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roosterforme · 7 months ago

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Covering the Classics Part 9 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: After Anna joins him for dinner, Bob knows he needs to accept that they really are just friends. Even though her kisses are perfection. Even though he's falling in love. But what's going to stop Anna when she realizes Bob's poems are very familiar to her?

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, Bob in gray sweatpants, eventually 18+

Length: 5700 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

Bob couldn't imagine a world in which he'd go to this much trouble to make the perfect dinner for a woman who he was falling in love with, only to hear her say the words just friends. But apparently it was the world he was living in, because he spent days comparing recipes from both Bradley and Jake, hoping to make something that Anna would find irresistible.

"You should make my lasagna," Jake said for the tenth time at work on Friday morning.

Bradley snorted. "Great idea, as long as you never want to see her again. Make my homemade pasta," he told Bob. "I already gave you the recipe."

Bob just kept nodding and agreeing with whatever they said, hoping they'd eventually be quiet. Anna was coming over tonight, and he still didn't have a solid plan in mind beyond trying to convince her he'd be worth her time. That it was okay to be more than friends.

While the guys argued, Bob got himself ready to get in the air with Phoenix. He must have looked flustered, because she rubbed her thumb gently across the back of his hand when he stood next to her in the hangar. "You seem nervous. Are you still trying to figure out what to make for dinner?"

"Yeah," he replied quietly.

"Oh, Bob. She's not going to care what you make. It could be a grilled cheese sandwich."

"I always burn those," he said with a small smile. "I just feel like this is pointless. I invited her over anyway even though I know she just wants to be friends, but I'm still standing here hoping for more. I shouldn't be doing this, even if we did makeout in her office."

Nat sighed and asked, "Do you want my grandma's recipe for bruschetta chicken? You liked it when you tried it at her house last summer, and it's not that hard to make."

His eyes lit up. "Please."

He'd only have a little bit of time to himself to prepare the meal and cook it before Anna came over, and he listened as Nat called her grandma and asked her to send it over. Before they were even called out of the hangar to start the day, he had a photo of the handwritten recipe in his phone.

"Nat, you're a lifesaver."

"Just save me some of the leftovers."

--------------------------

Friday was going so well for Anna, she almost forgot to be nervous about dinner. She met with the dean to discuss how her classes were going, and he even brought up the word tenure which sent her into a giddy spiral where she treated herself to a candy bar from the vending machine which she couldn't really afford. She carried it out to eat lunch in the quad with her friends along with her regular, uninspired sandwich and ginger ale.

She hadn't mentioned a word about going to Bob's house for dinner, but she was absolutely certain both ladies knew about it. She almost found it comical the way they were trying to get her to say something about it, but Jessica was clearly ready to boil over.

"Hi," Anna greeted, biting into her Snickers bar as she settled on the bench between them. Advanced Calculus casually offered her some carrots and hummus while Jessica's cheeks started to grow a furious shade of pink.

"When were you going to tell us Bob invited you over for dinner tonight?" she exclaimed.

Anna shrugged and said, "I was probably just going to tell you about it on Monday since it's nothing because we are just friends. It's only as exciting as it would be if I went over to your place for dinner."

"That's exciting, too!" Jessica said. "You should absolutely come over for dinner! But you're wrong, because it's not as exciting as Bob cooking dinner for you!"

"Jess. Chill out," came the voice from Anna's other side. "She'll learn soon enough that dinner cooked by one of the Top Gun boys is essentially a marriage proposal on a plate. A very sexy and delicious marriage proposal. You and he will be sleeping together in no time."

Anna chewed up the last bite of her Snickers and shook her head. "You're both wrong. Bob and I are just friends. The dinner means nothing, and we're not going to sleep together."

"Oh, please!" Jessica was back to practically shouting now. "If you think he's actually okay with all the making out, then you've lost your mind. He doesn't want it to be meaningless. He likes you."

Anna looked at her feet. "I know he does. I like him too."

"Then stop stringing him along! I don't understand what the problem is here, Anna."

She sat quietly now, no longer feeling so great as she picked at her sandwich.

"Hey, I know Jess sounds like an excitable terrier, but maybe you need a little tough love," Advanced Calculus said as she dipped a carrot into the hummus. "You can talk to us, you know. You can tell us what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," Anna whispered as her mind flooded with thoughts of Kevin and what he might be up to at the moment.

Jess took a deep calming breath before she said, "There's just no good reason to put your dream man in the friend zone. And don't even try to lie and say Bob Floyd isn't perfection."

"He is," Anna whispered. Other than her infatuation with Sky Writing, Bob was the closest thing to a dream come true that she'd ever encountered before. But she did have her reasons, and she was too embarrassed to talk about it out loud. She was certain that Jess already knew her current financial state was in ruins, and it might be nice to have her friends understand where she was coming from, but she didn't want them to pity her. That was the last thing she needed right now. "You know what, I think I'm going to get ready for my next lecture."

She was on her feet and rushing away as her friends called after her, but she didn't stop walking until she reached her office. She was not going to cry over this, and she definitely didn't want to cancel on Bob. The only thing she could do to calm down was look at all of the books on her shelves, letting her gaze glide over the colorful spines. Then she read the note from Bob that was tucked in her copy of Papillon.

Freedom would feel like being so in love, you'd willingly let another person lock you to their side.

-------------------------------

Bob had a fully stocked kitchen filled with a nice set of pots and pans and sharp knives and anything else he could possibly want, but right now, it was like he'd never cooked anything before in his life. Nat's grandmother actually had atrocious handwriting, and he could barely make out the measurements in the photo he had to work with.

"Basil," he muttered to himself, grabbing the leafy greens from the cutting board and wondering why it looked like he was supposed to use three cups of them. "I didn't even buy that much!"

He took a deep breath and walked around his kitchen, trying to clear his head. Anna was going to grab an Uber. She would be arriving in about an hour with wine and dessert. He wanted to feed her the most delicious meal he could muster, but right now he was just looking at the chicken breast on the plate in front of him like he'd never seen food before.

And he just knew Jake and Bradley never had to work this hard for a woman in their lives. Jake could rely mostly on his looks if he wanted to, and Bradley was the luckiest person he knew, reuniting with the love of his life after ten years and getting married approximately a day later. "No," he whispered, "that's not fair to them." He knew he was wrong. He knew both of them worked to get where they ended up, and he shouldn't be putting himself down so much.

He glared at the chicken and picked up a knife. "This is fine. No problem." He had to fudge some of the measurements which made no sense, and he'd suggest to Nat that maybe her grandmother should take an eye exam, but the recipe really wasn't too terribly hard. Soon he had the browned chicken in the oven, and he set to work on the bruschetta topping and started boiling some water for the pasta. He was just adding another tablespoon of balsamic vinegar to the tomatoes and basil when he heard Anna's beautiful laughter.

Bob nearly knocked the bowl to the floor in his haste to get to her. After grabbing a dish towel for his hands, he rushed toward his front door and saw her on his porch. She was wearing a little sundress that he'd seen her in before with her worn out denim jacket over it, and he froze a few feet inside his screen door just so he could look at her. She was juggling a shopping bag and a bottle of wine, and that's when he realized she was talking to Suzanne.

"Oh, no, I'm not in the Navy," she was saying as she tossed her beautiful, red hair over her shoulder. "I'm a professor at San Diego State University. My name's Anna."

She stretched her hand out, and then Bob heard Suzanne's voice. "I'm Suzanne, and that's my cat, Sylvester. I must say, I had no idea Robert got himself a girlfriend. And such a pretty one!"

He desperately wanted to interrupt their conversation before he could hear what Anna's response was going to be, but he just couldn't. She was standing there in the last rays of the setting sun, blushing as she said, "Bob and I are actually just friends. Just good friends."

There was a beat of silence before Suzanne laughed. "Have you seen him? And he's even sweeter than he is handsome!"

Anna was laughing nervously, and Bob's heart was pounding, but he opened the screen door to bail her out anyway. "Hey," he greeted as naturally as he could, and then Anna's apprehensive gaze met his. God, all he wanted to do was drag her inside, push her up against his living room wall and kiss until she realized he wasn't going to hurt her.

"Bob," she whispered, taking a small step in his direction. Her eyes were wide and perceptive, like she could read his every thought on his face. She cleared her throat and said, "I brought wine and some cookies."

Helpless to do much of anything else, he smiled at her. "Dinner's almost ready." Then he leaned further out the door and said, "Hi, Suzanne."

His next door neighbor looked delighted as she glanced between him and Anna. "I was just talking to your charming friend here, Robert. Cooking dinner for someone certainly sounds romantic to me."

Bob was gripping the door frame as he watched Anna's face fill with panic. Then she blurted out, "Why doesn't Suzanne join us?"

-------------------------------

The only thing Anna could think to do was sabotage the dinner she'd been looking forward to all week. She watched Bob's face fall slightly as he realized she invited his next door neighbor to join them for a very platonic dinner. And since Bob was the sweetest man Anna had ever met, he recovered immediately, turned to Suzanne and said, "You're more than welcome."

Ten minutes later, Bob was opening the bottle of cheap wine she'd brought while Anna watched the veins in his hands. He was graceful and lovely, and Suzanne was talking nonstop as he poured three glasses. She had nobody to blame but herself for inviting a third wheel along. The older woman was really more of a safety net. Someone to prevent Anna from kissing Bob. Someone to stop her from falling completely in love with him.

The whole house smelled amazing, and she knew this dinner was supposed to be just for her. She hadn't eaten a real meal like this, other than at the cookout, in months and months. The first bite of chicken, bruschetta and pasta was delicious enough that she moaned softly. Bob watched her take a second bite, and it was incredible. The third bite left her staring at him in wonder.

"You're the best cook in the world," Anna informed him, cutting across Suzanne talking about her cat. She didn't even care if she was being rude, the food was perfect. And it would have somehow been even better if the two of them were alone.

Bob blushed and took a sip of the wine that Anna wished was better than it was. "Thanks. Uh, it was a new recipe. I've never made it before tonight."

Suzanne took a bite and said, "Robert is an excellent cook and a real gentleman. He always makes sure I have groceries, and he picks up a little something for me if he gets dinner on his way home from work."

As Bob's cheeks grew redder, Anna's heart beat faster. "A real gentleman," she echoed, knowing he'd take care of anyone who needed something.

"Yes," Suzanne said. "You don't see many of them around. Never seen many myself."

Neither had Anna, and after she blew her life to bits, she'd probably never see one again. She listened to Bob and Suzanne talk about their favorite game shows, and she cleaned her plate before either of them had finished. All of the toast and sad sandwiches she'd been eating weren't really cutting it, and she knew that. She also didn't want to get another piece of chicken and seem like a mooch.

"Can I get you more?" Bob asked as he stood on the opposite side of the table in his worn jeans and snug white shirt. "There's plenty left."

Anna shook her head, but he reached for her plate anyway. While he was in the kitchen, Suzanne quickly finished eating and downed the rest of her wine. Softly, just for Anna to hear, she said, "He is a very nice man. I hope I see you around here in a less friendly capacity." Then she called out, "Robert? I need to go. I hear Sylvester outside bugging for food. Thanks for dinner, and enjoy your evening."

"Night, Suzanne," he replied, and the older woman bustled off without another word, leaving Anna alone with Bob when he returned with two plates refilled with food. "She's a character."

Anna laughed, but she could tell Bob was hesitant to say too much now. Probably because she'd dashed the mood in the first place. "I'm sorry I suggested she join us," she told him sincerely, shaking her head. "All week long, I'd been looking forward to talking about books with you."

As she poked at her chicken, afraid of what he was going to say, he said, "Once you finish eating, I could show you my books. I don't have as many as you do, but maybe there's something you'd like to borrow in the mix. And then I'll drive you home."

"I can get an Uber," she insisted, taking another bite of the perfectly cooked dinner.

"And I can just as easily drive you."

He was a gentleman. She wasn't going to leave here in an Uber no matter what she said. "Alright."

----------------------------

"You have books in every room!" Anna exclaimed as she walked around his house nibbling on a cookie. The wine she brought was kind of terrible, and so were the grocery store cookies, but Bob didn't mind. She ate two full plates of the dinner he cooked, and now that Suzanne was gone, she seemed more herself.

"I have a system," he insisted as she sat down on his living room floor to inspect a stack of paperbacks.

"I'm not buying it," she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"Try me. The living room is poetry. The extra bedroom is mysteries. The dining room is true crime."

"What's in your bedroom?" she asked, flipping through a collection by Robert Frost.

Bob wanted to tell her that his bedroom was where he wrote his own poetry. And that they had begun to turn into a collection all about her. "Romance," he said.

She laughed softly, such a pretty sound. "I'm assuming you don't have any Vonnegut? No soul massacring, unhappy endings?"

"None," he promised. "You won't find any of those around here."

She was skimming a page as she muttered, "Good. I've had enough of that anyway." Then she stood and carried the Frost poems to another small pile on his coffee table. She rooted around and pulled out a volume by Walt Whitman before asking, "Could I borrow these two?"

Bob was admiring how perfect she looked in his house when she met his eyes with her pretty brown ones. "Of course," he said, dropping down onto the couch as he finished his own cookie. "Anything you want."

She stood and carried the books over to her purse before sitting down a few feet away from him. "What I want is to help you organize your books for real. Have you ever heard of a bookshelf before?"

"Never," he replied innocently. "What's that?"

She laughed and scooted a little closer. "You know those big, wooden things that were holding all the books when we met at that store in North Park? Remember that day?"

He knew she was just joking around, but as he memorized the pattern of her freckles, he said, "I will never forget that day."

Once again, Anna initiated the kiss, and once again, Bob was helpless to pump the brakes. She leaned in close with her hand on his knee and brushed her lips against his. It was so sweet, he was almost able to ask her to stop. Even though it felt too good, he was nearly able to tell her he couldn't do this. But being tortured was worth it. That was the worst part.

He let her do what she wanted, and her soft hands found their way to his face, knocking his glasses askew on their way into his hair. He wanted to touch her, but he was afraid he'd lose himself in these kisses that meant so much more to him than they did to her. He counted to ten slowly in his mind, savoring every touch and taste, letting Anna settle against his thigh. Then he broke the kiss, leaving her hovering there, surprise on her face.

She pressed her lips together, and turned her face toward his front door. "I'll never forget that day either."

He nodded as her hands fell away from his hair and his face, and he whispered, "Grab the books you want to borrow, and I'll drive you home."

----------------------------

"He's a gentleman," Anna groaned in her bed on the floor of her tiny apartment the following morning. It was Saturday, and she didn't have much she needed to accomplish today which would leave her plenty of time to think about the drive home in Bob's truck and the way he walked her to her door. She didn't kiss him again, but he always seemed to be close enough that she could feel his body heat in the chilly night air. Even now, when she grabbed at some strands of her hair, she swore she could still smell his fresh scent there.

She needed to get out. She grabbed her phone and took the longest walk imaginable. Her legs were burning by the time she stopped in a corner store for something to eat for lunch, but the sandwich was almost as bad as the ones she had been making for herself. Nothing would be as good as what Bob cooked, and he served it up last night like it was no big deal at all.

As Anna started the long walk back to her apartment, she groaned while she blasted her music. She had invited his elderly neighbor to join them for dinner, and then she had kissed him again. She was so embarrassing. She'd never been like this when she was in New Jersey, never doing the most mortifying things over and over.

She didn't go home for a long time. She walked through an enormous park and looked at a fountain while she daydreamed about all of her unfinished manuscripts. When that started to hurt too much, she watched the storm clouds that were rolling in from the coast and thought it might be nice to get soaking wet. Then a few fat raindrops started to hit her face as she realized that she wouldn't be able to replace her phone if it got destroyed.

"Damn it," she muttered, starting to run through the park under the cover of the trees. The sky was quickly getting darker as she tried to stay under awnings and overhangs as much as possible until she reached her apartment building. Her clothing was soaked, but her phone was still in working order when she ran inside, dripping all over the welcome mat in the small entryway.

She desperately wanted to cry, but that wouldn't solve anything, so she took a long shower instead. She washed and braided her hair, and then she painted her nails. When she finally picked up her phone again, she had a new message from Bob.

Bob Floyd: Taking your advice and buying one of those bookshelves? Was that what they were called? Which one do you think is better?

He had attached two screenshots of nice looking shelves from Ikea that she'd never be able to afford at the moment. She smiled as she typed back to him while she heated up a can of soup for dinner.

Yes, they are called bookshelves. Are you sure you know how to use them? I like the navy blue one better.

The flavorless chicken noodle soup went well with Anna's mood as she sat on the floor and watched a show on her phone. Part of her wanted to know what her friends were up to, but she didn't want to have to tell them about last night. She knew Bob and Jess would be going out to play Dungeons & Dragons soon anyway, but she dropped her spoon in the bowl when Bob wrote back again.

Bob Floyd: I think I'll pick it up tomorrow and make it my rainy Sunday project. Feel like helping me build it?

"Oh, Anna. Don't."

-------------------------------

Bob pulled up to Anna's building on Sunday afternoon after stopping to pick up the shelf. It had been pouring rain since last night, and he had to wrap his new furniture box in a tarp to protect it in the bed of his truck. But this would be a great way to spend the afternoon. He could make two cups of tea, and she could help him organize his books. They didn't need to kiss anymore. He would see to it that they didn't. He could handle this whole thing without issue.

He left his truck idling at the curb, and Anna came running outside like she'd been waiting for him. He grabbed his umbrella and met her halfway, shouting, "I was going to walk up and get you!" over the sound of the rain. She joined him under the umbrella, her denim jacket pretty wet as she shrugged.

"The rain's okay. It reminds me of New Jersey."

Once he opened the door and helped her scramble in, he ran around to the other side of the truck. He was barely able to find a dry spot on his shirt so he could wipe off his glasses, and when he yanked the hem up, he could feel Anna's eyes on his body. There was no sense in feeling self conscious about the way he looked now, because nothing else was going to happen. Last night had to be the end of that.

"You ready?" he asked, cranking the key in the ignition when she nodded. His wipers were going full speed as he drove her back to his house for the second visit in one weekend. "Thanks for helping with this. I kind of realized that having everything on one big shelf makes more sense. Especially if I keep borrowing books from you."

Her laugh was soft as she said, "If you don't borrow my books, then nobody will."

"Same goes for mine," he replied easily as he headed toward the beach. "But don't you dare dog ear my pages."

Now she laughed louder. "I read most of Whitman last night before I fell asleep, and there's nary a bent page in sight."

"That's what I like to hear." When he pulled up in front of his house, he handed her the umbrella and his keys. "Go ahead and let yourself in, and I'll unload the box."

She just gaped at him in response and asked, "Don't you need help carrying it?"

"Nah," he replied, popping his door open, "I can get it."

Bob struggled a little bit with the tarp before sliding the massive box closer to the edge of the truck tailgate. Every movement was made slower by the pounding rain in his face, but he managed to tip it into his arms. It was heavy, but not too bad, and his grip on the wet cardboard was good enough for him to get it inside the house. Anna was standing on the porch, holding open his screen door with the umbrella folded up at her feet, and he accidentally brushed against her with his arm as he maneuvered himself through the door.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," she said, her voice a little breathy as she let the screen door close and helped him prop the box against the wall. "This is massive."

"I guess now I can buy more books," he said with his hands on his hips while he dripped all over the place. "I'm going to get changed quickly, and then we can build the shelf and organize it, and then I'll make dinner."

Her eyes lit up. "You'll make dinner again?"

"Yeah. I was going to see if I can attempt a grilled cheese without burning it. I'll be right back." And then he headed upstairs to his bedroom where he had clean undershirts, some sweatpants and all of his favorite books.

---------------------------

Anna was halfway through unboxing and organizing the shelf pieces on the floor when Bob walked back downstairs. She'd removed her denim jacket, and her leggings and tank top were mostly dry, and she'd settled on the floor with the instruction book. "It looks like we'll need a screwdriver or a drill...."

Her sentence tapered off when she looked up at Bob just casually standing there in one of his white shirts and a pair of gray sweatpants and neatly combed, damp hair. The ability to speak escaped her.

"I can grab my toolbox," he told her, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants before disappearing toward the kitchen. She needed to lie down. She stretched out on the floor and stared at the ceiling as rain pelted the window next to her.

"Oh my god," she whispered before biting down on her lip. She wanted him. She liked every damn thing about him, and then he had to look and smell and sound so good on top of it all. The Walt Whitman poems weren't the only thing she had read last night. Sky Writing's words from her favorite poems were also in her mind, and she couldn't shake them. Anna had just rolled into her side, staring at the instructions without actually seeing them, when he walked back in.

"Are you okay?"

"Great," she said, voice raspy. She was in fact not great. She was the opposite of great. When Bob handed her the toolbox and said he was going to make two mugs of tea, she took the time to pull herself together. Sweaty palms glided along her leggings, and she read the instructions through. It seemed simple enough, and she had the hardware in order by the time Bob returned with two steaming mugs.

"Thanks," she whispered as he settled onto the floor next to her. She knew this was how good things would be if she could date Bob. Hot tea and homemade meals and someone around who loved books. "You're really sweet."

He didn't say anything as he sipped his tea, so Anna did the same. It was raining so hard, she couldn't tell if what she heard was thunder or not, but inside Bob's house, everything was warm and cozy. "Let's get started," he finally said, leaning in front of her to set his mug on the windowsill.

They spoke quietly, mostly about the shelf, while she handed him hardware and tools. Anna found herself distracted as she watched his hair dry and lighten in color as they worked together. Every bump of his muscular arm against hers felt intentional, but she couldn't tell for sure, and she was too afraid to ruin this friendship beyond repair. Especially after what her friends had told her at lunch on Friday.

"I need the screwdriver," he said, bumping her gently with his elbow as he held two perpendicular pieces of wood in place.

"I can get it," she replied, finally refocused on the task before her. "I'll screw it in." She tried to reach in front of him, but he was too tall. When he moved his arms a little further apart, she popped up between them so she was standing between his body and the shelf. "I'll only take a second."

She could feel Bob's warm breath against her ear, and all he could think was that she would fit perfectly in his arms if he decided to just drop what he was holding and wrap them around her instead. "Take your time," he murmured, because of course his arms wouldn't get tired in this position. She fumbled the screw. His body was immaculate, and it was all she could think about as he exhaled and tickled her hair.

"I'm trying," she whispered, fumbling the screw again. Finally she had it in place, and Bob released the shelf, but he didn't move away from her.

"Think you can screw the last two in as well? Then we'll be done."

She nodded and decided to go slower, savor this tiny bit of intimacy and pretend he was hers. Then it was done.

"It looks good."

She barely had to turn to look at him over her shoulder. "It's a nice shelf. How do you want to arrange your books?"

He was still standing close as he said, "Poetry on the top? Since it's my favorite?"

"Yeah," she told him with a laugh. "Banish it to the top where nobody but you can reach it."

He cocked his head and leaned in closer. "Are you insulting the poetry or commenting on my height?"

"A bit of both," she replied right away. The living was darker now from the storm and from the time of day, but she could see his smile perfectly.

"Come on, Anna. We both know you love the poetry. You borrowed two volumes the other day."

She only hummed in response before ducking away from him and reaching for a stack of his books. She handed them to him one at a time, commenting on them like she was giving each a bad review. "Oh, this one is too flowery. Too many words and no substance." She handed him another after he shelved the first one. "This author put all their best works at the beginning of the collection. The second half is terrible."

Bob chuckled as she picked up a book that she knew was a favorite of his. "Hey, you better watch what you say about that one."

She waved it in the air, unable to reach the top shelf, and he snatched it out of her hand. "I'm going to be brutally honest," she said softly, and Bob's hand rested on her back almost like a warning. "I loved it."

He smiled and let his fingers trail along her back as he nodded toward the stairs. "Want to help me tackle the mystery books in the extra bedroom?"

"Sure," she told him, leading the way to the steps. "But first, you have to tell me why you like poetry so much."

"What's not to like?" he replied as she started up. "All of the emotions are there. You're allowed to write about any combination of emotions that you're feeling at any given time. And I think that's pretty cool."

Anna's steps slowed a little as she considered his words. "Write?" she asked, turning to look back at him as he made his way up behind her. "Did you say write?"

"Uh. I did. Yeah."

Truly, she loved reading poetry, but she didn't have much of a knack for writing it. She didn't even think she was good enough for PoetsAmongUs. "What's something you've written?"

Bob laughed, and Anna stumbled on the top step as he said, "Just some amateur gibberish like, 'Devotion woven into every breath I take. Love that knows no boundaries, no end.' Nothing amazing."

She gripped the banister to keep herself upright, and then she spun and sat down hard on the top step. Suddenly she felt like she couldn't breathe. She knew those words intimately. She knew the whole fucking poem by heart. She knew everything else he had written as well, because she'd been reading his poetry for years.

"Bob," she croaked, and he rushed toward her, hands gentle on her ankle and leg.

"Are you okay? Did you twist it?"

"Bob," she gasped, reaching for the front of his undershirt and pulling him closer so he was focused on her face. "You're Sky Writing."

--------------------------

BOB IS SKY WRITING, ANNA. What the hell are you going to do now, babe? Please, make good choices. Thank you @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 10

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407 notes · View notes

archangeldyke-all · 7 months ago

Note

how about the trend of “calling my gf ‘wife’” with modern!sev reacting to reader calling her her wife. based on this:

https://www.tiktok.com/@el.and.daf/video/6907981351169920261

🌕

CUTEEE i love these videos

men and minors dni

it started with some late night phone-scrolling.

sevika was working in her home office, and without your six foot two weighted blanket snoring on top of you, you couldn't sleep. so, you were scrolling.

you saw a cute video of a woman answering her phone in front of her boyfriend, telling whoever was on the other line she was with her husband. it was clearly faked, but the challenge was cute enough for you to search for more.

an hour and a hundred sweet videos later, you were convinced.

you needed to try it out on sevika.

you don't film it, and it's not planned. but you make a mental note to keep an eye out for opportunities to introduce your girlfriend as your wife.

you only have to wait for two days for the perfect scenario to strike.

you're walking through the grocery store, pushing the cart behind sevika as she reads the little list you'd made at home.

it's been a great day. you guys woke up at noon, fucked, and went out to get lunch. now, you're stocking up on groceries for the week ahead.

you slow down to eye a sample cart. the woman behind it smiles, and sevika chuckles as she waits for you.

"free sample of our new sun dried tomato hummus?" she offers, holding out a little paper cup of hummus and pita.

you smile, licking your lips and nodding as you reach out to grab the cup. your eye catches on sevika for a moment, and a spark of genius strikes.

"can i get one for my wife too?" you ask, loud enough for her to hear half an aisle away. the woman just nods and hands you another paper cup, and you thank her before catching up with sevika. "here, baby, try." you offer, ignoring the way she's gawking at you.

you keep your eyes on your hummus, snacking and waiting in anticipation for her reaction. for a second, you worry she won't react at all.

then she squeaks. you flick your eyes up to study her, trying to bite back your mischievous smile. "you okay?" you ask.

she blinks. "you..." she trails off, a soft smile on her lips. you raise an eyebrow at her, ignoring the way you want to coo at her sweet expression.

"you don't like your hummus?" you ask.

sevika doesn't answer. instead, she swoops forward and pulls you in for a breath-taking kiss, right in the middle of the cracker aisle.

you pull away a minute later with a gasp, blinking up at your girlfriend with wide eyes. "what was that for?" you whisper, giddy.

she's grinning. "nothing." she says, trying to suppress her smile. you grin.

"nothing?"

"nothing." she repeats, giggling. you snort, not believing her, and she darts forward to kiss your nose. "i'm just... you... i love you so much. forever." she whispers.

for the second time in the span of a minute, your breath is taken away. you blink up at sevika, trying to keep back the tears threatening to well in your eyes.

you realize she's not going to mention it-- she doesn't want to embarrass you. it's the sweetest thing in the fucking world, but as she nudges you to start pushing the cart again, you can't help but feel a little disappointed that she didn't say anything.

but then, on the drive home, sevika reaches across the center console and starts fiddling with your left hand, her fingers massaging your naked ring finger. and when she presses a kiss to the place a ring would sit, you realize that sevika might be your wife a lot sooner than you expected.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub @glass-apothecary @m0numents @macaroni676

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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lemoncrushh · 5 months ago

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Best Friends

Summary: You and Harry are best friends, but he would love for it be more.

Warnings: None, just fluff

Word Count: 1628

A/N: A cute best friends blurb from 2016. This blurb is a little bit different. It's still written for the reader, but it's in Harry's POV like he's telling you about you and him. It's 1D Harry, but you are roommates (not sure why I did that, it might have been a request lol). Louis, Niall, Liam and Cheryl appear in this one too.

"Y/N!" you heard me call from the kitchen.

"Yeah babe?" you yelled from your bedroom.

"What do you want for dinner?"

You slipped into your shorts and t-shirt, not bothering to put on a bra. You'd been living with me for years, and we were best friends. There was no reason for you to be modest around me. You walked into the kitchen, lightly drying your hair with a towel.

"What have we got?" you asked, my head behind the freezer door.

I stepped back, nearly knocking myself in the head as I looked at you. Jesus, you were beautiful. You were never really one to be high maintenance, but on the daily you always tried to look your best. If we ran into each other in the mornings before you left for work, I always told you how gorgeous you looked. You would smile and say, "thanks babe," giving me a kiss on the cheek. If I took you out with me to a dinner party or some other industry function, you'd look so amazing it would take my breath away. But this...this was my favourite. When you were freshly clean from the shower, your running shorts or a pair of sweats on, no makeup, your hair damp. You were absolutely stunning, and to be honest, I had a hard time not staring.

"Um..." I swallowed, "not much."

You shrugged. "Anything's fine with me. We can order pizza if you want."

Not waiting for a response, you walked back to the bathroom to hang your towel on the rod. Then returning to the living room, you plopped down on the sofa, grabbing the remote control. I watched you as I ordered pizza from my phone, then placed it on the counter.

"How was your day?" you asked me. You flipped through the channels before landing on Friends.

"It was okay," I shrugged, walking over to sit next to you.

"Just okay?" you raised a brow.

"Well, you know. Writing, studio time."

"Is the album coming along?" you inquired, adjusting yourself on the sofa so that you faced me, your elbow resting on the back. I adored the little things like that. They showed me you cared about me, and weren't just making small talk out of obligation.

"Yeah," I nodded with a grin. "It's coming along great. We have six tracks recorded now."

"Eeek!" you squealed, clapping your hands. "I can't wait to hear them! You will let your dear BFF hear them first, won't you?"

I chuckled. "Of course."

You smiled, reaching for my hand to squeeze. "I'm so excited, Harry!"

"Me too," I beamed. I couldn't help it. When you looked at me that way, my heart wanted to beat out of my chest.

We sat and watched Friends together, laughing at Phoebe getting hummus on her dress and Joey walking in with all of Chandler's clothes on. The pizza arrived and we ate it in front of the television. We ended up opening a bottle of wine, enjoying it with good conversation well into the evening. I loved watching your cheeks get pink from the alcohol, your eyelids slightly heavy. I wanted so badly to kiss you, but I knew you didn't feel that way about me. So just like every other night, I pushed the urge aside and continued with our friendly banter.

Finally around midnight, you rose from the couch to take our glasses to the kitchen. I sat back on the sofa, resting my eyes and silently wishing you'd either suddenly feel the same about me, or my own feelings would dissipate. I could hear your footsteps as you returned to the living room, stopping in front of me.

"I'm going to bed now, babe. I'm exhausted."

My eyes fluttered open to look at you, an easy grin spreading across my face.

"Okay, love," I sat up. "Goodnight."

"Night," you murmured, leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek. "I'll go shopping tomorrow for the dinner party."

"Oh. Right." I'd almost forgotten. Tomorrow the boys were coming for dinner and you were planning to cook.

"I love you," you declared.

"I love you, too."

Giving me a soft smile, you turned and headed toward your bedroom. With a deep sigh, I leaned back against the sofa again. If only you knew how much I loved you. If only...

Our dining room was noisy and smelled like a mix of garlic and cologne, which to some might sound questionable, but as for me, I wouldn't have had it any other way. You'd made the most delicious meal I'd ever tasted, and once again you'd proven to be the perfect host.

"Shall I get dessert?" you asked, starting to rise from the table.

"I'll help," offered Liam's girlfriend, Cheryl.

"Wait!" I exclaimed, standing up. "I need to make a toast."

You raised your brows in question, sitting back down and taking your glass.

"To..." I hesitated. "To best friends, best food, and best company."

"Hear hear!" everyone said in unison. I heard the sound of glasses clinking together as I turned to look at you.

"Thank you, Y/N," I grinned. "You're amazing."

You gave me your million watt smile, bringing your glass to your lips. I watched you take a drink before sipping my own.

"I'll get the dessert," you said softly, your eyes still on me.

As soon as you'd left the room, I ran my hand down my face with a groan.

"What's wrong, mate?" asked Niall.

"Nothing," I shook my head.

Louis scoffed, shaking his head.

"What?" I narrowed my eyes.

"It's so obvious, Harry," he remarked.

"What is?"

"That you're in love with her."

"Y/N?" Niall turned to me, his eyes wide. "Ya are?"

"He has been from day one," said Louis.

"I have not," I argued, my stomach suddenly in knots.

"Does she know?" Liam piped in.

"No," I shook my head. "She doesn't have a fucking clue."

"So ya are," Niall nodded.

I glared at him.

"Ya gonna tell her?"

"I can't," I dropped my head. "She seems so happy with the way things are. I don't wanna mess it up."

"Mess what up?" Cheryl asked when she walked through the doorway from the kitchen, three dishes of dessert in her hands. She placed two of them in front of Louis and Liam and sat down with her own.

"Harry's in love with Y/N," muttered Liam.

"Shhh," I put my finger to my lips.

"You are?" Cheryl's eyes widened.

"Am I the only one who picked up on this?" Louis threw up his hands.

"Yes, okay?" I whisper-shouted. "I'm in love with her. I've been in love with her for a long time."

Louis nodded, just as you emerged from the kitchen. My heart felt like it was in my throat as I prayed you hadn't overheard our conversation.

"Here you go!" you sang, placing dishes in front of Niall and me.

I looked up at you while you sat beside me, digging your fork into your dessert. I reckoned you could feel my gaze so you side-eyed me, giving me a smirk.

"What?" you asked.

I shook my head, dismissing the moment and biting into my own dessert.

After everyone had said their goodbyes and we saw them out the door with a gracious thank you, I followed you into the kitchen, offering to help you with dishes. We worked together in silence, my heart racing and my brain on overdrive. I didn't know if you'd heard my confession, but it was nearly killing me that you were being so quiet which was unlike you.

Finally, putting the last dish in the washer and shutting it, you turned to me.

"I heard you," you muttered.

"What?" I stopped. My initial reaction was to question it, because surely I misunderstood you.

"I heard what you said. What you told Cheryl and the boys."

I lowered my gaze to the countertop, my finger tracing a nonexistent pattern.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked.

"I didn't want to embarrass or humiliate you," you replied.

"How...how would you have humiliated me?"

"Harry..."

I lifted my head to look at you. What I already knew was staring me in the face.

"You don't feel the same," I stated.

You were silent for a moment until you shook your head. "It's not that. It's just...I had no idea you felt that way about me. I thought all this was harmless flirting and friendship stuff. It's...it's kinda weird, you know?"

I blinked, nodding my head. You stepped closer to me, reaching for my hand.

"I love you," you declared. "I care about you. I don't want any awkwardness between us."

"I get that," I agreed.

You lifted your other hand to touch my cheek.

"You're so amazing," you added. "And if..."

I covered your hand with mine, looking into your eyes.

"If what?"

You swallowed hard. "If I let my guard down...I could easily fall in love with you."

I felt my lips stretch into a smile as you did the same. Then leaning forward, you lightly brushed your lips against mine, kissing the corner of my mouth. I knew you were still hesitant, so I didn't push further.

"One step at a time," you said, echoing my thoughts, though it was almost a question.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm going to bed," you whispered. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight."

I watched you once again as you walked away towards your bedroom. So, the cat was out of the bag as they say. You knew the truth. You hadn't reciprocated my feelings, but at least you hadn't shut them down either. I had hope. And I planned on holding onto it for a while.

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

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kermitthesog · 1 month ago

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wrath of the triple goddess mild spoilers down below!!

AHHHH there were so many good percabeth quotes from wrath of the triple goddess! this new book (not that new anymore i guess) had sooooo much of that percy jackson charm it was great :)

here are some of my favorite percabeth quotes <333

“Annabeth and I were more than just two people. We were a pair, and when we stood at the crossroads, we did it together.”

“‘My fatal flaw got in the way again. If I’d lost you because of my own pride…

I took her hand. Her fingers were cold.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy. We’ve all got our fatal flaws, right? If yours is hummus…”

She laughed weakly. “Hubris.”’

“Annabeth often told me I would make a great dad, because I already had the right jokes—stupid, corny, and stupid.”

“Hey, Wise Girl,” I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice, “be wise. I don’t know much, but I do know we’re stronger together. Always.”

#percy jackson #rick riordan #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo fandom #pjo #pjo series #pjo hoo toa #wrath of the triple goddess #percy x annabeth #percy and annabeth #percy jackson books #annabeth percy jackson #percabeth #annabeth pjo #percabeth forever #quotes #pjo quotes #greek mythology

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shojizbae · 2 months ago

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Just take yourself back to 2006

Tom Kaulitz x Reader

It's the later days of MySpace and the early days of YouTube, and Tokio Hotel is starting to take off. Fan girls are really beginning to amass, and the world getting very familiar with Tokio Hotel. One young German girl had since seen the band and their aesthetics and decided to change her appearance almost entirely. One walk down to the convenience store later, she locked herself in the bathroom for the night. She pulled an all-nighter, and when she emerged from her bedroom the following day, her mother jumped at the sight.

Gone was the good little Jewish girl she had raised. Drugstore eyeliner was coating your waterline. Different locks of your hair were bleached or had been dyed neon pink. Your once sensible collared shirts and khaki pants had been exchanged for a pair of low-rise bootcut jeans you accidentally bought when out with your great aunt. A lack of cool bras was exchanged for a leopard print bikini layered under a white camisole, which you had tied around your waist. You had taken a sharpie to your nails, and your lips were drenched in strawberry glaze lip gloss.

"Oh, good morning, liebe!" your mom quivers behind the batter bowl. "Do you want pancakes?"

"Nein, I'm going to the mall with some friends." you look disinterestedly at your pink razor. Just then, your mom notices that you're dragging a bag of clothes behind you

"What are you doing with those?"

"I'm not going to wear them anymore, so I will sell them to one of those charity shops. Yeah, and I think I will go to the music store, so can I have 50 euros?"

"Why don't you ask your father?"

"Ugh, fine." You sling the trash bag over your shoulder, and your mother is not happy when you return with a hundred euros in your hand. God dammit, you have your dad in your back pocket, your mom remembers. You walk into town, sell your old clothes, get another hundred euros, and then take your new look for a spin. The bus ticket only eats up two of your euros, and when you get to the mall, you instantly grab the attention of some emos.

They take you under their skinny wings and drag you around Hot Topic. You're dragged through Victoria's Secret, and the girls show you the most natural push-up bras in the subtlest shades of neon magenta and bedazzled turquoise. They show you the matching G-strings and outfit you with all the best.

All your brand new best friends take the bus home with you and show you all the best music. Your parents aren't home, so you drag four random kids to your apartment. Your parents were horrified when they got home. Sure, it was natural to experiment at your age, and sure, 15 was a little old to still have horse posters up in your bedroom, but this was a real change.

Posters of men in tight leather pants with piercings covered your bedroom walls. Your sensible synagogue clothes had been smushed in the back of your closet to make room for miniskirts and ripped-up band tees. Your father nearly passed out when he saw that not only was your tongue pierced but also your eyebrow on your precious face? When they asked you what spurred on this change, all they got was

“What? I’m not your little girl anymore.” Your new friend may have overstayed their welcome, playing loud, trashy metal and eating all your snacks, but it was with you when Jax, a tall, spindly emo with purple highlights, said he would teach you how to make out with someone. You were just barely getting to second base when your mom walked in with a plate of carrots and hummus and sharply kicked all the kids out.

The next few months were a living hell of wresting you out of baggy jeans so your parents wouldn’t be kicked out of Temple. For that, you would abide because you did enjoy faith and your relationship with god, but as soon as you got back to the apartment, you would smear makeup on and practice with your new shitty Yamaha.

Getting more immersed in alternatives styles and culture you started posting covers of Metallica and eventually Tokio Hotel. Your covers start gaining traction some for your musical finesse and others for your looks. Accidentally you get really famous in almost a few months. When you start making money off your live shows, your mom takes over as your manager. She didn't like her 9-5 anyway.

When your gigs start making enough money to pay the bills for your dad, he lightens up on his disdain for your art. Slowly, you begin jotting down poetry, posting short videos of you noodling on your old acoustic guitar. Slowly, you sign a one-album contract with Universal Music Germany. While you juggle school and micro-fame, you spend every weekend at their recording studio.

It's one warm May Saturday when you meet him. You're both reaching for the same bottle of Coca-Cola when you brush his hands.

"Oh, entschuldigung!' you chime and continue reaching for the glass bottle.

"Entschuldigung," his slightly deeper (although still mid-pubescent) voice echoes as he reaches for the bottle. Your hands wrap around the neck as you stand together. Twin eyes flick from the bottle to each other. You relinquish the bottle and take a step back.

"Oh, I just wanted some soda." You offer kind of weakly

"Yeah, it was getting hot in the recording booth." He replies

"Oh, you're an artist. I thought you were some spoiled singer kid." You bend over to look for a different soda in the refrigerator and find that all that's left is carbonated lemonade. You ignore the gut feeling that the boy with your soda is checking your ass out. "So, are you a soloist?" You crack off the lid and flick it into a nearby trashcan

"No," I'm the guitarist at Tokio Hotel." You choke on your drink. "You don't know who I am?"

"You're Tom Kaulitz?" Your voice cracks as you point at him. You give yourself a chance to study his face, the lip piercing, the dreads, the eyes. He looks more normal than his usual promotional photos.

"You've probably heard this before, but I'm a really big fan." His face shows a wash of emotions before he settles on a bit of a snide smile.

"Really?" He steps a little closer, turning up the charm

"So are you some rich spoiled little nepo-girl. Usually, they make pretty hot babies." with his soda at his waist, he lifts your chin to look him in the eyes. "I mean, you're pretty hot, so you must be." you lean against the wall and tilt your hips toward his.

"Nein, I'm an artist. You're not too bad looking yourself, Tom Kaulitz from Tokio Hotel." You slowly take the Coca-Cola from his hand and take a sip. He gulps at the sight of you holding eye contact as you swallow. Slightly, you hand him back the bottle and duck out of his hold. He watches in awe as you strut to your recording booth. Tom rakes a hand down his face as he watches your ass move, and his band members join him in the break room.

"Who's the babe?' Gustav slings an arm over his shoulder

"My future wife." Tom holds back from a whimper exiting his mouth

#tokio hotel #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz #grunge #y2k #2000s emo #imagines #poser

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rollingsins · 2 years ago

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all hers, part xvii

summary: The scooby-gang are back together. This time to silence Ghostface. Forever.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of murder.

word count: 4.4k

a/n: I was screaming, shaking, crying writing this chapter for some unknown reason. Call it writer's block. Sorry for the wait, thanks for all your guys' love and patience!

You wake up to the smell of pancakes.

Tara stirs, a little sleepy as you press a kiss to her neck, leaning down to check her dressing.

“It’s not like your parents to make us breakfast,” She murmurs, sitting up slightly. You were a cereal and toast kind of family. You furrow your brows, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“Girls!” Sam’s voice calls up the stairs, “Breakfast is ready.”

Tara’s eyes widen.

“Oh no.”

Sam’s pancakes are made out of buckwheat flour and vegan butter. They’re brown - browner than a pancake should be, and her toppings are a mesh of eggs, avocado and chorizo. Not a raspberry, or blueberry - or any kind of traditional pancake topping in sight.

“Maple syrup isn’t good for you,” Sam assures when you ask for it. Instead, she offers a small bottle of honey, “Here. This is much healthier.”

Tara stares down at her plate, nudging her food suspiciously.

“It’s so nice to have a cook in the house,” Your mother gushes as she digs into her plate, “And this is really gourmet stuff. Our own little Gordan Ramsey.”

Tara swallows, her expression stormy. She picks up a piece of pancake with her fork and sniffs it. Makes a face.

Sam settles into the spot next to you. You take a half-hearted bite.

“How does it taste?” Sam asks, and you swallow, locking eyes with Tara.

“Healthy.”

“Good,” Sam says, sounding pleased with herself, “Tara needs nutrients.”

“Isn’t it nice of your sister to make you breakfast?” You ask Tara pointedly, nudging her foot under the table.

She blinks. Looks at you like she doesn’t want to answer.

You kick her again.

“Really nice, thanks Sam,” Tara mumbles into her plate.

It’s small and half-hearted. But it makes Sam beam.

It’s a Tuesday morning but you’re not in school.

Tara’s still too weak to walk for a prolonged amount of time, and you manage to convince your Dad it’s safer to stay home with Tara and Sam than go to school by yourself.

He and your Mom file out, one by one. He presses a kiss to your forehead. Makes sure you remember to lock the door on his way out.

They’ve been a little more at ease with Sam around, though she’s taken all their nervous energy and increased it tenfold. She spends most of her time checking the locks and cleaning her guns. The leftover is spent in the kitchen making Tara countless healthy snacks, to Tara’s great horror. Your room is filled with barely touched plates of carrot sticks and cucumber straws, tofu balls and seaweed crackers.

Sam is just as obsessive as her sister, though she shows it in a much different way.

Tara grumbles as she shoves another platter of hummus and carrots to your desk, phone pressed to her ear. She’s invited around her friends, and she must catch the look on your face because when she hangs up. She takes you in her arms and presses a long kiss to the side of your head.

“We need them,” She promises, “We need bodies to catch Ghostface.”

“If you say so,” You say, biting your lip.

It seems a little silly to you. Afterall, who’s to say one of them wasn't Ghostface? Between you and Tara, you had managed to kill two of their best friends. It wasn’t far-fetched to imagine they might be a little pissed about it if they knew.

She wraps her arms around your shoulders, presses a light kiss to your lips.

“They’ll be here in twenty,” She says, and so you quiet the thought of Chad and Liv in matching Ghostface masks and abandon Tara to get dressed.

Sam’s in the kitchen when they arrive, making Tara a green smoothie.

She doesn’t see the door open, doesn’t hear the hushed whispers as you shuffle them all upstairs to pile into your tiny bedroom.

Chad makes himself at home, lays back against the bed, one of your cushions in hand.

“Brace yourself,” He says as Tara shuts the door, “Mindy made a power-point.”

“I just thought the suspect list might be a little easier to palate in a visual format.” Mindy says, shooting a glare at her twin. She opens her laptop. Tara rolls her eyes.

“Forget about the suspect list,” She tells Mindy, “What’s the plan? It doesn’t matter who he is, we just need to catch him.”

“I still say we trap him,” Liv pipes up.

Tara groans.

“Liv, that’s why we’re here.”

“We could do it at the house,” Mindy suggests, biting her lip.

“And how are we going to do that?” Tara asks, “This house is on lockdown. He’ll never get in, now. Not with Sam parading about like the secret service.”

“We do it at school,” Chad suggests, “Think about it. Ghostface won’t be scared off by Sam and YN’s Dad. And it’s a familiar place - we know it like the back of our hands.”

“Ghostface hasn’t attacked us at school.” You say, chewing your lip.

“Not yet.” Chad stresses, “But maybe he will. If we can draw him out.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Tara asks, voice dry, “Send him a text message? Hey, Ghostface - YN and I will be hanging out by ourselves in the girls locker room if you want to try carve us up like cattle again.”

“We need to make it public knowledge that we’ll be alone,” You say, sitting up, “If we can spread it through the entire school, surely he’ll find out. He’s watching us, remember.”

“Detention.” Chad says, snapping his fingers together, “Principal Garcia’s detention! There’ll be no one there. No one is ever bad enough to get Principal Garcia’s detention.”

Principal Garcia had started a programme just as you’d joined Woodboro High. Regular detention was held after school, as usual. But Principal Garcia’s detention was held Saturday mornings. You’d only ever heard of one student who was naughty enough to get one of the Principal’s detention.

And that person happened to be your girlfriend.

“He doesn’t hand them out willy-nilly,” Tara says, sounding frustrated, “You have to be really bad to get one.”

“You got one,” Mindy says, raising an eyebrow, “Figures you could get one again.”

Tara’s Principal’s detention had been granted at one of your old soccer games. Faye Evans, one of the girls on the opposing team had played it too fast and loose one the field and ended up kicking your shins a little too hard. You’d toppled to the ground in agony.

Faye would have got a red card, if Tara had not got to her first.

You’d sat up, just in time to see Tara bee-lining from her spot on the sidelines. She’d grabbed Faye by the arms and body-slammed her so hard into the ground she drew blood. She’d maybe have done worse had you not pried her off.

Thankfully, Faye’s parents had settled for the detention (and Tara’s permanent ban from watching your soccer games) in lieu of a lawsuit.

“Chad punched someone last year and got suspended,” Tara grumbles, “That isn’t what we need. We need a detention, not a mark on our permanent records.”

“I was defending Liv’s honor,” Chad says, puffing his chest out a little, “Some dude in Chemistry grabbed her ass.”

Liv all but swoons. She ducks down and kisses him.

“My hero.” She murmurs.

Mindy wrinkles her nose.

Tara looks at you, “I was doing the same for you,” She says, sounding aggrieved, “Some girlfriends are grateful, see?”

“You’re not body-slamming anyone again,” You tell her, eyebrows raised, “Besides, you can barely stand up without wincing.”

“Maybe you could cuss out a teacher?” Mindy suggests.

Tara shakes her head.

“I’ve done that too, got a regular detention.” She says.

The teacher in question was Mrs. Cartwright. She’d given you a C+ on your English paper. And Tara had hit the roof.

You stir, not enjoying this trip down memory lane.

Tara looks over at you.

“We could get caught.” She suggests, “Third period - maybe before History class.”

Your cheeks flame red.

“No,” You hiss, “Absolutely not.”

“Baby, we have to do something.” Tara insists, “It has to be bad enough to get a Principal’s detention, not so bad we get suspended-”

“I’m not fucking you in front of Mr Saunders,” You say.

“It wouldn’t be all the way, maybe just some mouth stuff.” Liv says, helpfully.

You glare at her.

“Forget it,” You tell Tara, “Think of something else.”

The group collectively slump back in their seats. It’s quiet a moment, and then Chad sits up.

“I’ve got it!” He says, sounding excited, “We make a big show in class, Tara and I get into an argument - and then she punches me! The only reason I got suspended is because that kid’s Dad got involved. So I just won’t tell mine.”

You furrow your brows.

“You can act like I hit on your girl, or something,” Chad continues, “It’s perfect!”

“And I am I supposed to get detention from this?” You ask.

Chad shrugs, “I don’t know. You punch me too?”

Tara chews her lip.

“It’s a terrible idea,” She says, “But it’s the best we have so far.”

“What’s a terrible idea?” Sam’s in the doorway. You hadn’t heard her come in. She has another platter of vegetables in hand.

The five of you whip around, the guilt on all of your faces evident.

“Chad thinks we should get McDonalds for lunch,” Mindy says, lamely.

Sam stares at her, disbelieving.

“What’s this about punching Chad?” She says, staring at Tara, “And why do you want detention?”

Liv folds like a lawn chair.

“We’re trying to get Tara and YN a principal’s detention.” She says, quickly, “So Ghostface will attack Tara and YN and we’ll be able to catch the guy.”

Mindy groans.

“Liv,” She hisses, “We were fine.”

Sam stares a moment.

“No,” She says, immediately. Tara sits up a little straighter.

“Sam we need a plan,” She argues, “If we can trap the asshole and take off his mask-”

“You have a three inch hole in your stomach,” Sam says, voice shrill, “And if you think I’m trusting these idiots to protect you-”

“Sam,” Tara interjects, voice raised, “I’m not a little kid anymore. I can look after myself.”

“You’re not leaving this house unless I’m with you,” Sam says, sounding final, “And if you think I’m going to let you use yourself as bait for Ghostface-”

“She’s already bait for Ghostface,” You say, cutting in. Sam stares at you, “Look at what just happened. Sam, if we want to stop this guy, we need to know who he is.”

Sam looks at you.

Really looks at you.

You’re right and she knows it. You can tell by the look in her eyes. Hesitant, troubled. Like she’s fighting a losing battle in her own head.

Tara interjects before she can say anything.

“You can be a part of the plan if you want,” She says, “But we’re doing it with or without you.”

“You’re doing it with me,” Sam says, after a long moment, “You’re doing it right. Tell me the plan.”

Chad goes into animated detail. Too much detail.

“You’re an idiot,” Sam cuts Chad off mid-sentence, eyebrows furrowed, “Assault is assault, Chad. Tara will be suspended within the hour.”

“So what do you suggest, Sam?” You ask, a little desperate.

Tara interjects, “I still think we should get caught having-”

“No.” You and Sam say at the same time.

Tara crosses her arms.

“I have an idea,” Sam says, biting her lip, “But I need you to trust me.”

Sam’s idea is ridiculous at best, plain cruel at worst.

But it’s the best idea you have.

Wednesday morning you’re sitting in history class after having half-carried Tara into school, your stomach awash with butterflies. Chad, Liv and Mindy sit around you like body-guards, and despite the ridiculousness of the Ghostface-fighting crew you’ve put together, it does give you a little comfort knowing they’re close.

Mr Saunders is a dreary, five foot seven, forty one year old. He wears bowties to school and torments his classes with facts about history, which he delivers in a droning, tired voice. As if even he is sick of hearing about it.

It’s the Vietnam war today.

You let him begin the class, even listen for a little.

Sorry, you think preemptively.

It’s almost Ironic, how he spends so much time talking about war and is so unaware he’s about to be the next casualty in one.

Right on schedule, as he pauses to take a sip of his coffee, Tara raises her hand.

“Mr Saunders,” She pipes up, “Can YN and I be excused?”

Mr Saunders looks down at her. Long lines draw across his forehead. His shoulders tighten. He doesn’t like being interrupted.

He looks between you and Tara, eyes appraising. The two of you had a certain reputation in school, and you were certain no teacher would let the two of you go off alone. Let alone him.

“Do you need to see the nurse, Ms Carpenter? I’m sure, Mr Meeks-Martin can escort you.” Pointed, as if he sees right through her façade.

Tara shakes her head. Her eyes blaze in that way they do when she’s determined to see something though.

Your stomach flips.

“Not really,” She says, a little blasé, “This lesson is just boring me, a little.”

The class sniggers. Mr Saunders�� expression turns frosty. He stands a little taller, hushes the class with a whack against the white board.

“I’m sorry you don’t find the Vietnam war more entertaining, Ms Carpenter,” He says, voice stern, “But you’ll just have to make do. No, you may not be excused.”

You grip Tara’s hand a little tighter. It’s your turn.

“Why do you have such a stick up your ass all the time, Sir?” You say, voice a little shaky.

Tara rubs her thumb over the back of your hand, comfortingly.

Mr Saunders blinks back at you. It isn’t often you spoke up in his class, if at all. His face flames red with anger.

“Why don’t I tell you in detention?” He says, curling his lip.

He turns his back to you, scribbling madly on the whiteboard, trying to redirect the attention of the class.

Disappointment floods through you.

Detention. A regular detention. It isn’t what you need.

“He’s balding, babe, that’s why,” Tara says, loudly, “He wears a toupee and thinks everyone can’t tell-“

Mr Saunders whirls around.

“Detention,” He hissed again, “Both of you.”

“Mr Saunders doesn’t have a toupee,” Chad says, exactly on time, “There’s no way. Look at that thick head of hair.”

Tara stands.

“Sit down, Ms Carpenter,” Mr Saunders says, voice irate.

You can’t look as it happens.

Mr Saunders, although a little strict, is a perfectly nice teacher. And you were about to humiliate him in front of a sea of piranha-like teenagers.

Liv squeezes your shoulder.

“It’s for a good cause,” She offers in a whisper.

Tara reaches the front of the room. Mr Saunders doesn’t see it coming. He blocks the door, as if that’s where she’s trying to go.

And then in one swift move, she’s launching her arm forward and plucking the toupee straight off his head.

The class gasps, then erupts into a flurry of shock and laughter. You bury your head in your hands.

Tara waves the toupee about as if it’s a trophy for a moment before Mr Saunders snatches it back and tries to jam it - upside down - on his bald head.

“Principal’s office,” He hisses, face contorted, red, like he’s about to explode, “Both of you. Now.”

There’s a lot of yelling.

Mr Saunders wants you both suspended, for being “arrogant, disrespectful little shits.”

You Dad is at work, so it’s Sam who gets called.

Principal Garcia watches the two of you over his glasses with faint distaste. Like he doesn’t get paid enough to deal with this kind of ridiculous nonsense.

“Mr Saunders, I am so sorry for my sister's behavior,” Sam says, wide-eyed when she arrives, as if it weren’t her very idea, “The only explanation I can give you is it’s been a very tough couple of weeks. You know, Tara was attacked by Ghostface just days ago.”

For the first time in the last hour, the Principal softens. He looks down at Tara, appraises her for a moment.

“That’s understandable,” He says. Mr Saunders’ shoulders tighten again, like an angry little wind-up doll, “But it’s no excuse for her behavior-“

“I agree,” Says Sam, nodding softly, “Principal, perhaps one of your special detentions will set her in order. Both of them. Give them time to think about how they behave in school.”

The Principal hums.

And agrees.

Exactly to plan.

Saturday detention can’t come fast enough.

Tara breaks down the plan over and over, as if you’re both in Ocean's Eleven, the detention your diamond heist.

There are cabinets which line the back of the classrooms. Chad and Liv are to sneak into school early, hide back there until the attack happens. Mindy and Sam are to scout the doors, using a nearby utility closet to stay out of sight.

Tara and Sam are both to be armed, and the six of you are going to be wearing military strength bulletproof vests - courtesy of Tara’s mom’s credit card she still hadn’t changed the PIN number to.

Perhaps she might after the near nine hundred dollar bill she had just incurred.

Sam instructs all of you to “aim for the knees, but kill the asshole if you have to.”

And despite all the planning and the manpower, you can’t help but have the sinking suspicion something will go wrong.

“It’ll be okay, baby,” Tara murmurs that morning, scouting out your quiet trepidation with expertise. She presses a kiss to your forehead and takes you in her arms, “I’ll protect you. He won’t touch you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” You murmur, lightly touching her wound with your fingertips. It’s been almost a week but she’s still healing. She winces when she sits down, and still leans on you sometimes when she walks.

You’re terrified that despite the gun and the vest, she’ll collapse to the ground and make herself Ghostface’s pin cushion once again.

She smoothes your hair back, fondly scratches your scalp.

“I’ll be okay,” She assures, “Once the adrenaline takes over.”

She kisses you.

“It’s going to be over, today,” She promises. Her dark eyes are awash with something: that fearlessness that comes so easy to her, “You’re never going to have to be afraid of him again.”

But you are afraid.

Not just of the inevitable attack that would occur, only hours later. You’re afraid once he’s unmasked he’ll talk. He knows, you know he knows. And one single utter of ‘Ghostface” and Tara’s name in the same sentence and the Sheriff would be knocking down your door to take her away.

“We have to kill him, baby,” You murmur. You bury your head in her neck, inhale her scent as if it will give you some comfort, “If he talks-”

“He won’t talk,” Tara says, sounding determined, “I’ll put a bullet through his brain before he gets the chance.”

The mood is somber.

Chad and Liv are en-route to the school, they’d texted ahead.

Mindy is to meet Sam outside the school in all but thirty minutes.

You chew down on some plain toast, trying to quell the tide of nausea rocking waves in your stomach.

“You okay, babe?” Tara asks, rubbing your back, “We need to get dressed in a minute.”

“I have a bad feeling,” You say. Tara leans over, presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“It’s just nerves.” She promises.

“Don’t be nervous,” Sam assures from across the table. She’s loading pellets into her shotgun, “I’m going to be armed with more firepower than the entire nation of Latvia. Motherfucker better hope he’s wearing knee pads, else I’m going to blow his knee caps clean off.”

If anything, that makes you more nervous.

“Don’t fire it close to Tara.” You tell her, chewing your lip.

Sam shoots you a look.

“Do I look like a rookie to you?”

A little, you’d fire back but your thought is interrupted by a sharp, urgent knock at the front door.

Tara tilts her head.

“Who’s that?”

You frown, crane your neck to try and see the figure through the glass. Your parents were at work, and they didn’t often host unexpected guests.

Sam stands, carefully places her shotgun on the countertop as she goes to answer the door.

You follow, curiosity peaked.

And then immediately wish you hadn’t.

It’s the Sheriff, and two other offices, poised at either side of her shoulders.

Her stance is stoic, expression unreadable. Your stomach churns in that uneasy way it always does when she’s around. But something about this is different.

She seems… formal. Far too formal for this to be a house call. You grip Tara’s hand tight between your fingers.

“Sheriff?” Sam asks, a little confused, “What are you doing here?”

But the Sheriff isn’t looking at Sam. Her eyes are honed in on Tara. Like she’s found her mark.

“Tara Carpenter,” She says, voice even, “I need you to come down with me to the station."

“Why?” Sam asks, immediately. Her shoulders tense.

“We have some questions,” Sheriff Hicks says, eyes flickering, “That’s all.”

“So ask them,” Sam says, eyebrows furrowed, “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

Sheriff Hicks reaches into her pocket.

She pulls out a piece of paper, and thrusts it towards Sam.

Your stomach sinks. A wave of hot anxiety flushes through you at the sight.

It’s an arrest warrant. With Tara’s name on it.

“You want to bet?” Sheriff Hicks says, voice cold.

You feel your heart start to pound. Tara blinks, staring at the paper a moment. You feel hot, your brain swimming. Your chest is tight, like the walls are closing in.

“I don’t understand,” Sam murmurs, crinkling the paper between her fingertips, “You’re arresting her for what exactly?”

“For murder,” Sheriff Hicks says, “For multiple murders. For the murder of Aaron and Sam Collins, Chase Matthews, Sadie Jones, Amber Freeman-“

Her voice quivers.

“And Wesley Hicks.”

It’s quiet a moment.

Your throat closes. Sam stares, eyes widening.

And then she splutters, “That’s ridiculous-“

Your hand tightens around Tara’s. She hasn’t moved. Her expression hasn’t changed.

Sheriff Hicks narrows her eyes.

“Don’t make me do this the hard way, Tara.” She says, “I can make a scene. I can handcuff you in front of your girlfriend and your sister or you can make it easy and come with me right now.”

Her hands touch the metallic handcuffs dangling off her belt, menacingly.

Panic swells in your chest. You feel as though you might combust. Your throat is tight but you manage to pry through a few strangled words.

“You’ve got it wrong,” You plead, tears pricking behind your eyes, “Tara hasn’t killed anyone.”

A blatant lie.

She’d see it if she looked over at you, saw the falsehood, the desperation swimming in your eyes. But the Sheriff isn’t looking at you. She’s looking at Tara, victorious.

As if she’s got her right in the scope.

Sam stares between them, then snaps into action.

“It’s going to be okay.” Sam says, all big-sister mode. She presses her hands to Tara’s shoulders, “I’m going to call a lawyer, right now. Don’t say anything to them Tara. I’ll follow, right behind, I’ll be in the waiting room the entire time-“

The plan.

It hits you like a jolt of lightning. The trap you’d perfected. The painstaking hours that had gone into planning it. The quick knock on the door that had sent it all out the window.

You’d had him.

Ghostface would have been yours. You’d have him unmasked, in the handcuffs the Sheriff had intended for Tara.

You think, quickly. And then close your eyes. Muster the strength it takes to get the words out.

“No,” You says, quietly. Tara and Sam both look over at you, “We had plans today, Sam.”

Sam looks at you as if you’re crazy.

There are police in your yard, swarming the lawn, sirens blaring. There’s a dozen of them, as if the Sheriff needed backup. As if, your tiny, injured, 5”1 girlfriend would put up so much fight twelve police officers would have to hold her down.

You blink back tears, hold the lump in your throat.

And you know exactly what you need to do.

“My Dad will be with her,” You continue, “I’ll call him now. He’ll call the lawyer, drive her home when they let her go. Inevitably.”

You shoot a look at the Sheriff.

“But Sam, it’s the only way.”

“No,” Tara says, voice flat, “No. Sam, tell her no.”

“It’s the only way,” You say, breathless. You blink back the tears, “We need to give them something.”

The Sheriff is watching, eyes peeled. Eyes narrowed, like she’s trying to make out your not-so-secret code.

You swallow. Taper down your emotions for a moment. Determination surges through you.

Lawyers, police, The Sheriff. Nothing could fix this but doing one thing.

Giving the police Ghostface. On a silver platter.

Sam’s quiet.

But Tara kicks up a fuss.

“Baby,” She urges, trying to pry your attention, to her “Baby, look at me. Say you won’t. Promise me you won’t.”

You swallow.

Brush her hair out of her face. Her eyes are wide, desperate. Huge brown orbs, pleading. It’s so strange to see her powerless. It’s unnatural.

You kiss her, softly.

“I’m going to protect you,” You promise against her lips, voice but a whisper, “The way you protect me.”

“That’s enough.” The Sheriff says, voice stern, “Tara. Easy way or the hard way? Your choice.”

Tara swallows.

“Sam,” She says, voice urgent, “Promise me you won’t let her. Promise me.”

Sam blinks a moment, her face blank.

And then she nods, presses a long kiss to Tara’s forehead.

“I promise,” She says, voice soft, “Go with the Sheriff. YN and I will be right behind you.”

Your heart sinks. Relief floods through Tara’s face.

“Now, Tara,” The Sheriff says, voice stern. Tara steps forward. Shoots a final look at you.

“I love you,” She murmurs.

And then you watch, tears in your eyes, as she’s hauled off in the back of a squad car. She limps to the car, looking so small amongst the sea of police officers. Helpless.

It makes you ache.

You turn to Sam when they’re out of sight, eyes shimmering with brand new determination.

“Sam- I know you’re in shock, but it’s the only way-”

“You don’t have to sell me a pitch, YN,” Sam says, voice low. The unshed tears in her eyes mirror yours, “We’re going to the school and we’re catching Ghostface.”

You blink.

Sam looks at you.

“You’re right,” She says, lip quivering, “It’s the only way to save her.”

#all hers #ghostface!tara #fanfic #mine #jenna ortega #scream #scream vi #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x yn #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x yn #tara carpenter x you #wednesday

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