Hollywood Undead Lemons/Fluffs (_______×Reader)

It All Started At The Cinemas - Johnny 3 Tears × Reader (Fluff)

Your P.O.V.

I sat down on one of the benches in the lobby, the tears threatening to spill.

My boyfriend just walked into the movie theater with his arm around another girl and told me he was replacing me with someone better, said he only dated me because he felt sorry for me, and sarcastically wished me luck with finding someone as good as him.

What a dickhead.

I sat, alone, in the lobby for the entire movie, waiting for him to turn around and say it was a joke and not to cry. Waiting for him to come out of the doors.

He never looked back at me.

I finally couldn't take it anymore and broke down crying on the hard bench, which was already warm from me sitting here so long.

I heard footsteps approach me and ducked my head down further. Whoever it was sat next to me.

"I-If that's you (boyfriend's/ex's/jerk's name), just go. You made your point. I get it. You just felt sorry for me and now you have someone better. Just fucking leave me alone. Just fucking go. There's no need to rub it in, there's no need to stay and apologize. Just leave me alone. I'm fine," I told the person sitting next to me. I assumed it was my now ex boyfriend.

"Who's (boyfriend's/ex's/jerk's name)?"

I wiped away my tears with my sleeves and looked up at the person.

He had blue eyes, blond hair, a tattoo of a 3 on his throat, and a striped beanie.

"Just some dickhead. Don't worry about it. I don't want to bore you with the story," I mumbled.

"The dude at the counter said you've been sitting here for nearly 2 hours. If you're crying that much over something, it must be important."

I shake my head no. "I'm not that important. Don't worry about me."

"I will though. You're a nice girl. You don't dress like a hoe and I've seen you picking up drunk people from parties and taking them home. You're truly a nice girl."

"Clearly not. (boyfriend's/ex's/jerk's name) didn't think I was good enough."

He sighed. "I'll make you a deal. We're going to go outside and you're going to tell me what happened. Then I'm going to take you to a movie. After, we're going to get ice cream and go to the beach. How does that sound?" he asked.

"But.... I don't even know your name."

"Most people call me Johnny, but I want you to call me George."

"I'm (your name)."

"Well (your name), would you like to spend the day with me?"

I took his outstretched hand and nodded.

. . . . .

"Do you want me to kick his ass for you?" he asked me, holding a spoon with chocolate ice cream between the cup and his lips.

"I-it's okay. Don't sink down to his level," I replied. The sound of people, the waves, and the sand under my flip-flops settled my mind, somehow. Either that or George being near me. My (favorite flavor) ice cream was making my hand cold. I ate another spoonful.

George looked down contemplatively into his almost empty ice cream cup. I took this moment to study him. He had a kind face, gentle smile, and eyes that smoldered with life. His shirtless state exposed many tattoos as well as his toned muscles.

I glanced down at myself quickly. I'm wearing the (favorite bathing suit color and style) I bought at the beginning of the summer and matching flip flops.