#Constance Berman x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pangborns · 3 years

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ONLY YOU, MY GIRL,

ONLY YOU, BABE.

constance berman x fem!reader

in which isaac’s little sister is caught by the possessed cyrus miller.

angst, gore, character death, fear street: 1666 spoilers. just kinda messed up, but follows the story line of 1666.

first off, this is long and idk how to do the whole ‘keep reading’ thing SO IM SORRY. also, I didn’t know how to like write the gory ass part so it may be a little all over the place. anyways, ily all!!

“Please, Isaac…” you begged your older brother. “I want to go so bad. I promise I’ll behave!”

“No, (y/n). You know the ceremony is only for big kids. No children allowed. This is the end of it.” Isaac dismissed his sister, attempting to push by you to continue shoveling the manure on the dirt path.

You groan, throwing your arms up in anger as you turn to make your exit. You spot Sarah, making her way down the busy road, nodding in your direction.

“The full moon rises before nightfall.” Isaac muttered in the girl’s direction. A playful lilt in his soft spoken voice.

“A good night to enjoy the fruits of the land.” Sarah smirked. “Try to clean yourself before then.”

You snorted at that, looking back down at the horse droppings that your brother was scooping up. Sarah sent you a friendly wink before heading on her way.

Realizing that convincing your brother was no use, you decided to find some of the other kids - specifically the ones old enough to want to go to the ceremony.

“Excuse me, Sarah.” You quickly commented as you jogged by her, keeping an eye out for a mess of bright red hair.

You passed a few notable figures on your search for Constance, including the intimidating Alderman Goode and his drunken buddies. They didn’t spare you a glance, thankfully, as you continued on.

“(y/n)!” Somebody called. You rolled your eyes as you registered who the voice belonged to. “(y/n).” They repeated again as they caught up to you, matching your steady pace. “Have you seen my sister anywhere? She’s always so quick to run off.”

Abigail Berman.

“No, Abigail. I was just looking for her actually.” Personally, you were not a fan of the other Berman sister as she always made it a point to boss you and Constance around.

“-blind as a bat. Pastor Miller blind as a bat. Tried to read the Bible and his eyes went splat!”

Abigail groaned as she spotted the younger girl. “Why can’t she ever leave those children alone? They’re only learning to misbehave with her around.”

You didn’t speak, only watching as Constance goofed around with the kids. It was adorable, you admired that she had such a way with the younger children in town.

As you neared the group, Abigail split off to zero in on her sister. “Don’t be a brat, Constance!” She scolded, grabbing her arm harshly.

“Don’t be a shrew, Abigail.” Constance shot back, straightening her posture and arching a brow.

“Sarah!” Abigail changed the tone of her voice as Sarah approached. “The full moon rises before nightfall.”

“A good night to enjoy the fruits of the land.” Sarah replied.

“I’m coming too!” Constance smiled proudly.

“So am I!” You spoke up, “but don’t tell Isaac.”

“No, you’re not.” Abigail spoke to the both of you.

“I’ll tell mother.” Constance smirked, waiting for Abigail to think of a snarky reply.

“You tell mother and I’ll cut your braids right off your head.”

Constance rolled her eyes, breaking free from her overbearing sister’s grip and grabbing your hand. “I’ll get us to the party dear (y/n), don’t you worry.” She smiled kindly. The two of you intertwined fingers and ran off towards the church. When it wasn’t in session, you and the red head loved to just sit in the pews and talk. Mostly just paying each other compliments and gossiping.

Later that night, you two did successfully sneak into the gathering. You were both able to score a few sips of the wine without getting caught by either of your siblings - who both happened to be beside each other for most of the night.

“We should probably head back.” Constance spoke quietly. “There’s no way we’ll get our hands on those berries and without them we’ll be bored out of our minds.” She finished, nodding towards the group of kids sharing the few berries they were able to grab.

“I suppose you’re right.” You smiled. “Thank you for getting us out here. Older kids are boring.”

You both laughed at the statement. You eventually settled down into a comfortable silence, just staring into each other’s eyes. “Come on,” you bit your lip in thought. “Let’s head back.”

Both you and Constance hurried off towards the woods in the direction to town. “I hate these woods.” You commented quietly.

“Why? They’re pretty.” Constance questioned.

“Maybe during the day, but you never know what’s stalking about during the night hours-“ Before you were able to properly finish your sentence, you felt your body run straight into a stiff object.

Landing on your bum, you looked up only to meet eyes with Solomon Goode. The outcast of town.

“Woah, are you alright?” Constance hurried to lift you up by your arm as you continued to stare the man down.

“Sorry, mister.” You started, “I didn’t think you’d be out here at this time of night.” You squinted at him, a suspicious look crossing your features.

“No problem at all, (y/n).” Your eyes widened when you realized that he knew who you were. “But I must wonder what you two were doing out here all alone.”

“Please don’t tell my mom!” You hurried to spit out as you quickly brushed yourself off. “We just wanted to be like the big kids. It won’t happen again.”

Solomon snickered. “Run along now.”

You and Constance righted yourselves before dashing through the remaining part forest and back into the town square.

“That was strange.” Constance commented a few minutes after the encounter occurred.

“I know, but I just hope he doesn’t tell my parents about that. They would imprison me in my bedroom for life.” You giggled. Constance joined in, brushing off the funny feeling she had about the Goode man.

“(y/n)! Wake up!” The shrilling sound of your mother’s voice awoke you from your peaceful slumber.

With a groan, you were able to pull yourself out of your comfortable bed and rush downstairs in your white nightgown.

“Yes, mom?” You asked as you arrived in the kitchen.

“I need you to go next door to the Miller’s and see if their crops are doing any better than ours.” Before you could even ask what was the matter with the food, your mother pulled out a rotting carrot decorated with feasting maggots. “Everything is like this.”

“I’ll be right back.” You nodded, heading back upstairs to change and grab your satchel.

“If you see your brother out there, make sure to pass the word on. I don’t want you two to be eating any of this!” She yelled up the stairs.

When you left to head toward’s the Miller’s house, you were immediately overcome with the feeling of panic. Nearly everybody was surrounding the well, Mad Thomas splurting out some nonsense as a few of the men yanked at the rope.

“What’s going on?” You settled beside Lizzie, watching as the men struggled to pull the bucket up.

“Something’s got the bucket caught.” She shrugged, not too worried over the situation. “I’m sure it’s just jammed.”

“We’ve got it!” One of the men cheered as they quickly reeled the rope up. The drenched body of a dog appeared, attached to the rope by the neck. Everybody gasped, Mad Thomas spoke louder, his words heavier now.

You were quick to cover your eyes and let out a sudden sob at the sight. “I must go find my brother, excuse me.” You muttered to Lizzie, who watched on in worry as you made your exit.

Once your back was turned towards the scene, you were able to pull yourself together better. It must’ve just been a freak accident, nobody in town would’ve been cruel enough to do that.

“Isaac,” You sighed to yourself, thankful to see your brother out and about. He looked up at the sound of his name being called, pausing to take a bite from the bright red apple in his hand. “Wait, don’t eat that!”

He took the bite, not registering what you said until a moment too late. “Yuck!” He spat out the bite, revealing the rotted inside of the fruit. “The hell?”

“All of the crops are like that, mom wanted me to go check with the Pastor and see if they were having the same difficulty.”

Isaac merely nodded, throwing the apple on the trail behind him in disgust. “Alright, I’m going to meet up with Abigail and Lizzie. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Your face dropped. You wanted to hang out with your big brother, so badly. “Alright.” You nodded, turning on your heel to head towards the Miller’s house. “Love you.”

Isaac grunted in response, sending you a fleeting smile before he continued on his merry way.

When you arrived at the Miller’s doorstep, you were quick to knock, hoping to get the encounter over with. Goody Miller wasn’t the kindest woman in town and you didn’t want to make it a point to spend long around her.

The door creaked open slowly, Hannah’s pale face appearing in the crack between the doorframe and the door. “Yes?”

“G’morning. I’m sorry to bother you, but my mom wanted me to ask about your crops. Ours aren’t doing too well and we wanted to know if it was just us or…” You trailed off, awkwardly picking at your fingernails.

“No, it’s not just yours.” She stated quickly. “Look, now is not a good time. My father isn’t feeling like himself, maybe you can come by later and we can talk more.”

“Alright.” You spoke slowly, “Sorry.”

Her chapped lips rose into a kind smile before closing the door. Strange. A smile lit up your face as you had a realization.

Dashing down the streets, hoping to run into the younger Berman sister, you ended up spotting her hanging around the younger kids again. They really were the best company you could get around here.

“Constance!” You shouted eagerly. Catching up to her, you made it a point to whisper into her ear, moving a few strands of bright red hair out of the way first. “Pastor Miller is ill, the church will be all ours today.” You smiled.

She squealed, perking up at the thought. “You kids run along now. (y/n) and I are going to be back in a bit.”

Once the kids were on their way, not very happily mind you, you and Constance were able to run off towards the small church. “This is so exciting.” She laughed.

You nodded, giggling as you pushed open the big doors to the church. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to you as they were all focused on the dead dog in the well.

The doors slammed shut, successfully scaring you. You jumped, falling into Constance with a squeal. She laughed at you, squeezing you close. “Don’t be so scared, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The both of you sat in a pew, her head resting on your shoulder, an arm around your waist. ‘Shit’ you thought, ‘I really like this girl.’

“Constance?”

“Yeah?” She lifted her head with a smile, looking up into your kind eyes.

You panicked. What were you supposed to say now? “I think something is wrong with me.”

She sat up fully now, showing you that you had her full attention. “What? Why would you think that? You’re perfect.”

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to confess to her. Share this secret part of yourself with her. “Because, I think I like you.” You spoke quickly, looking down at your intertwined hands.

“Don’t be silly, why would that mean there was something wrong with you? I like you too.”

Your head dropped, “No, like.. I like-like you..”

Constance lifted her head again, smiling like an idiot. “Then there must be something wrong with me too, because I like-like you also..”

The two of you just stared at each other in a content silence for a few moments before the church doors creaked open eerily.

“Where are we going Pastor Miller?” The voice of a child spoke as a group of people entered the small church. You and Constance turned towards the noise, noticing that the only people that walked in happened to be the Pastor and all of the children in town.

The Pastor didn’t say a thing as he led the kids down the aisle, instructing them to take a seat witha wave of his hand. The kids obeyed, Henry - Sarah’s little brother - making it a point to sit in the front, leaving all of the other kids to sit closer to the exit.

You and Constance didn’t say a word as you tried to gauge the situation.

“Now children, who would like to go first?” He finally spoke. His voice quiet, yet booming.

A few kids excitedly raised their hands, not knowing what they were volunteering for. They were jumping in their seats, smiling at the chance to please the Pastor.

“You.” Cyrus pointed towards a little girl a bit further in the back, using a sharpened hook to motion her towards him.

Minutes later, you and Constance found yourselves curled into each other in comfort. She stroked your hair and shushed your cries and she too shook in fear. “It’ll be alright, the other townsfolk will realize we’re missing and come looking for us.”

The dead bodies of multiple children sat all around the remaining living souls in the room. Some children cried, some were frozen in shock, all you could do was stare at the pile of eyeballs in the middle of the aisle.

“I want my brother.” You sobbed, realizing that you’d just witnessed one of your brother’s friends lose a sibling as Henry fell to the pew, blood dripping from where his eyes used to be.

“I know, I know..” Constance sobbed, kissing the top of your head. You both quickly realized that the two of you were now the last living kids in the room. Multiple children already tried to doors, realizing that Cyrus had locked them long before now.

Pastor Miller stalked closer and closer to the two of you. “Please, no!” You screamed, people outside must’ve heard the commotion as you heard a few bangs against the wooden door.

You clung to Constance like a lifeline as Cyrus grabbed your upper arm and tried to pry you off of her. “Don’t let him hurt me, please Constance!” You panicked.

Eventually, he ripped you off of her, ignoring both of your cries. “Isaac! Mom!” You cried in fear.

“Shh.. it’ll be alright, (y/n).” Constance tried to comfort you in your last moments. She had already accepted her fate.

She mouthed something to you before the Pastor had harshly turned you towards him. ‘I love you’.

The last thing you saw was the cruel face of Pastor Miller before your vision had gone dark, the last thing you heard was Constance’s helpless scream, and the last thought in your head was her smile. God, how you would miss it.

The door caved in as Solomon gave it one final thrust. He paused, realizing how silent the church was. It was a heavy silence, a scary silence.

“Keep everyone back.”

“Solomon, wait..” Sarah begged, Isaac beside her and frantic as ever.

“My sister is in there, please, let me in!” He pushed at the men standing guard.

Solomon stalked through the creaky aisle, noticing the still figures of the children. The rhythmic tapping noise of the Pastor’s hook against his wooden stand sped up as Solomon glanced at the pile of eye’s on the ground. “Cyrus..?”

His mumble of prayer got louder as Solomon connected the pieces of the puzzle, looking up at the Pastor in horror. The man raised his head, crimson blood dripping from his eye sockets.

Solomon’s eyes widened, he turned towards the left, looking towards two girls who seemed unmoving. Constance Berman, and (y/n)(l/n). Constance’s head was once again leaned onto her counterpart’s shoulder.

The door broke open, frantic family members searching for their children amongst the bloody mess.

“Isaac, Isaac I see them!” Abigail yelled towards her friend in relief. The two rushed over to the pew and kneeled down in front of their sisters. Isaac fell against the other pew in fright at the sight of his dead sister, her blood still fresh. Abigail screamed, embracing the red head as she shook.

Isaac’s hand ran down his sister’s face, he was frozen. Tears had started to run down his dirt caked face. “…(y/n)..?” He started meekly. The sounds of his mother’s sobs were heard before she even entered the church.

How could the town recover from something like this?

#fear street x reader #Constance Berman x reader #Constance Berman #fear street 1666 x reader #fear street 1666 #sadie sink x reader #Abigail Berman #Isaac fear street #grace writes

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 3 years

Note

i have a mad thomas x reader request where reader is forced to marry thomas (idk how just-) and is disgusted about it but eventually ends up liking him.(? idk how to explain myself:’)

No one look at me,,,,,,,,,,also this is heavily inspired by the Scarlet Letter and was supposed to be a tad darker but I copped out (also someone asked for a pregnant reader recently so this + that = this fic)

A Lie They Would Believe (Mad Thomas x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: dark themes, 1600 standards, values, and laws, affairs/cheating, ex-relationship with the pastor is mentioned, Thomas is Thomas, mentions of drinking, webs of lies, public humiliation, AFAB and Fem reader, pregnant reader, pre-marital pregnancy solved a la shotgun marriage, twisted win-win situation turns into love?, slow burn(?),

Word Count: 3.7k

You could accept your punishment with a turned cheek, you told yourself over and over again.

You could stare out at the audience of towns people, even as the sun beat on your face. You could stare out into the angry faces of the elders, into the pitying faces of your friends. Into the ashamed faces of your parents. But, you could not look at Cyrus Miller.

You'd missed your blood two months ago. You'd begged, prayed, everyday that it would come. But, the only thing that came was the morning sickness. You'd tried to hide it, tried to think of what to do. But, when you placed your hand over your stomach, you couldn't bring yourself to find the hag in the forest. And, when your mother held your spotless, white sheets in your face, you'd crumbled. You confessed in the privacy of your room as if you were confessing in church. You told her everything.

Well, almost.

"Tell us his name!" Cyrus said, a voice that you couldn't force to fall into the background. "Tell us the name of your accomplice and you shall suffer no more." He said, and you wanted to believe him. You let your eyes close for a moment, but your lips did not move. Your mouth did not open. "Tell us the father's name, so that your baby will not be born a bastard!" He said, and his hand reached out to grab your arm. His grip was strong and tight, unlike the caresses you'd become so accustomed to with him. While his words begged you to say the name, his name, the action spoke differently. You peeled open your eyes and looked up at him, at his raven hair and kind face. His dark, soft eyes. Tears pricked the corners of your own eyes, hard and glassy as you looked up at him. But, you were silent. Even as some of the townspeople yelled for you to confess.

But, how could you tell them that it was your persecutor who was the father of your child? That your pastor, the leader of this town, had sinned so egregiously? He had a wife, a daughter. You'd known both of those things when you'd fallen for him, but it was harder to ignore in the harsh sunlight. When both of them stood in front of you.

You knew you'd have to face punishment. Sex before marriage was a crime after all, completely forbidden. To think they didn't know you were an adulterer also. You didn't know what it'd be, but you knew you'd have no option but to accept it when it came. You'd already made your peace with it, made your peace with whatever God could condemn you to. Perhaps, you'd have to live alone, wear a scarlet letter on your breast. Perhaps, they'd cast you out completely, and you'd be shunned. Perhaps, they'd hang you. You touched your stomach at that thought. Perhaps, there were certain punishments you couldn't bear.

Your lips only fell open when a voice yelled,

"It was I." And a gasp fell from your mouth. Your head turned, snapped towards the voice. Towards the sea of faces that was the crowd. But, you knew that voice. "It's my child." He said, and your eyes fell on a face you knew all too well. And, at that moment, you knew exactly what type of punishment God had set out for you.

Mad Thomas.

***

The day had gone by in a blur.

Over and over in your head, one question repeated itself. Why? It was almost loud enough to drown out the constant whispers, the stories being spun by every person who seemed to have a tongue.

Union couldn't seem to stop talking about it. Of when it started, how long it'd been going on, when the pair of you had even had time to sneak off. You'd even heard a young Constance Berman whisper about how she'd always known something was going on between the two of you, only to be shushed by her older sister as you passed. As you'd been let free of the top of the church steps.

You'd been left outside, left out in the sun. Inside the church went your father, the pastor, and Thomas. You had no idea what Thomas was going to say, what lies he was going to spin.

You couldn't bring yourself to leave, to speak. You felt as though a blanket of white noise had covered your ears, covered your mind. You were surprised, to say the least. You'd thought a wave of devastation had washed over you the first moment you'd realized you were with child, but this? It made it seem like ripples in a pond. The only thing you could do was stare at the church door and wait for them to come out. But, you felt a warm arm wrap around your waist and you turned to see the face of your mother.

"Come," She said, and you looked back at the door blankly. You didn't want to leave. You wanted to be there when they came out. But, you couldn't find the words to say or the strength to keep your feet firm. So, you let her guide you away from the crowd, and towards your house.

It was only later that you were told you and Thomas were to be married by the end of the month.

***

You and Thomas were never allowed a moment alone. You didn't know whether to be relieved or not, but Thomas, a man who you quickly found was far more confusing than you thought, was playing a charade. He brought you flowers, carried your water pail for you, and even took you on chaperoned walks. You, however, were stony and stiff, barely able to contain your disgust for him. It was on your first walk that you whispered,

"Why? Why are you doing this?" And, for a moment, the incorrigible man seemed to pretend not to hear you. He glanced over his shoulder, as if the wind was at his ear instead, and you saw him cast a sly glance to the man behind them. It was one of your father's friends, walking only about two yards behind you. Finally, when he decided he was far away enough, he responded,

"Would you rather I had let them cast you out? Let you and your child starve in the woods?" Thomas said back, the most sober you'd ever heard him. It seemed that apart of your father's deal with him was that he cut back on the drink. He didn't even stumble as he walked.

"Don't pretend you did this out of charity. Why, Thomas?" You asked, and you, for only a moment, reached out to touch his arm. You pulled it back just as quick, hoping that your chaperone hadn't seen. Thomas looked down at the action, before he smirked and shook his head.

"Aren't we a perfect match?" He asked, and you gave him a look of confusion. He continued with, "You think I don't know what people say about me? Don't you see, girl? It doesn't matter if your father is the best woodworker, or the richest in Union anymore. No one would have you, or your bastard child. Except me." He said, and you almost couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. He continued, his words a whisper now, "Besides, it's a lie they would believe." You stared at him, flabbergasted by his words. Flabbergasted by how right he was.

Thomas had, well, a reputation. It wasn't out of character for his wedding to be one out of necessity, and perhaps it earned you some pity from the townspeople. How many women had Thomas seduced? And how many of them could truly judge you? Not to mention, his words left one thing clear.

So, it was my dowry, you thought. It wasn't an unheard of reason, and it made sense given the man you were talking to. Your father had been avoiding selling you off, even as you reached far into your womanhood. And, surely, your father would never have considered him under any normal circumstance, but now...You didn't seem to have much of a choice.

Thomas paused, picking up one of the wildflowers and handing it to you. You took it, knowing now that you had to play along. That you had to act as if he truly was the father of your child, and not someone as foreign to you as the land outside of Union.

"Your father was going to start building us a house. I was thinking right here," Thomas said, his voice only slightly louder for the chaperone to hear, but you barely paid attention. You were staring down at the yellow flower in your hands, before you glanced up at the man in front of you.

He was tall, but his hair was lighter. His cheeks were stubbly and his eyes- They were a clear blue. Almost the same shade as the sky above you. You watched as he talked, as he laid out his plan. And, while the idea of being married to anyone that you didn't love sickened you, you tried to tell yourself that it wouldn't be as terrible as you felt it would be.

***

You and Thomas sat out in the sun, where you were making a flower crown and he was rambling about one thing or the other. You'd gotten very good at pretending to be in love, even in the span of only a couple of weeks.

You gave him smiles and laughter, and he gave you gifts or stole a caress. It was enough to stir the people of Union so no one would be the wiser. And, with your father at his station a short way across the field, the pair of you could be somewhat alone. But, still within viewing distance.

"You're not listening." Thomas said, and you smiled to yourself for a moment. You looked at the finished crown, before you looked up and reached over to where he was laying on the blanket. He was half-sitting up, and you placed the flower crown atop his head as you said,

"Yes, I was." You replied simply as you adjusted it, and Thomas stared at you and gave a small scoff. He caught your hand as you went to pull it away, his grip loose. He held it almost gently, and said,

"Then kiss me." And your brows drew together. A quick,

"What?" Fell from your lips, and you watched how Thomas smiled. He laughed, letting your hand go as he said,

"So, you weren't listening-" But you were quick to interrupt him.

"Why would- Why?" The idea- the simple idea was preposterous. Why would you kiss him? In broad daylight no less? The suggestion made you nervous, made a weird feeling start in your stomach. And, you ignored how this feeling wasn't entirely unfamiliar.

"They're going to expect us to kiss on our wedding day, girl. Shouldn't we have some practice?" He said, and you thought perhaps the first time he proposed it had been kinder. You stared at him, thinking over his words. Thomas waited, reaching out to touch your skirt. It was only to pick at it for a moment, before he drew his hand away.

You couldn't tell if that was the only reason Thomas wanted to kiss you, if there wasn't some ulterior motive somewhere. You wouldn't put it past him. But, really, he was right. Not to mention, while the pair of you had been affectionate, had you been affectionate enough?

That's what was so aggravating about Thomas. He was always right. He saw clear through whatever facade anyone put up, and saw the truth. Perhaps, that's why he was such a good liar.

Perhaps, that's why he was staring at you.

"Fine." You said, before you looked over your shoulder. You were in the field, but you were more or less a public spectacle. You could hear Thomas draw closer, feel the warmth of his hand reach for your arm.

"Let them look." He said as he gave a tug on your arm, and you turned back to face him. It was strange to hear him say that, such a stark difference from what you were used to. To have him so close was different than before, but Thomas didn't close the gap. You supposed he was waiting for you to do that. He whispered, "Well?" And, finally, you did. It was a short kiss, a quick stolen one. Still, it made Thomas smile. "So chaste." He let out a small laugh, and it was your turn to scoff. "Are you sure-" And you could guess what he was going to say. You kissed him again, if only to silence him. It was deeper, firmer than your last had been. And you hated to admit that you didn't hate it. Thomas was well-practiced, and the feeling of his thumb grazing your cheek was nearly as warm as the feeling of the sun on your back. It made another feeling start, one that you tried to stamp out that very second. You pulled away again, cutting it short. Thomas, for just a moment, tried to follow you before he pulled back. He had a small smile on his face, one he didn't try to hide as he pushed his hair back.

"You're practiced." You said quietly, the closest thing to a compliment you could give him. You'd heard rumors of him galavanting with the likes of Abbi Berman and some of the others. Perhaps, there was some truth to them. Thomas glanced over, and returned the words,

"Aye, so are you." When he smiled and glanced down at your belly, you knew the jab had been intended. And, unfortunately, he'd managed to make you laugh.

***

You knew it was coming. You had prepared yourself for it. Before the wedding, the pastor would counsel both of you. And, he was going to counsel you first.

You stood in a dress your mother had made, with your corset done loosely as not to press on your stomach. You'd been staring out the window, at the cloudless day and the happy faces of your town. Why shouldn't they be happy? It was the day for a celebration.

You'd even caught glimpses of Thomas. Your mother was fussing over him, and Issac had swiped his pouch. He looked- Well, you could tell he'd been scrubbed down. Most of his teeth were still black, but in clean clothes and with a clean face...Perhaps, he didn't look terrible. You tilted your head, and, almost as if he could feel you staring, Thomas' head turned. He caught your eyes, and reflected your posture with a tilt of his own head. It made you smile, something you found was less forced the more time you spent with him. Your head turned from him when you heard someone come in.

"Wonderful day for a wedding." Cyrus said as he closed the door to the chapel, and you tried to manage a smile. "Sit." He said, and gestured to one of the pews. You did, and you both kept your distance. The chapel was dim, only lit by the light outside. The pair of you were silent for a moment, before Cyrus said, "The magistrate is here. He seems eager to start. Do you," He paused for a moment. "Do you have any doubts?" And you felt that the question was not quite as empty as anyone else would think.

You'd been staring at your hands, and you finally lifted your gaze to him. To his deep, dark brown eyes. After a moment, you found your voice.

"None at all. Thomas is- He shall be the father to his child, and he shall be my husband. I shall do my duties, and, I- I love him." It was hard to say, at least when Cyrus sat in front of you. "What is there to doubt?" You asked, your question equally as heavy. While none of you would say it plainly, you knew from the way he looked over your face that he understood you perfectly. The pair of you would never confess your secret, and you'd let the hatchet be buried. Forgotten.

"Does he know?" Cyrus asked, and you knew what it sounded like. In case any of the others were listening. Like he was asking if your soon to be husband knew you loved him. The question couldn't be more disguised. Really, his eyes said, Does he know about us?

"Yes. Or, I think he does." You replied, and you watched how Cyrus reached to touch his clean-shaven face. His face was half hidden by his hand, but you could see his eyes were disturbed. A secret was harder to keep the more people knew, but you said, "And he loves me. He'd do anything to keep this union." You told him, and you hoped he got your meaning. When Cyrus glanced at you, you guessed he did. Silently, your eyes said, If he does, Thomas won't tell. And, after a pause, Cyrus let out a sigh.

"Then, there seems little I have to counsel you on."

***

"Have you thought of a name?" Thomas asked you, and you hummed.

You were picking at your sheet, looking towards the window. It had been months, five if not nearly six. Your baby was due in only a few weeks now, and you still hadn't decided. Your husband, a word to describe him that didn't seem so weird now, laid besides you facing up towards the roof.

Thomas, well, he was not what you thought. He had a good, if not sometimes strange, sense of humor, and did not bruise easily from even the harshest words. He could take care of himself, after years of doing so, and, subsequently, you as well. Your mother and the mid-wife still came by to make sure you were in good health, but Thomas had most of it handled. He was a little lazy when it came to work, especially the work your father tried to give him, but he seemed to find that the work that came with having his own house agreed with him. The pair of you had become- Well, familiar. That was the word you would use. You couldn't say, nearly six months later, that it was still just pretending.

Still, Thomas didn't touch you in any way you wouldn't want him to, and you had to lift your head to throw a glance back to him.

"I have some ideas. Perhaps, if it's a girl," You paused, a sly grin coming to your face, "We could name her Abigail." And you watched him scoff and roll his eyes, even lift his head off of his arm for a moment as he said,

"Absolutely not." And you snickered to yourself as you went back to facing away from him. It was just a jest, a reference to an old dalliance of his, but Thomas, if anything, was fun to tease. The only issue was that Thomas was just as sharp when it came to his wit. "Y'know- Fine. Then, if it's a boy, we shall name him Cyrus." And you let out a noise of protest. You tried to roll over, declaring,

"No!" And now it was Thomas' turn to laugh. He placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to ease you back down. You let him, and even reached to hold his arm. To pull him closer. He followed, and you guided his hand above your bulging stomach as the pair of you adjusted. "Fine- Neither of those names. But, we must think of something." You told him, feeling as he stretched his fingers over where your baby grew. He held you, his warmth against your back. His hand rubbing your stomach lightly.

It made a strange sense of warmth fill you, one you couldn't blame from body-heat. And, it wasn't so terrible that you tried to push it, or him, away.

***

"She cries like no other child in Union." Thomas said as he climbed into your bed. You were supposed to be resting, healing, even weeks, nearly two months, after your child's birth. You felt like you'd been confined to your bed for so long that you were starting to become a part of it. Thomas was only here for the break your father gave him half-way through the day. Still, you smiled to yourself from where you laid on your side, and said,

"Perhaps, it is your smell that disturbs her." You said, your voice thick with sleep but a cheeky grin working onto your face. You shouldn't have prompted him, because he took the opportunity to drape himself heavily over your back.

"Oh, should I sleep outside tonight then?" He asked, and you giggled when you felt his stubble tickling your cheek.

It was already long into the day, and you'd become lazy from bed-rest. It felt far too nice to have his warmth wrapped around you, to where you nearly wanted to fall asleep. You had grown too used to it now, and you could barely imagine a night without it.

"I never said that." You responded, and turned your face back towards the softness of your pillow. You felt Thomas' hand raise, his fingertips brush against your cheek. He was being brave, especially when you felt his lips brush against your neck. It made you bite your lip, a twinge of something not so unfamiliar swirling in your belly. You wondered if he would continue. Hell, you wanted him to. But, it was nothing more than that.

Thomas, to your surprise, had more restraint than you would've assumed. He kissed your cheek, went to stand, and excused himself with,

"Your father will begin to wonder where I am." And you lifted your head to watch him step away, before you settled back down. He was clean, cleaner than he had been when he'd been sleeping in the outhouse. His hair was softer and longer, tied away from his face. And his arms seemed stronger, perhaps from the days of working with your father. He was, if you dared to think so, a kind sight to your eyes now. "Sleep. I'll be back by the time you wake." He told you, and, as he left, you found yourself hoping he was right.

#fear street #fear street 1666 #mad thomas #mad thomas x reader #thomas slater #thomas slater x reader

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