#Make that bloody movie with coffee

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x Reader

[ Chapter 13 ] || [ Chapter 15 ]

Pairing: Gaz x Reader x Ghost || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.6K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: this is purely self-indulgent. I wanted them to kiss.

Click here to see some fanart of this chapter by my lovely moot @xxshadowbabexx.

Chapter 14: (B)romance?

After that conversation, things got slightly easier. You found yourselves talking about random things, Simon showed off a few bandages from fresh injuries he got just this past week on a mission…

And almost an hour after they arrived, you were all sprawled from the couch and over the coffee table, watching one of the original Scream movies, much to Ghost’s delight and your displeasure… Which soon switched and turned into your and Gaz’s pleasure and Ghost’s dread.

“Look, it’s you.” You pointed at the TV for the fifth time in the row every time Ghostface was seen.

“I hate you.” Ghost groaned playfully. “Kyle, why’d you tell ‘em I wear a skull on the job?” He scoffed.

“You’re the one wearing it and you wanna blame me?” Kyle quipped as he cocked his brows. He had his arm draped over your shoulders and he used his hand to nudge Ghost on the shoulder.

“It’s making me look bad, mate, it’s the principle of the thing!” Ghost retorted as he snaked his arm between your back and the back of the couch, nudging Gaz’s exposed side with his own finger.

It was the first time that Gaz had ever heard Ghost call him, or anyone, mate. It would’ve made him smile, if the bloke wasn’t poking him.

“Oi! Watch it!” Kyle complained as he squirmed a bit against you.

“You ticklish, Garrick?” Simon quipped with a mischievous glance.

“Will you two stop it? I’m trying to watch the movie!” You scolded them, nudging them both with your elbows, causing them both to squirm, though Ghost’s squirming was much more stiffening than wiggling. “Childish…” You added.

“Not childish.” Simon retorted. “I’m 3-fucking-4.” He replied.

“You’re what?” Kyle asked as his head turned sharply to look at Ghost. “I thought you were 40.”

“You thought I was as old as Price is?” SImon asked as he turned to look at Kyle too.

“No wonder you look young, I thought you looked good for your age because of the mask and not being in the sun all day.” Gaz explained.

“Oh. My. God. Are you two having a moment right now?” You asked them, making them both turn to look at you with wide eyes. “Your little bromance is interrupting the movie.” You quipped with an impish smirk on your lips.

“Oh, we have a ‘bromance’, is it? You wouldn’t talk like that if you had my tongue down your throat like a few weeks ago.” Simon asked with a look in his eyes that said he did not appreciate the joke. But that just made you start giggling and biting your nail.

“Wait, you’ve kissed?” Kyle asked in surprise as he bounced up a bit and turned to look at you both.

“Yeeeees…?” You replied with a sheepish reply.

“So you’ve seen what Ghost looks like?” Gaz added.

“Noooo…?” You added as you casted Simon a glance, which only made him chuckle behind his mask.

“I said I’d let ‘em in due time.” He explained for you as he gave you a little squeeze.

“So, you’ve gotten drinks, eaten dinner, played videogames, had a movie night, slept together… All with the mask on?” Kyle asked, flabbergasted.

“Well, no. I took the mask off to sleep.” Simon replied.

“YOU TOOK THE MASK OFF TO SLEEP?!” You shrieked a bit, which only caused another grin to form on Simon’s face, his brown eyes crinkling smugly.

“You were asleep. It would’ve stank up if I slept with it on, I’m a mouth breather.” Simon replied.

“Ew, a mouth breather.” Gaz quipped, making you both laugh.

“I guess we’re just… not gonna watch the movie, huh?” You remarked as you glanced over at the TV where some blonde was screaming bloody murder.

“Guess not.” Gaz replied and shrugged a bit. After a beat of silence, he glanced over at the two of you again and narrowed his eyes. “How was it?”

“Hm?” You asked with a cocked brow.

“He means the kiss.” Simon replied as he nudged you with his shoulder, his arm lightly squeezing at your waist.

You scrunched up your lips sheepishly and shrugged. “It was good…”

Gaz and Ghost shared another look over your head, silently communicating between one another while stealing glances at you.

“Just good? And here I thought you’d liked it.” Simon remarked in mock offense.

“Right? I was going to say that doesn’t sound very convincing.” Kyle quipped.

“I-” You hesitated and sighed. “Will you two stop that? I know what you’re doing! Don’t fucking bully me!” You scolded them and you immediately noticed the smirk on Kyle’s lips, which you knew Simon was mirroring.

“Maybe I owe you a repeat.” Simon quipped as he shot Kyle a look and then looked down at you.

“A repeat?” You asked in shock as you blinked lightly. 

“And I definitely owe you one for comparison.” Kyle added.

“But…”

“But what? You talk that big game and act like a brat this whole time, trying to embarrass us…” Simon trailed off. “I think it’s time we get payback.” He added.

“Only if you’re okay with it.” Kyle interjected.

“Of course they’re okay with it.” Simon added and glanced down at you.

Sheepishly and with very warm cheeks, you found yourself nodding, not quite knowing the mess that you were about to get yourself into.

But, then again, when are you going to have the opportunity to have two blokes wanting to kiss you at once? Mia and Leah would kill you if you didn’t take the opportunity.

Simon’s warm, calloused and rough hand grabbed reached up to cover your eyes and after a second, the other clamped around your jaw the same way he had done weeks ago. You could hear Kyle’s breath hitch behind you, a sign that Simon had taken off his mask.

Then, Simon’s lips crashed into yours, his tongue already pushing its way inside. Once more, your tongue found the metal of his barbell piercing, the cold and hard texture drawing a whimper out of you as Simon dragged it over your own tongue.

You could feel Kyle’s warmth next to you, his arm slightly tightening his hold on you so you wouldn’t escape Simon’s kiss. Your hands gently grabbed onto Simon’s forearms, fingers digging in as the kiss left you light-headed.

After a moment, Simon pulled back, fixed his mask back into place, and uncovered your eyes. “So?” He teased when your eyes adjusted to the darkened room, illuminated only by the blue light of the TV playing the movie.

“Hm.” Was all you could reply with, a stupid little sound that didn’t at all convey how good the kiss felt. But it made Simon laugh, open mouthed, belly laughter, his head falling back over the edge of the couch.

“Cat got your tongue? Oh, wait, no, it’s me.” Simon bragged and you could swear he had a massive shit-eating grin on his stupidly kissable lips.

“Let me check.” Kyle replied and his own hand snaked to grab you around the neck. Before you had time to register it, your head was being dipped back and his lips were against yours.

Unlike Simon, Kyle’s lips were thick, warm, smooth… His tongue was a lot wetter, probably a consequence of Simon’s throat being permanentely dry from wearing the mask too much.

Now that he was so close, you could feel everything. The way his fingers gently rubbed at your pulse points on your neck, the scent of coconut oil that emanated from him, the light prickling of his goatee against your skin, when Simon’s was completely shaved clean…

Simon’s hand snaked down to your thigh and rubbed it lightly as you lost yourself in Kyle’s kiss, your hand grabbing and softly tugging onto his purple jumper.

You were the one that broke the kiss with a gasp for air, your eyes snapping open and finding Kyle looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he licked his lips. “So?” He echoed Simon’s earlier question.

Looking away, you sunk back on the couch and scoffed. “I hate you both.” You grumbled, making them both laugh.

“Damn, I didn’t think I kissed that badly.” Gaz quipped playfully.

“I sure as bloody hell don’t.” Simon replied. “I think they just have poor taste.”

Crossing your arms, you glared at them both. “Yeah? Well… If you’re both such great kissers, then why don’t you prove it?”

The two men looked over at you with raised brows and blinking away their shock at the suggestion. Then, they glanced at each other and seemed to be communicating wordlessly again.

“I’m fine with it.” Gaz quipped, humourously.

“Makes no difference to me.” Ghost replied. “C’mere, Garrick.”

Before you even had time to say you were joking, Simon tugged up his mask with one hand, enough to reveal his jawline and mouth, while the other wrapped around the back of Kyle’s neck with more aggression than necessary.

It was the first time you got to see a snippet of Simon’s face and his jawline was just like you had expected. Harsh, sharp like diamonds, free from any type of hair, and riddled with rough scars and a Glasgow smile carved from the corners of his mouth.

Their mouths collided so harshly that Kyle’s eyes doubled in size before he let go and closed them. Your eyes widened as well as you watched them locked in a kiss that was more passionate than I think any of you expected it to be.

As they pulled away, Ghost pulled down his mask again and glanced over at you, while a very shocked Gaz stood perfectly still, eyes widened and mouth left hanging open… Before he shook himself awake from his trance. “You have a piercing?!”

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taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!): @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

#ikea writes 💚 #it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader

[moondirti]

there’s something so erotic about a man who grabs your jaw when you keep avoiding his gaze so he can force your eyes on his

featuring: SOAP, afab reader, oral, spitting, mild dubcon (i.e. boundary crossing)

soap has always been intense. a bullet shot off in a steel room, bound to ricochet until it makes contact with something that can absorb its impact. you're in the right place at the right time: a bar, the gym he frequents, perhaps even a football game he'd been anticipating for weeks. it doesn't really matter what context he first spots you in – all that energy, that orderless enthusiasm he seems to prescribe to everything, sharpens to focus solely on you. bonnie wee thing that keeps sliding him wily looks, instilling in him a mission he knows he won't back down from.

at first it's how to approach you. easy enough; you like him too, that much he can tell. so when you eventually agree to a farmers market date (where he intends to spoil you rotten with food from every stall), it becomes about opening you up. figuratively at first, you have a hard time keeping up with him without getting overwhelmed. startled at how forthcoming he is, stunned at the manner in which he treats you. like he's known you for years, a childhood best friend you only met last tuesday. he calls right after your first date, asks you to accompany him for coffee before his morning run. shows up at your door unannounced, carrying tools to fix the fan you briefly complained wasn't working. is bold enough to sneak his hand on your thigh while you're watching a movie later that evening, gradually moving higher as your breath begins to falter.

he spares no effort once things get sexual, either. if you expect him to go easy for your first time, you'll come to sorely regret the mistake. quick to slip out of his too-tight shirt, even quicker to spread your legs out on your couch. manages to get your joggers off but opts to merely shift your panties to the side, fingers hooked in the thin material (which he will pocket later). when he envelops your entire cunt with his mouth, his tongue digs into every fold, every hole if it means he can swallow down the smallest part of you.

taste s’good hen, bloody mad wae it

only you’re not looking at him. instead, you’ve thrown your head back, too lost in the pleasure to pay attention to the show he’s putting on for you. why exactly, he's not sure. he’s being good, isn’t he? giving you everything you need? his heart races a mile per minute and something needy, something dark twists within him. he laves his tongue over your hole once more, collecting the juices that pour for him and gathering it behind his teeth alongside a hefty glob of saliva.

when he moves up your body, he tucks your chin in his palm, pulling your head down to face him.

it's too much. too much. he doesn't seem to realise it, but you're breathing is still inconsistent and shallow, and you're about to cry from overstimulation. now he's forcing eye contact, nose kissing yours, and pressing down on either side of your jaw so you're forced to open your mouth wide. you know what's coming, see it from the way his cheeks move. it's all you can do to brace yourself for the inevitable, unable to voice your aversion to the kink. fisting your hands, tensing your throat. but it's as you close your eyes that his self-restraint snaps.

so, he spits. it's thick and messy and heady with the smell of your sex. he doesn't even aim it properly. a significant amount of it lands on your lip, some even on your nose. your tongue gets the brunt of it though, the new weight of fluid causing you to gag. yet his pupils are blown so wide they're barely blue anymore, a cerulean ring around bottomless black, fixated on the sloppy state of your mouth, and it's hard to deny him anything that boils him down to such a state. like a puppy. over-eager and exhilarated when you indulge him so.

you never learn to like it, though it becomes a routine thing.

#written on my phone and unedited #have some garbage or whatever #also applies to price because i can definetely imagine him forcing you still so he can blow cigar smoke onto your face #johnny 'soap' mactavish #johnny 'soap' mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap #cod #call of duty #thirst #x afab reader

[tonyspank]

WH0 R U 2???

Summary: Tara wakes up at her attractive Professor’s home.

Warnings: 18+ smut, g!p reader (literally think r is a service top??? idk? sorry for the dom’s & subs 😭)

A/N: pt.3 will not but smutty but bloody (there are different ghostfaces who r y’all suspecting?) also the smut scene was inspired by my b-day gift @wol-fica i love u

part 1

Tara woke up with the world's biggest headache. When she sat up in the random bed she had just awakened in, she realized she was in a completely unfamiliar room. The walls were white, with some paintings here and there, and the room was filled with a faint scent of lavender.

Tara left the bed, her head pounding with each step she took. She stumbled towards the door, trying to remember how she ended up in this strange place.

As she makes her way down the hallway, coffee begins to fill her nostrils. She follows the scent and finds herself in a cozy kitchen, where a pot of freshly brewed coffee sits on the counter. "You're awake, a voice says from behind her.

Startled, Tara turns around to see her professor, and suddenly, all of her memories rush back to her.

"Leaving already?" Frankie asks, raising an eyebrow. Tara hesitates, unsure of how to respond. She just nods, "Yeah, my... my rides here." Frankie keeps his gaze fixed on her, his expression unreadable. Tara can feel the weight of his scrutiny, making her even more uncomfortable.

"Oh damn, well, let me walk you out." Frankie offers, breaking the silence. Tara's heart races as they make their way towards the exit, unsure of what's going on. It was obvious Frankie wanted to get into her pants; he'd been following her the entire night.

You notice Tara at the exit, looking slightly flustered and uneasy. You quickly exit your car and walk to her. "You're her ride?" A brown-haired boy asks you.

"Yeah, I'm her ride," you confirm, giving the boy a curious look. The brown-haired boy gives you a skeptical look before reluctantly stepping aside, allowing you to approach Tara. As you reach her side, you offer a reassuring smile, hoping to ease her discomfort.

Tara's eyes drop to your attire, taking in your sleepwear. A wife-beater and black boxers that matched your black Nike socks. You notice this, "Sorry, I just woke up about five minutes ago."

"All good...Professor." Tara smiles. You shake your head, "Y/N is just fine. You're in my kitchen, after all. No need for formalities." Tara blushes and nods, "Right, sorry. Y/N it is then."

You chuckle softly, "No need to apologize, Tara. Can I offer you some coffee?" Tara gratefully accepts the offer, "I could definitely use a cup. Thank you, Y/N." She takes a seat at the kitchen table as you start pouring a fresh cup of coffee.

"Do you need me to drop you off?" Tara tries to take a sip of her coffee, but it's too hot, causing her to wince in pain spilling a bit on her hand. "Shit! That's hot!" Tara exclaims, quickly pulling her hand away from the cup. You rush to grab a napkin, softly grasping her hand and gently wiping away the spilled coffee.

"But, um, yeah, I'd love a ride if you don't mind," Tara mutters, ignoring the fluttering of her heart as you touch her hand. She tries to hide her blush by taking a deep breath and looking away, but the warmth of your touch lingers.

"Of course." Your phone begins ringing, interrupting the moment. You quickly apologize and grab your phone from the kitchen counter. You answer the phone without looking at the caller ID. A deep voice on the other end of the line.

"Hello, Y/N." You scratch your head, trying to place the voice. It sounds vaguely familiar, but you can't quite place it.

The voice clears its throat, and your ear is soon filled with Laura's laugh. "Haven't you watched Stab?"

"Ohhh! Yeah, I just did yesterday." You chuckle, realizing that the deep voice was an imitation of a character from the movie. "How's your mom? She doing better?"

Laura's laughter subsides as she replies, "She's slowly recovering, thanks for asking. The doctors say she should be back on her feet in a few weeks." You feel relieved to hear the positive update about Laura's mom and express your well wishes for her continued recovery.

"Anywho! I was just calling because I wanted to know how your first lecture was. Did everyone behave?"

You chuckle and respond, "Well, it was definitely an interesting experience. The students were well-behaved, and I was actually surprised by their level of engagement. It seems like they're all eager to learn and participate in class discussions."

Laura hums over the phone, "Are you sure you're talking about my students?" You laugh and say, "Seriously. They were great." Laura pauses for a moment before replying, "That's good...I have to go now, take care, Y/N."

You bid Laura farewell and promise to keep her updated on any future classroom developments. Tara speaks up when you set down your phone, "Was that Professor Crane?" You nod and say, "Yes, it was. She was just checking in on you guys."

Tara nods, taking a sip of her now slightly cooled-down coffee. "I'm going to take a shower, and I'll be back in a bit. Let me know whenever you're ready to leave."

"Wait, uh, do you know where my phone is?" Tara asks, glancing around the room. You remember plugging it up near the kitchen counter when you arrived home yesterday.

You point towards the kitchen counter and say, "I think it's over there, by the sink." Tara thanks you and heads towards the kitchen to retrieve it, but her head turns as she watches you leave the room, pulling your tank top over your head, revealing your toned back.

Blushing slightly, Tara quickly averts her gaze and focuses on finding her phone.

When Tara finally finds her phone, she realizes that she has missed several calls and messages, mostly from Sam.

But her heart truly drops when she realizes your name is at the top of her messages, remembering that she did indeed text you drunk the previous night.

Tara's mind races as she tries to recall what she said, hoping she hasn't embarrassed herself or said anything inappropriate. "You've got to be kidding me."

Tara mutters under her breath, scrolling through her messages with you. This was so embarrassing, and she couldn't believe she had let herself get so out of control.

"The hot professor whose filling in for Ms.Crane? What the fuck?" Tara's eyes widen in disbelief as she reads her own words. She had confessed her attraction to her substitute professor, not realizing how much she had revealed in her drunken state. Panic sets in as she wonders what your reaction to the message might have been.

Tara's phone dings, indicating a new message.

Mindy: Tara where the hell r u?

Mindy:  Sam is literally is losing her marbles

Shit.

Tara: im about to leave in about 15 minutes

Mindy: that didn't answer my question lollll

Tara: just tell sam im on the way

Mindy: omg you're at professor y/ln's house

Tara's heart races as she reads Mindy's message. How did Mindy know she was at your house? She quickly types a response, trying to come up with something to get Mindy off her back. 

Tara: wtf? no?

Tara: ill ttyl

-

The next couple of months consisted of Tara staying back after every lecture to talk to you. Now, you didn't exactly mind, but it did make you wonder why she was suddenly so interested in your company. Tara wouldn't talk about her studies, rather, she would ask you about your personal life, your hobbies, and your opinions on various topics.

Or whenever you'd be leaving campus or just arriving, Tara would leave her friends, jog over to you, and strike up a conversation. It seemed like she always found a reason to be near you, whether it was wanting to walk together or simply to share a funny story. Her genuine interest in getting to know you better was both flattering and intriguing.

"That's all for today, guys." You tell the class, packing up your things. Everyone begins leaving—well, everyone except for Tara. You shuffle your papers together, double-checking that you have everything, before looking up to find Tara still standing by your desk.

"Did you watch The Hereditary?" She had mentioned the movie a few times before, and you could tell she really wanted you to watch it. You smile and reply, "Yes, I did! Scared the shit out of me."

Tara laughs, "I thought you said you liked scary movies?" You begin walking toward the door. "I do!"

"What's your favorite scary movie?" Tara asks, genuinely curious. You pause for a moment, thinking of all the horror films you've seen over the years. "Hmm, that's a tough one," you say, pondering. "Maybe Chucky."

"You're joking," Tara says, raising an eyebrow. "Chucky? The killer doll? That's more of a cheesy horror movie than a scary one." You shrug and defend your choice. "Well, it scared me when I was younger. Plus, it has that nostalgic factor for me."

Tara chuckles and shakes her head playfully, saying, "Alright, if you say so. But I'll have to introduce you to some truly terrifying films one day."

You smile, holding the door open for the shorter girl. "Sure, T." Tara ignores the fluttering in her stomach at the nickname, striking up another conversation. "You heading home?"

You nod and reply, "Yeah, I was planning on making this salmon dish I found a recipe for. The sauce is supposed to be really flavorful, and I've been craving seafood lately." Tara hums, "Sounds fun."

You pause your walk, making eye contact with your student. "Maybe you could come...?"

Tara's eyes widen with surprise, but a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "That sounds like a plan," she says, "What time?"

You check your watch and say, "How about around 7 p.m.? That should give me enough time to prepare everything." Tara nods eagerly, "Okay." You thank her and continue walking, "See you, T."

-

You were more than tipsy, this might have been the most fun you've had in a while. "I feel like a bad influence." You joke to Tara, pouring her another glass of wine. Tara laughs, "You're a perfect influence. You know how to have a good time."

You shake your head, standing up. "You can sit in the living room, I'm just gonna clear the table." Tara smiles and takes a sip of her wine. "Don't worry about it, I'll help you clean up."

Tara sets down her glass, standing up and helping you gather the dirty dishes and leftover food. Everything about this feels so domestic like you two are a married couple tidying up after a dinner party.

You start washing the dishes while Tara dries them and puts them away. The conversation flows effortlessly, making the task feel less like a chore and more like a shared experience.

On the last plate, you splash some soapy water onto Tara's shirt, causing her to let out a surprised gasp. "Oops, sorry about that!" you jokingly apologize, grinning mischievously.

Tara playfully flicks some water back at you, making you let out a laugh. "Oh, it's on now!" you exclaim, grabbing a nearby dish towel and flicking it towards Tara.

Tara runs out of the kitchen, laughing and dodging the dish towel, her wet shirt clinging to her as she goes. You turn off the water and chase after her, determined to catch her. While you reach the living room, Tara takes a sharp turn, causing you to stumble for a moment.

You quickly regain your balance and continue the chase, both of you enjoying the playful pursuit.

"I give up!" Tara calls out, breathless and giggling, as she collapses onto the couch. You slow down and join her, catching your breath and collapsing beside her.

You glance at her shirt, "Do you want one of my shirts?" Tara looks down at her damp shirt and shakes her head, still catching her breath. "No, I think I'll be fine," she replies with a smile.

Your eyes fall back on Tara, her cheeks flushed and her hair slightly disheveled from the chase. You know you shouldn't be thinking about your student in this way, but it's hard to ignore the undeniable chemistry between you. And she was absolutely gorgeous.

You're caught up in your thoughts, you don't even notice how your body is subconsciously scooting closer to her, until your knees are almost touching. The air between you feels charged with tension, and you can't help but wonder if she feels it too.

A part of you wants to reach out and brush a strand of hair behind her ear, but professional boundaries hold you back.

Tara turns her head slightly, her eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, you both share a knowing smile. Fuck, why did she have to look at you like that?

The intensity of the moment lingers, making it difficult to focus on anything else. You find yourself questioning the consequences of acting on this undeniable connection.

Tara leans in, and you follow behind slowly. You don't notice what you're doing until your noses brush against each other, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

Tara parts her lips slightly, her warm breath tickling your skin. You place a hand on her leg, closing the distance between you. Your lips meet in a passionate and electrifying kiss, leaving you breathless and craving more.

You place your hand on Tara's waist, pulling her closer to you and allowing her to straddle you. Tara can't help but respond, her hands finding their way to your hair as she pulls you in even closer.

When you pull away, your heart is racing as if you had just run a marathon. You knew what you were doing was wrong, but in that moment, it felt so right. The chemistry between you and Tara was undeniable, and the desire for each other was too strong to resist.

Your hand rises to Tara's face, your thumb tracing over her soft, plump lips. She closes her eyes, and a moan escapes her mouth. You kiss her lightly, your tongue tracing the outline of her mouth. She responds with a slow, passionate kiss, her lips trembling as you pull away.

"Please," she mumbles, grinding her hips against yours. "Fuck, T." What was this girl doing to you? Without hesitation, you capture her lips once more, this time with an electrifying fervor that leaves you both breathless. In that moment, you knew that there was no going back, you were stuck under her spell.

Your hands slither under her shirt, exploring the curves of her body, feeling the heat radiating from her skin. She moans softly, encouraging you to continue your exploration, and you do.

Skillfully, you unclasp her bra, and your fingers trace the outline of her breasts, teasing and caressing every inch of her sensitive skin. She arches her back, pressing herself closer to you, craving more of your touch.

You lift her shirt, revealing her bare chest, and your lips eagerly find their way to her exposed skin. The taste of her drives you wild, and you lose yourself in the moment, savoring every sweet and intoxicating sensation.

Your hands fly back to her waist, lifting her slightly as your lips trail to her stomach, leaving a trail of soft kisses along the way.

She lets out a soft moan, her fingers tangling in your hair as she surrenders to the pleasure coursing through her body. Tara's breath hitches when you stand up, picking her up with ease. You carry her effortlessly to the bedroom, her legs wrapped around your waist, her body pressed against yours.

One thing is, you don't make it to the bed. Tara's back is now pressed against a wall, her heart pounding in her chest. You lean in closer, capturing her lips with yours as your hands roam over her body. You couldn't get enough.

You flip Tara, pressing her against the wall with a newfound intensity. Tara gasp, her eyes rolling back in pleasure, feeling your strong grip on her hips and your lips trailing down her neck.

Your hands trail to her jeans button, fumbling to undo it as the passion between you increases. Tara's breath hitches as you slide down her pants, along with her underwear, exposing her bare skin to the cool air.

Without hesitating, you drop to your knees, eager to taste her. A loud slap is heard, followed by a gasp of surprise. Tara bites down on her lip, balling up her fist against the wall, feeling you spread her legs for better access.

You lean in closer, your tongue teasing her entrance as Tara's moans fill the room. Oh, shit. You were officially addicted to this girl. Every touch and every sound she made only fueled your obsession for her.

You couldn't get enough of the way she responded to your touch, her body arching and trembling with pleasure. Or the way she tasted, leaving a permanent mark on your tongue.

"Fuck..." Tara gasps, the side of her face flat against the wall as her hips buck against your mouth. You remove one of your hands from her ass, holding her hips steady as you continue to devour her.

Tara whines in response, reaching behind to tangle her fingers in your hair, urging you to keep going. Her moans grow louder, and her grip tightens. "I'm so close, shit..."

You intensify your movements, your tongue skillfully exploring every inch of her, pushing her closer to the edge. Tara's breath becomes ragged, you grip her with greater force, and she becomes more and more undone, on the brink of exploding in pleasure.

And just as she's about to tip over the edge, she lets out a guttural cry, her body convulsing in ecstasy.

"Y/N! Shit!"

You stand up, and Tara catches her breath, her body still trembling from the intense orgasm.

While Tara attempts to compose herself, you unbuckle your belt and slowly remove your pants and underwear, revealing your own heightened state of arousal.

Tara's eyes widen when she feels your intense desire pressing against her. You press a kiss onto her head, whispering, "I need you, Tara."

Tara turns her head, meeting you with a lustful gaze. Her lips parted slightly as she whispers, "I want you too, Y/N." You place a soft kiss on the freckled face that you've come to adore before taking yourself, rubbing against her in a slow, teasing motion.

Tara's wetness lubricates you, allowing you to slip right in with a breathful gasp. As you enter her, Tara arches her back and lets out a low moan, her body responding eagerly to your touch.

The feeling of her tightness around you heightens the nirvana, driving you both insane.

You pick up the pace, your hips meeting hers in a delicious rhythm. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through both of your bodies—a symphony of desire and passion.

Tara's arm reaches around, her nails dig into your neck while her moans grow louder and more desperate with every movement.

Tara's hand falls back against the wall as she braces herself against the overwhelming pleasure. Your own hand falls on top of hers, and for a second, Tara finds herself caught between the intensified sensations and the tender touch of your hand.

She exhales a breath of pleasure, and her eyes roll back in pleasure. You lean in to kiss her neck, and she moans in response. You move your lips down to her shoulder, leaving a trail of soft kisses along her skin. "You feel so good, T." You groan, your voice thick with please.

This time, without warning, Tara lets go, a long and loud moan escaping her lips as she arches her back in ecstasy.

She collapses against your chest, her eyes half closed, catching her breath as her body trembles with satisfaction. You hold her tightly, savoring the intimate moment shared between you both.

As you slowly untangle yourselves from the intimate embrace, Tara wraps her arms around your neck and plants a soft kiss on your lips.

You smile into it, placing a hand on the small of her back, pulling her closer. The lingering taste of her lips lingers on yours, igniting a drive for more.

Tara moves onto her knees with your help, never breaking eye contact. Her hand wraps around your pulsating shaft before she kisses the tip, her tongue swirling around it.

The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through your body, making you moan softly. You grab Tara's hair, guiding her movements as she takes you deeper into her mouth. "That feels great, shit..." you mutter, throwing your head back.

Tara's expert tongue continues to work its wonders, teasing and exploring every inch of you.

You begin moving your hips in rhythm with Tara's movements, finding a steady and pleasurable pace.

The hallway fills with the sounds of your heavy breathing and the wet, persistent slurping of Tara's mouth. "Yeah...just like that, Tara."

Your grip on her hair tightens, urging her on as she eagerly takes you deeper, her eyes watering at the sensation. You feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

With a grunt, you cum hard, your body shuddering in pleasure as Tara's lips move over your shaft. She keeps sucking until you finally pull away, a satisfied smile on your face.

You feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. With a grunt, you cum hard, your body shuddering in pleasure as Tara's lips move over your shaft. She keeps sucking until you finally pull away, a satisfied smile on your face.

Tara can't help but think about how this night will shift your relationship. She wonders if this newfound intimacy will bring you closer or create complications that she didn't want to deal with. As you catch your breath, Tara's thoughts wander to the potential consequences of crossing this line.

#tonyspank #reader insert #jenna ortega #wattpad #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter smut #tara carpenter scream #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter fluff #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x g!p reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x gn!reader #scream x reader #scream 6

[judithhhh]

Hiiii :) First of all I wanna say that I love your writing. Can you do a Jude scenario when he and y/n are friends (but have feelings for each other) and he is asking her to rate his body, his abs (hhihihi). Can you please make it long ,cute idk but not smut. Thank you <3

rate them (one-shot)

jude x reader

summary: read the request :)

(thanks for your request, hope you like it!)

you opened your apartment's door to find jude waiting in front of it, duffel bag in hand, too used to his sudden appearances at your front door, you let the boy in without asking questions. after three years of friendship, you two were at the stage where his house was yours and vice versa. he plopped down on your couch and reached for the tv remote while you got back to your kitchen where you were making tea. you asked the man if he wanted a cup to which he declined and asked you for a cup of coffee instead. you rolled your eyes at his request but still reached for the coffee machine.

when you got back to the living room, jude was waiting for you with one of your favorite movies, Divergent, on pause on the tv.

‘’jude bellingham willingly watching my favorite movie… what's the occasion?’’

‘’its been a while since i came over, wanted to surprise you or whatever’’

‘’a while? you were there like three days ago’’

‘’ok sorry for missing you…’’

you laughed at the boy’s sassy behavior but the thought of him missing you warmed up your heart. you felt less stupid for the hours you spent missing his presence these past few days. after giving him his coffee, you put down your cup on the table and settle down next to jude. the two of you talked about his practices and your uni classes until you decided it was time to finally watched the movie. as you pressed play, you heard the boy, making you confused. you still did not know why he disliked divergent that much. you ignored his annoyed behavior, and focused on the movie.

you were watching the balcony scene when theo james removed his shirt to show his tattoos, making you physically squeal. you turned to jude, gushing about the actor’s delicious abs when the boy suddenly interrupted you.

‘’what about my abs tho?’’

‘’what do you mean?’’

‘’aren't they delicious too?’’ he said in a mocking manner

‘’you think i pay attention to your abs jude?’’

you did pay great attention to his abs but you would never say that. you avoided his gaze and tried to focus on the movie when movements on your right caught your eyes. jude was next to you removing his bloody shirt.

‘’why the actual fuck are you getting undressed for?’’’

‘’ill prove to you they're just as delicious’’

‘’yeah, yeah i believe you now put it back-’’

‘’nuh uh you need to see them to rate them’’

fucking rate them. you swore this guy had the biggest ego you had ever seen. internally panicking, you looked away not wanting him to notice your flustered state. you could act normal when jude took off his shirt on the pitch, the pool or something but on the couch, next to you, the two of you alone. the situation made you imagine things you shouldn't imagine about your best friend.

“come onnn rate em”

“a 3 at best”

total lie obviously and jude saw right through it.

“you don't need to lie love, i know you like them” he said winking at you

he started to get all close and personal with you. your position sitting on the couch while he was standing in front of you resulting in his abs literally in your face. the boy kept talking and bragging until he felt your hand touching his brown skin.

“what- shit what are you doing” he said, startled, stumbling over his words

“gotta touch them to rate them too right?”

you didn't know where this newfound confidence came from, but you liked it. you liked the feeling of, for once, being the one having the upper hand and seeing jude getting flustered. your hand caressing his stomach and inching closer towards the waistband of his sweats while your eyes looked up to stare into his. you continued to caress his abs until the glint of pleasure in his eyes became too intense. that's when you removed your hand and settled back into the couch,

‘’i'll still rate them a 3’’

jude, still stuck on the feeling of your touch on his bare skin, quietly sat back down next to you. you smiled to yourself at the effect you seemed to have on him. the proud feeling didn't stick for long though, as jude’s hand sneaked onto your exposed tight making you squirm. the smug smile on his face at your incapacity to stay focus on the movie made you regret putting on such small shorts this morning.

"you're a fucking tease you know that?" he said

"don't start something you can't finish"

"can't finish huh?" he responded, while leaning down to kiss your neck

you got up quickly making up an excuse before going to the kitchen to take a breath. you felt stupid, under the impression that the boy was toying with you. his dumb bestfriend always at his feet. too deep in your negative thoughts, you didn't notice jude standing behind you, his eyes fixated on your back.

"you're thinking too much about it"

his voice startled you and his words even more.

"we both like each other, no need to overthink it"

if his previous words startled you, these ones left you absolutely bewildered. both like each other? how could he say something like that so easily

"dont say that"

"why not? it's true right?"

"you like me? you could have any girls jude"

"want you though"

you turned around as the boy stepped towards you, closing the distance between you two. his hands going up to your face tucking your hair behind your eyes. he leaned down and linked his lips with yours. the feeling was better than the nights of daydreaming could had ever prepared you for. it went deep into your heart, intoxicating you. you set your hands on his torso, and slightly pushed his body away from yours.

"that was the worst way to confess jude"

"well at least i made my move"

"you call asking a girl to rate your abs a move? that's borderline harassment"

"shut up love, you liked it"

"still a 3" you said chuckling

jude shut you up by once again leaning down to kiss you, leaving you breathless.

#football #football imagine #jude bellingham #jude bellingham imagine #jude x reader #football x reader #jude bellingham x reader #hey jude :)

[sinkovia]

Coffee Shop: VII

Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

You work at a small cafe that Simon starts visiting when he’s not deployed.

Coffee shop Masterlist

The next morning as Simon lay in bed, he clicked on the link you texted him about the adoption website. Navigating to the section for dogs, he was surprised to find only one listing – the last puppy up for adoption.

It was a male German Shepherd puppy, approximately two months old. Knowing the pup was too young for K-9 training, Simon decided that having a companion at home would be comforting until then. Quickly filling out the online form, within ten minutes, the puppy was officially Simon's.

The shelter informed him that his new furry friend would be ready for pick-up at noon. Simon went about his morning routine, enjoying breakfast and engaging in a rigorous workout until it was time to pick him up.

Leaving the shelter, Simon stared at the small canine now occupying the passenger seat. The puppy looked up at him with big brown eyes, tilting its head to the side. Simon reached over and noticed the collar was blank.

“No name, huh?” he mused, and the puppy yawned in response.

"Like a little ghost," Simon remarked, and the puppy turned its head, seemingly considering the suggestion.

"Should your name be Ghost, hmm? Well, that might be a bit confusing on base." The puppy whined and laid down in the seat. 

"Ghost Jr.?" The puppy didn't seem convinced, and Simon nodded, "Yeah, it doesn't have the same ring to it."

Simon reached for his phone and snapped a picture of the puppy, deciding to seek suggestions for a name from the team by sending it to the group chat Johnny had created.

Ghost: Name recs?

Johnny: Bartholomew

Captain: Bloody hell, Soap...

Johnny: What about Ghost Jr.? He has your eyes, L.t.

Gaz: Doesn’t really have a ring to it, mate.

Ghost: Thought so too.

Captain: That little pup does look like a Riley.

Ghost looked at the message and back at the puppy.

“What do you think of the name Riley?” The puppy stood up and started walking over to Simon, nestling himself in his lap before closing his eyes.

“Okay, Riley, I gotta drive, mate; you can't sleep there.” Simon picked him up and placed him back on the passenger seat, but Riley got up and made his way back into his lap.

“Bloody hell. Fine, just don’t move around or I’ll crash.”

Simon picked up a few things for him on the way home and set up a corner of the living room for him. After finishing, he sat down on the couch and took a few different pictures of Riley, sending them to you.

When Simon's name lit up on your phone, you eagerly grabbed it, swiping it open to reveal his notification. Your mouth dropped at the sight of the adorable puppy.

Y/n: WOW, you actually adopted him!? He’s so cute!! Did you decide on a name?

Simon: Riley.

He sent another picture of Riley, the puppy looking down at the camera, lifting his paw up, and you nearly melted.

Y/n: Riley is such a cute name for him. Have you bought him any clothes or toys?

Simon smiled as his eyes read over the message. So, you think his last name is cute, huh?

Simon: Riley is my last name.

Simon: Clothes? Dogs need clothes?

Y/n: Oh, I didn’t know that. The name suits him. He’s like a mini you :)

Y/n: They don’t need clothes, but it makes them look really cute. He might need little shoes since it’s getting colder.

Both you and Simon found yourselves smiling at your phones as you texted back and forth. The conversation shifted, and you asked him about his day. You even sent him a picture of your cat Missy, to which he replied.

Simon: She looks hateful.

Y/n: No, she doesn’t! She looks cute.

Throughout the day, you and Simon exchanged a few pictures. Simon shared more photos of Riley, curled up next to him while watching a movie. In return, you sent a picture of yourself in your garden, busy planting new flowers.

This led to Simon asking more about your garden, and you gladly shared details about your favorite plants and flowers. You took him on a virtual photo tour of your backyard, showcasing a thriving fruits and vegetables garden. 

Simon: What type of stuff you growin?

Y/n: Some onion, garlic, potatoes, cabbage, cauliflower, zucchini, carrots, and some others I can’t remember off the top of my head.

Y/n: I even have a cute little apple tree! 

You snapped a picture of Missy sunbathing next to your basket full of produce. Simon smiled at the stretched-out cat, leaning over to show Riley the picture.

“You fond of cats?” Riley started nibbling on the hem of Simon's jacket.

The following day, in the afternoon, you found yourself finishing the batch of apple strudels you had baked, only to realize you had made too much. A sigh escaped you as you surveyed the pan filled with the pastries and glanced at the abundance of produce you had harvested the day before. The realization hit that, being just one person, much of it would go to waste before you could use it all.

You decided to put some of the strudels into a container. Grabbing an extra basket, you carefully arranged half of the vegetables you had picked yesterday.

I'm sure Simon wouldn’t mind a free delivery?

With a small basket and container in hand, you made your way up his driveway and rang the doorbell. Simon peeked through the peephole and cursed when he saw you on the other side.

“Just a second.”

He quickly retreated to his bedroom, donning sweatpants and a hoodie before returning to the door, opening it.

“Hi, sorry to bother you so randomly in the day. I just wanted to drop these off since I had extra.” Simon looked down at the basket in your hands, and then his gaze went to you. He was about to thank you when Riley went between his legs, walking to you. Your eyes grew wide, and you put the basket down on the ground.

“Hi Riley, aw, look at how cute you are.” Simon smiled down at you, loving the way his last name sounded when you said it. Riley was licking your face, and you laughed.

“Would you like to come in?”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude if you're busy.”

“Wasn’t doing much before you came.” 

Simon had been lying in bed, watching a Gordon Ramsey cooking video in nothing but his briefs.

“Okay,” you smiled up at him, and he reached over, grabbing the basket you brought. You picked up Riley, and both of you walked inside. 

Simon's living room bore witness to his minimalistic approach to decor, featuring only a couch, a TV, and a coffee table. As you stood in his living room, the blank walls and empty space caught your attention.

“Sorry love, don’t really know how to decorate.” You laughed, placing Riley down.

“There’s actually a Ross not too far from here. Maybe you could get a lamp… or two. Maybe a painting?” You glanced around, noticing the absence of a dining table or any items on the counters in the kitchen.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this house was for sale.” Simon laughed, placing the basket you brought on the counter.

Simon raised an eyebrow. “Never heard of a Ross.” You turned to face him, eyes wide, “You're joking, right?”

“Dead serious, love.” You pulled out your phone and showed him a picture of the Ross building. “You're telling me you’ve never been inside one of these?”

Simon shook his head again. What was the big deal about this store?

"They have everything in this store! Furniture, clothes, skincare, shoes, purses, home decor, even some spices and snacks, but I wouldn’t trust it. You have to go, Simon! They even have clothes and toys for dogs.” Glancing at the time, Simon looked back at you.

“You have anywhere to be right now?”

“No, I don’t really have things planned on the weekends besides spending time with Missy.”

“You think she’d mind if you were gone for a few hours.” Your smile grew as you caught on to what he was hinting at.

“No.”

Simon placed Riley in the large cage he had bought, and the drive to Ross took only around five minutes. The short trip to the store became a chance for Simon to discover more about your interests and preferences for small talk of course, not that he wanted to know more about you, of course not.

As you walked into Ross, you rambled on about various pieces of furniture and decor, grabbing a cart and leading Simon towards the furniture section. Simon's eyes widened as he checked the price tag for a nightstand.

“Are these things broken or chipped? Why are they so bloody cheap?”

You laughed as Simon added the nightstand to his cart. Navigating through the store, you selected a stylish black lamp, and Simon followed suit, placing it in his cart. Moving on to the decor aisle, you looked at various candles, allowing Simon to sample a few before he settled on one with a pine scent. 

You continued adding small decor items for Simon's coffee table – throw pillows, throw blankets, a rug, a bookshelf, minimalist frames, place mats, and even a skull wax warmer with some clean linen scented melts. Your choices filled the cart with a mix of stylish and cozy additions for Simon's home.

In the kitchen aisle, you insisted on essential items – a fruit basket, organizers for his pantry and fridge, additional pots and pans, and more cooking utensils. Simon, who only owned one pan and one of each silverware, recognized the practicality in your suggestions.

In another aisle, he saw you looking at a cat mug before putting it back and wandering into another section. He quickly grabbed the mug and placed it at the bottom of his cart before making his way to you.

“You ready, love?” You hid something behind your back and nodded, “Yeah, I’ll meet you up front. I just need to look at something real quick.”

You found yourself in the doggy section of the pet aisle, examining various toys and outfits for Riley. Noticing he only had one rope chew toy, you felt compelled to get him more. You selected a little squeaky bone chew toy, a tuxedo, a sweater, and some adorable little shoes – perhaps a size too big, but too cute to resist. To complete the ensemble, you even chose a fluffy bed for him to sleep on.

Doubt crept in – was this too much? Should you put something back? Would Simon find it odd? Shaking off the uncertainty, you shrugged and placed everything in your cart. As you made your way to the registers, you spotted a clearance aisle filled with past holiday-themed items. A cute black and white skull mug caught your eye, and you picked it up.

He asked you to draw skulls on his bookmark, and he really liked the skull wax warmer. I’m sure he’d like this.

 Placing it in your cart, you walked to the registers. Meeting Simon at the front after both of you finished paying, you helped him carry his bags to the car while he handled the nightstand.

When you returned to Simon's house, you dove into helping him unpack everything in the living room. You organized items, rearranged furniture, and experimented with different placements until the layout felt just right.

While you were busy making his home feel cozier, Simon had taken charge in the kitchen, using the ingredients you brought to prepare a meal. He made oven-roasted vegetables and steak, with guidance from a Gordon Ramsey video. Pulling the newly purchased mug from the Ross bag, he washed it and filled it with ice water.

Unbeknownst to Simon, you had stationed yourself on the floor behind the couch, secretly dressing Riley in a little tuxedo. Just as you finished putting on his tiny pants, Simon walked over with two plates, setting them down on the coffee table. Trying to conceal Riley, you quickly grabbed some black kids' sunglasses from the bag and placed them on Riley before picking him up and showing Simon.

“He looks like the dog from the bookmark! I couldn’t find a toy assault rifle, though.” Simon paused for a few seconds, looking at Riley and you holding him up with a big smile. He laughed and picked Riley up, your hands brushing against each other for a moment.

Simon couldn’t ignore the way his heart skipped a beat, feeling your hand against his. A foreign sensation of touch, yet Simon found himself yearning for his hand to linger against yours a few seconds longer.

“I have to show the boys this.” Simon laughed, handing Riley back to you so you could hold him up. He took a picture from the side, excluding you, but the moment he sent it, the boys bombarded his phone with questions, asking if those were your hands and if you two were on a date.

“I also got him another outfit, it’s this sweater and some little shoes for when you take him outside when it starts snowing.” Simon smiled as you gestured towards the other outfit laid out on the couch.

“Thank you, love, for spending your money on him. You really didn’t have to.” You smiled and got up, sitting on the couch.

“It’s no problem at all. I wanted to see him dressed up.”

“He’s definitely going to be a ladies' man at the dog park now.” You laughed, finally noticing the two plates on the coffee table.

“Oh! Is this for me?” Simon walked over to the kitchen, bringing your new mug. “No, it’s actually for Riley.” He approached you with a grin and placed the mug down on the table in front of you.

Your eyes grew wide upon seeing it. “Oh my god! I was thinking about getting this mug at Ross!”

“It’s yours, love, and I cooked dinner for us as a thank you for spending your day helping me spruce up my place and for sharing your garden with me.” You smiled, looking at the delicious meal in front of you. Simon had used the potatoes, carrots, and everything you gave him. The aroma filled the air, and you realized how hungry you were. Almost forgetting the mug you had bought him, you dug through the bag and pulled it out.

“I almost forgot. I actually got you a mug.” When you handed it to him, he smiled, looking at the little skulls.

“You know me so well.” You smiled up at him, and the moment lingered for a few seconds before Riley tried to jump on the coffee table to get to the food.

Simon put on a movie, and both of you enjoyed dinner together, sitting on opposite ends of the couch and sipping from the cups you had bought for each other. After finishing, you insisted on washing the dishes he used to cook, despite his multiple offers to handle it. You expressed gratitude for his effort in cooking, considering the least you could do was tackle the dishes.

Once done, you both indulged in an apple strudel, using the moment to learn more about Simon—his favorite color, a few favorite foods, little details that brought you closer. As the night grew late, you decided it was time to head back home.

“I should really head back home; it’s late.” Despite spending the day with you, Simon felt a twinge of disappointment at your leaving.

“Let me grab my keys; I’ll walk you home.”

“Oh, are you sure? I mean, I only live a few houses down.”

“I insist; it’s dark out. You only live a few houses down anyway; it’s no bother.”

Strapping Riley to a leash, the three of you walked to your house. You pointed out various flowers and plants around your front door, and Simon mentally noted them down, remembering the ones you said you didn't have.

“I had a lot of fun today, and thank you again for cooking and for the mug.” Simon shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket while Riley sniffed around your flowers.

“I should be the one thanking you; my house doesn't look like a prison cell anymore.” You laughed and lightly shook your head. “Maybe next time you could come over, and I could show you how to grow a thing or two. You could meet Missy.”

“Sounds like a plan, love.” You smiled and kneeled down to say goodbye to Riley.

“I’ll talk to you later, goodnight Simon.” You grabbed the keys from your pocket and unlocked your door.

“Goodnight, love.”

When you closed the door behind you, Riley let out a low whine. Simon turned and began walking away.

“I know, Riley. I feel the same way.”

#call of duty #cod #cod fanfic #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #call of duty modern warfare #writers #cod mwii #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley cod #simon x reader #simon riley #cod simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod ghost #ghost cod #ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost fanfiction

[chronically-ghosted]

i crawl home to her

rating: 18+ explicit

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 8.2K

summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.

warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands

a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!

🤍Masterlist

You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies. 

And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.

And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet. 

“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.” 

You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year. 

“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.

“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life. 

The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel. 

“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”

“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.” 

“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”

“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”

You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.

“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”

There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him. 

“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”

Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:

“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”

“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”

“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.” 

He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin. 

By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale. 

“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.” 

“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers. 

“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?” 

Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 

History says no. 

So, maybe you’d just carry everything. 

You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.

“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now– 

His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.

“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”

You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap. 

You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house. 

Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.

She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand. 

“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”

She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face. 

“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”

“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.” 

As it is every year.

“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”

Here it comes.

“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”

“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”

“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”

Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.

Rings gone.

Earring gone.

Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.

His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.

Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe – 

You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.

“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit. 

To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers. 

“Poinsettias! My –,”

“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”

Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money. 

“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.” 

The bastard winks at you. 

Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived. 

“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”

She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet. 

“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”

A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling. 

So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.

Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??

God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.

He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair. 

And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with. 

“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”

Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”

“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point. 

You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.

“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”

You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.

“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”

“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.

She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?

“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”

Schmooze he did. 

From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world. 

For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too. 

In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren. 

“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy. 

“Mhmm hmm.” 

“When are you going to have some of your own?” 

And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.

It would be insulting to call it eerie. 

It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .

You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee. 

Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven. 

This, this Dieter, feels wrong. 

You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.

This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”. 

Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:

Anger. 

Shame. Guilt. 

Hot embarrassment. 

You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister. 

You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage. 

But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world. 

A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral. 

“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in. 

“Dieter, what are you–,”

“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.” 

White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye. 

“I’m fine. Just needed some air.” 

“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.

“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink. 

“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.” 

You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Dieter, please, just –,”

He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.

He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.

“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”

The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.

“This isn’t you.” 

You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed. 

“What’s not me?”

A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder. 

“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”

Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back. 

“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”

“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.” 

And out of nowhere, he smiles. 

Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.

“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”

You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue. 

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”

“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.” 

Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”

You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara. 

He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.

“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.” 

You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth. 

“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.

“Just . . .”

His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his. 

That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back. 

“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”

You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark. 

“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans. 

Oh. 

Maybe he did mean it like that. 

You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.

Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly. 

“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs. 

He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you. 

“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”

You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.” 

He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.  

“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” 

“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.” 

The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror. 

His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit. 

With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself. 

  “No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?” 

“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”

His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need. 

This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.

You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms. 

When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes. 

“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold. 

“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant. 

He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to. 

With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck. 

“Face down, baby,” he says. 

“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”

He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.

You do. 

Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on. 

He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.

“I’d rather just show you.” 

Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw. 

Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle. 

But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you. 

You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps. 

“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades. 

You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” 

It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror. 

The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.

“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring. 

There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.

He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning. 

You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.

“Hard, baby. Please.”

For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.

“Okay.”

He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.

His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb. 

“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,” 

He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back. 

Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides. 

“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?” 

Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.

“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time. 

“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.” 

Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass. 

“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”

Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter. 

“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”

He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.  

“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”

His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it. 

You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him. 

“Dieter, please –,” 

“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”

The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.

“Fuck them. Let them hear.” 

Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.

“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.” 

He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then. 

“Harder again, please.” 

Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt. 

You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.

“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade. 

“Say it again.” 

With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter. 

“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”

The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.

He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.” 

His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage. 

“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life. 

The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge. 

“Oh – oh, shit –,”

The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.

“Wait – fuck,”

He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later. 

The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth. 

Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.

Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling. 

You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder. 

“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.

In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours – 

And you’re laughing. 

You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.

He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands. 

“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.” 

You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle. 

He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest. 

“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”

You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at. 

“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”

Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant. 

“Dieter, I –,”

“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?” 

You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.

“Okay.” 

The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach. 

At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.

But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world. 

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 

Your heart says yes. 

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble fanfic #the bubble #pedro pascal #merry thanksgiving nonsense 2023

[fanfics-and-love]

How Did Love Become So Violent?

Ghostface!Tara Carpenter x reader

Not my gif

Warning(s): ghostface!Tara, canon typical violence, mentions of death, mentions of blood, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of stitches

Word count: 5k words

Summary: A new ghostface has been terrorizing Woodsboro. After one of your friends is killed, you fear how close the killer might be. You could’ve never guessed Tara was the one behind everything

masterlist

Tara Carpenter had been a constant in your life ever since you had memory.

When you lost your first tooth, she helped you hide it underneath your pillow and slept with you, holding you so you wouldn’t be taken by the Tooth Fairy. When you broke your leg trying to skateboard at fourteen, she was there on the drive to the hospital, holding your hand and telling you everything was going to be okay. When you failed your math final and your father hit you for the first time, she was there, screaming at him and dragging you towards her house.

When everything else went to shit, Tara was there, next to you, helping you through it. So when murders began to happen again in Woodsboro, she was, of course, there.

You were staying at her house for the weekend, enjoying the calmness after so many days of chaos within the school walls. Another ghostface— god, you couldn’t believe it. People wouldn’t shut up about it either.

“Y/N,” Tara called from the kitchen. You muted the TV, turning to look at her. When she entered the room, she was smiling. “The popcorn’s almost ready.”

“Cool,” you said, getting up to grab two cans of soda from the fridge. 

“Hope the movie’s ready when I get there,” Tara turned back towards the kitchen, humming as she stared at the microwave. She seemed happy— happier than usual. You could only assume it was because summer vacation was getting closer. She hated school.

“Wanna know what we're gonna watch?” You asked, setting a glass on the coffee table. Tara hated drinking soda directly from the can.

“What are you watching?” She said. She only stopped looking at you when the microwave beeped. She put the bag of popcorn out, and poured the content into a bowl.

“Just the news,” you said, raising your shoulders.

“Turn that off,” she said, walking towards the sofa. She set the popcorn down harsher than necessary, sitting beside you. “You know how you get with this stuff.”

You nodded, deciding to open the Netflix app on the TV. Tara was right— you hated the whole ghostface fiasco. If you had to be honest, it scared you to pieces, though you would never admit it out loud in fear people would call you a coward. You sometimes wished you could just move out of Woodsboro, its bloody history making your bones chill. But of course, you were still underage so leaving was not an option, and even if it was, that would mean leaving Tara.

You couldn’t leave her, not after she was abandoned by her father and her sister, and her mother became a drunk. You had promised it the night Tara ran to your house, crying as she told you that Sammy is gone. You had held her throughout the night, whispering in her ear that she wasn’t alone.

“I’m right here. I’m never going to leave you,” you had pulled away then, looking into her brown eyes, surrounded by red from all the crying. “We’ll always be together.”

Something had changed in her face then, something that had made you realize it wasn’t simple words— it was a promise. One you weren’t sure how far Tara would take it to make sure you kept it.

“Sorry if I was harsh,” Tara said, as you scrolled through the multiple movie options. You turned to look at her. “I’m— I didn’t mean it that way.”

“You weren’t harsh,” you said, leaving the remote on the sofa to grab her hand. You wrapped your arms around her left one, resting your head on her shoulder. “You’re right. I get really spooked by those things. I know you’re just trying to protect me.”

And it was true. Ever since you were kids, Tara had protected you. Once, when a group of children had pushed you off a swing, she had punched one straight on the nose, hard enough to make it bleed. She had them feigned regret, telling the mother of the kid she was swinging her hands around and he just ran into her fist. You had backed her up, and after a while the mother had given up and had left the two of you alone.

It got worse after her father left, and once her sister did as well… Tara changed. She was still sweet, and caring, and the best friend in the entire world, but sometimes she would get this look on her face when you declined hanging out with her, or when you talked about how cute that guy from the TV show you were watching was. You weren’t sure what exactly it was; if it really was anything at all and not just your mind playing tricks on you, but whatever it was, you hoped it never got worse.

“I am,” Tara said. She kissed you on the head. “I will always protect you.”

You hummed, eyes getting heavy. Tara was always so warm, it felt nice to rest against her.

“Oh! Titanic,” you said. You two alternated every movie night to have control over the movie choices; you would always pick the romances or the romcoms, and Tara would choose scary movies that always ended up with you screaming and hiding your face in Tara’s neck.

“You’re a hopeless romantic,” Tara said, laughing. She grabbed the popcorn and set it on her lap, leaning back against the sofa as you pressed play.

━━━ • 𖥸 • ━━━

Wes Hicks was found dead the following day, stabbed through the heart and neck, the cut so fiercely that the killer had almost fractured the bones on his spine. He was the fourth victim, and the closest to your group of friends.

Wes’ mother, Judy, had woken you and Tara up that morning, eyes red as she frantically asked you to go to the police station. You had gotten into her car, confused; she had almost dragged you towards it, so fast that you were still wearing your pjs and Tara’s jacket— she had lent it to you after she saw you shaking in the morning breeze.

“I can’t believe Wes is dead,” Chad said. After the interrogations, you had gathered around with Tara, Amber, Mindy and her outside the police station.

“Me either,” you said.

Amber rolled her eyes when she saw you were crying. “Honey, don’t be a crybaby. He was a dork anyways.”

You looked taken back by her words. “Wes is— was a good person. Don’t talk about him like that.”

“What are you gonna do?” She asked, moving closer to you. “Stab me?”

“What the fuck, Amber?” Mindy said, pushing her away. “Stop acting like that. Our friend is dead.”

“And we might be next,” she said, raising her shoulders. “Who the fuck knows. He was the weakest one anyway.”

“Don’t say that,” you said, sharply. You knew deep down that if someone from your friend group were to die, it would be Wes, but that didn’t mean she had to be so cruel about it, especially when his mother was a few feet away, mourning him.

“Where were you last night?” Mindy asked, crossing her arms.

Amber looked at her, and then laughed. “In my fucking house, where else?” After a moment of silence, she crossed her arms as well, moving to be in front of Mindy. “And why the fuck are you asking me that?”

“You seem rather relaxed and almost happy that your supposed friend is dead,” Chad said. “You can’t blame us for asking.”

“Oh, but I can,” Amber said, in a soft voice. “Because I can also ask where you were, and where your girlfriend was.”

“Leave Liv out of this,” Chad said, walking towards the dark-haired woman.

“Maybe you are the killer,” Amber said, eying the twins. “You two; the brains,” she pointed towards Mindy, “and the muscle.”

“I was with Liv,” Chad said.

“And I was with Frances,” Mindy said, harshly.

Amber looked at you then. “And what about you?”

“I was with Tara the entire day,” you said, feeling uncomfortable under her stare. You hated that Tara was being surprisingly quiet and wasn’t defending you.

“How convenient,” Amber said, shaking her head. “Everyone but me has a perfect alibi.”

“Maybe it’s because you are the killer,” Mindy said.

“Fuck off,” Amber said. “I’m not. But…” she turned to look at you— no, right behind you. Something crossed Amber’s face then, and she laughed. “Oh, I know just who the person is,” she said. “I know exactly who the new ghostface is,” she chuckled, turning around.

“What?” Mindy asked, looking taken back by her sudden change. “Amber!”

“What?” Amber said, getting out her car keys. “Angry I figured it out before the queen of horror?”

Tara ran after Amber, stopping her. The three of you looked as they talked, and then Amber left pushing Tara away.

“What did she say?” Chad asked.

“I asked her to go to the police,” Tara said, putting an arm around your shoulders. “I told her if she knew something she should go tell Judy, so we can get justice over Wes, but she said she doesn’t fuck with the police. Whatever that means.”

“It means she’s lying,” Mindy said. “She doesn’t know who ghostface is, and is just trying to fuck with us.”

“I think so too,” Tara said. “I just hope ghostface didn’t hear her.”

“Should we tell Judy?” You asked, leaning into Tara’s body. “Maybe he’s heard and Amber is her next victim.”

The four of you went quiet. You looked around, noticing how many people were in the surroundings of the police station. It ought to be busy, considering what had just happened, but that could mean ghostface was around, watching you and choosing his next target. A chill went down your body, and you burrowed your body into Tara’s. She held you closer, feeling your uneasiness.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Tara said. You could feel the vibrations of her voice through her body. “Amber is just fucking with us, and Judy has enough to deal with already. Giving her a possible lead and it turning into Amber being an idiot…”

“It’d break her heart,” you said, understanding her reasoning. “You’re right. Besides, it’s not like ghostface would just be stalking us… right?”

“Yeah,” Mindy said. She too was looking around, taking in all the faces surrounding your group. Inconspicuously, she pulled out her phone and took photos of the people. “Just in case.”

“Good thinking,” you said, making Mindy smile.

“I say we go back home and wait until we know something else,” Chad said. He turned to look at you. “Your mom is still off on that business trip, right?” You nodded. After your father left, your mother got a job that required her to be away for long periods of time. It paid the bills, so you didn’t complain much. “Then go to Tara’s, or Tara goes to your house. Once Liv is done being interrogated, I’ll take her to our house,” he looked at Mindy, who nodded. “And tomorrow we gather around and try to figure out who this fucker is. But until then, no one goes anywhere alone.”

“What about Amber?” you asked.

“Her house has a dope security system,” Tara said. “She’s safer inside her house. We’ll text her later about tomorrow. Maybe she actually knows who’s ghostface.”

“I doubt it,” Mindy said, never once the one who was okay with losing.

“I doubt it as well,” Tara said. “But we won’t know until tomorrow. So today we do what Chad said. Got it?”

All of you nodded, but you still felt something gripping at the back of your throat. Something was off, something that Amber could have figured out, but what was it?

“Hey,” Tara said, opening the car door for you. “It’s going to be fine, okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, eyes staring straight ahead. 

You could be the next victim. You could already see the headlines: Y/N Y/L/N, dead at 18. You looked over at Tara. She could be the next one.

“What?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. She closed the car door and locked it, turning once again to look at you. “What is it, baby?”

You felt tears in your eyes. “Don’t leave me.”

“I would never leave you,” Tara said, cradling your face in her hands. “Never, okay?”

“What if you’re the next one?” You asked. You could almost see it; Tara, laying breathless on the ground, blood slowly clogging around stab wounds. “I— I don’t want you to die. Please. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered. “And nothing is going to happen to me, okay? I’m going to be with you all day, and then we’ll take down that asshole together.”

“Please, don’t die,” you begged, grabbing her by her shirt. “Please.”

“I won’t,” she said. You couldn’t believe how sure she sounded.

You shook your head, and without stopping to think of the consequences, you cut the distance between your lips. Tara responded automatically, grabbing your neck and deepening the kiss. After a moment of just enjoying her close to you, you pulled away. “Wow.”

“Yeah, wow,” she said. She was still holding you by the neck. “Where did that come from?” She whispered. Her breath hit your lips, and you licked them, looking into her eyes.

“I— I’m not sure,” you said. You rubbed your nose against her, making her laugh softly. “I didn’t want one of us to die without doing this.”

“We’re not going to die,” she said. “Scratch that. I must’ve died and gone to heaven, because this is all I ever wanted.”

“Really?” You asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I think I’ve been in love with you my entire life.”

You chuckled, pulling away to caress her cheek. “If we make it—”

“We will.”

“If we make it,” you said, giving her a hard look. She laughed, moving her hand towards your hair, scratching your scalp softly. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

She smiled, lips stretching almost painfully. You couldn’t help yourself from kissing her again, teeth crashing into each other as you laughed. You had been wanting to kiss her for ages, and it had taken a new ghostface for you to gather up your courage.

A new ghostface. Wes, dead. And here you were, kissing and laughing with Tara. It felt like a dishonor to his memory.

“What is it?” Tara asked, noticing how your face had dropped.

“I just can’t believe he’s gone,” you whispered, blinking at the new tears that were trying to escape. “He was alive just yesterday, talking and laughing… it’s not fair.”

“It isn’t,” Tara agreed, resting a hand on your thigh. “But we’re going to figure it out, alright? And you’re going to be just fine.”

You chuckled. “You can’t promise that, Tara. Not when there’s a killer on the loose.”

Tara smiled then, and something in the back of your mind screamed at the sight; that wasn’t her normal smile, the one she had just given you after the kiss. It was gone the next second, when she reached over the console to kiss you on the cheek, and you smiled softly at the gesture. God, this whole mess was driving you crazy. 

“You’re safe,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

━━━ • 𖥸 • ━━━

You woke up in the middle of the night, hearing a noise somewhere in the house. You sat up in Tara’s bed, reaching for her side of the bed.

Empty.

You had spent the entire day with her, laughing and stealing kisses. She had ordered chinese and had let you put on one of your favorite comedies to make sure your mind stayed away from Wes. She had even made you lasagna, even though she always complained about how dragging it was to make it all for it to end up tasting like feet, and you had fallen asleep shortly after, the taste of her mother’s wine still on your lips as you kissed her goodnight.

“Tara?” You asked, rubbing your eyes. Your head hurt as you got up, going to the bathroom. She wasn’t there either. You walked back to the bedroom as quietly as possible, grabbing your phone. You turned on the flashlight and, after a moment where you took a deep breath and gathered some courage, you walked downstairs.

You walked into the kitchen, thinking maybe Tara had gone there for a glass of water. Instead, you found it empty. You turned on the light and tried calling Tara, but it went straight to voicemail.

Something was wrong. Something was really, really wrong.

You grabbed a knife and turned around, looking at the place. It seemed empty, but was it? Had ghostface somehow gotten inside the house? Had Tara gone to check out some noise, just like you were doing now, and ghostface had killed her?

“Tara?” You asked in a whisper, rushing to turn on the lights of the living room.

Nothing. You looked behind the sofa, and the closet beside the front door where Tara kept all her coats. Nothing. You made sure the front door was closed, and then ran towards the dining room. Nothing. Nothing.

Where the hell was Tara?

You decided to check the bedrooms upstairs, and moved towards the kitchen to grab a bigger knife. Before you could, a hand covered your mouth and dragged you back to the living room, turning off the lights as they went. You tried to scream, and even bite off the hand, but they were wearing thick gloves that all it did was make your jaw hurt.

“Shh. I’m not going to hurt you,” you heard that disgusting modulated voice, and tears began to fall.

Ghostface was going to kill you. Ghostface had killed Tara, and she was probably laying in one of the guest rooms upstairs, her blood staining the carpet. 

Once he let you go, you turned around, ready to stab him right in the chest. But he was faster, grabbing your hand and twisting it until you dropped the knife. You gasped, feeling tears as you saw your only lifeline fall to the ground in front of your eyes.

You were dead. All he had to do now was raise his knife and—

He did raise his hand, but it was empty. He grabbed your face, caressing your cheek. The material of the glove was surprisingly soft against your skin.

“Fuck you,” you said, trying to punch him in the face. He grabbed your other hand, and pushed you towards his body. The warmth felt familiar, and the smell… no, it couldn’t be.

You looked in complete shock as ghostface raised his hand and took off his mask.

Your knees almost gave in when you looked into Tara’s eyes.

No. No. No fucking way. This had to be a nightmare. Tara wouldn’t…

She wouldn’t, would she?

“Baby,” Tara whispered, dropping the mask to the ground. She stepped towards you, but you immediately moved away as you shook your head. It couldn’t be.

“You’re pranking me,” you said, voice shaky. “You— it can’t be.”

“Baby, let me explain,” she said. Though the awful mask was on the ground, she was still wearing the black robe. It made her look terrifying against the darkness, almost as if she was a flying head.

“Explain?” You asked, putting even more distance between the two of you. “You’re— you’re ghostface?”

“Yes,” Tara said. She was starting to look desperate, and you didn’t want to know what she would do then.

Would she kill you, just like she had killed Wes and those other three students? Were you her next victim? Was what had happened today all a lie, a way to get you to lower your defenses? If you hadn’t woken up, would she have stabbed you in your sleep?

“God,” you said. The tears were falling too fast now. You could barely breathe.

“Baby, listen to me,” Tara was begging. She wanted to get close to you so she could kill you? You looked at her hands, raised in surrender. Where was she keeping her knife? “Please, just let me explain.”

“You’re going to kill me,” you said, crying.

“No!” She said, in a rush. She frantically shook her head, walking all the way until she had you in her arms. You tried not to shake. “Baby, Y/N— please, look at me. Please.”

Her left hand grabbed your chin, guiding your face until you had no choice but to look at her. “Tara, how could you?” Her gloves felt wet, and you touched your chin, looking to see your fingers bloody. “God. God, Tara. This is blood.”

“It’s not mine,” she said, cursing to herself as she took off the gloves. Stupid, she should’ve taken them off before touching you.

“Whose is it?” You asked, drying your hand on your shirt. “Fucking tell me!” You pushed at her chest, hating how much she was prolonging it. You just wanted her to kill you so you could be over this panic. 

“Amber’s.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the name. So she knew— she had figured out Tara was the killer, and that had gotten her killed. You couldn’t believe what was happening.

“What?”

“When she said she knew who the killer was,” Tara said, once again moving towards you. “I ran to her and told her we’d talk at night,” she was soft as she grabbed your hands. It felt nice to finally feel her skin on yours. “She said yes, because she wanted to be part of it. The fucking hero who will bring the Stab movies back from it’s fall from grace,” you swallowed hard, trying not to picture Tara stabbing Amber. “I put sleeping pills on the wine,” your breath was momentarily stuck in your throat; so that was why she had declined the glass you had offered her. “So you would fall asleep fast. That way I could go talk to get and not implicate you. It was to keep you safe, and out of this.”

“Jesus Christ,” you rubbed your forehead. Now it made sense why your head had hurt so much when you had woken up. It was a wonder you were even awake now, which was probably why she had been more careless moving around the house and making noises.

“ I was just going to talk to her. I swear. I didn’t want to kill her,” she sounded desperate as she grabbed your cheeks, making you look at her. “She kept the back door open, and I got in. I had the ghostface costume on my back because I knew she’d want to see it. And she did. God, her eyes…” she shook her head. “She was delighted when I told her how I killed Wes, and those three other boys.” Those three other boys who had asked you out this past year, you completed the sentence. How could you have been so stupid to not connect everything before? It all pointed towards you, which in turn pointed towards Tara. “But then,” Tara said. “But then she started to talk about my sister, and—” she shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. We were going to arrange an attack on her, to eliminate her as a suspect, and then one on me. But I knew the more she talked, that she was planning on killing you. Her movie could only have two survivors. I knew it, and she knew it. I couldn’t allow it. So I went into the bathroom while she was typing on her computer with a smile on her face and put on the mask and the robe, and then I killed her. She couldn’t kill you.”

“Why?” You asked, trying not to notice Tara’s fingers gently drying your tears. “Because I’m yours to kill?”

“No!” Tara said. “You— no. Please, don’t ever say that,” the desperation in her voice surprised you. “Please. No. Never. I will never let anyone hurt you, not even myself. I will never hurt you.”

“Tara, you’re a murderer,” you said, blinking rapidly. You refused to cry anymore. You were too angry to shed any more tears. “You fucking killed Wes!”

“Because he was going to steal you,” Tara said. Her eyes were wide open; it made her look terrifying, so different from the girl you’ve known for so long. “He was in love with you. I heard him talk with Chad, saying how he wanted to ask you on a date. I couldn’t let him do it.”

“God, Tara…” you closed your eyes, letting your head fall towards the wall. You weren’t even sure when she had cornered you, but it made your heart beat faster when you realized you had nowhere else to go. “You… you’re crazy. Like clinically sick in the head. Mental asylum type of way.”

“You drive me crazy,” she whispered, her lips hovering over yours. You put your hands on her shoulders and pushed her away. “I did all of this for you. So we could be together.”

“Tara—”

“We have to be together,” she said. “Don’t you see? It’s always been you and I. My father left, my sister left, my mother doesn’t even look my way on the rare occasion she’s home… but you have never left me, because you’re my constant. I can’t let anyone take you away from me. I’d go crazy without you.”

“And this is not crazy?” You asked, fisting her robe harshly. You couldn’t help but remember just that morning, when you had grabbed her shirt the same way to push her towards you. The memory tasted bittersweet now, tainted by her recent actions.

“This is me making sure things stay the same,” Tara said. Her nose caressed your neck, and you let her. Your body was completely petrified. “We’ve been so good lately. You even kissed me today. You want to be my girlfriend. You asked me on a date.”

“That was before,” You said, shaking your head.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she said, desperate. “I’m still the same person I was this morning.”

“I thought I knew you,” you said in a whisper. “I thought… I thought we were in this together. I didn’t know you were a fucking killer.”

Tara swallowed, tears in her eyes. “Please,” she said, hands on your hands. “Please, please. Y/N, please. Don’t leave me.”

“Tara…”

“I’ll beg until my throat is raw. I’ll beg on my knees— do you want me to get on my knees and ask you for forgiveness? I will right now. I’ll do whatever you want.”

You rushed to grab her forearms when you saw her beginning to lower herself onto the ground. “Don’t do that,” you said through gritted teeth. “Get up. Jesus.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, straightening her back. “Please. You’re all I have. I did this for you— for us. I don’t know what’s gonna happen to me if you leave.”

“For fuck’s sake…” This was too much. You looked down, and saw her hands were shaking. Her eyes were full of fear, so profound you couldn’t stop yourself from hugging her. She immediately relaxed into your body, head pressed against your neck as she sobbed.

“I did this for us. Don’t leave me,” she whispered over and over, as you ran your hands through her back. 

You were reminded of the night her sister left. You had held her just like this, and she had shaken the same way as she cried. What would happen if you packed your bags and left, just like you had been planning in your mind ever since she had removed that mask? Something horrible, even compared to those four kills.

You didn’t want to know what would happen. It made your skin crawl with fear.

“It’s okay,” you whispered.

She felt small in your arms, opposite to how she usually acted— like the oldest, the strongest, unable to feel any fear or pain as she let you rely on her. She had always tried to be strong for you, with the exception of now; and that time when she was a little kid and had scraped her knee, so hard she had needed two stitches. You had hugged her as she shook in pain, waiting for your mom to pull out the car so she could take her to the hospital.

“Don’t go,” she begged. It was hard to imagine this same girl that was clutching onto you killing people emotionlessly. It was hard to see her as anything but your Tara.

“I won’t,” you whispered, running your hand through her hair. “I won’t leave you.”

“You won’t?” She asked, pulling away to look at you. You sighed, drying her tears.

“I won’t,” you said, hating how your loyalty towards her was stronger than your moral compass. But this was Tara, a girl who loved you, and a girl that would be dangerous if you weren’t there to stop her. “But you have to promise you won’t kill anyone else.”

She hesitated, eyes looking at the ground. You wondered if she was too far gone to live without killing now she had gotten a taste for it.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to find out.

“I promise.”

And deep down, you knew she was lying. But you still allowed her to grab your neck and kiss you. Her lips were just as soft as when you kissed her for the first time.

You weren’t sure if you had made the right choice.

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #ghostface!tara #ghostface!tara carpenter #ghostface tara #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #scream franchise #scream #scream 5 #scream 2022 #scream v #x reader #amber freeman #How Did Love Become So Violent

[ashwhowrites]

Eddie Munson x cheerleader! Reader, they go to a party, and they're wearing couple costumes (maybe they're vampires or smth like that) but Jason starts to make fun of Eddie and Reader gets angry and punches Jason in the face, and Eddie thinks that hot, and they end up going to Eddie's to have sex

I hope this is what you wanted! And you enjoy it. Thank you so much for requesting<3

Happy October!

Dress up

Halloween landed on a Saturday night, and Chrissy was immediately ready to plan a party. The cheerleading squad got with her to help her plan it all.

Y/N was very good friends with Chrissy, and already planned to attend the party. The hard part was going to try to convince her boyfriend to go.

~~~

"Nope!" Eddie said, shaking his head. His curls bounced as his head shook back and forth. His legs stretched out on the coffee table as he sat on her couch. She sat next to him, holding his hand as she begged him over and over.

"Baby, why would I want to dress up in a ridiculous costume, and hang out with a bunch of assholes? We could have sex, then watch scary movies all night." Eddie argued, his head leaning back and turning to look at her. She rested her head on his shoulder, a pout on her lips.

"How about this? We go to at least say hi, and have a free drink or two. Steal the beer, go home have sex, and then movies!" She offered. She watched Eddie's face, trying to detect his answer.

He still didn't look convinced, before he could speak she spoke first.

"I'll let you pick my costume."

A huge smirk came across his face and she knew she was in for it

~~~

Eddie had his hand on her ass as they walked in, the tiny nurse costume clung to her body and showed off every part of her. She had fake blood dripped down her thighs, her hair was messy, and her dress was ripped. Eddie stood beside her with a smirk, dressed in a surgeon costume, but with makeup to make him look like a zombie. His bloody handprints were all over her skin, her legs, ass, and chest covered in his prints.

"What do we have here?" Chrissy asked, smiling as she took in their costume.

"I'm a nurse, and he is a zombie surgeon. "Y/N sighed, Eddie jumped on his feet, rubbing his hands together.

"And?" Eddie edged on, and Y/N rolled her eyes.

"And he's dead and ate me....literally", so I'm now a dead nurse." She explained, Chrissy laughed when Y/N yanked up her dress, a fake bite mark on her inner thigh. Eddie was proud of his idea and enjoyed the annoyance on his girlfriend's face.

"Clever, Munson," Chrissy smirked, nodding her head as she left to attend other guests.

"Go get your beers, baby," Y/N said, kissing Eddie on his lips. Eddie kissed her back then headed to the kitchen. He grabbed as many cans of beer as he could, stuffing the cans in his pockets.

"Robbing my girlfriend?" Jason snarked out, crossing his arms as he stood behind Eddie.

"Fuck off." Eddie groaned, he cracked a can open, and took a swig of the drink. Eddie turned around and went to walk past Eddie but Jason wouldn't let him.

"Who even invited you here? No one wants the freak here around, who knows what devilish things you have planned tonight." Jason growled, but Eddie just tried to shrug it off. "And dressing up as a doctor? like you'd ever be smart enough for that. Probably a sicko that would steal people's insides and chop them up."

"Leave him alone, asshole" Y/N barked, moving to stand in front of Eddie.

"And his slutty nurse, such a shame you got caught up with him. You could have had a real future for yourself." Jason said, but Y/N knew he was making things up. She loved her life with Eddie and she was excited for their futures.

"Better be careful with him. It's Halloween night, I'm sure his psycho self has a ritual plan and you'll be his sacrifice. He'll tie you down and gut you open like a pig." Jason's smirk didn't last long. It was smacked right off of his face.

Y/N landed a huge right hand smack to his cheek, Jason's head snapping to the side. Eddie felt his jaw hit the floor.

Not only did his girlfriend stand up for him. His girlfriend slapped the shit out of Jason while wearing the sluttiest outfit at the whole party. The momentum of the slap caused her dress to lift, the silk of her red underwear showing. Eddie moved forward to tug it down. His mind focused on her and her body, not hearing the curse words leaving her mouth as she screamed in Jason's face.

"Baby, let's go!" She snapped, grabbing his hand and walking out of the party. Eddie felt like he was in a daze. Mindedly following her as his eyes stayed on her ass. Her heels clicked against the driveway as she marched to the van.

Before she could open the door, Eddie had her slammed against it.

She gasped at the action but melted into him. His right hand was against the van above her head and his left hand was on her hip. His eyes ate her alive as he skimmed up her outfit.

"You are so fucking sexy." He growled, his mouth immediately on hers in a heated kiss.

She clawed him desperately, her hands snaking in his hair. His body pressed against hers and his erection was pressed against her thigh. His hands moved to her thighs, rubbing the skin softly.

"Shall we go home?" She smirked, her hand cupping his cock.

"Mhhm yes."

Maybe the party was a good idea....

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergentreblogs @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson fluff x reader #eddie munson fluff x female reader #eddie munson halloween blurb #eddie munson x fluff #eddie munson angst x reader #eddie munson angst #ashwhowrites halloween #ashwhowrites

[lovebotmo]

like the movies

chapter one - falling behind

series masterlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader

wc: 1199

author’s note: i am so excited for this first chapter. im forcing myself to pace these so i don't get burned out LMAO. i hope you enjoy this first installment!!! also not beta read so fight me.

song inspiration: "like the movies" by laufey

“Why haven’t you ever dated, Y/n?”

While the question had been relatively simple, its forwardness sent you into a coughing fit while sipping your coffee at breakfast. Sitting across from the inquirer, Luna Lovegood, you quickly mopped up your spill while throwing her a dirty look. The conversation at your table that morning in the Great Hall had consisted of relationships, past, present, and mind-numbing, wobbly-kneed crushes, but you hadn’t expected the focus of the chat to turn towards you.

To your right, your dearest friend, Hermione Granger, quickly jumped to your defense. “It’s not that simple, Luna. There are a number of perfectly good reasons why someone does or does not, in Y/n’s case, date!”

Hermione seemed absolutely content with her answer, patting you gently on the back with a kind smile. Her sympathy made you groan before you dropped your head into your hands. “For the love of Merlin, can we please discuss something—”

Ginny Weasley plopped down on your right, eager to give her two cents on the matter of your abysmal dating record. “I mean, you’ve had people interested in you, right? None of them have piqued your fancy? What’s his face—um…Lee Jordan! He asked you out a few months ago, right? What about him?”

“What about Cormac?” asked Hannah Bones. “I know he’s a bit of a tosser, but he’s not bad to look at. I sit next to him in Transfiguration, I could introduce you!”

Increasingly irritated with the course of the conversation, you piped up. “Thank you, Hannah, but I’ve got no interest in—”

Ginny interrupted, “What about one of my brothers? They’re bloody idiots, no doubt, but I’m sure I could put in a good word. What’s your type? Hmm—you into the whole cheeky thing Fred and George have going on—”

“Enough!” The four girls stared at you and your face that could easily rival a tomato with its present scarlet hue. A silence washed over the nearby tables in the Great Hall. A few odd looks were thrown at you from the surrounding students before their conversations recommenced. “As much as I appreciate your intense interest in my lack of relationships, I don’t feel like fleshing it out over cinnamon rolls and sausage links at 8:00 a.m. in the morning, if you lot don’t mind.”

The girls quickly began to apologize before you hushed them. “It’s totally fine, seriously, I just don’t want to get into it. We’re all good. Promise.”

As if sensing that you weren’t entirely ‘good,’ Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but Hermione beat her to it. “Y/n and I have got to get going if we’re going to make it to Potions. We’ll see you guys later, alright?” You could have snogged the life out of Hermione for the offered escape route. You and Hermione both knew you had another thirty minutes before your first class, but what the three girls didn’t know wouldn’t kill them. After swiftly packing up her things, Hermione linked her arm with yours, whisking you away from the other three.

Even though your next class was in the dungeons, Hermione steered you towards an unfamiliar corridor, one she had likely found on the vast number of adventures she, Harry, and Ron had found themselves in over the years. Arms still intertwined; she sat you both on a bench. After sitting in a few moments of silence, you squeezed her arm and spoke, “Thanks, ‘Mione.”

Returning your squeeze, she smiled. “I figured you could use a break from that inquisitive lot. They can be a bit much, altogether at once. Merlin knows how they’ll react when I tell them about Ron and me.” The two of you looked at each other in stunned silence before bursting into laughter. Hermione laughed at the imaginary image of shock and disbelief she imagined would appear on Ginny’s face. You laughed, however, at the thought that anyone could be unaware to the obvious affection shared between the couple. You doubted that Filch, perhaps the most oblivious man to ever inhabit Hogwarts, couldn’t see the feelings that had steadily been growing between Hermione and Ron since their first year. Feelings you had yet to experience at Hogwarts, despite your desperate desire to.

As if sensing your thoughts, Hermione peered into your face before softly speaking, “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? I won’t push you or anything, but I just want you to know you have an ear if you want one.”

Considering her words, you peered at the ceiling that seemed miles away. Of all the people you knew at Hogwarts, Hermione might have been the best to unburden yourself to.

You turned to look at her before speaking. “Well, it’s like this. Take Lee Jordan for example—when he asked me out, he found me after Defense Against the Dark Arts and just said, ‘Want to go out sometime, L/N?’ And that’s it! I mean, it took him all of four seconds to ask—and I don’t know…I asked him why he wanted to go out with me—which let me tell you he gave me quite a funny look because of my question—before he said, ‘Well, you’re fit and nice.’    

Hermione laughed at Lee’s simplistic answer before you continued. “Don’t get me wrong, it was a fine answer, and I appreciated the ‘fit’ part especially,” you said, winking at Hermione, “But that was the whole exchange. No real effort, no deep interest in me. It was simple.”

Hermione smiled at you, “But you don’t want simple, do you?”

You shrugged. “I guess not? Believe me, I don’t want a live performance where the man of my dreams serenades me with a homemade song listing my manifold of attractions.” This time you joined Hermione in her laughter. “I’d rather die on the spot, honestly, than endure that, but the point is I don’t want to be asked out just to be asked out. I want someone who’s thought about it, someone who’s noticed the little things about me, and lets me know that he has noticed them. I want to be wooed, goddammit!”

Hermione pealed in laughter for a solid minute before she managed to catch her breath. Smiling, she replied, “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be ‘wooed’, Y/n. Godric knows Ron could stand to do a bit more ‘wooing’ when it comes to us.”

Turning your body fully to Hermione, you took her hands into yours, earnestly. “You don’t think I’m asking for too much? Being too high maintenance? I mean, I suppose we are young and still learning after all and—”

“Y/n, no. There is nothing wrong with wanting to know if someone truly likes you and wanting them to show it.” She squeezed your hands in assurance.

“Are you positively sure, because honestly—”

“I am absolutely sure, Y/n.”

“One hundred percent sure?”

“What do you think absolute means, Y/n?”

“…Point taken, ‘Mione.”

“Now then,” she said, standing and dragging you along with her, “we really must head off to Potions if we don’t want to be late.”

Trotting behind her, you smiled at your ever-punctual friend, “Yes ma’am.”

#first time writing in so mf long (not for uni at least LMAO) #feeling nauseous folks :) #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #Spotify #theodore nott #slytherin boys #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #harry potter #harry potter au #hp fanfic #hp fandom #lovebotmo #hp fanfcition #theodore nott fic #theodore nott fanfic #theo nott imagine #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #theo nott fluff #theodore nott fluff #lovebotmo writing #lorenzo zurcolo can do whatever he wants to me. plz and thank you.

[luuuuucyscorner]

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞- 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

Chapter Two. Info: After class Spider finds Y/n and offers to make plans

Tags: 18+, swearing, smoking

word count: 5168

gif by me

After class ends, Spider saunters over to you with a smirk on his face. "Well, well, British-American. Care for a smoke outside?" He offers you one of his cigarettes, extending a pack towards you. His gaze doesn't leave hers, the challenge clear in his eyes. "Or do they not partake in the pleasures of nicotine across the pond?" He chuckles lightly, leaning against the school wall cooly. "It's break, after all. Might as well enjoy it, yeah?" He takes a drag from his own cigarette, waiting for your response.

Thinking it over, you take the cigarette directly from his lips and take a drag. Spider watches your lips wrap around it. smoke puffs out expertly "not too bad for my first time eh?"

Spider's eyes widen as you take the cigarette straight from his mouth, then watches in fascination as you puff away like a pro. He swallows hard, trying not to gawk at your skilled handling of the cigarette. "Bloody hell, Y/n..." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. Your confidence and ability with the cigarette caught him off guard. "That was impressive, love." He takes the cigarette back, offering it again if you wanted another drag. "Ya know, I reckon we could show each other a thing or two." He smirks, looking you up and down appreciatively. "Maybe after classes, wanna grab a drink? Get to know each other better?" He raises an eyebrow, curiosity shining in his blue eyes.

"are you flirting with me spider? on my first day?" you say with a sparkle in your eyes.

Spider's cheeks flush a deep shade of pink, but he refuses to look away. Instead, he meets your gaze boldly, acknowledging the truth behind your words. "Might be, love," he admits softly. "Can't say I'm good at keepin' myself in check around you." He shakes his head slightly, attempting to dismiss the nervous energy buzzing between you. "So, what d'ya say? Drinks after class? Make sure ya don't fall for any more maps, yeah?" He chuckles nervously, but there was no denying the genuine interest in his tone. "Could be fun, I reckon."

you don't answer immediately, finding humor in his nervous discomfort.

Spider fidgets, his unease evident as he waits for your response. He tries not to appear too eager, but the anticipation is written all over his face. He takes another drag from his cigarette, watching you watch him. The silence stretches on uncomfortably long, making him squirm under your scrutiny. Finally, he blurts out, "Look, Leia, don't think I'm pushin' ya or anything. Just figured, since we're stuck together in that class, might as well enjoy ourselves, right?" He shrugs nonchalantly, hiding his growing anxiety. "If not drinks, maybe another time? Just let me know."

"nah Spider I'm just busting your balls, I'd love to get drinks" you giggle at his expense.

Relief floods through Spider, leaving him nearly breathless. "Cheers, love!" he exclaims, visibly relaxing now that you'd agreed. "Name your place, and I'll take care of the rest." He grins widely, almost bashful in his happiness. "Don't worry, I'll make it worth your while." Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his phone, checking the time. "How does six work for ya? Meet me outside the local pub?" He asks, already planning out the perfect night in his head. "We'll have a blast, promise."

"umm..." you stutter embarrassed " I just moved here, i don't know 'the local pub'"

Spider's grin falters for a moment, realizing his assumption. "Shit, sorry, love," he apologizes sincerely. "Didn't mean to assume. Alright, then. Name a place - anywhere in town. I'll meet you there and show ya around." He tucks his phone back into his pocket, trying to come up with alternative plans. "We can do whatever you want, honestly. Movie? Coffee shop? Beach?" He suggests various options, hoping to accommodate your preferences. "I'm up for whatever. Just tell me whatcha fancy, Y/n."

"maybe we could go to my place? my ma will be out all night"

Surprise flickers across Spider's face, followed by a slow grin spreading wide. "Your place, huh? Now that sounds like my kinda night," he replies, trying not to seem too eager. "Sure thing, Y/n. Just give me the address, and I'll find my way there. I promise I won't break anything." He laughs lightly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Actually, forget that. We'll have a good time, just you and me." He leans closer, whispering softly yet confidently, "And if your ma asks, I'll tell her I'm just your new Aussie friend, got it?"

"sure thing" you say giggling softly "lets get to class" your warm breath tickling his cheek and neck as you teasingly pull back.

Heat floods Spider's body at the sensation of your warm breath on his skin, causing him to swallow hard. "Right, yeah, class," he murmurs, clearing his throat roughly. His gaze lingers on your lips, desire simmering beneath his playful exterior. As you step back, he adjusts his jeans discreetly, attempting to disguise his excitement. "See ya later, Y/n. Can't wait till tonight." He gives you a playful salute before heading towards the classroom, still reeling from your closeness. A smirk remains plastered on his face throughout the remaining lessons, unable to shake the anticipation for the evening ahead.

TAGLIST @ivvees-blog

#spencer white #spider white #spider heartbreak high #spencer 'spider' white #heartbreak high #hbh #ameria wadia #ayesha madon #asher yasbincek #bryn chapman parish #anthony “ant” vaughn #ant vaughn #anthony vaughn #darren rivers #harper mclean #smut #fanfic #spencer white x reader #spider x reader #luuuuucyscorner #heartbreak high reboot

[kiss-theggoat]

Uhh I’m not sure if I’m doing this right but

Could you write a thingy where the reader and Ghostface are watching scary movies together and the reader is trying SO HARD to stay awake for the entire thing (and they fail)

Gotta love fluff 👍

A/N: Short but sweet, I hope you like 🖤

Tired?

Ghostface x GN!Reader

Word Count: 800

Summary: Your favorite slasher comes over with a stack of flicks, but you’re exhausted.

TW: None

The phone call startled you, your entire body jumping off of your bed. You were right on the edge of sleep before the shrill ringing yanked you back to consciousness, making you groan. You grabbed the landline, pressing the answer button and holding it up to your ear, eyes barely open.

“What?” You snapped, sounding very irritated to whoever was calling you.

“Oh, not in a good mood, hm?”

The sultry voice on the other end made your anger dissipate every so slightly. You knew exactly who it was, and you laid back against your bed once more, feeling its warmth envelope your sleepy form. “Not a good time, Danny.”

“Thought I told you not to call me that over the phone, sweetness.”

“Sorry. Ghostface.”

“Better. You wouldn’t want to be rude to someone who went through the effort of coming all the way to your house, would you?” There was a sense of arrogance to the way he spoke, a chuckle sounding through the speaker. You sat up in your bed, shoving your comforter down your legs as you stood. The large window in your room faced the front of your house, giving you a good view of the front door.

As you moved the curtains to the side, that familiar screaming face stared up at you from your porch, gloved hand waving at you. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile at the fact that a man who was wanted for murder was standing in front of your door like a lovesick puppy.

You hung up the phone and walked downstairs, unlocking the door to see him with a stack of horror movies and a bag of your favorite candy. He laughed, the sound booming from deep in his chest. “Must’ve been sleeping, huh?” He asked teasingly, pushing past you into your living room.

“Sure, come in?” You said sarcastically, shutting and locking the door behind him.

He sat on your couch and made himself comfortable, boots up on the coffee table like he owned the joint. You tried to pretend like it annoyed you, but in reality, it satisfied the domesticity that you craved. “Okay I have…Nightmare on Elm Street, My Bloody Valentine, The Exorcist aaaand Black Christmas. Although, not really cold enough outside for a Christmas mo-”

You plopped onto the couch, listening to him talk about the horror movies he brought over as he sorted through the VHS tapes. You interrupted him, putting a hand on his shoulder with an exasperated sigh. “I was almost asleep.”

“Okay, so lay down and watch a movie with me?” He said as if you’d just told him the dumbest thing on earth. You wanted him to leave? No way that was happening. You groaned and laid back onto the armrest of your couch, stretching your spine and hearing a few cracks in the process.

“If you don’t pick a movie, I'm gonna.”

“Fine. Nightmare on Elm Street.” You grabbed the blanket that was over the back of your couch and started to get comfortable, watching him as he started up the movie. The intro scene to the movie began to play, but you really couldn’t be bothered, eyelids already feeling heavy with the warm blanket wrapped around you.

It felt like you were laying on a cloud, and you slowly stretched your legs out over his thighs. His warmth mixing with the softness of your blanket made your eyelids seem like they might have super glue on them. You tried hard to focus on the movie, head held carefully by a plush throw pillow.

“You really are tired.” Ghostface teased, hands finding your bare calves beneath the blanket. He had taken his gloves off and his hands radiated heat through your skin. Firm fingers slowly began to rub circles into your calves, and with the other hand, he rubbed up and down your ankle, almost like he was trying to get you to sleep. Before you knew it, the sleepiness overtook you like a tsunami, you couldn’t help it.

For once in his life, he felt like he’d done something right as he watched your chest rise and fall, eyelashes resting against your cheeks and lips parted as you slept peacefully, wrapped up like you’d never been more comfortable than here, on the couch, with him.

#slasher x reader #slashers #horror movies #horror fanfiction #slasher x y/n #scream #ghostface x you #ghostface fanfiction #ghostface x reader #ghostface

[homicidal-slvt]

"Seeing Is Believing"

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MDNI

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John 'Soap' Mactavish x F!Reader

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Dialogue Prompts: 31 & 35 & 25

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Warnings: Reader Gets Cheated On (Not By Soap), Friends to Lovers, Hurt + Comfort

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It wasn't out of the ordinary for you to end up sat alone at the bar, your so-called boyfriend leaving you by yourself... Said he had to take a call. You didn't question it much, simply raising your glass back up to your lips.

He hasn't even bothered to remember your favorite drink or ask what you wanted, simply ordering for you then disappearing in a flash. Your face scrunches at the unsatisfactory aftertaste this particular drink leaves in its wake, setting the glass back down you begin to wonder what's taking him so long. Slowly you rise to your feet and make your way out to where he went, your heart drops in an instant...

He's wrapped in the arms of some random redhead, a girl you've seen a few times before... Always reassured that she was simply a colleague and that was all, yet here they were making out. You couldn't even speak- couldn't confront them. You felt sick.

Feet quickly carry you away from the bustling environment, leaving the sounds of drunken rambling and yells far behind, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He had driven you here and there's no way you can walk all the way home in the dark by yourself, simply stopping and catching your breath outside a little store that's closed for the night.

You dig into your purse retrieving your phone, swiftly dialing the only person you know you can count on, shoving down the urge to cry... Not wanting to fall apart despite the burning in your chest.

Johnny immediately picked up when he saw your name flash across his screen, clicking answer he was about to enthusiastically respond- then he heard your voice.

"Johnny..."

"Aye, what's wrong? Ye sound upset."

"Just... Can you come and get me? I'll explain later... I'm outside the little store called Owl Flower Shop..."

"Already on my way."

••

Even on the whole ride home he didn't ask any questions, he allowed you the space to speak when you were ready. It made his heart ache seeing that far off look in your eyes, the way you fidgeted even after entering his home. This place honestly was simply your second home at this point, many nights spent on your best friends couch watching movies.

"He cheated on me..."

You finally blurted out after Johnny returned from the kitchen with a glass of water for you, his blue eyes widen immediately.... It's like an instant fire was set in his chest.

"He bloody what?!"

You accept the glass of water, settling back against the cushions.

"Saw him kissing some other girl... Actually kissing is an understatement- they were trying to eat each other whole."

He doesn't hesitate to settle in beside you, arm draped over your shoulders to guide you closer to him. He's heated with rage but he holds it in- mostly. Focusing on comforting you instead, letting you sink into him and breathe in the familiar scent of oak, something a bit woodsy almost.

"Ye deserve so much more..."

He means it- the sincerity of it could make you melt, Scottish accent and rumbling voice reaching down to your soul. He rubs at your shoulder and you can feel a slight tenseness in him.

"You're angry."

It's just an observation- despite his best attempt at keeping calm, his mannerisms spoke absolute volumes... Plus, you've known him long enough to know that this probably had him boiling up inside.

"Aye, dinnae worry about it."

Your eyes search his face and you know Johnny well, despite your own heartbreak you try to lighten the mood, watching the way he sets his jaw and clenches a bit... So, you crack a joke that given the circumstances probably isn't the most appropriate- but when have either of you ever had good timing?

"You're so hot when you're mad."

You have to set your glass down on the coffee table after saying it, watching as the scotsman looks at you with a beyond stunned expression. You nervously swallow.

"I was just-"

"Ye think so?"

You can't help but squirm under the gaze of him, perhaps it wasn't entirely a joke after all.

"Uhh... Yeah."

"Well, I think yer a bonnie lass."

There's something heavy settling between the two of you, an awkward little laugh slipping past your lips in the face of being so very close to your dear friend.

"Yeah, right."

"Aye, I mean it."

You just can't bring yourself to look away, something setting ablaze inside you. Part of you screaming that it's wrong to look at your friend like this, especially after everything that's happened. The other part just going 'screw it'.

"Say it again..."

"Bonnie..."

He practically purrs out the word while leaning in close, something in him calling out for him to prove it to you, show you how much better you deserve. How wonderful you are inside out. He's always seen you as beautiful, flaws and all pulling him in yet he never dared to rock the boat... Now it's already been tipped over and you're both cast out to sea, desperately seeking out each other.

In a split second decision your hands reach up for his face, pulling him into a tender kiss finally feeling his lips on yours, his own flavor meeting your tongue and entirely erasing the aftertaste of that horrible drink from earlier.

Consumed by him entirely... If you had told your past self you'd end up in the arms of your handsome Scottish best friend- you wouldn't of believed yourself... Seeing Is Believing after all.

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{For @glitterypirateduck Soap It Up challenge}

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{If I got any Scottish lingo wrong please let me know. The idea of being called a Bonnie lass gives me butterflies.}

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{@sofasoap @gothgirl6-6-6 @soupbinsoup @sarraa-26 @caramlizedtomatoes-deactivated2 }

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{More Content}

#soapitup #vee's cod works #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #john mactavish x f!reader #john 'soap' mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x you #john soap mactavish x f!reader #soap x reader #soap x you #soap x f!reader #john mactavish fluff #johnny mactavish #soap fluff #cod soap #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #cod x reader #cod x f!reader #cod x you #cod fluff #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #call of duty x f!reader #soap call of duty #call of duty fluff

[engie-ivy]

(A much requested sequel to Couple-Stuff! Thank you for all your enthusiasm😁)

1370 words

Part One: Couple Stuff

Remus has come to realize his relationship with Sirius isn't as platonic as he thought, and now he needs to know where Sirius stands on the matter.

Label-Stuff

Sirius is busying himself in the kitchen, chatting about some curry recipe Effie taught him and how he's going to perfect it this time. Remus is sitting on the couch, watching him and biting his lip. He can't really focus on what Sirius is saying, with the questions swirling through his head after his conversation with the girls.

What is his relationship with Sirius like?

He must admit to himself that he quite likes the idea of it not being as platonic as he previously thought, and quite dislikes the idea of Sirius being with someone else, to put it mildly.

Has Sirius been with someone else?

He knows that Sirius isn't looking for a relationship, too attached to his freedom, but he could be casually dating, or even having casual sex. With someone who isn't Remus, that is. They have never defined their relationship, so his thing with Remus doesn't have to stop him.

“Sirius,” Remus asks, and he might have interrupted Sirius in the middle of a sentence, but he barely notices. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Sirius puts down the zucchini he was about to cut and turns around, glancing around the room. “You mean… right now?”

Remus shakes his head. “No, not right now. Like, in general.”

Sirius frowns. “Like… a therapist?”

“No,” Remus says. “I mean dating. Like romantically. Or sexually.”

Sirius barks a laugh. “Right, sure Remus. After having breakfast with you, going to the Farmer's Market with you, spending the afternoon walking the dog with you, going out to eat or cooking together, and sitting on the couch watching a movie together, I've somehow been going on dates and sleeping with other men.” He rolls his eyes and turns back around, picking up the zucchini.

Remus frowns. “Is that why you haven't been dating? Because I haven't been giving you space to do so?”

Sirius puts the zucchini back down and gives Remus a stern look with his hands placed on his hips. “I haven't been dating because I haven't been giving myself space to do so. As in, a conscious choice that I made, because I wanted to.” He suddenly looks alarmed. “Wait. Do you want space to date? Is that what you're trying to tell me?”

“No, Sirius, that's not it…”

Sirius walks away from the kitchen counter and sits down on the coffee table across from Remus, the zucchini spared for now. “Then what is it?” He asks, reaching out to take Remus’ hand.

Remus stares at their joint hands, trying to figure out how to go about it. “I'm just trying to make sure we both know where the other stands, relationship-wise.”

Sirius frowns. “Where's that suddenly coming from? Did you– Did you meet someone?”

The look on Sirius’ face makes Remus immediately want to deny everything. ‘No, of course not, there's no one, don't worry!’ Only to make Sirius not look like that anymore. But he needs clarity. If he pushes just a bit more, maybe Sirius’ reaction will give him a better indication of the chances Sirius sees him as something more than a friend. So he does push. “I could meet someone. Someone who would be interested in being my boyfriend. How would that make you feel?”

“How would that make me-” Sirius lets out a disbelieving laugh. “How do you bloody think that would make me feel? Like crap, obviously. We do everything together, that will all change. No boyfriend is going to be okay with that, and I don't fancy being second choice either.”

“But then what, Sirius?” Remus asks, almost desperately. “What if I'm out in the pub and some handsome man who's exactly my type walks up to me, winks at me, and says ‘hi, are you single?’ What do you want me to say, Sirius?”

In an instant, Sirius pulls his hand away, jumps up from the coffee table and takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest, as if he suddenly has to guard himself against Remus. “You did meet someone!”

“Sirius, I-”

“Fuck you, Remus Lupin!”

Remus blinks. Sirius has never, ever, spoken to him like that. “Excuse me?”

“Fuck you, Remus,” Sirius repeats with a scowl. “This is how you tell me? By making me feel guilty about claiming you? By talking to me like I'm stupid and I need to have it explained to me that we aren't in a real relationship? Like I haven't been playing this stupid game for you! This stupid ‘yes, we act like a couple and do everything a couple does, but we don't call us a couple’-game!” He takes a breath, trying to calm himself down a little. “I feel like I've been walking this line, Remus. Being with you in all the ways I want to be with you, but not pushing it too far, not scaring you off, because I know how afraid of commitment you. And I've been telling myself that it's fine. ‘Just be happy with whatever he's willing to give you, Sirius, and be thankful that he's willing to give you so much. What does it matter that you're not putting a label on it?’” He shakes his head. “But it was never that you didn't want to commit, was it, Remus? You just didn't want to commit to me.”

Remus can't get any words out. He can barely process what he just heard, let alone form a response. So Sirius was never under the impression that his feelings were platonic? Gods, Remus really is a pillock, isn't he?

“Because you meet some stranger in a pub,” Sirius continues upon Remus’ prolonged silence. “And suddenly you're talking about dating, and relationships, and boyfriends! Words that you always carefully avoided with me!” He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “God, I'm such an idiot. I kept hoping you would eventually get there. I just didn't expect it would be five minutes after meeting a random stranger, rather than after years of carefully building what we have.” His voice breaks slightly, and so does Remus’ heart. “Or what I thought we had.” Sirius looks away. “I'm sorry, I can't… I need… Just give me a moment.”

Remus remains frozen in place as Sirius walks away and disappears into his bedroom. He loves that boy, and he has hurt that boy, and he needs to set it right. He finally snaps out of it, and jumps to his feet.

“Sirius!” He pulls open the door to Sirius’ bedroom, and comes to a halt upon seeing Sirius sitting on the bedroom floor against the wall, his knees tucked up to his chest. “Sirius,” he says, softer this time, sliding down on the floor next to Sirius, placing a hand on his knee.

Sirius lifts his head, tear streaks on his face.

Remus needs to get the biggest misunderstanding out of the way first. “There's no one else, Sirius. I promise.” He sighs. “Marlene asked me about dating other people, and the thought of you with someone else made me feel… Well, I guess a lot like you're feeling right now. Only less angry and more confused, because unlike you, I'm a berk who hadn't realized before that his feelings for you are more than platonic. I was trying to figure out where you stand on this, so I wanted to see how you would react to the idea of me with someone else.”

“Oh,” Sirius says flatly. He looks down at himself sitting crouched down on the floor of his bedroom. “Well. Not so good, I suppose.”

Remus chuckles. “No, not so good. Though I guess I could've gone about the conversation better as well.”

Sirius also chuckles. “Bloody hell, Rem. Don't start talking about meeting handsome men in the pub!”

“That's fair, that's fair!” Remus laughs, then he studies Sirius for a moment. “So… we can conclude that we both see more than friendship with the other.”

Sirius averts his eyes and looks down at his feet. “Remus, I can't casually date you. If we do this, we need to do this for real. After holding back for so long, if you give me this, I'm going to want it all. I'm going to start picturing forever with you, I'm going to start planning a future with you. If that scares you, then I can't… I can't.”

The feeling that spreads through Remus’ chest upon hearing those words is definitely not fear. “As long as you don't propose to me tomorrow, I think I can get there,” Remus says jokingly, but then he adds in a more serious tone “To be honest, Sirius, I've never been able to consider my future without you in it.” He reaches out and brushes his thumb across Sirius’ cheek, brushing away one of the tears. “I want you, Sirius, and any label you come with. Boyfriend, partner, significant other.”

“Fiancé, husband,” Sirius adds teasingly, but Remus can tell that he's carefully gauging Remus’ reaction, looking for some sign of panic.

Remus surprises himself by not feeling any panic, not at all. This is where it was always going, wasn't it? He smiles. “Yes, in time, those as well.”

#my tumblr writing #oblivious remus lupin #and they were roommates #defining the relationship #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Idea:

hero broke their arm, and is now trapped in their bathroom trying to bathe (only lit by candles because light went out) when Villian (their roommate) comes looking for them and then help them in bathing and wearing clothes afterwards

Just some hurt comfort please.. No teasing, just them basking in each other's comfort

"You know you can ask me whenever you need my help, right?" The villain helped them into the bathtub, one hand on the hero's waist and the other holding their hand. They had never thought the hero would be their roommate. But the city was big and apartments were expensive.

The villain couldn't move and the hero couldn't either. And somewhere along the way, the hero - despite their hatred - had decided not to report them to the police. Maybe it was pity, maybe compassion. The villain wasn't sure yet.

"So you can break more of my bones?" the hero asked quietly.

"I didn't break your arm," the villain said. They let go of the hero and sat down next to the bathtub, eyes glued to the ground. It was difficult, the villain had to admit. The hero was a horrible roommate, trying to make the villain's life as miserable as possible. Never cleaning up, bringing over random people, listening to loud music, ignoring them all the time.

Of course, the villain didn't blame them. They were enemies. But they didn't want this.

"You have broken much more than just my bones." The villain closed their eyes. Did the hero not know that this was the exact reason why the villain couldn't sleep? Why they had developed several questionable methods of distraction?

God, the villain knew they were no saint. They worked with dangerous people, built dangerous stuff. They could barely live with themselves.

"I know, I'm sorry. I just really need the money," they whispered. Shame had become a companion. The villain wasn't quite sure if they could ever get used to it. "I don't mean to be...violent."

"That doesn't give you the right to bite," the hero answered and the villain was quiet for a long time. The hero didn't look at them. Their eyes stared into the water, the broken arm - still blue and green - put onto the edge of the bathtub and their legs pulled against their chest. They could've put their chin on their knees but the hero hadn't done that.

Their body was decorated with scars, each an individual and unwanted present for the hero. Usually, the villain covered their own scars and they knew the hero did that, too. So, it was the first time the villain saw them like this. And for the first time, they didn't see scars as something disgusting. They wanted to stretch out their arm and trace the large scar on the hero's back. But they didn't do that.

"I know. I'm scared...I'm sorry." Slowly, the hero's gaze softened and they looked at their nemesis, somewhat pitiful.

"Why are you kind to me?" the hero asked. "Why aren't you trying to murder me here?"

"I really do it just for the money and you pay half the rent." It was an attempted joke and to the villain's surprise, their enemy smiled.

"We both know you're not kind out of convenience. I haven't seen you out there in months but I have seen the bloody bathroom or the open window at night. You're still out there, you're still fighting. But you're avoiding me," the hero said.

"Well, it is strange to break your bones now. I got to know you. I know your coffee order, I know your favourite food. I know your favourite movies and your favourite books. I know when you go to bed or when you wake up."

"Still, I wasn't kind to you," the hero said. Their cheeks were glowing, maybe out of embarrassment, maybe because the bath was hot.

"I can't blame you. I get attached to people too easily." It was the truth. Every time, the villain fell in love with their best friends. They couldn't help it. Being around someone their age was like a curse. Whether that person was good to them or not, the villain fell for them eventually within weeks. They loved like a dog. But the hero did not need to know that. "I don't want you to hate me."

"I'm sorry," the hero said. "When I was being rude, I didn't see the person, I just saw my enemy. Maybe I am the one who has to learn not to bite."

They reached for the villain's shoulder.

"Maybe some peace will be good," the hero said gently. "Maybe we could become friends."

The villain was doomed. They would lose this relationship too.

#(they didnt lose that relationship the villain is just dumb) #loves like a dog and is as...confused as a dog #writing snippet #heroxvillain snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request

[octuscle]

A weird change has been going on with all the guys at my office. Many of them are now acting “southern” wearing cowboy boots and hats and belt buckles and even talking in southern accents despite almost none of them being from the south. They also started driving giant trucks and even some of my more liberal co workers are now talking about conservative politics.

Could the chronivac be behind these changes?

You have the feeling that the young employees were the first to be affected. When you went home a few days ago, you heard a "Goodbye, Mister! Havuh nice eevnun!!" from Frederick's desk. Frederick is an intern. A promising Harvard student from the best family in Providence. You're actually on a first-name basis in the office. But you don't actually wear a cowboy hat either…

The next person to be hit is Peter from the coffee shop downstairs in the office building. Peter is actually a talented barista and, like all people in the catering industry, is actually a disabled actor. You once saw him as Hamlet in an off-Broadway production. He wasn't any worse. "Hello Mr. Goldmann, sir! Uh hot blaak filter coffee as usual?" You look at him in amazement. "Peter? Is that you? I always have a cappuccino. Have you forgotten?" "Kaynt bay, mister! Way don't sayul thet kinduh stuff. An by thuh way, mah name iz Pete."

Fucking hell, Pete is really smoking hot. Okay, the conversation between you is getting more monosyllabic by the day. You'll get used to the black coffee. Not to his Trump praise.

Over the next few days, more and more of these cowboys and rednecks will come your way. There is talk in the news of a hacker attack on TikTok accounts and on Chronivac by the Russians. Allegedly, it is no longer the will of the voters but the voters themselves who are being manipulated. Thank God you don't use TikTok.

A few days later, things get more serious. You come out of the elevator, your eyes engrossed in the New York Times. What is that stench? Your eyes fall on Frank, the young man working at reception. A cloud of sweat and musk wafts around him. His left hand is under the table, moving rhythmically back and forth. "Good morning, Frank!" you say sternly. His hand is suddenly on the table and he clicks away the porn on the screen. "Excuse may, Mr. Goldmann, sir! Ah didn't say yawl coming." You say that your name is Sebastian and that he should get back to work. Apparently he misunderstood. As soon as you turn around, he jerks off again.

And it smells bad in the office. A lot of employees here seem to have an increasing problem with personal hygiene. And spend more time in the gym. And watching cowboy movies. Still mostly young colleagues. But also a few who are your age. It's frightening.

You're sitting at the financial statements. They have to be finished in the next few days. And apart from you, no one in accounting seems to have a clear head anymore. What you're given is full of errors. In terms of content, spelling, grammar… A catastrophe. You hear heavy footsteps behind you. "Goldmann, Smith, Wagner. Into thuh conference room. Now!" You turn around. The two giants look a bit like your CEO and CFO. But they smell like the locker room at a rodeo.

The two of them will forward you the links to a few TikTok videos. You should watch them! Don't have an account yet? Then bloody well get one. You'll get a lecture that our business model isn't patriotic enough. That you're doing too much business with the disgusting gooks and the cowardly French and Krauts. You're supposed to make America great again. America first!

Robert and Richard look at each other and at you, embarrassed. They don't really understand what they should do now. Admittedly, neither do you. You wonder whether the board has gone mad. Robert and Richard, who represent product development and sales, start to discuss whether it is even possible to restructure the supply chains and distribution channels in the short term.

You install TikTok and take a look at the videos sent by the CEO. They are basically advertising messages from the right wing of the Republican party. Repulsive stuff. And you have no idea what this has to do with your company's accounting and controlling.

After reflecting on the situation for a few minutes, you get up and think that you need a drink for the shock. You wonder if they could do with one too? Robert and Richard, who have also just installed TikTok and are watching the videos, look up briefly and shake their heads.

The cognac you received as a gift a few years ago is no longer in your office. You also can't remember whether you gave it to someone as a gift or took it to a company party. Surprisingly, you find beer in the fridge in the coffee kitchen, which is actually against company policy, but no schnapps or anything like that. You go to Frank and ask if you have any whiskey or something similar. Frank spits his chewing tobacco into the wastepaper basket and pulls a silver hip flask out of a drawer. "Home-brewed by mah dad, Mr. Goldmann, sir! Do yawl need uh glass?" You shake your head, take the flask and take a big swig.

Rick and Bob ask if you've brought booze and chewing tobacco. The two of them rant about the government, fantasize about how good everything will be once Trump is back in power and scratch their balls. They're both good guys. A bit hollow in the head. But they have their hearts in the right place, don't think twice and implement orders quickly and efficiently.

You really can't believe the gobbledygook they spout. You sit down, take a pinch of chewing tobacco and push the tin over to them. And after an impressive burp that smells wonderfully of the chili from today's lunch, you take a deep breath.

"Buddies, is way men or weaklings? Thuh bosses want ideas frum us, not whinin'. Wadja thank uh thuh fallerin' plan: naw more deliveries uh goods frum China frum next year an doubled prices fahwar sales tuh Europe!" Bob and Rick both snot their tobacco in the corner, shout "Yeehaw" and fart. Hehehe, they also had the chili. Shit, a good chili fart always makes you horny. You pull down the blinds in the meeting room. And Bob and Rick undo their belt buckles.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #inked man #mullet #musk #stop trump #ai image

[harrywavycurly]

I can just imagine bff Harry and reader always sharing gossip over wine or coffee😂

Hiii lovey!!! Oh yes you know those two always have gossip to share with each other!! So I hope you enjoy these little conversations between them when one of them has something to tell the other😂💖

-find everything Where We Started here✨

“Harry? Are you decent?…Harry?” “Hmmm?” “Are you asleep? Get up I have something to tell you.” “S’not even seven in the morning….it can wait.” “It absolutely cannot wait now get up and I’ll have coffee waiting for you in the kitchen.” “Wait you’re…in my house? This isn’t…a dream?” “Do you dream about me often?” “Don’t be mean it’s too early to be mean.” “Oh stop whining and get up.” “Just tell me what it is and then I’ll decide if it’s worth getting up for.” “Niall has a girlfriend.” “Niall? Niall Horan? Niall James Horan of One Direction…that Niall Horan?” “Yes! Now get up!” “When the bloody fuck did this happen?” “While he was in London now please get up we have to go meet her.” “Meet her? When?” “For breakfast now I’ll pick your outfit if you’ll please start getting out of bed and go brush your hair and your teeth.” “Wait wait wait…Niall has a girlfriend and he didn’t tell us till we are headed to meet her? That’s a bit uncool don’t you think?” “Well uhm…I might have…known about her-” “and you didn’t tell me?” “He asked me not to until he knew it was serious.” “How long?” “How long what?” “Have you known about her?” “Uhm…since their first date…uh…two months…ago.” “Jesus! How did you manage to keep that to yourself for so long?” “It was hard now…get up.” “Sorry I’m getting up…but you’re not picking my outfit.”

“Did you drag me to a library to tell me this so I couldn’t scream?” “Possibly…yes…yes that’s exactly why I brought you here.” “Harry you can’t just drop this on me and not expect me to want to squeal and jump up and down this is huge news you asshole!” “Shhhhh you’re going to get us kicked out…it’s not that big of a deal it’s just a movie.” “Just a movie? It’s not just a movie…it’s a movie that you have one of the main roles in and you’ll be acting alongside Florence Pugh.” “And Chris Pine.” “I’m so excited!” “You are so loud…let’s get out of here before you get us put on some sort of list for people who are banned from public libraries.”

“Did you steal that bag from my closet?” “No I bought it off your website…you have these in your closet? And didn’t give me one?” “I figured you’d ask if you wanted one? You asked for the Pleasing sweatshirt when it dropped.” “So…why did you call this emergency picnic?” “I have some…news.” “News? About you or someone we know?” “Someone we know…” “ohh please enlighten me…who’s it about?” “Mitch…and Sarah…” “oh my god did they break up? Don’t make me cry Harry it’s not even noon.” “They are having a baby.” “Oh my god! I just said don’t make me cry!” “Ouch don’t go hitting the messenger! I just found out like an hour ago.” “That’s so exciting oh I love this for them.” “Yeah it’s gonna be cool to have another baby to be the god father of.” “Bold of you to assume you’re going to be this baby’s god parent.” “I’m the one who introduced them so uh yeah…I’m gonna be a god father.” “More like the weird uncle.” “Weird? I’m not…I mean…I’m not too weird like creepy weird or anything I’m just…me.” “Yes you’re just you and that’s why everyone loves you so much…you’re weird and it’s great.”

#where we started series #where we started convos #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #Harry styles friends to lovers #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x fem!reader #Harry styles x bestfriend! reader #Harry styles social media AU #one direction fanfiction #harry styles imagine #Harry styles #my little lanky baby