Requested anonymously: A one shot where the reader has never been able to orgasm through masturbation. When Dean finds out, he offers to help.
Warning: smut, masturbation
Word Count: 2300
A/N: Hope you enjoy, anon! XOXO
“Truth or truth?” Dean asks, grinning a little sideways in that way that lets you know he’s just the right amount of drunk.
Truth or truth is the game you play when you’re both feeling a little wound up, needing to blow off some steam. You’re too old for stupid dares and too nervous for dares that might actually make you touch each other, so you settle for sticking to truths. It never amounts to anything, but you both enjoy the sexy words said in the dark as you lie together on one bed, a bottle being passed between you, like you have a life and a personality outside of monsters.
A/N: Man, oh man. I just can’t stay away from writing, can I? Well, at least majority of my holiday stuff’s packed. This is another fic inspired by a conversation with the lovely @chrisevans-imagines We have some very weird, but oddly inspiring conversations. Don’t we, Ava? 😂
You pushed your way through the crowd as you searched the overly packed party for your best friend, Chris, who had drunkenly called you ten times in the last hour; it was 2:19AM. He could count himself incredibly lucky that you were finishing up some paperwork at the hospital otherwise you would’ve killed him for interrupting your much needed beauty sleep. You’d been pulling quite a few late nights over the past week as you were about to take leave and go on your holiday, so things hadn’t been particularly easy on you. But you knew before you went into med-school that being a doctor wasn’t going to be easy, what you didn’t know was how much harder it was being a doctor who was best friends with Chris Evans; a man who had the equivalent energy of his puppy, Dodger. If you weren’t so in-love with him, he wouldn’t get away with half the things he put you through. But you were, so here you were at the party.
“Hello beautiful.” An arm hooked around your waist and pulled you into him; you groaned and pushed the drunken stranger off you. “Geez, lighten up!” He called after you as you disappeared further into the room. If you didn’t find Chris in the next five minutes, you were outta there.
“Hell yeah I’ll get it in!” You heard Chris’ voice and you followed it, chuckling when you found him by the ping pong table. “Don’t you worry, I'mma get it into that cup.” He bounced the ball off the table and balanced it on the back of his hand as he swallowed another gulp of his beer. “Watch me nail this th-” He spotted you and his smile tenfold. “Y/N, you came!” He downed his drink and tossed both ball and red solo cup aside before making his way to you, waving off the protests that came from the other players. “Sorry guys, I’m done. My girl’s here,” he draped an arm around you and pulled you closer to him.
“I’m not your girl, Evans.” You reminded him, but made no effort to push him away from you like you had with the other guy; you were very glad that the dim lights hid your deeply flushed cheeks. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t drink and drive, the last thing I need is to be called back in because someone got into a car accident.”
“Awww,” he cooed, squeezing you tightly against him. “Was someone worried about little old me?” You rolled your eyes, but failed to hide your smile. “Don’t be, my best friend’s a very good doctor. She’s very pretty too, like- she could be on Grey’s Anatomy.” He slurred then grinned when he heart you chuckle. “And that’s you,” he booped your nose, “I’m talking about you.”
“I know, and I’m talking about me too when I say I’ve had a very long night and I’m ready to go home.” He nodded with furrowed brows, really trying to process your words. “C'mon,” you wrapped an arm around his waist and directed him towards the exit, “you’re crashing at my place tonight. I’m not leaving you here when someone could literally tap beer out of you.”
“Yes!” He cheered. “I love your apartment, it smells like Christmas because of all the candles you have.” You hummed in acknowledgement at his drunk thoughts. “Hey, you know what’s really funny?” He didn’t wait for a response. “When I read your texts, I read it in an Australian accent because you’re from Australia. I do the same with Chris Hemsworth’s,” he told you then laughed to himself. “G'day mate,” he mimicked a tradition Australia greeting then laughed again.
“I’ve never once texted that to you, nor have I said that to you,” you chuckled. “And since when do I have an Australian accent? I’ve been living in America since I was eighteen, and you know I watch too much American television and too many Hollywood films to have an Australian accent.” The two of you found your way out of the party and into the much emptier parking lot where you car waited patiently. “But then again,” you glanced at him, “you are very wasted, so I won’t hold that against you.”
“Chuck a shrimp on the barbie,” he continued mocking the Australia accent and laughed when you did. “You’re right,” he returned to his normal accent as he pulled away from you, “you don’t sound like that.” He moved in front of you and took your hands in his, smiling like a love sick idiot which made your heart flutter despite knowing it didn’t mean what you wanted it to. “You sound perfect because you are perfect and I love you.”
“I love you too,” you responded with a chuckle, ignoring that ache in your heart. This wasn’t the first time he’d told you he loved you while he was drunk, in fact- he said it all the time when he was sober too. But it wasn’t the confession you longed for, it was just another platonic expression of affection that you shoved aside with your true feelings. “Let’s get you in bed, shall we?” You tried to pull your hands away only to have him tightened his grip.
“No,” he shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows. “You don’t understand, Y/N. I love you,” he said again in a more serious tone that made you sigh. As much as you wanted to reciprocate that feeling and kiss him, you couldn’t take anything he said seriously when he was drunk. Even if you did believe that drunk minds spoke for a sober heart, it was Chris; he was your best friend and you couldn’t ruin that friendship over a drunken slur of the moment. “I want to be with you,” he told you and pulled his hands away to cup your face.
“Chris, no,” you turned away when he started to lean in, taking a small step back. “We’re not going to do this.” You frowned when he did. “You’re drunk, I don’t want-” you cut yourself off before you said more than you should. “Let’s just go home, okay?” You brushed past him and headed for you car, stopping when he called out.
“I’m sober enough to have this conversation!” He walked in front of you with a frown on his face. “I’ve been trying to tell you I love you since the moment I met you, Y/N. But you keep brushing me off, like you think I’m not worth your time.”
“Chris-” you couldn’t believe you made him feel that way.
“Am I not good enough for you?” He asked then asked again before you could get a word in, “are you holding out for another doctor?” You opened your mouth to speak only to get cut off again, “what is it, Y/N? Why won’t you give me a chance?!” He growled and you flinched. “I don’t understand,” he shook his head, his pretty blues glistened with tears. “I’m not an idiot- I can see the way you look at me, so why won’t you be with me?”
“Chris,” you sighed as you took his hand in yours. “I didn’t know you felt that way about me, I honestly thought that you were fine with us just being friends.” He didn’t say anything, he just squeezed your hand ever so gently. “That’s why I didn’t say anything- that’s why I brushed you off. I figured you were joking, it’s not because I don’t think you’re worth my time.”
“Do you realize how long I’ve been waiting for you?” He asked with a breathless chuckle. “From the moment we met- I’ve wanted to be with you. I was just so terrified I wasn’t good enough, that you wouldn’t want to be with an actor so- I took it slow, I started out by being your friend. But God,” he started to cry and your heart ached, “it hurt seeing you with other people. It sucked saying I love you when you didn’t know how much,” his hand tightened around yours. “I’ve wasted so much of my life not being your other half and I hate it, Y/N.”
“You are my other half, Chris,” you caressed his face with your other hand and brushed the tears rolling down his cheek. “I love you too. I’m so in-love with you that it’s ridiculous,” you told him and he smiled. “There is no one I’d rather see at the end of the day than you. You are my person, you are all I see when I look towards the future,” you assured him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I’m sorry-” He pulled you into his arms and kissed you, cutting you off in the best possible way.
“Wow,” you let out a breathless laugh when he broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours.
“Yeah,” he chuckled softly, rubbing small circles into your sides, “I should’ve done that years ago.”
Request: I was wondering if I could request a Dean x reader where Bobby takes her in after he has to kill her parents and dean and sammy get really protective and we see a little of sammy as a big brother? It can be as fluffy or smutty as you want :) (also maybe a little cas if it works )
She knew it, her teachers knew it, the whole damn castle
knew it. She was quick-witted, intelligent, and, most of all, observant.
Hermione Jean Granger noticed and put things together that others simply missed.
Hermione noticed the way that Harry Potter was becoming
unhealthily obsessed with Draco Malfoy. She noticed that he didn’t always speak
of his Slytherin counterpart in venomous tones anymore, either.
Hermione also noticed the way that this very same Draco
Malfoy was constantly staring at her dear friend in class, like he was trying
to burn holes through Harry’s poor skull.
She thought she might know what was going on, even if the
involved parties did not.
Unfortunately for most people, Hermione Jean Granger also
had no qualms about interfering where she thought her meddling might be
Draco didn’t feel right.
He set the goblet of pumpkin juice down, wondering if maybe
he was getting sick. He wouldn’t be surprised. It wasn’t like he wasn’t under
an exuberant amount of stress or
Kill Albus Dumbledore,
Draco. I want it done before the year is complete.
No big deal. Just your normal, run-of-the-mill command from
your typical, mass-murdering master.
Draco shuddered, pushing his untouched plate of food away from him. Crabbe eyed him confusedly. Considering that this was the manner in which Crabbe
looked at most things most of the time, Draco was hardly bothered. “I think I need to lie
down,” he muttered. “I’m—I’m skiving off Charms. Tell Flitwick I’m sick.”
He didn’t wait for a response before standing. Draco grabbed
his bag and was halfway down the table when he abruptly collided with someone.
“Hey—what the hell,
Draco’s bag fell to the floor, spilling the contents
everywhere. Hermione Granger stepped away demurely, making Draco scowl even
further. It was like she had run into him on purpose! “Watch we’re you’re going, you stupid—”
“Watch your mouth,
Malfoy.” Ron Weasley instantly stepped in, his hand hovering over his pocket
where he assuredly kept his wand. Because it was never just one of them, was
it? The Golden Trio was infuriatingly
“Ron…” Granger hissed the word like an owner might scold a
dog. And just like a dog, Weasley lowered his hand and stepped away, though he
kept his furious glare fixed on Draco.
Perhaps Draco would have been the one to draw his wand
instead, if his attention hadn’t been so suddenly and horrifically derailed.
Potter was bending over and—and touching his things, and—
Some part of Draco’s mind knew that this should have
bothered him very deeply and on many different levels, but it didn’t.
It was like the entire Hall just melted away into oblivion.
The Headmaster he was supposed to be murdering, the faculty and staff, the
countless students who were about to bear witness. They all faded into nothing
as Harry James Potter handed him a stack of books and quills.
“—just take your stuff, Malfoy, and—”
“I love you.”
There was a short pause in which absolutely no one breathed.
Draco thought that Weasley might have scoffed something incredulous, but he
He wasn’t paying attention to anyone else.
Harry’s beautiful, green eyes widened in shock before his
lips parted and he laughed, breathy and flustered. “Ex…cuse me?” he said in a
high, concerned tone. “What—”
“I love you,” Draco repeated. The entire table filled with
Slytherin students behind him turned in their seats. The whole Hall seemed to
be fall silent, but Draco hardly noticed. “I love you, I-I think I have for a
while, I just—I never realized it before right now.”
Harry’s face slid into one of downright disbelief. Draco
knocked the books from his arms which he had just gathered up for him so that
he could grasp Harry’s hands. “I love you, you gorgeous, reckless idiot. I love
you. I love you!”
He was shouting. Harry turned a brilliant shade of red,
seemingly paralyzed by Draco’s very loud and traumatizing confession. Draco
decided that it felt good to shout. “I love you!” he yelled again, laughing. Giddy with emotion, he turned towards the Hall at large and declared,
“I love Harry Potter!”
Then, without even thinking it through, Draco turned his
attention back to the stunned boy in front of him and crashed his lips over
his, passionately kissing Harry Potter for the entirety of the school to
…Maybe it was just the drama of the moment, but later, when
Draco found himself in Slughorn’s office with various antidotes being shoved
down his throat, he most definitely recalled
that Potter had kissed him back.
“You were certainly under the influence of something, my boy,” Slughorn confirmed
morbidly, once Draco felt that he was himself again. Draco wiped his mouth with
the back of his sleeve, his mortification swiftly turning into rage. “But you should be right as rain,
…Not that being cured of his temporary ailment could
possibly undo the damage that had been done.
Draco was furious, venomous, murderous. Potter had used a love
potion on him! Surely in some ill-conceived attempt to figure out what he
was working on; Potter had been tailing him for weeks, now…
And he’d shouted he loved
him, in front of the entire school… And kissed
Fuming, Draco set off to find Potter without so much as a
‘thank you’ to Slughorn. “That bastard,” he seethed under his breath. “I’ll
kill him, I’ll—oh, for fuck’s sake,
Granger! Watch where—”
“I did it.”
For Hermione Granger had just turned a corner, walking right
into him—again—like she had just been
waiting outside of Slughorn’s office
for him to emerge.
“I slipped you the potion,” she said quickly. She had both
of her hands raised on either side of her face, looking defensive. “It was me.”
Draco stared, dumbfounded. Unlike Potter, he was not
inherently terrible at potions (the fact that Potter had become so inexplicably
skilled at the subject this year was clearly just favoritism on Slughorn’s part…
the old walrus), and therefore was very distraught at what she was saying.
“But… but if you brewed the
“It wasn’t amortentia,”
she said huffily, like Hermione Granger would never stoop to such things. “It
was a confidence elixir, Malfoy. A potion to boost your assurance
exponentially. It’s related to Felix Felicis, though not as powerful. You
should look it up. Anyway, I thought you could use a bit of… encouragement.”
She smile brightly before sauntering off. Draco watched her
go, far too stunned in that moment to say or do anything.
“Oh.” She stopped suddenly, looking over her shoulder with a
sly smile on her face. Draco was very glad that the hallway was empty. “By the
way… he’s obsessed with you.”
Then she left, a bit of a bounce in her step.
Draco hated that, rather than continue to be furious or
thirsty for vengeance… Well, he just couldn’t stop smiling.
A/N: The “Our Girl” series will be back after the first 6 parts of “Together,” but I’m not taking anymore requests for it. A/N2: If you want to be tagged in anything, just let me know.
lying on the couch, not being able to make it up the stairs to the bedroom. You
had tried to make Jensen and Jared go upstairs to bed, but they both were on
the floor, sleeping next to the couch so they could be near you.
racking your brain, trying to remember what happened after you went for the
walk on the beach that night. You had no idea. You remembered leaving the
house, walking barefoot on the cooled sand, and just taking in all of your
surroundings. But that was it. You didn’t remember seeing anyone else or being
was one of those things where your brain was blocking out the traumatic event.
But you wanted to be able to identify who did it and why. They were still out
there. And that thought sent you into a panic.
couldn’t breathe. And the harder you tried, the more your injury hurt. You
didn’t want to wake the guys up, but you knew you had to.
down, finding one of their hands. You didn’t have to say anything. He jolted
up, “What’s wrong, Y/N?” Jared asked.
I’ve noticed that you write a lot of Fred imagines so I was wondering if you could do one with George. I don’t really care what, just something cute with him being overprotective 😊 thanks!!
George needs more love :(( I LOVE FRED TOO BUT GEORGE IS BAE. By the way, LOVE YOUR WORK! Makes me giddy inside hehehe
A/N: I didn’t realise how much I wrote about Fred until I went through my Masterlist! Also, I really wanted to write an Imagine talking about why on earth do these kids keep complaining about their homework?? You are at a magic school with magic classes and magic, if only they knew how much we wished we could go there instead! Squicks: None
You woke up to the whole room spinning, your head pounding as the light from outside filled the girl’s dormitory. You let out a groan of disgust, your throat dry and your nose as stuffed as ever.
“Common cold, nothing too severe,” Madam Pomfrey declared. It was Tuesday morning and you were currently missing out on your favourite class, Transfiguration, which started about 20 minutes ago. “Here, take this and you should be feeling better in no time,” the small woman said, handing you a little cup filled with deep purple liquid. “I bet you wished you could’ve gotten out of class with that one!”
“No way, Madam Pomfrey,” you said truthfully once you had downed the thick medicine, “That’s why I came here, I was hoping to head off to class now actually,”
Madam Pomfrey looked at you with a quizzical expression, not sure if she entirely believed that a student was actually looking forward to going to class,
“Well alright… Off you go then,” she said, nodding her head to the door.
You walked into McGonagall’s classroom as she had her back turned to the door, writing quickly on the blackboard. She turned around to see who was going to be interrupting her lesson, not expecting a student to be arriving so late.
“Oh, Y/n…” she started, putting her chalk down on her desk, “You do realise that you’re more than half an hour late?”
“Sorry Professor McGonagall,” you apologise, “I was seeing Madam Pomfrey”.
McGonagall let out a sigh, “alright, talk to me after class”.
The bell rung throughout the castle, allowing everyone to get up out of their seats and pack up their things. Not for you though. You stayed where you were, watching everyone try to fit through the doorway at once, desperate to get out of class.
You had never been told to stay back before, and even though you knew you weren’t in trouble, you still didn’t like the feeling. Academic wise, you were up there with the likes of Hermione Granger. You may not know all the answers as well as she does, but you were always passionate about the topics you were learning.
You weren’t the only one staying back, however. Fred and George Weasley had also been told to stay back, this time for having set off a small explosion of some sort. Whatever it was, it had apparently ended up with one hundred tiny rubber balls bouncing rapidly around the classroom.
“I’ll deal with you two in a minute,” McGonagall warned, causing them to break away from their conversation, unfazed by the fact that they were being kept back, again.
“Now, Y/n,” she started, “You said you were up in the hospital wing, is that correct?”
“Yes, I woke up with a cold and she gave me something to cure it, so I came to class as soon as I could,” you replied.
McGonagall looked at you for a bit and gave a small smile, “Not many students would be willing to come back to class once they’ve been given an excuse to get out of it, isn’t that right boys?” she said looking over at the twins who were back to talking again, this comment however shutting them up.
“Yeah, I don’t get that, Professor,” you replied, McGonagall giving you a look as if asking you to continue.
“Well, we’re at a school that practices magic, I don’t get why anyone would not want to come to classes,” you say as if it were obvious, “Our assignments are about turning hedgehogs into pincushions, and how to summon objects, and making antidotes and poisons, how could anyone not find that interesting?”
You hear one of the twins scoff from the seat beside you, but you weren’t done yet.
“I don’t know… as a Muggle, magic is only a thing you hear about in stories, with fairies and superheroes and all that, and it all sounds so amazing and wonderful, but that’s all they are; stories… and just when you’re getting to the age where you’re starting to understand that those things aren’t real, you get a letter telling you that it is all real, and I just can’t understand how people can complain about having homework about magic!”
While the smile on McGonagall’s face was warm and proud of how passionate you were about school, you didn’t even want to look at Fred and George, who were sure to be thinking about how much of a teacher’s pet you were. Almost everyone else in this school thought that anyway…
“Alright Y/n, I’ll let you off on this one,” McGonagall said, placing a hand on your shoulder, “as for you two…”
“Hey, wait up!” you hear someone call out after you.
You turn around to see George Weasley weaving in and out of people in the crowded passageway outside of the Grand Hall to catch up with you.
“McGonagall finally let you out, I see?” you smile,
George chuckled, “Yeah, I think we’re growing on her… Hey, listen, about everything you said before—“
“Oh, don’t even say it, I’m a huge nerd for being so obsessed with classes, I know,” you laugh, but you were being truthful in thinking that that’s what George and his brother thought of you.
“Actually, no, it makes a whole lot of sense,” George admits, to your surprise, “We’ve always had magic so we don’t really take note of how cool it really is, so it actually makes sense that you’d want to come to class and stuff, since it’s so different from not having it your whole life,”
“Wow, I didn’t expect you to see it that way at all,” you laugh with surprise and amazement,
“Well, Fred probably doesn’t see it the exact same way, but I get it. You’re special, you know that? I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better, if you can fit me in anywhere with that busy homework schedule you must have,”
You return his same cheeky grin that he was giving you, “I think I could move some things around for you, George Weasley,”
“Excellent, I’ll be seeing you around then, yeah?” he says with a wink, walking into the Great Hall, leaving you standing there dumbfounded. Who would’ve thought that George Weasley would fall for a nerd like you.
Michonne was sitting in her drama class with her acting partner, Rick. Their teacher, Mrs. Peletier, had assigned them all little scenes to act out.
These little scenes were all interesting. She had one single bright light on the makeshift stage and the rest of the room was dark. She would peak over at Rick, who was slouched in his chair. He had on all black. He was interested in all the scenes.
It was really heavy stuff for high school students, but Mrs. Peletier felt they could experience the real world. There was one scene where their classmate, Tyrese, had to forgive someone who killed his son. His acting partner, Philip was portraying the drunk driver. They did a real good job.
Tara and Rosita played two women who fought in the gulf war and came back with PTSD. They individually spoke about how their lives changed with their families. Again, they did a good job.
Then there was Abraham and Eugene who played two guys coming to terms with what was their usefulness in life. Mrs. Peletier didn’t mind cursing, as long as it wasn’t toward an individual. So Abraham would throw in colorful improvisations. At one point he told Eugene’s character he’d have a better chance at picking up a clean end of a turd. Michonne bust out laughing, as did the rest of the class.
“Now, my Marc and Cleopatra.” Mrs. Peletier said clapping for their arrival to the makeshift stage. Rick stood up in his black hoodie and jeans. Michonne followed suit in her all black t shirt and leggings, and they headed to the center of the room. Everyone’s eyes were all over them. Michonne felt her knees grow a little wobbly and Rick smiled at her. She wasn’t used to standing in front of large crowds.
“You ready?” He whispered in her ear. She nodded quickly and closed her eyes regaining her composure.
“Okay, I’m ready.” She took a deep breath and kept calming herself down until she became Cleopatra. It’s like she actually went back to that place. Back to the roman empire. She felt like she was a queen, so she became royalty. She started the scene.
“Don’t go. I demand that you stay,” she said in a desperate and commanding voice. She turned and faced the audience. Her eyes looking off into the distance, past the students in the class. Her character did not want Marc to go to war, she was trying to convince him to stay.
Rick, in character, walked up behind her touching her shoulders gingerly. Needing her to understand that he would be with her no matter what. “I have to go. I’m at war with Octavian. It is my duty to go lead my men.” He turned her around abruptly causing her to gasp a bit. So far their performance was going great.
“I love you, dammit. Can’t you see that Cleopatra? Can’t you see that in my eyes? In the way that I stare at you? The way that I care about you and how I make sure you’re taken care of?” He held her shoulders tight and looked into her eyes. “Don’t you see it, Cleopatra?” He gazed at her intently. His sky blue eyes had a questioning look in them.
Michonne was stumped for a minute because he went completely off script. Like, he was way in left field and the ball was in the right. She was supposed to be the one begging and pleading. Not him. Even Mrs. Peletier put her glasses on to read the script thinking maybe she had forgotten what she wrote. So, Michonne improvised as well.
“I love you, too. From the moment I met you til each second that passes by. I’ve always known it deep down. That’s why I can’t let you go away. I can’t lose you.” Michonne walked away letting the character control her. “If you leave me I won’t have anything. Sure, I’ll have everything I want at my disposal and a kingdom to rule under my every whim.” She swiped her hand across the audience. “But without you there by my side ruling with me, it won’t mean a thing. I need you.”
She walked closer to him, extending an arm out so her hand could touch his face. It was smooth. She smiled. “If I lose you, none of this means anything.” She looked at him longingly. She tried to get back on track, but he veered off course again.
“I wouldn’t leave you if this didn’t mean so much to me. If fighting for what’s mine wasn’t so important, I would stay, but this war is bigger than us. Bigger than just you and me. If I could, I’d stay here with you and feed you grapes. Taste the finest wine with you, but all I can do is give you this.” He grabbed Michonne and hungrily kissed her lips and she was on fire. He plunged his fingers through her soft locs, and cupped the back of her neck with his fingers, the other hand planted at the small of her back. She could do anything but fall against him and hold on.
At first it was fast paced, he devoured her lips taking her by surprise. Whatever he was doing, he was setting her ablaze. Michonne never kissed a boy before. Not that she didn’t get approached or asked out. A lot of guys have asked her out. But she was so occupied with school, she didn’t see how a boyfriend would fit into her hectic schedule.
Something was fitting now. Rick pulled her even closer to him and she heard a whimper. Was that her? He slowed the speed of his kisses down and gently kissed both the top and bottom of her lips over and over again, until he parted from her and gave her the deepest stare. She didn’t know what she looked like, but she knew she was pulling lust and want for him off right now. Her lips were tingling. Other places on her were, as well.
“Wait for me, my love. I’m only going to be in the distance.” He held her hands and kissed each one. He was slightly taller than her so he bent a little to meet her gaze. “Look for me there, in the distance. Okay?”
He let her go and left her standing there. Mesmerized. Confused again. Other feelings she couldn’t explain, but once he left she felt an ache, a bit of heartache and it read all over her face. She felt crushed a bit because her world came crashing down around her. Her mind and heart were trying to level her to their playing field and she didn’t know which one to follow.
He came back onto the stage and grabbed her hand and shook her out of whatever state she was in. He leaned over and told her to bow to signify the scene ended. She took her bow, but did it end?
The class gave them a standing ovation. Everyone started talking about it. The girls were crying. Crying. They were moved to tears. Mrs. Peletier even appeared to wipe her eyes a bit.
She walked over to them clapping her hands. “Brava! Brava! If you’re going to improvise, you better just go full Nelson with it. That was better than what I wrote. Where did y'all draw that from? That was riveting?” Mrs. Peletier was smiling ear to ear.
Michonne hadn’t heard a thing she said. She looked at Rick, who for the first time all year really looked at her.
Summary: The clique six feature on a reality television series that follows them around school. Exciting at first but Riley quickly realises that reality TV might not always be real.
Word Count: 6141 (Haven’t written a one shot in a while so here’s a long one!)
♢ ♢ ♢ ♢
“Riley, hurry!” Maya yells from the comfort of her friends sofa, “It’s starting!”
“I’m coming!” Riley shouts back from the kitchen. The brunette bolts over with two cans of soda in hand.
The two best friends watch the season finale of their favourite reality tv show, ‘Reality High’. Each season has the same layout; it follows a number of students from the beginning of the year to the end of the year but the only difference being, when a new season begins the show would follow a new set of students in a new school and a new city. In it’s third season - the one the girls sit and watch now - it’s set somewhere in LA.
The two soon to be juniors sit with their eyes glued to the screen hanging off every bit of drama as it concludes their favourite season to date. When the show wraps up the girls are on the brink of tears watching their favourite of the students - A girl name Miranda - graduating.
After the end credits roll, Riley and Maya are about to enter a loud discussion about their thoughts on the finale when a clip pops up advertising the entry period for season four.
“Did that just say Abigail Adams High?” Riley’s mouth is agape as she stares at the television in disbelief.
“No way!” Maya springs up from the sofa in excitement, “Season four is being filmed at out high school?”
Riley squeals, “Maybe we’ll know the kids on the show!”
“Maybe we’ll be the kids on the show!” Maya jokes but secretly wishes for it to be true.