moment later, as his fingers slide from you. Shining and slick with you, that heat rising to your cheeks again at the filthy sight.
A little gasp of surprise as he slips them between his lips. Shocked by the groan he makes, as his tongue swirls over them to suck them clean. His other hand catching at your jaw, coaxing you to him.
You can taste yourself on his tongue, when your mouths meet. A sweet tang that wasn’t there before, melting against the heat of his tongue as it strokes against yours.
“Just knew it.” He grits out, before they’re slipping between your thighs again, “Need to get you in my bed, darlin’. Let you be as loud as you want-”
It feels like there’s a spark that’s a bright as the sun, burning inside you. Shining with the wet press of his fingers, those tight circles placed with such precision that it makes your head spin.
Fueled by the thought of getting him alone. Wanting to know more about how he’d taste you, fill you. Wanting to strip away those layers, to find the man beneath the badge.
It’s enough that you’re there, on the edge of something that feels like more than you’ve ever known. The urge to leap rising, knowing that he’s right there with you.
Ortega’s name soft on your lips, breaking as you try to muffle it. His answering hum, low and rough as he keeps the same swirling touch.
The path to that edge rushing towards you, overwhelming as your fingernails sink into the meat of his forearm. The stretch of a finger as it sinks inside you, opening you up.
His hushed murmurs, asking if you’d take him here. How good you’d feel, wrapped around his cock - the one that presses against you with each lift of his hips.
Your whining assent. That you would, that you want him to, want him-
Broken off as the heel of his hand rocks against your clit. The feeling heightened with his finger buried in you, curling and stroking. A second joining, each thrust wet as he mimics his thoughts - finding a rhythm that has you clenching down hard around him.
“That’s it, cariño.” He’s groaning, watching the heave of your chest, the way his fingers move beneath the dress, “Christ, I can feel how much you need this. Let go for me-”
It doesn’t take much more. His touch, his words, rip through you. The thud of the hoofbeats, the creak of the wagon fading out to nothing. A white noise as your head tips back, as your vision blurs.
A ragged sound in your throat muffled as he brings his mouth to your again - the sound of the stagecoach drowning out the wet pound of his fingers as you pulse around him.
The rippling pleasure washing over you, wave after wave. Your thoughts hazy as his hand spans your jaw, keeping you close until you come back down. Leaving you’re draped against him - utterly boneless.
Breathless, until a whistle breaks into your afterglow.
Mechanical - not a person, but the train that you’ve come to know well. The one just outside Brimstone, it’s departure welcoming of your arrival.
The bright glow of your pleasure dims, as you gasp - forgetting that you were supposed to be keeping watch.
“‘s okay, sweetheart.” Ortega coaxes, his fingers still buried in you, “Been watchin’ for you, pretty girl. No one’s lookin’ at you but me.”
There’s ache as he pulls from you, leaving you empty. Helping you put yourself back together - your fingers curling around his as he helps you back to your seat.
The same hand coming to cup himself a few minutes later - a lewd adjustment as the carriage comes to a stop, just outside the Palace.
You shoot him a pained expression, wanting more time with him. To return the favor - all while knowing you’re both expected at the Palace. A look that he shakes his head at, in response.
Opening the door for you like the gentleman he is, instead - lingering behind as he buttons his long jacket closed.
Hiding where he throbs for you. The spot where the fabric of his trousers has soaked through, dampened with his desire.
Almost forgetting his hat, snatched up at the last second.
You have to part now, it would be improper to do so otherwise. But there’s a moment where he lingers - a hand at your elbow, a split second where he pulls you close.
“Got a room over at the Turquoise Sky. Tell me you’ll meet me there tonight, beautiful?”
Murmured out for just you to hear, in the busy streets. Your very own secret, an offering to find out the true meaning of his words - just how well he could take care of you.
Emboldened, you lean close to whisper your answer back to him.
And amongst the crowd - he smiles.
just wanted to write a fun little no-pressure thing, thank you for reading! 💖
#the pilot was all over the place omg but it was fun!#and I am sucker for an 1880s setting so here we are!#agent ortega x reader#agent ortega x you#agent ortega x f!reader#agent ortega#the sixth gun
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Bowled Over (Roy Kent x Reader) Chapter Masterlist
You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.
Roy Kent x female reader.
Comment below to join the taglist!
Chapter One: The Other Beautiful Game
Chapter Two: Being Better
Chapter Three: Dual-Purpose Distraction
Chapter Four: Feelings
Chapter Five: First Date
Chapter Six: A Disastrous Date
Chapter Seven: Deserving Something Good
Chapter Eight: Roy Kent, Baby Whisperer
Chapter Nine: coming end of January/beginning of February
#roy kent bowled over#roy kent#roy kent x reader#ted lasso#ted lasso fanfiction#mutual pining#slowish burn#reader is a bowler#because I was a bowler#hence the terrible pun title#my writing#no editing we die like men
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So, I just had a dream about Mr. Puzzles (SMG4). It's very weird, so brace yourself. - Mr. Puzzles/Reader Fanfiction I guess??? created by: HazelMist's Unconscious
Um, so…I just had a strange dream with Mr. Puzzles. Specifically, a dream where he announced the new PuzzleVision merch. It was a 1960s style commercial…kind of, I guess. I have barely watched any 1960s commercials, so I'll just say It was black and white, except for Mr. Puzzles smile. and the commercial was animated.
So In the start of the dream, I wake up. and see In my notifications, that SMG4 uploaded a video. titled "NEW PUZZLEVISION MERCH!" I was extremely excited and hoped they had made a plushie of Mr. Puzzles. so I clicked on it, and uh...this Is how the commercial was.
So, he Is first walking down a lonely street, and see's someone leaning on a pole. uh, that person was Y/N... And they were wearing a plain T shirt, with oversized baggy pants. Not very fitting for the 1960s, but 🤷♀️. Mr. Puzzles noticed them, and walk right up to them and said
"Well, hello there my dear~! I'm your friend Mr. Puzzles, and- Oh god, what the hell are you wearing. Your outfit Is so boring, It makes an Average Joe look special."
Uh…Couldn't tell If my unconscious was insulting me or not, because I enjoy wearing plain T shirts and baggy pants. Then Y/N looked down in embarrassment. Then Mr. Puzzles grabbed their hand, and kept walking. but Mr. Puzzles was so tall, that Y/N was almost tripping. but then he stopped, and looked right at Y/N, and suggested
"Hey, I've got the solution to your problem! Why don't you buy some of the latest PuzzleVision merchandise? Your fashion sense would be amazingly blinding! Why not try on our Mario's Mysteries T shirt? Blue's clues and Mario fans would be confused by your stunning (not bootleg…) shirt, and you would attract many PuzzleVision fans!"
The shirt was basically the Mario's Mysteries thumbnail, Then he handed Y/N the shirt, and they responded "W-Wha..? but I don't even watch-" Then Mr. Puzzles cut them off
"Oh, and If you didn't like Mario's Mysteries, we have T shirts of our other episodes too! It would normally be 300.000.00$, but since you are special to me~ I'll make a discount! It's now only 30.00$!"
The shirts were also the thumbnail of the episodes. Then he threw them In a dressing room, and Y/N came out with the Once upon an SMG4 T shirt on. Mr Puzzles clapped his hands excitedly and said "Oh my dear! You look absolutely gorgeous! And If you get cold with only a T shirt, Buy our Mr. Puzzles Hoodie! It's 50.00$!"
The hoodie was a picture of Mr. Puzzles sitting in a chair, with his legs crossed. with a smug face. then afterwards, he said to them
"And I will be going soon, but If you want to keep me with you forever, then you should get…"
Then he pulled out a Mr Puzzles plushie, except It looked kinda weird. He didn't have his bowler hat, and he didn't have his color bar smile, It was just a straight line for a mouth. Anyways, he continued
"This adorable version of me, In plush form! Take It with you everywhere you go! Or If you don't want to get it dirty, just keep It on your shelf! But If you aren't the plushie collector type, Here Is an awesome figurine!"
It was a figurine of Mr. Puzzles doing a JoJo's Bizarre Adventure esque pose, with his maniacal face. and then he showed another figurine.
"Oh, and here Is another action figure of….that one inkling guy!"
The figurine barely looked like Oneshot wren though, and It wasn't even an Inkling. It looked like someone tried to recreate Wren In Plotagon. and didn't Western Spaghetti already have It's own merch? I kind of forgot what else Mr. Puzzles said, but he showed some Mr Puzzles Pins and Keychains that were both In chibi style. they were really cute! not like that Oneshot Wren figure…And after showing all the merch, He said
"Now, Let's skip time to a few weeks, and see how much these items have affected you!"
And then there was the Spongebob time card that said "2000 years later" and we are back with Mr Puzzles and Y/N, Except he is holding a microphone now, and asks them
"So, how much have my great merch helped you In life?" and then Y/N says something like "Nothing much has changed-"
and then the commercial rewinds, and goes back to when Mr. Puzzles asked that question. and then Y/N says "Oh, I feel much more happier now! with my amazing T shirts, I have so many more friends, and everyone wants to hang out with me! and I am enjoying your company, In plush form! Thank you, Mr. Puzzles!"
Then Mr. Puzzles responded "You're welcome! Have a great day, my darling!
Then, the commercial cuts to a blank screen, showcasing all the merch. and some strange announcer voice, that was definitely not Mr. Puzzles, their voice was very deep. says something like… "Go buy the new PuzzleVision Merch In smg4.store today!"
And then the video finished, and I was very confused of what I just saw. but then I might have waken up.
and uhhh…I think thats all I remember. If you made It this far, thanks for reading me ramble about some nonsensical dream I had last night. I probably dreamt It because I am TERRIBLY DESPERATE to have a Mr. Puzzles plushie. If I feel like It, I might try to make an animatic based on this dream. I might post It on Youtube. But I dunno, would you actually want to see that?
#smg4#smg4 characters#smg4 puzzlevision#puzzlevision arc#puzzlevision smg4#smg4 crew#puzzlevision#tv adware arc#smg4 tv adware#tv adware#mr puzzles#smg4 mr puzzles#mr puzzles smg4#fanfic#fanfiction#fanfic writing#i dreamed a dream#fanfic I guess????#y/n#x y/n#x reader#why does my brain make up the weirdest dreams#dont know how to tag this
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cowboy kisses
charlie kelly x fem!reader
wc: 1.2k
warnings: cowboy charlie (s7e1), soft touch-starved charlie, (fake) blood, mention of vomiting, no use of y/n, mac is a jealous baby, fluff, lotsa kissin'
an: i know this is a very niche part of the market but i needed to get it out my system. it's a personal head cannon of mine that Charlie is ace but that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve some kissy kissy and my need to love on him is literally making me a non-functional member of society: so enjoy! remember to reblog and comment to support your favourite writers :3
summary: Charlie makes a handsome cowboy, covered in fake blood or not.
the knock rumbling against your door is almost certainly loud enough to wake up the whole floor of your apartment building. you flinch back against your couch at the sound, flicking off the television that’s been only half entertaining you for the last hour.
“babe! babe!”
even without his calls, you know it’s him. Charlie was the only person who could arrive so unprecedented at your apartment at nearly nine o’ clock at night and not expect a right hook to the jaw as soon as you swing the door open.
you’re halfway to a whisper-yelled “Charlie, keep it down!”, tugging the door open, when you take in the state of your boyfriend.
he’s lively, bouncing on the balls of his feet: hands fidgeting around the orbit of his head. “you won’t believe what happened.”
beyond that, his umber locks are hiding under the reach of a caramel cowboy hat. his chest tucked into a denim vest with a bowler tie flat against it.
most jarring of all is how his whole cowboy get-up and the better half of his face is covered in … is that blood?
“—so then Frank got on one knee and when he proposed, Roxy literally had a heart attack and—“
your boyfriend is still standing out between the hallway and the doorframe, halfway through another outrageous tale that the neighbors are no doubt privy to.
“baby …” your chest tightens and twists in concern. you reach for his face, the blood is caked in his beard but dry to the touch. “you’re covered in blood?”
he quietens at your touch. he usually does. whole body stutters like he’s never been met with a soft hold a day his whole life.
“oh— this? don’t worry, i ate some of these tablet things so i could go on this date with this lady from the internet—“
you’re guiding him gently by the wrist into your apartment, shutting the door behind him.
“you went on a date with a lady from the internet?”
he fumbles, fingers drifting to brush against your palm. “well, not for me. obviously not, i have you—“
nudging him through the apartment to lean against your kitchen sink, which he does without resistance, you laugh lightly. “well, don’t let me hold you back, Charlie.“
his forehead tightens in confusion. you love the look of it on your sweet, sweet boyfriend. the water is cool where you run a rag under it’s stream.
“you know what they say, don’t let your current girlfriend stop you from finding your future wife.” your voice curls at the edge, teasing him, and you’re horrible because you know Charlie is no good on picking up on stuff like that.
he shakes his head, hands nervously scrunching at his sides. your own rise to his head, gently bumping the cowboy hat so that it sits further up his crown and you can start working the wet cloth over the crimson marks on his creased forehead.
“why would— you’re my future wife. aren’t you?” it’s phrased like a fact more than a proposal. a clarification.
Charlie is sometimes the most romantic person on the planet, by no fault of his own. he says things like that with such honesty and quiet conviction that it curls a warm feeling between your organs: like maybe he was the other half every person sets out to find between the throes of fighting general existence. at least yours.
you smile at him. that i’m so fucking sickeningly in love with this doofus kind of smile that seems to set him a little more at ease. his fingers are tentative when they reach for your hips.
“i was just teasing, babe. i’m sorry.”
you’re gentle where you’re dragging the cloth over his skin, working from the top of his face to clean it of blood.
“oh.” he settles. “well anyways, so Roxy has this heart attack: Frank is still on one knee, Mac tries to call 911–!”
Charlie rambles and you listen. at least as well as you can with his less than comprehensible story-telling abilities and his talent for being involved in mostly unbelievable happenings.
the rag has made it’s way to his beard, you’re still trying to work softly: hand under his jaw while the fabric works between strands of wired hair, thumb pressing a bump into the hollow of his cheek.
“so after that we hung up. and i came straight here, cause i wanted to tell you.” he sighs, body slumping with the catharsis of imparting his tale upon you. “Mac said i’m a pussy because i’m always leaving them to come here. but i missed you, and i think he’s kinda jealous cause i have a girlfriend and he doesn’t.”
your hand stills, curling under his chin so your knuckle is steering his face up to yours. “Mac can go suck a dick. and i missed you too, Char.”
he’s the one who presses up for a kiss, eyes still wide and desperate as the day you met. you indulge him happily, squishing your nose against his when your lips meet sloppily and your hands wrap around his neck: pushing him further against the edge of the sink.
Charlie hums and it’s your favourite sound. his hands are lost, but excited where they’re chasing up your back and over your face.
your boyfriend tastes bitter and metallic, like the blood capsules he threw up, but also sweet like the melting packet of caramels he keeps in his jean pocket.
you pull back, brushing your nose against his. his face chases yours: eyes still closed.
“you look so handsome in this little get-up, baby.” sighing, hand twisting into his, you say. “you make a good cowboy.”
he perks up at that, “you should hear my accent! what i said to that lady, so, when she opened the door i said—“
there’s a grumble, like he’s clearing his throat, “—tarnation, you look pretty as a peach. yes you do!”
the accent is crumbly but charming in a way that only your Charlie can make it. he nods, grinning and proud, and you throw your head back to laugh.
you pat fondly over his shoulders, “you’re sure talking a lot about this lady you took on a date while i was sitting home missing you like crazy. was she pretty?”
he guffaws, huffs like you’ve asked him about the weather. “nah. i mean … like, not pretty like you.”
there’s a moment of quiet. he waits to see if he’s said the right thing.
“hmm.” you run a gentle thumb down the side of his face. “you know i don’t like to share.”
you press your chest against his and his breath buckles. his skin is sticky with sweat when you push a kiss into his neck.
“you’re kinda making me all jealous with your story.”
Charlie shakes his head. “you-you shouldn’t be.”
releasing his neck with a pop, briefly grinning at the hickey you’ve painted there, you bump your nose lovingly against his.
“i know.” he’s red with a blush now. “wanna put on a movie and not watch it while we make out on the couch?”
he beams. “hell yeah.”
-
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@gremlinb1ke @mydogtypedthis @luigisbroth @newluvcassette @karlmarxpizzaparty
#charlie kelly x reader#charlie kelly fanfiction#charlie kelly iasip#its always sunny in philadelphia#iasip#its always sunny in philadelphia fanfiction#charlie kelly x you#charlie kelly imagine
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The Serpent's Paramour CH 2 - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader
Summary: Snarky, post-Azkaban Sebastian makes his grand debut
Word Count: 5.6k
Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit language
Chapter 2 can now be found here on Ao3 !
Your dreams were fleeting. A flurry of images and voices alike assaulted your mind as you slept, some instilling fear in you while others left you confused, but despite your best efforts, you couldn’t recall a single one of them. Every time your emotions started to drag you from the depths of your nightmares, an invisible force was pushing you back down, forcing you to remain stuck somewhere between consciousness and the catatonic-like state you found yourself in. A weightlessness had settled over you and dulled your senses as your eyes darted rapidly behind your eyelids, trying and failing to will your body into obeying your commands. It was as though your brain was awake but the rest of you simply… wasn’t.
The unsettling feeling only worsened the onslaught of visions that assaulted your sleep addled mind.
After nearly an hour of warring with your own limbs, movement began returning to you. It started with your feet; you could wiggle your toes with some effort, then eventually rotate your ankles fully. Bending your knees came next, followed by your fingers flexing and your shoulders loosening. As soon as your upper body started responding fully, your eyes snapped open, and your pulse skyrocketed as you were met by the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling.
Correction– it was a bed canopy. One that had most certainly not been in your rented room at the tavern.
Hastily, you shot up, your hands fisting in the thin cotton sheets in a bid to ground yourself as you tried to figure out where the hell you were. The four-poster bed you’d been sleeping in was enormous, and the sheer curtains that hung from the wooden bars overhead had been tied up to reveal an equally large room. The walls were a dark blue, illuminated by the moonlight that spilled through the floor to ceiling windows to your right, and the darkness that surrounded the moon outside told you that it had to be the middle of the night. How long had it been since you’d been snatched from Bainburgh?
Cautiously and quietly, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and planted them on the cool floorboards, none too pleased to discover that your boots were nowhere to be found. Looking around briefly revealed that all of your belongings were missing, most notably your wand, and that fact ignited a spark of fear in your heart. Your palms grew sweaty in the span of a few seconds, and you frantically started searching for something– anything– that you could use as a weapon.
The mahogany dresser across the room had a few trinkets and potted plants on top of it, but nothing substantial or pointy that you could use for stabbing. There was a small door to the left of it that you made a beeline for and threw open, stunned to find a spacious bathroom on the other side. Once again, there was pathetically little at your disposal to use for protection, but you still ripped open every drawer in the hopes that something would stand out and prove useful.
In the midst of your frantic searching, a sign of life made itself known outside the double doors of the bedroom. Two voices, both distinctly male, talking to one another as they made their way inside the room. Poking your head around the bathroom door, you watched as the strangers crossed the threshold of the entryway and halted in their tracks, their gazes zeroing in on the empty space on the bed you’d previously occupied. There was no way to gauge their expressions– seeing as they had masks on that concealed the bottom halves of their faces– but their eyes widened in blatant surprise as they scanned the room to presumably look for you.
“Guess the lady is awake,” said the one on the right. His black bowler hat cast a shadow over his icy blue eyes, and he side-stepped his companion to move further into the room. His gait reminded you of a wolf; predatory and calculated as he hunted his prey.
The other man didn’t move out of the doorway, but his red hair brushed across his shoulders as his neck swiveled in your direction, spotting the sliver of your face that had been peeking around the doorframe of the bathroom. “Playing hide and seek are you? You’re not doing a very good job of it.”
Bowler hat followed his associate’s line of sight, his narrowed eyes fixing on you before gesturing for you to exit the bathroom. You didn’t move a muscle. “Come on girl, if you’re up and moving then the boss is going to want to see you. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you bastards give me my wand,” came your even reply. You were grateful that your voice didn’t crack and betray just how scared you were, but you were certain your reluctance to leave the bathroom was doing that for you. Neither man seemed threatened by you in the slightest, and something akin to annoyance flashed in the redhead’s dull, gray eyes. He was probably irritated that the job of escorting you to his boss now fell to him.
He took a leisurely step forward, and your grip on the doorframe tightened as a result. “Alright, I’ll be nice about this. Your presence is requested downstairs, so if you could be so kind as to move your ass on your own, I would be much obliged.”
“Do I have a choice?”
The two men said nothing– opting to instead glance at one another as a silent, mental exchange transpired between the two of them. The hard, unyielding glint in bowler hat’s eyes made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, and you decided then and there that you adamantly refused to willingly set foot outside the bedroom without a fight.
“I’m not going anywhere until you pricks give me my wand and the rest of my belongings.”
The red headed bloke in the doorway pinched the bridge of his nose through his mask, and he sighed loudly before throwing his hands out in exasperation. “We don’t have your stuff, but maybe if you go downstairs, you’ll have better luck retrieving it. Just a thought.”
“You’re really bad at lying,” you fired back instantly, your tenacity growing stronger as you came to the conclusion that both men were feeble-minded.
“And I’m growing tired of your attitude,” bowler hat interjected, taking a few steps closer to you. “I liked you better when you were asleep. Hurry up and come downstairs–”
He didn’t get the chance to finish. A split second later, you had bolted out of the bathroom and were running for the dresser in the bedroom, grabbing the first thing nearest to you to throw at his stupid, ugly hat. It ended up being one of the smaller potted plants situated on the edge, and the dirt inside the pot flew out of its container to spill all over the man before shattering against the hardwood floor. His hands flew up a second too late in an attempt to protect his face from the torrential downpour of soil that cascaded down the brim of his headwear, and the string of curses that fell from his lips were ignored entirely as you grabbed for a candelabra next.
Without hesitating, you jumped forward and swung the three pronged pricket down atop bowler hat’s head, and a yowl of pain erupted from him as he dropped to the floor clutching his hat tight to his skull. You whirled around, preparing to do the same to the second goon who separated you from the other side of the doorway, but you drew up short when you turned to find his wand leveled at your chest.
His eyes were wide with obvious shock as he readjusted his grip on the handle of his wand, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet as his eyes flicked between you and the man groaning on the floor. “Merlin’s bloody balls, relax woman! Don’t do anything you’ll regret–”
Not one part of you regretted flinging the candelabra at him in the next second. In fact, you felt a sick amount of satisfaction when the thick, metal base of the decorative holder smacked into his forehead, and as soon as his wand bearing hand flew to his face to feel the extent of the damage, you were running to skirt around him and exit the room entirely.
It was all for naught, however, seeing as an unseen force suddenly suspended you in midair in the doorway. You shrieked indignantly, your feet kicking out behind you in a pathetic attempt to fight the invisible, magical hold that prevented you from going anywhere. “Put me down, dammit!”
“The hell I will,” bowler hat grit out as he pushed himself to his feet, and as you rotated fluidly in the air, you saw that it was his wand that maintained the spell holding you. “You’re wilder than a feral animal.”
The redhead groaned softly as he stood straight, a semi-circle bruise from the candelabra’s base already making its home in the center of his forehead. “Wait, we were told not to use magic–”
“Fuck what the boss said,” spat bowler hat. “Ain’t no way I’m letting her get within an inch of me after that insane display. Just walk ahead and get the doors open, I’ll move her ass into the dining room myself.”
Your hands flew to the hem of your nightgown in an attempt to keep the material from riding up your bare legs, which in turn prompted you to roll around listlessly in the air. There was another beat of silence as yet another mental exchange transpired between the two bruised men, and all the while you struggled against the magic keeping you off the ground. It didn’t matter though. In the end, the ginger fellow conceded to the others demands and walked out of the room and down the hall, and you were easily levitated down the wide staircase after him with bowler hat hot on your heels. You were half tempted to grab onto the edges of the walls to hold yourself back from being moved any further, but your captor must have assumed you would try something like that, because you were kept wholly in the middle of the staircase and the hallways that followed.
It was hardly important now, but you realized that the house you now found yourself in was huge.
The two men moved quickly, barely giving you a chance to take in the scenery around you before you found yourself inside the aforementioned dining room. There was the distinct sound of a chair being scraped against the wooden floor before bowler hat maneuvered your suspended body into the seat, shoving you into the velvet cushions with more force than was necessary before glowering at you from under the rim of his dirty headwear.
He angled the pointy end of his wand at you as he growled, “Don’t even think about running anywhere, or I’ll petrify you and let you sit there frozen solid. Understood?”
“Whatever,” you scowled, digging your nails into the armrest of your seat. “Anything that gets you out of my face faster– I’m tired of looking at your abhorrent hat.”
“Big words coming from the girl wearing pajamas,” he shot back instantly, but he still ripped his chapeau off to reveal the salt and pepper hair beneath it. The color alone had you thinking that he had to be at least fifty years old.
“At least my pajamas aren’t covered in dirt. It’s a fitting look for you though; you already struck me as a spineless worm.”
You could tell there were at least a hundred different things the man wanted to retort with, but he seemed to bite his tongue before throwing his hands in the air and stomping towards the double doors leading out of the dining room. His red headed partner looked to be at a loss for words as he slouched in the doorway, lingering in place for a moment before striding out after bowler hat, and a weary sigh slipped through your clenched teeth.
You might have gotten the last word in against him, but that still left you trapped in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by equally unfamiliar people, and hopelessly without magic. The entire property had to be warded against apparating, because even that seemed impossible to accomplish. It appeared that you would have to bide your time and make your escape later. At least, you would if you survived that long.
It seemed like whoever the ‘boss’ was wanted you alive, though. Judging by what the two men had said earlier, it didn’t sound like their employer had even wanted them to use magic on you. Not that you’d given them much choice, but still…
You had never been more confused in your life. What the hell was going on?
As you sat quietly waiting for whoever was in charge of your abduction, you took the opportunity to take in the cavernous room with unwavering precision. Aside from being spacious, it was also equally barren. Very little decor lined the walls or littered the tables strewn throughout the room, and the smell of dust was unmistakable. If you had to guess, you would assume that the house was typically empty on a normal day and was only being utilized currently as a makeshift base of operations. That, or the people who stayed here simply didn’t care to keep their space clean.
It was also nigh impossible to overlook the unmistakable stench of dark magic. It seeped through the walls and hung heavy in the air, making your skin crawl and your stomach lurch. That realization alone had you reevaluating the sort of people you found yourself surrounded by.
In the half hour you sat by yourself in the dining room, you’d taken note of every possible exit. There were eight windows, four of which looked like they could be opened, and three sets of double doors. One of those entryways was the one you’d been brought in through, so you knew it led to the second story of the house, but the other two remained a mystery. You had to assume one paved a path to the front doors– a path to uncertain freedom– but you weren’t sure how many dark wizards lingered in the yet-to-be-seen corridors. Without your wand at your disposal, you were almost afraid to find out.
Hindsight was twenty-twenty, and you silently cursed yourself for never having taken Natty up on her offers to teach you wandless magic all those years ago.
You were suddenly pulled from your thoughts when a booming voice reached your ears through the doorway straight ahead, and you stiffened in your seat when the telltale sound of something hitting the wall caused the doors to rattle violently. Maybe you were just paranoid, but the pained groan that followed the noise had you thinking a body was to blame for the hinges creaking in protest. Remaining composed and unafraid seemed a little bit difficult after that, but you didn’t have time to dwell on your trepidation. The doors before you were thrown open with indisputable strength, the massive wooden slabs ricocheting off the plaster of the house with a deafening bang– and if that wasn’t enough to set your teeth on edge, the overpowering smell of dark magic that flooded the room most certainly was.
An imposing figure stood in the doorway, all broad shoulders and long legs as a muscular pair of arms crossed over an equally defined chest. He had to be well over six feet tall, his unruly brown curls adding to the wild, dangerous look he had going for him, but you didn’t balk before him like your body demanded. Chin held high, you glowered at the black-clad dark wizard in an unspoken challenge, daring him to come closer even though you had no means of defense at your disposal.
“You’re a hard woman to find,” drawled an eerily familiar voice, and a barely there crack formed in your resolve as you scrambled to make sense of why he was here. It was impossible. It had to be. “I heard you dropped a tree on some of my Ashwinders in Cragcroftshire. You’ve made quite a reputation for yourself, I’ll give you that much.”
Things had just gotten a lot more daunting.
Sebastian Sallow strode into the dining room leisurely, looking confident and comfortable as he sidled up to the opposite end of the table to flash you a smirk that made your heart hurt far more than it had any right to. The boy who had turned your whole world upside down years earlier was standing a few feet from you, gazing down at you expectantly as though there was nowhere else in the world he was meant to be. Last you had heard he was in Azkaban serving a life sentence for the murder of his uncle, but that assumption went right out the fucking window now. Had he escaped? Was his sentence reduced? Had he even ended up at the prison in the first place? For all intents and purposes, Sebastian looked content, healthy, and definitely not like a former inmate. The only thing that gave away his true nature was the pungent smell of dark magic that radiated from him and the deadly glint in his dark eyes– one that you had seen once before while in the catacombs all those years ago.
After four years without so much as hearing a whisper of his name, he was responsible for bringing you here?
Your shock had to have been evident on your face, because Sebastian’s smirk transformed into a full blown grin as he slowly made his way to your side of the table, pinning you with a predatory stare that never wavered as he got nearer and nearer to you. Even if you weren’t dressed in measly pajamas, you would have felt exposed. Those piercing eyes of his seemed to look straight through you, and with the added fact that your wand was missing in action, you had never felt more vulnerable.
Instead of sitting down across from you, Sebastian swiftly plucked up the chair from directly beside you and turned it around so he could straddle the seat with his hands folded over the top of the backrest. The motion drew your attention to his arms, and you dimly realized that you’d overlooked the massive tattoo that stretched down his neck, then presumably over his shoulder and along the entire appendage before the ends of the design frayed out on the top of his hand. What little of it you could see looked strikingly like sharp, jagged lightning coiling around his right arm, and you briefly wondered if the inky pattern signified something else entirely.
When your eyes flicked back up to his, Sebastian was studying you with a curious expression on his face, and your nails dug into the skin of your palms as you clenched your fists in your lap. There were too many questions racing through your mind– most of which had to do with how the hell he was even here in the first place. You wanted to ask him if he had broken out of prison, or if all of this was some long awaited revenge scheme he’d concocted over the last four years to get back at you for remaining complacent in his incarceration. You wanted to ask why in the nine-hells he was associating with Ashwinders of all people, and why they were evidently referring to him as their boss.
You wanted to ask, but you couldn’t formulate the words. Your mouth opened, closed, then opened again, and Sebastian just smiled all the while, clearly enjoying the sight of you rendered speechless. “Take your time, I know I’m good looking. Go ahead and get all the ogling out of your system now.”
The condescending comment did more to snap you out of your stupor than anything else, and you gave him a nonplussed blink before glaring daggers at the cocky sonofabitch. “What the fuck is going on here?”
“I guess you haven’t been paying attention. That’s alright, I’ll refresh your memory. I had my men track you down outside of Bainburgh and place you under a sleeping charm to bring you to me here,” he gestured at the vast dining room for emphasis, ignoring your burning stare as he continued explaining. “We set up a temporary residence here while we scoured the countryside for you with nary a hair of luck until a few days ago, which I’m sure you can recall. You know, because of the tree and everything? Anyways, I’ve just been informed that apparently after you woke up, you smashed a plant against Devlin’s head and threw a candle holder at Joshua’s face. Nice work, by the way. Those two could stand to get knocked down a peg or two and they went against my express orders to not use magic on you– which I gave them hell for, mind you–”
“What do you want from me, Sebastian?” Your question was laced with indignant anger, but it was the way you practically hissed the brunet’s name that made him stop talking. He sighed dramatically, the entire situation seeming more like a joke to him than anything, and his nonchalant demeanor only enraged you further. What was wrong with him?
“You’re no fun, all work and no play. You remind me of Devlin,” he muttered the last part, and you damn near shot forward to shove him out of his seat and make a break for the door.
“Are you serious right now?” You snapped at him, growing angrier when he cocked an expressive brow at you. “You sent your lackeys to chase me through the Highlands before kidnapping me and stealing my belongings, and now you have the audacity to crack jokes? What. Do. You. Want?”
The larger man considered your outburst for a few tentative beats of silence. He audibly ground his teeth together, his fingers flexing briefly before he narrowed his eyes. Then in the firmest tone he’d used thus far, he said, “What I want is to cure Anne, and that ancient magic of yours is going to help me do it.”
The tension that filled the room following his statement was thick enough to cut with a knife. Sebastian didn’t elaborate, didn’t offer any additional information, and didn’t so much as blink as he held your incredulous stare. Beyond being stunned that he actually thought you would willingly help him, you were astonished to hear that Anne was even alive after all this time. Ominis was the only person who ever deigned to stay in touch with her, but after you’d distanced yourself from him during your sixth-year, you’d unwittingly fallen out of the loop regarding Sebastian’s twin. What was she like now? Did Sebastian even know?
You found it sorely difficult to believe that she would have been willing to speak to him after everything he’d done.
Sebastian could practically see the plethora of thoughts racing through your mind, and he pursed his lips as his eyes started to roam down your rigid form. He looked more serious now than he had since setting foot in the dining room, and you tensed further under his scorching gaze as you tugged the hem of your nightgown lower down your legs. The blasted thing dated back to your fifth-year and had served you well enough during your travels, but now you desperately wished that you had bought something that covered more of you.
“You must be hungry,” he stated next, and the random change of topic practically gave you whiplash.
His old wand had to have been destroyed by the Ministry after his arrest, because he drew an unfamiliar one from somewhere on his person and flicked it towards the table to conjure up a kind of feast you hadn’t set eyes on since your time at Hogwarts. There was a platter covered in chicken, as well as bowls overflowing with mashed potatoes, salad, and a colorful assortment of vegetables. He’d even taken the liberty of including a carafe of wine with the impromptu meal, and your eyes went wider than saucers at the sight. However, you made no move to indulge in the hearty spread, still reeling from all that had transpired in the last five minutes.
Sebastian looked at you expectantly– waiting for you to start eating with raised brows and an innocent smile on his face. Naturally, your first thought was that he’d poisoned the food, and your hands stayed firmly grasped in your lap as you narrowed your eyes at the empty plate in front of you.
Picking up on your thoughts easily, Sebastian chimed in, “Why would I poison you if I need you alive?”
“Well you’re just full of surprises, I would hate to assume otherwise and end up foaming at the mouth on the floor.”
“Just eat the food, I promise it’s not contaminated with anything. You’re–” he cut himself off, seemingly debating on whether his next comment was worth saying, but he could hardly hold back now that he had your attention. “You look like you need it.”
He didn’t wait for your reply, leaning over the back of his chair to spoon a hefty dollop of mashed potatoes on your plate despite the chilling glower you shot his way, and before he had the chance to deposit any more of the food in front of you, you were yanking the serving spoon out of his hand with surprising speed. Sebastian’s eyes were comically large as you tossed the utensil back into the bowl and dragged your plate closer to you, plucking up the fork to your left to prevent him from getting anymore… bizarre ideas.
“You’re a lot snappier than I remember,” he mused as you aggressively shoved the fork into the fluffy potato concoction.
You worked a small amount onto the prongs before fixing him with another glare, “And you’re a bigger prick than I remember.”
To your surprise, he laughed. The sound was as light as it was gruff, and he shook his head faintly as you brought the fork to your face to sniff the food. It smelled fine– looked fine– but you still took the tiniest bite to work over your tongue before swallowing. It was good, and the revelation had your stomach voicing its approval in the form of a low growl, much to your dismay. Sebastian simply watched, waiting for you to get a few bites in before he rocked back in his seat and started talking again.
He expertly twirled his wand between his fingers as he started, “I have it on good authority that there’s an old, long forgotten relic hidden away in one of your precious ancient magic sites. My men and I had been scouting the place out for a while but it’s locked up tighter than a miser's purse, and I was a day away from throwing caution to the wind and just blowing up the entrance when I had an idea.” His twirling ceased as he angled the tip of his wand directly at you, and you froze with your fork wedged between your lips. “I thought, what if like calls to like? What if instead of trying to pick an ancient magic lock, I just use an ancient magic key?”
Your brow furrowed as you set your fork back down on your plate, and Sebastian followed the movement with a disapproving look. “You should have just tried blowing up the door,” you murmured.
“Oh, believe me, I thought about it. But I seem to recall a certain someone telling me all about the safeguards and traps that can be set off if a site is breached by someone without the same power.”
Dammit. Now that you looked back, you had divulged the details of your past escapades to Sebastian, retelling the tale of how Ranrok had unintentionally activated an enchanted Guardian statue the size of a tower after setting foot in the Gringotts vault. The fleeting memory of Professor Fig made you wince, and your frown deepened immeasurably further. “How do you even know the relic is in there?”
Sebastian tipped back in his chair again and spread his arms wide, the utter size of him failing to escape you. When had he gotten so… big? “How did I ever find information on the things I wanted? Research.”
You shot him a dry look, “That’s incredibly vague.”
“Is it?” The smug bastard flashed you a wide grin, showcasing a matching set of dimples on either side of his cheeks.
If he was right and there truly was a relic of some sort hidden in an ancient magic site, how had you never come across it? At this point there were very few locations in the region you hadn’t discovered yet, and you’d always strived to be thorough in your investigations. Isidora’s darker abilities called for nothing less, and considering you knew next to nothing about the volatile magic you’d ignorantly absorbed beneath Hogwarts, you left no stone unturned during your explorations.
Sebastian didn’t know about the repository, though. He hadn’t been there– had already run off in the wake of his uncle’s death and abandoned you to deal with Ranrok yourself. All this talk of needing your ancient magic amounted to just needing your ancient magic, nothing else. He was none the wiser to your darker abilities that had you scrounging around dilapidated ruins in the first place, and you had no intention of cluing him in now. You were suddenly grateful that he’d left you to fend for yourself all those years ago, seeing as he’d now come galavanting into your life in pursuit of your powers. Again.
History really had a funny way of repeating itself.
You leaned back in your chair and crossed your spindly arms over your chest, pursing your lips as you stared Sebastian down. “Say you’re right and there really is some age-old relic buried in the pits of an ancient magic site. Why would I help you? You haven’t exactly done a bang-up job of making a good impression here.”
The pout that stretched across his face positively dripped with mockery, “What, is my hospitality not up to your standards? Should I have replaced the platters with fine china, or provided you handmaidens to freshen up before having you brought downstairs? My apologies, your highness.”
“You’re an asshole,” you grit through your clenched teeth. The sting from your nails biting into your biceps was the only thing that distracted you from the overwhelming urge to maim him with your bare hands.
With an exaggerated sigh, Sebastian rose from his seat and rolled his shoulders before winking down at you, “And you don’t have a choice in the matter, princess. Get used to my mediocre living standards, you’re going to be here for a while.”
Indignant anger surged to life in your veins, and your magic practically screamed with the desire to be released. “So, what? I’m your prisoner now? I can’t stay here–”
“You’re my honored guest,” Sebastian clarified with a taunting bow, his head dipping well below his waist as he swept his arms out at his sides. “You can go wherever you please within the house, but you may not leave. None of my men will harm you, you have my word.”
His word didn’t mean a damn thing to you and he knew it. The mention of ‘his men’ only served to infuriate you further; these were the same shoddy sorts of people the two of you had relentlessly dispatched in your fifth-year together, and the fact that he was now associating with them only deepened the trench of distrust that yawned in front of you. “Do your underlings know that you used to ransack their camps with me back in the day? Why would they take orders from you?”
He waved you off with barely there interest, “The past is the past, don’t you worry your pretty little head about any of that. As for why we’re working together, call it a mutual understanding. I scratch their back, they scratch mine.”
For the love of Merlin– “What kind of mutual understanding? What do you get out of this?”
Something flashed in his dark eyes then– something cold, sinister, and calculating– and you couldn’t stop yourself from shrinking back in your seat even though it pained you to appear demure in front of him. Then the look vanished, replaced with the indifferent mask he’d worn since setting foot in the dining room. “I can’t tell you all of my secrets now, can I?”
“So you expect me to just take your word for it? Believe that I won’t be stabbed in the back at the first opportunity–”
“Believe whatever you want,” he snapped. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he rolled his eyes and stalked towards you, and you had to physically crane your neck back to maintain eye contact with him when he stopped mere inches from you. He picked up your abandoned fork with his tattooed arm to bring some of the mashed potatoes to your lips, and your cheeks burned with humiliation. “But you will be here a while, so I suggest you get comfortable, princess.”
Your hands shook with blatant anger as you smacked his hand away from your face, sending the fork clattering across the table and leaving a trail of mashed potatoes in its wake. “Don’t call me that,” you hissed at him.
Sebastian’s boisterous laughter echoed throughout the room as he spun on his heel, striding towards the doorway he’d come through earlier, and as he vanished around the corner and the doors shut behind him, you were left alone once more.
Only this time with more questions than answers.
#sebastian sallow#sebastian sallow x you#sebastian sallow x reader#dark!sebastian sallow#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts legacy fanfiction#sebastian sallow x female!reader#hogwarts legacy fanfic#my writing#full sending it and posting chapter 2 cause I wanted to get Sebastian into the story asap#also I felt bad about the cliffhanger LMAO#WIP TSP
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Hi! If that's okay could i request Tewksbury x gn!reader?
You know that scene where Enola takes him to her room to talk about what she discovered? That scene with reader instead except they don't get attacked by the police and he ends up staying the night, nothing nsfw just fluff! And maybe he or they confess? And could you add the one bed troupe? Ty!!
Your choice of a scenario or headcanons, whatever you're more comfortable with! :)
honestly thank you so much for the choice of scenario or headcanons i appreciate the opportunity to have less of a workload, as a reward you get a full length fic
masterlist
After all these days of searching, you think you’ve managed to find him at last. You and Enola have been worried sick about what could have happened to the Viscount of Tewkesbury, Marquess of Basilwether, Owner of Far Too Many Titles for quite some time now, so even the sight of what could be familiar brown tousled hair across a crowded city square fills you with a rush of relief.
He’s alright, that’s what matters most. You can catch the barest flickers of his smile from where you stand. Scores of people weave in between the two of you, but the distance is slowly shrinking. You didn’t expect to miss him quite as much as you did when you first parted ways, but for some reason the thought that you’ll be able to see him again is enough to make you smile like a giddy fool.
In a way, you are. Judging by all the nasty business with Linthorn and the people trying to follow you, you were worried that leaving Tewkesbury behind had been a mistake. What would you have done if that man with the bowler hat from the train had caught up to him? The consequences are more severe than you care to think about, yet here you are, finding Tewkesbury at last.
He doesn’t know you’re here, not yet. You’re still doing your best to remain unnoticed. You and Enola are getting more paranoid by the hour, a practice which has only served to keep the two of you alive and mostly out of trouble. You’re being tracked by Linthorn and his men, of that you have no doubt, but what matters most right now is getting to Tewkesbury before they can.
That’s why Enola is currently on another side of the city, doing her best to distract anyone trying to find you. She’s also hoping to locate Tewkesbury yourself if you couldn’t manage it, although you have to admit that you feel very pleased to be the one who’s found him first.
You hurry across the town square, ducking obliviously around throngs of people and charging coaches to make it over to him. Tewkesbury is helming a small flower stand, and, judging by the empty spots in the vases lining his table, he’s making his fortune quite easily.
That might be due in part to the easy smiles he’s giving out like extra change to any passersby. In fact, the customer currently purchasing a bouquet is looking at Tewkesbury as if she’d rather like to buy him, too, just for the thrill of propping him up in her house for a good stare or two. For some reason, the way that the girl keeps eyeing him makes a knot twist in your stomach, some deep unhappiness that only allows itself to be known through no uncertain pressure.
Just when you fear you may be swept away on the tide of what is definitely not jealousy, Tewkesbury looks up and sees you. Instantly, any thoughts of the girl in front of him, if they even existed in the first place, vanish from his face. It becomes clear that he must have been faking a good temper before, because the sheer joy on his face is infinitely better what he’d been displaying just a few minutes ago.
Evidently picking up on the fact that she’s no longer remotely on Tewkesbury’s mind, the flirtatious customer sighs in irritation and leaves. You don’t even think Tewkesbury noticed, he’s beaming ear to ear as you hurry up to him.
“Y/N!” He says, absolutely delighted. “What are you doing here? I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again.”
You laugh. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint.”
“No,” Tewkesbury hurries to assure you, “not disappointed in the slightest. Really, I couldn’t be happier. What’s going on? How did you find me?”
“It’s not just me who’s been trying to find you,” you relate, “I think I’m being followed. Most likely you are too. There’s some man out there who’s been trying to find you. Enola and I split up so we could try to get to you first before anything happened. I’m glad I found you.”
“I’m glad you found me, too,” Tewkesbury says, then hurries to straighten some already pristine display on his stand before you can notice the blush rising to his cheeks.
You allow him a moment or two to collect himself, then continue on. “We’ve found out a lot since we saw you last. Do you know anywhere we could talk without being overheard? Sorry for being nervous, it’s just that I’d rather not have anyone know we were here.”
Tewkesbury nods, a faint grin on his face. “What, are you worried about getting into a fight?”
You blow out a tired breath. “You’d be surprised.”
His face turns awestruck. “You’ve been in a fight?”
“Yeah,” you say, glancing across the street to see if you spot Linthorn, “in trying to protect you, too. You’ll be pleased to know that I won.”
When you turn back to Tewkesbury, he’s regarding you with a charmed look, like he could listen to you talk for hours on end and never tire of it. Something tells you that the thought of you choosing his side over safety or anything else means more to him than Tewkesbury could possibly put into words.
Whatever he’s thinking, though, neither of you are quite brave enough to express it at the moment. Tewkesbury clears his throat and gestures towards the street.
“I have a place not far from here where we should be fine to talk. Just let me close up shop and we should be good to go.”
You watch him work with a smile. “You know, I do have to admit that it’s cool that you did all this. You know, you were able to set up your own store in Covent Garden and all that. Not bad for a boy on the run.”
Tewkesbury straightens up with an amused look. “Is that a compliment? I think I’m touched.”
You roll your eyes, but can’t hide a grin. “You’re allowed to have them every now and then. I’m not Enola, I can refrain from sarcasm once in a while.”
“I’m well aware that you’re not Enola,” he says, and for some reason you get the feeling that he’s very appreciative of the fact, too. It makes a flush of heat spiral up your cheeks until you have to look away to get your bearings once again.
Tewkesbury leads you through the busy streets until he comes to a stop in front of a locked door.
“This is my place,” he says by way of explanation, “I had to do a fair amount of convincing so the owner would even allow me to let the room, but it’s not too bad. It means no one is trying to follow me, at least. Well, except you.”
You laugh. “Thanks for the clarification.”
Tewkesbury chuckles and leads you upstairs. You can see a hallway with many similar doors stretching out into what feels like an endless abyss of rooms, but Tewkesbury seems to know the way to his flat like the back of his hand. Soon enough, he’s locking the door behind you, and the two of you are alone at last. You were together like this in the marketplace, but for some reason, it’s different now that no one else can see you.
Tewkesbury gestures for you to take a seat and settles into a chair opposite you. “So?” He asks, always curious, “what’s been going on?”
You let out a frustrated breath. “Everything. Enola and I have been running ourselves ragged trying to keep up with Linthorn and your family. Honestly, we were worried sick that we wouldn’t be able to find you in time. We agreed to meet up tomorrow morning, hopefully with you in tow.”
“At least we have a destination for tomorrow,” Tewkesbury muses. “And a plan, I hope?”
You nod. “The barest scrap of one, but it does for now. What, will you be sad to leave your flower stand?”
“A little,” he admits, “it was nice to pretend that I could have a life as simple as that, but I knew it was only temporary. Still, I get the feeling I’ll have reasons to enjoy my future anyway, with or without selling flowers in Covent Garden.”
Again, you get that feeling that he’s hinting towards more than he could ever say. You quickly steer the conversation back towards safer shores, like the fact that there’s at least one man out there trying to kill both of you, and slowly you’re able to fight back the wave of heat that’s currently dusting your cheeks.
It’s easy to spend time with Tewkesbury. You forgot about that in the time since you’ve last seen him, but it’s true. Before you know it, the dangerous topics of Tewkesbury’s family and Linthorn’s plotting are left far behind. You and Tewkesbury laugh until your ribs are sore, trading jokes like you’ve known each other all your lives instead of just a short matter of time. He is fascinating to speak to, host to knowledge you’d never guess at in your entire life.
At the same time, you seem to hold his attention in the palm of your hand like a flightless bird, never to soar away. Every time you open your mouth to voice a single syllable, Tewkesbury looks at you with his heart in his eyes, totally captivated by you. It’s enough to make anyone feel important, and you are certainly no exception.
Before you know it, you’re fighting back a yawn in between another tangent of conversation. You do your best to hide the sudden bout of exhaustion that’s flung itself upon you, but Tewkesbury notices you. Always the eagle eye when it comes to spotting details about you, right? It’s as if he can only ever look at you, so he might as well do it right.
Tewkesbury glances at the window behind him and his face transfigures with surprise. “My goodness, it’s already so late. I had no idea.”
Sure enough, when you glance through the leaded panes, you notice that the streets outside have already succumbed to night. Darkness has fallen upon the town, pierced consistently by the even light of lanterns lining the streets.
You curse under your breath. You hadn’t meant to stay this long, but then again, if you were to do it all again, you have a feeling you’d repeat this afternoon exactly the same way. You haven’t felt half so light or free as when you’re talking with Tewkesbury. He makes you feel as if nothing in the world could ever trouble you, and when you have as many problems as you do right now, that’s certainly something worth your time.
Still, even the best of evenings have to end at some point, and the moon rising over the horizon acts as your timepiece for the night, signaling that you’re going to have to call off your happiness for the time being.
“I’d better head out,” you say, rising to your feet, “I’ll come back in the morning, we can go meet Enola. It’s just not safe for you to keep up your life here, not until we figure out Linthorn.”
Tewkesbury jerks into a standing position as well. “Wait, you can’t go out there by yourself, it’s pitch black. I’ll walk with you.”
You shake your head. “Then you’d be coming back here in the dead of night. Linthorn’s out there somewhere on the lookout for you, it would be too dangerous. I have to go by myself.”
Tewkesbury refuses to take no for an answer. “Then stay here. If I can’t go with you, you can’t walk these streets after dark on your own. I have space, you can stay the night.”
You hesitate, wavering on the edge of what you truly want and what surely must be done. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Well, I can’t ask you to keep helping me stay safe from Linthorn, and you do it anyway,” Tewkesbury reasons, “Look, it’s no big deal at all. I promise.”
You cave at last. “Alright. I am rather tired.”
Tewkesbury grins, thrilling over his victory. He looks around to offer you a place to sleep, and that’s when the two of you reach an insurmountable problem at the exact same time. When Tewkesbury found this place, he was only thinking that he’d be host to himself. For this reason, there’s only one bed, and for this reason, the fact that you’re going to be here too creates many, many difficulties.
“I’ll sleep in the armchair,” you say quickly. “It looks quite comfortable.”
Tewkesbury scoffs. “That’s a lie and you know it. You take the bed, I’ll be in the armchair.”
“I’m not kicking you out of your own bed,” you argue.
“And I’m not forcing you to stay here overnight just to delegate you to the chair,” Tewkesbury replies just as quickly, “Take the bed.”
“You take the bed,” you quarrel.
“We can both take the bed,” Tewkesbury says in a rush, and both of you try to pretend as if that declaration isn’t somehow both the most perfect solution and also the most terrifying option that could possibly come out of this debate.
Not one to show any sign of weakness, you nod before Tewkesbury can take it back. “Alright. It’s big enough for the two of us. It’ll be fine.”
“Very fine,” Tewkesbury adds, although you notice that he does look a bit panicked at the thought.
The two of you have gone and committed to the idea now, though, so it’s not like there’s anything you can do about it. You dress for sleep and crawl into the bed, Tewkesbury on the other side. It was definitely meant for one person, which is made clear when both of your efforts to give each other as much space as possible result in you practically falling onto the ground.
At last, you sigh and give in to what must be done. You turn on your side to face Tewkesbury and stretch out an arm to reach out to him. He stiffens at first, then turns over as well. Your head fits perfectly against his chest, and when his arm wraps around you, you wonder why either of you ever tried anything else. It’s as if you’re two halves of one being, always meant to be here together. The thought of ever getting up and splitting away from him feels like a strike through the heart.
Tewkesbury speaks quietly against the top of your head. “I’m glad you’re here. Really glad.”
You smile. “I’m glad too.”
It is easy to sleep after that, regardless of the fact that there’s a stranger out in the city who wishes for the quick death of both of you. Right here, nestled in Tewkesbury’s arms, the thought of danger has never even occurred to you. No safety net has ever been woven of stronger stuff. The stars wheel in the sky overhead and the two of you sleep soundly, brows smoothed of worry. All is well.
requested by @dexpairs-blog, i hope you enjoy!
enola holmes tag list: empty for now!
#tewkesbury#tewkesbury imagines#tewkesbury x reader#tewkesbury oneshot#enola holmes#enola holmes imagines#enola holmes oneshot#enola holmes tewkesbury#enola holmes tewkesbury x reader#enola holmes tewkesbury oneshot
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bowling night | m. estapa
mark estapa x !duke reader
it was hard to find good couple bowling pics👎
on marks post imagine the guy has his hair color since ^^
markestapa posted to his story
caption: date with my girl💙 @ynduke
yourusername
liked by markestapa, dylanduke25 and others.
ynduke could say date night was pretty successful, thank you for the night out my love I love you❤️(and thank you for the best birthday ever<3)
tagged markestapa
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markestapa happy birthday babe I love you and always welcome for the nights out💙 now time to drink(responsibly)!
ynduke thank you!! (totally responsible) so race you to the bar??
markestapa you’re so on!
dylanduke25 date: a social or romantic appointment or engagement.
ynduke please don’t do that here
dylanduke25 okay rude you should appreciate my definitions since I’m educating you!
ynduke but I’m already educated on a date??
dylanduke25 tomato tomahto
ynduke I hate you.
nolan_moyle okay but where was my invite??
ynduke please you should’ve came! we could have whooped marks ass together then I would have beat you!
nolanmoyle why are you so cocky??
ynduke I blame my brothers.
tyler__duke5 should be blaming alyssa that’s her field.
dylanduke25 ^
alyssa_duke being cocky is not my field that’s 100% you three!
nolan_moyle have to agree with her boys and girl, you three together are cocky central.
ynduke you’re uninvited.
nolan_moyle no I’m sorry I take it back!
ynduke too late.
rutgermcgroarty happy birthday y/n and duker!!
ynduke thank you rut!
dylanduke25 thanks man!
markestapa
liked by ynduke, dylanduke25, edwards73 and others.
markestapa when she’s better at bowling than you>>
happy birthday sweet girl I’m glad today was the best day for you but the nights not finished enjoy your party tonight! We celebrate for as long as you want. Thank you for being the best thing to come into my life since going to umich, couldn’t have asked for a better second year with you❤️
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ynduke I’m sobbing you can’t just do this to me. I love you so much and I cant wait for more years with you<3
nolan_moyle someone else should pull a duker this time
dylanduke25 do it cap
nolan_moyle okay give me a sec
nolan_moyle bowling the game of tenpin bowling as a sport or recreation
dylanduke25 okay not bad but wasn’t gonna do the definition
nolanmoyle that’s concerning?
dylanduke25 here’s how to play bowling.
1: Understand the bowling lane. before you begin to bowl, you have to understand the function of the bowling lane. A bowling lane is 60 feet (18.3 m) long from the foul line, the line closest to the bowler, to the head pin, the pin closest to the bowler. There are gutters on either side of the bowling lane. If a ball veers off the lane, it goes into the gutters and is out of play. The approach area is 15 feet (4.6 m) long and ends at the foul line. The bowler cannot overstep the foul line during their approach or their shot won't count. If a ball goes into the gutters and then bounces out and hits the pins, it won't count.
2:Understand the bowling pins. Ten pins are arranged at the end of the bowling lane at the beginning of every frame. They are arranged in a triangle formation, with the point of the triangle facing the bowler. There is one pin in the first row, which is the head pin, two pins in the second row, three in the third, and four in the fourth. The locations of the pins are assigned numbers 1-10. The pins in the back row have the numbers 7-10, the pins in the row above the back row are numbered 4-6, the pins in the second row are numbered 2-3, and the head pin is pin 1. All pins will earn the bowler one point if they are hit. The numbers are based on location, not value.
3: Learn the lingo. Before you can call yourself a true bowler, you should be aware of a few different bowling terms. Knowing these terms will also make it much easier for you to understand the rules. Here they are. A strike is when you knock down all the pins with the ball on your first try. A spare is when you knock down all the pins on your second try. A split is when the first ball of a frame knocks down the headpin (the pin closest to you) but leaves two or more pins that are non-adjacent. It's tough to hit a spare in this situation, especially if you have a 7-10 split, which is the hardest split to hit. A turkey is three strikes in a row. If any pins remain after the bowler's turn, it's called an "open frame."
4: Understand how a game of bowling works.One bowling game consists of 10 frames. Each frame is equal to one turn for the bowler. The bowler's objective is to knock down as many pins as possible in a frame, ideally all of them. A bowler can roll the ball twice in each frame, provided that they do not hit a strike. A bowler gets an extra turn on the tenth frame if they knock down all the pins on the first turn.
5: Learn the scoring. If a bowler has an open frame, then they simply get credit for the number of pins they knocked down. If a bowler knocked down 6 pins after two turns, they simply get two turns. However, if a bowler hits a spare or a strike, the rules get slightly more complicated. If a bowler hits a spare, then they should place a slash mark on their score sheet. After their next turn, they will receive 10 points plus the number of pins they knock down with that turn. So if they knock down 3 pins after their first turn, then they will get 13 points before their second turn. If they then knock down 2 pins in their second turn, they get a total of 15 points for that round. If a bowler hits a strike, they should record an X on their scoresheet. The strike will earn the bowler ten points plus the number of pins knocked down on the player's next two turns in the following round. The most a bowler can score in one game is 300 points. This represents 12 strikes in a row, or 120 pins that were knocked down in 12 frames. A perfect game has 12 strikes and not ten, because if the bowler gets a strike on the last frame, then they can take two more turns. If those two turns are also strikes, they will have 300 points. If a player rolls a spare in the last frame, then they can take one more turn.
ynduke I’m just at a loss of words.
aylssa_duke you putting all your time into this is impressive.
nolan_moyle this made me love you even more
markestapa okay but you going and getting all this information from a website just for a comment is pretty crazy😭 I applaud you man
dylanduke25 please I didn’t have to look it up knew this all by heart
ynduke okay yeah that’s concerning.
tyler__duke5 A+ bro thanks for teaching me about bowling!
adamfantilli thanks duker now I can go teach Gavin how to bowl correctly thanks!
g.brindley4 I know how to bowl correctly wtf??
adamfantilli you don’t, remember the ceiling mishap?
g.brindley4 oh yeah
fan1 so duker commenting all about bowling is so concerning, need to know if he took a bowling class😭
ynduke oh he did! Took it for two years.
tyler__duke5 it was hell, he wouldn’t shut up about it.
lhughes_06 I got to hear all of it so you guys are lucky.
dylanduke25 you said you liked me talking about bowling so that’s your fault lukey!
lhughes_06 don’t call me that.
ynduke everyone should call you lukey now
lhughes_06 god please don’t
edwards.73 lukey on the back of his devils jersey, I would buy one also happy birthday y/n I love you!
ynduke about to text Jack to ask for Lindys number! and thank you son I love you too!!
lhughes_06 mark quick take her phone away
ynduke got it pal-mark
markestapa got his phone and it has lindys number in it thanks bye!
lhughes_06 im on my way.
woah okay I’m actually shocked I finish this and it’s long sorry 😭 all the bowling stuff is from wiki so creds to there! Expect some more insta fics throughout out the day till I work🖤 also yes I know insta comments can’t be that long but who cares lmao👎
#mark estapa#mark estapa x reader#mark estapa x duke reader#luke hughes#dylan duke#umich boys#nolan moyle#adam fantilli#gavin brindley#jack hughes#tyler duke#aylssa duke#ethan edwards#rutger mcgroarty
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