#Like how do you fuck up being against sexism

[lemonlovemeanslove]

Had to unfollow and block a mutual bc I read a take from them that was so ASTRONOMICALLY stupid that I legitimately couldn’t take it. Dear Lord WHAT is wrong with white women 😭😭😭

#no But fr #i should have trusted my gut and never followed a white woman who’s main focus was sexism #It’s like #why are they all so WEIRD #and #Like how do you fuck up being against sexism #Smh #I will not repeat this same mistake again #Same goes to white environmentalists #Your cause is inherently supposed to be a good thing #And also dog people #I can excuse rasicm #but I draw the line at animal cruelty #That is what it gives #I wish I could take away your right to speech

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 7 : Sweet Strawberry

Summary: You're not a soldier, you're just an omega. You shouldn't have to remind them of that, yet you find yourself needing to. Price makes it up to you in the best way possible.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language, angst, panic, fluff, suggestive content, terrible flirting

A/N: Not entirely happy with it but it's done and I can move on from this one. I struggled so much with this chapter omg. Also, I just wanted to make it clear that I am not from the UK, I've never been to the UK, I'm simply going off of prior knowledge and what Google can tell me. So, if there's any inaccuracies, I am so sorry.

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You’re expecting the knock when it comes. You’d been standing in front of your door for almost five minutes, and you get it open almost before he’s finished, hand still raised. He gives no sign that betrays his surprise, if he feels any at all, instead he simply looks you over before turning on his heel and marching towards the door. 

You close your door behind you, slipping down the hallway after him. It’s raining again, though you had prepared for that, flipping the hood of your jacket up as you hurry after Ghost. He threatens to disappear in the darkness of morning, slipping between the street lamps like a specter. It’s not often you get to see the true danger in them, the threats that they pose, the things that make them good at their job. You can imagine how many on his opposing side have been caught unawares by the way he seems to flow with the darkness around him. 

You are significantly less graceful and quiet, feet slapping the wet pavement as you speed walk to keep up with the giant alpha. You can almost imagine the look on his face as you plod along behind him. If your lives depended on your silence at this moment, well, it wouldn’t entirely have been your fault. If he didn’t walk so fucking fast...

He’s at least courteous enough to hold the door open for you, though perhaps that was simply something that was deeply ingrained in him. Manners that become unconscious practice, even when you despise the person you’re with. He leads you down the hall towards the practice room again, unlocking it and flipping on the lights. He empties his pockets and removes his shoes and sweatshirt, before moving to one of the punching bags. 

You can already predict what your lesson today will entail. Your knuckles have almost completely healed since your little fit a week ago. You quickly strip off your jacket and toe off your wet shoes, moving to join him without having to be told. 

“Do you know how to wrap your hands?” He asks, holding out two rolls of hand wraps. 

“No.” You shake your head. It’s not entirely true. They had shown you once while you were with the CIA, but that had been weeks ago and you’re sure you’ve forgotten the right way to do it. Even if you tried, he’d likely sigh and do it himself anyway. 

He lets out a breath, pocketing one of the wraps before grabbing your right wrist. His hands are just as rough as you remember them being the day you punched Corporal Allen, calluses dragging against your skin as he meticulously wraps the fabric around your fingers. You watch him, trying to memorize how to do it in hopes that maybe, eventually, you’ll surprise him and manage it yourself. 

He finishes your hands quickly before wrapping his own. You flex your hands, trying to get used to the feeling of the wraps. They’re not too tight, shockingly. You had half expected him to choke your fingers until they’re purple just because. But, you also know Price will be looking for any mark or sign of injury as soon as he sees you at breakfast. The thought of him laying into Ghost for even a bruise as your stomach twisting, and not in a bad way. 

“Make a fist.” Ghost says, crossing his arms as he stands in front of you. 

You stare at his bulging muscles for a second too long, quickly curling your fingers as your face warms. 

He takes hold of your hand, inspecting your fist. “Not bad.” 

“I did grow up with brothers.” You murmur. 

“Did they ever hit you?” He asks as he turns you to face the boxing bag. 

“Only playfully.” You say, missing the subtle edge to his voice. “Dad would have caved their heads in if they ever tried.” 

You can’t see the way he’s staring at you as he stands slightly behind you, but you can feel his gaze as it lingers for just a second longer than you expected it to. You’re not sure if maybe he doesn’t believe you, or maybe he knows there’s more to the story. You’ve hardly spoken about your family since your arrival, but they seemed to accept the fact that they haven’t been your family for years now as a valid reason.

“Get into your fighting stance.” He finally says, moving around you as you take the stance you had perfected last training session. “Good.” He says, looking you over. “Now throw a punch at the bag.” 

You squeeze your fists, imagining Corporal Allen’s face on the bag before you throw a punch, barely managing to move the bag. 

“Punches like that are what will get you hurt.” Ghost says, extending your arm. “You can throw your weight, which is good. That’s why you were able to throw Allen off his feet. You’re asking for a broken arm, though. Keep your arm flat and facing downwards through the entire punch. Aim with the knuckles and twist your lower body for support.” 

He throws a punch at the bag, the sound of his fist hitting it loud, and you watch the bag swing back and forth violently. He could probably punch through you if he wanted to. Your pitiful punch wouldn’t even stun him. 

He stops the bag from swinging, having you throw repeated punches at it. He fixes your form and technique as you go, teaching you different kinds of punches. Your arms quickly get tired, and you know you’re going to be sore again. Maybe you should take up some weight lifting or something. You could ask Soap to help you. 

You go until your arms feel like they're going to fall off, your shoulders burning. “I can't anymore.” You whine, breathing heavily from the exertion of throwing punches for 30 minutes. 

“You have to learn to push through the pain.” He says, looming over you. “You think in a fight, everyone will just stop because your arms are tired? Or you're a little sore?”

He has a point. 

You take half a step back as he invades your space, leaning down close to you. “If they're out for blood, they won't even stop even as you're bleeding out in front of them.” His eyes are dark, biting into you, speaking volumes of his knowledge and experience. You wonder how many times he's been in that situation, how many times he's had to fight quite literally for his life. He steps away from you, moving towards the center of the mat. “Come on. I'll teach you some combinations.” 

You don't want to follow him. You want to curl up in a corner and nap for the next four hours. You don't doubt he'll find a way to force you, though, so you move to the center of the mat with a sigh. 

He teaches you different combinations, working through them over and over. You're sloppy, mixing up which punch is which, which move means what. It only gets worse as you get more and more tired, but Ghost is relentless. 

Finally after almost an hour and a half of training, he calls it. Your legs are shaking and you can barely lift your arms to unravel the wraps from around your hands. You sink onto the floor, laying out flat on the padding as you try to catch your breath. 

“Come on.” Ghost says, lacing up his shoes. “You'll have time to shower before breakfast if we get back now.”

“Wait. Just gimme a minute.” You breathe, not even sure you have the willpower to get up from the floor, much less the muscle power. 

He lets out a sigh before approaching you, bending down to slip his hands under your arms. “On your feet, soldier.”

He lifts you easily, far too easily. Your legs shake, nearly giving out as you're forced onto them. You pout, ignoring the ache in your bones as you're forced upright. 

“‘M not a soldier.” You murmur. 

“In here with me, you are. You want to learn to fight, you get treated just like everyone else I've taught.” He says, glowering down at you. “Now get your shoes on and let's go.”

Your brows pull into a frown, but you do as he says, slipping your shoes back on and your jacket. You had hoped perhaps he would have a little mercy, given your status and inexperience, but it seems you're not even being awarded that. You know part of it is his revenge for you invading his protective circle around Soap, for kissing Soap in front of him. 

The frown doesn't leave your face as you follow him back to the barracks, having to almost run to keep up with him. 

“You look tired.”

“I am. I had training with Ghost again this morning.” 

“How is that going?”

“It's hard.” You admit, sinking back in your chair. “He's hard on me. He sees me as a soldier, not an omega.”

“Have you brought this up to him?” Dr. Keller asks, crossing her feet as she relaxes on the couch across from you.

You nod. “Yeah. He said I have to push through it, because if I wind up in a real fight, they won't go easy on me.”

“Well, I can’t say he’s wrong about that. But, that’s still no excuse.” Dr. Keller tilts her head at you. “You could bring it up to Captain Price. He is your pack alpha, and he’s also Lieutenant Riley’s. I don’t doubt he’d bring it up to him on your behalf.” 

He would, but you don’t really want to stir the pot in that way. The last thing you need to do is become a tattle-tail. It’s quiet between you for a few moments, Dr. Keller shuffling her papers as you mark a clear end to that conversation. 

“How did you do on your assignment? I see you’re wearing a different sweatshirt this morning.” She says, eyeing you. 

You’re wearing Price’s sweatshirt, the one he gifted you. You’ve been wearing it almost every day, his scent still clinging to the fabric. Your face warms as she stares at you, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, but...I didn’t ask for this one. Price gave it to me after I told him about where my other one came from. I uh...I kissed Soap. And Gaz.” 

“Oh?” Her brows raise, and she writes something down on the paper. Your face warms even more as you watch her pen move with every letter. You can only imagine what she’s putting down. “Is that something you wanted? I know we talked briefly about it last time.” She says.

You nod. “Yes. I did want it. I...I also...kneeled...with Price...Did a couple times actually...” 

Dr. Keller’s mouth opens in surprise, her eyes shining as she looks at you. “You did? That’s huge! That’s an incredible development! Did you initiate, or did he?” 

“I did.” You say bashfully, sinking back further into the chair. “Both times.” 

Dr. Keller smiles at you, looking almost proud. “This is a big step in the right direction. How did it go? Were you able to relax?” 

You nod. “Yeah. It was nice. He was...gentle. He did it right.” 

“Good. How did you do coming down from it? I know it can be intense and difficult for some omegas.” She asks. 

You shrug. “Fine. I felt it a bit the morning after, but it wasn’t too bad. I fell asleep on him both times.” 

“Oh?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Did you stay with him?” 

You shake your head. “No, Gaz took me to my room both times.” 

“Good. That’s good practice, for when your heat comes. Shows how much trust they have in each other.”

You hadn’t really thought of that. There was a lot of trust involved in omega’s heats. Omegas have to trust their alphas to take care of them while they’re blind with insatiable need, but both alpha and omega have to trust a beta to keep them alive. Your heat will trigger Price’s rut and make him lose control for a while, and it will be up to Gaz to keep you both fed and hydrated. He’ll be the one to help you both afterwards as well.

“Have you started nesting yet?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You shake your head. “No. Don’t feel any drive to either.” 

Dr. Keller hums as she writes something down. “Well, it has only been two weeks. Though, perhaps if you can manage to ask for some things to make your space more comfortable, that might help ease you into it.” 

You chew on your lip, tugging at the sleeves of your sweatshirt. You know she’s right. Until you’re comfortable and feel safe enough, you won’t feel the drive to nest. You’ll need to nest before your heat arrives. Otherwise, it’ll cause issues for both you and Price. 

“When...when should I be worried?” You ask. 

“Hmm...” Dr. Keller looks at her calendar. “If you’re not feeling any sort of drive to nest by our next appointment, then I’d say we may need to consider using some exercises to help jump start it.” 

“Exercises?” You ask warily. 

“All easy things.” She reassures you. “Things like scent introductions, tactile explorations, and some bonding exercises might be helpful as well.” She writes something down on a sticky note. “I’ll explain everything in detail and you’ll get to choose whether you want to do any of it or not. No one’s going to force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, alright?” 

Tears prick your eyes at her words, and you furiously blink them back. It’s a little late for that kind of sentiment. Your presence here alone was thanks to a long line of people forcing you to do things you’re not comfortable with. It was easy to get lost in the excitement and the emotions of bonding with a pack, easy to forget that you would never have chosen this place had you ever been given the option to choose. 

You would have gone far from the military, far from this kind of life. It’s your duty to bond with an alpha, but what if you don’t want to? What if it’s all a front, and as soon as you’re claimed the curtains rise and suddenly everything is different? What if Price isn’t as kind as you’ve come to believe him? Just one squeeze too tightly around the back of your neck while you’re kneeling and everything would change. 

How easily he could take everything from you. 

“You want to talk about what’s going on in your head right now?” Dr. Keller asks, breaking the silence between you two.

You hadn’t even noticed you’d been staring off into space, lost in your thoughts. Of course she knows something’s changed. She’s spent years learning the ins and outs of omegas and all the secrets you can only imagine. She’s probably just as in tune with subtle changes as the four well trained soldiers that make up your new pack. Maybe even more in tune with them. 

You shake your head, keeping your gaze on the floor. 

“Remember nothing shared in this room leaves this room. It’ll always only be between us.” She says softly. 

You’re panicking. You can feel the pressure rising within you. You’re like a grenade and someone is about to pull the pin. You’re afraid you’ll spill everything to her, afraid you’ll let out things you’ve successfully kept buried for years and years. Things you’ve left behind, things you’ve had to move on from. Things you can’t afford to let out now. 

“I’d like to be done now.” You silently curse the way your voice shakes. 

Dr. Keller’s brows pull into a frown but she nods. “Okay.” She slips her papers into her notebook before standing. “Let me grab my keys.” 

You stand as she moves to her desk, grabbing her keys from the drawer. She leads you from her office, thankfully staying quiet as you walk through the rain towards the barracks. You’re still panicking, the turmoil inside you probably projecting the sour scent across the entire courtyard but you don’t care. You can’t. 

“Remember, if you ever need anything, I’m usually in my office.” Dr. Keller says as she drops you off at the door. 

You feel guilty as you hurry to your room, shoes squeaking on the tile. You feel bad for cutting the appointment off early, you feel bad for feeling the way you do. Later you’ll be grateful for Dr. Keller respecting your boundaries and not pushing, for following through with her promise and letting you be in control of the appointment. 

Right now you don’t care. Right now you can’t care. You’re too lost in your turmoil, the bitter scent of your distress seeping out from under the locked door. 

“...can ye talk tae me, hen? Let me know yer alright?” 

The soft voice coming through the closed door pulls you out from your burrow under the thin blanket. You blink blearily at your phone, trying to see the time. It’s just a little past the normal time you go to lunch with them. How long have they been knocking on the door? 

“Come on, lass.” Soap’s voice comes through the door again. “I dinnae want tae have tae kick in the door.” 

You force yourself out from under the blanket, pocketing your phone before quickly moving to your door. You throw it open, Soap’s eyes immediately scanning you as you rub tiredly at your eyes. You don’t doubt he’d kick in your door if he felt he had to. 

“Sorry,” You yawn. “I was asleep.” 

His eyebrows raise as he stares down at you. “Ye were asleep? Ye weren’t kidding about bein’ a heavy sleeper.” He leads you from the barracks, crossing the courtyard towards the mess.

“One time, when I was about two or three, my dad took us to some demonstration on base.” You say as you begin walking to the mess with him. “I fell asleep about halfway through and slept through a howitzer going off.” 

Soap lets out a laugh so loud it echoes in the courtyard. “Ye slept through a howitzer?” 

You nod. “Yup. My dad never let me live it down. I heard it all the time. ‘You’ll have to try hard to wake her, she slept through a howitzer once.’” 

Soap chuckles, leading you into the mess. “Ye are a deep sleeper.” 

You shrug. “I did say so. My phone will wake me up though. Alarms, calls.” 

“I’ll keep tha’ in mind.” He says as he guides you through the line, making your tray for you. 

You sit between Price and Gaz as usual, feeling a bit on edge still despite your nap after your appointment. You hadn’t gotten to sleep for very long, not nearly long enough to clear your head completely. You know they can tell, Gaz slowly shifting closer and closer to you, Price’s gaze flickering to you out of the corner of his eye every so often. Even Ghost’s eyes pass over you every so often as they sweep across the mess. 

You wonder if he feels responsible. 

You hope he does. 

Soap walks you back to the barracks after lunch and you spend the afternoon burrowed under your blanket again. You’re exhausted and sore after a long morning of training and your appointment. You wish you could sink back into sleep, let the emotions pass without you having to feel them, but you’re too awake now. Too aware of them as they prickle in the back of your mind. 

Dinner passes without incident, but you can’t ignore the feelings still stirring within you. You feel agitated and on edge, not even pacing your room helping you. You let out a breath before you put your slippers on, slipping out of your door. You make your way down the hallway, turning right instead of left like you would if you were heading for the rec room. The door is cracked open and you pause just before you reach it, suddenly feeling nervous. You shouldn’t really. There was no reason to be nervous, yet you can’t help the urge in the back of your mind to turn tail and race back down the hallway to the safety of your room. 

“You can come in, unless you’d prefer standing in the hallway all evening.” A voice calls from inside the office. 

Your face warms a bit at getting caught, but he could probably hear you coming down the hallway. He could probably smell you too. 

You push open the door, slipping inside before closing it behind you. Price stares at you from his desk as you stand there, shifting nervously on your feet. You feel agitated, on edge still. You’re worked up, and you don’t quite know why. 

“Everything alright?” Price asks, likely picking up on your nervous energy. 

Yes. You want to say, but then you’d have to come up with a reason as to why you sought him out, why you feel so worked up. You could just kneel for him. It’s what you should do, let yourself be eased into a peaceful state of mind. Let him take care of you. 

 “I don’t know.” 

The words are hardly more than a whisper, your voice trembling just as much as you are. Your chest feels tight, your breaths becoming shallow. You're not sure when he got up, when he even moved. His scent wraps around you, warmth encompassing your being as your face is pushed against his chest. 

“I need you to breathe for me.” Price says, pressing your ear against his chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heart, the air flowing in and out of his lungs. 

You close your eyes, trying to match your breaths to his. It's hard, your body fighting your attempt to regulate it. You close your eyes, focusing on the soft fabric of Price's shirt against your cheek, the warmth of his hand on your head as he keeps you pinned against his chest. It's not constricting or suffocating. It's grounding, keeping you from drowning in your own thoughts. 

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to as he holds you there, letting you calm down. You begin to slowly relax, your arms wrapping around his waist, fingers gripping the back of his shirt. 

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” He murmurs, lips brushing the top of your head. 

“I don’t know.” You whisper, still clinging to his shirt. “I’m just...I feel off. Ghost was being hard on me this morning and then I got upset during my appointment and I’ve just felt on edge all day and I can’t relax because I can’t get comfortable!” 

Price tightens his grip around you just slightly. “What do you mean?” 

You huff out a breath, squeezing your eyes closed so the tears don’t escape as the words leave you in a flood before you can stop them. “The blankets aren’t soft enough and the pillows are too thin and it’s too dark and I’m tired of smelling like bland soap!” 

Price hums quietly, squeezing you gently as a tear slides down your cheek. “Then we should do something to fix that.” 

“But I shouldn’t need it!” You cry, trying to push away from him, but he keeps you tight against his chest. “I’m supposed to be a good omega and adapt and learn to be comfortable where I am.” 

“That might be what you were taught,” He says, letting you push away from his chest, but he wraps his hands around your arms, keeping you in front of him. “But things don’t have to be that way. We should have taken care of something like this sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t even think of it. You shouldn’t have had to ask for it.” 

You blink up at him, genuinely surprised by his words. “I...what?” 

“We all have our own little comforts that we keep. Soap sleeps with a stuffed bear. Don’t tell him I told you that.” 

A small smile tugs at your lips at the mental image of Soap snuggling up with a teddy bear. 

“You deserve some comfort too.” He says, squeezing your arms.

“But, it’s not...regulation.” You say. 

“Doesn’t have to be.” He says. “You’re not a soldier. Even then, the only ones going in there are us. The only thing I can’t approve of is painting the walls. Unfortunately the prison grey has to stay.” 

You can’t help but laugh, wiping the tear from your cheek. “I suppose that’s alright. Just...as long as it’s not as dark and maybe a soft blanket or something. That’s really all I need.” 

He hums, staring down at you. You can’t quite figure out the look on his face, something shining in his eyes. “We’ll get it figured out.” He says, squeezing your arms again. 

“Get some shoes on. We’re going on a trip.” 

You look up from your book, staring at Price as he stands in the rec room. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, arms crossed as he stares down at you on the couch. You mark your place in your book, pushing yourself up to sit. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and unlike last week they had the day off, which means you do as well. 

“Are you going to make me hike through the woods for two hours again, sir?” You ask, pushing yourself up to stand. 

“No. We’re going into town.” He says. 

You blink at him. You haven’t been off base since you arrived, and you figured you probably wouldn’t be getting that opportunity any time soon. “Can I ask why, sir?” 

“We’ve got some shopping to do.” He says simply, turning and leaving the rec room. 

You stand there shocked for a moment before you’re following after him, slipping into your room to put comfortable shoes on and grab your phone and a jacket. You don’t even have a wallet to carry around to make yourself feel better. 

Price is waiting by the door for you, a car parked outside. You’re slow to approach him, suddenly feeling a mix of emotions. He’s doing this for you. He’d really taken your conversation last night to heart and now he’s going to go spend money on you that he doesn’t need to. 

“What’s that look for sweetheart?” He asks, standing in front of the door. 

“You don’t have to do this.” You say, staring up at him. He seems so tall like this, so...imposing. 

“Course I do.” He says, his gaze softening just slightly. “Should have done it sooner. You deserve to be comfortable too.” He says, turning to open the door. 

You follow him out, climbing into the car when he opens the door for you. He gets in the driver’s seat, the car rumbling to life. He drives to the front gate, passing off two ID cards to the guards. He passes one to you when the guard hands them back, the gate in front of you opening. 

“That’s your ID card. Gets you on and off base.” He explains as he drives away from the gate. “I doubt you’ll be leaving on your own, but just in case.” 

“Thank you, sir.” You say, slipping the card under your phone case for the time being. 

He glances at you, a small smile on his lips. “You can call me John, if you'd like. You don't need to be formal when we're in private.” 

“Yes, sir.” You make a face, biting your lip at your automatic response. “Sorry. Old habits.” 

“From the institute?” He asks. 

You shake your head. “My dad, actually. He was a firm believer in respecting authority figures. All ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ by the time we were old enough to know the difference.” 

“Sounds like my father.” He says, staring out at the road ahead. “Old grizzled military man.” 

“Do you still have contact with him?” You ask curiously. You don’t know much of anything about their families, their backgrounds.

“Not really. Beyond holidays, neither of us really make an effort to talk to the other. After mum passed, there wasn’t much to talk about.” He says. 

“She was the glue.” You say, watching the trees pass by the car. 

“Yeah.” He huffs out a laugh. “As betas usually are.”

“Do you have any siblings?” You ask, curiosity getting the better of you. You know next to nothing about them, while they likely know your entire life story. 

“No,” He shakes his head. “Just me. You have a lot of siblings.” 

You nod. “Seven at the time I left for the institute. Could be more now.” 

“They never tried to keep contact with you?” He asks. 

“Nope.” You turn to look out the window. “The institute didn’t really encourage it either, because we were being prepared to join new packs. That’s hard to do when you still have bonds with your old ones. I think they might have forcibly ended some. I know there were some omegas that tried to keep contact, but it became less and less until eventually it just stopped.” 

Price’s hands tighten around the steering wheel just slightly. You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been paying attention. Silence settles in the car as he drives, farmlands passing until the houses start getting closer and closer together. You stare at the buildings as he drives through town, a blend of historical and modern. 

“It’s beautiful here.” You say, watching people and cars pass by. 

“I suppose so.” He says, glancing at you. “I grew up in this area.” 

You turn to look at him. “You did? I didn’t know that. Then again, I don’t know much about any of you.” 

“You can ask us, you know.” He says. “We don’t have to be that secretive with you. At least not about ourselves.” 

He pulls into a parking lot, opening your door for you and helping you out of the car. You slip your hand into his, holding it as you cross the parking lot. You stare up at the store. ASDA. You’ve never heard of it before, though you suppose the stores would be different here too. 

Price drops your hand to grab a cart, the store bustling with people. You hang onto the edge of the cart, staying close to Price’s side. “We’re here for you.” He says, guiding you through the aisles. “Get whatever you want.” 

He’s led you to the homegoods section, your eyes widening at the entire aisle of blankets and bedding in front of you. You try to take it all in, but you feel a bit overwhelmed. There’s so many choices, so many options. 

“Pick out as many as you want. Don’t worry about the price.” He says, before you can protest. “We get paid decently, but don’t have many chances to use it. Let me do this for you.” 

You stare up into his eyes, the sincerity in them, before you nod, turning back to the wall of blankets before you. You study them, running your hand along them to find the softest ones, doing as he says and ignoring the price tags. You settle on a couple soft ones, grabbing a throw blanket as well that you can pack around to the rec room if you want to. He takes you to the pillow aisle, and you settle on a pair of fluffy pillows, as well as a couple decorative ones as well. 

“Here.” He slips a big plush strawberry into your arms before you leave the aisle, your cheeks warming as you look at it. “Makes me think of you.” 

You preen at his words, holding onto the strawberry as you make for the lamps and nightlights, settling on a cat shaped one that will sit on your desk and changes colors. You pick up a few other items before heading for the toiletries, finally setting the strawberry in the cart as you zero in on the soaps and body washes. You smell all the strawberry scented ones, trying to find the perfect one. 

“Why strawberry?” Price asks as you put a strawberries and cream scented body wash in the cart. 

“Compliments my scent.” You explain as he leads you to the shampoo and conditioner. “We had a scent specialist come to the institute one time as an activity. We all figured out what our scents smell like and what notes compliment them the best.” 

An arm wraps around your waist before you can look at the shampoo, pulling you back against a broad chest. Price’s nose presses into your neck and he inhales deeply. He lets out a content hum, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your neck. “I think you’re right.” 

Your face burns hot as he presses a gentle kiss against the side of your neck before releasing you. You stand there for a moment, trying to calm the heat rushing through your body and focus on the shampoo. You hear him chuckle as you shuffle forward, your face still burning as you smell the shampoo bottles. 

You settle on one, holding onto Price’s arm as you continue around the store, picking up a few other items and a couple for himself as well before heading to the checkout. 

You hold on to Price’s arm as you leave the store, sticking close to him as he loads the bags into the trunk. You can feel the slight tension in his body, the way his eyes scan the parking lot every few seconds. You can’t even begin to imagine how hard it must be for him to relax, especially out in public. How fast his mind has to be running, how alert he is to everyone and everything. A threat could come out of nowhere, could come from anyone. 

It must be exhausting. 

“Hungry, sweetheart?” He asks as he buckles his seatbelt. 

“Always.” You answer, leaning on the center console.

He smiles. “What are you in the mood for?” 

You blink at him. Most of the restaurants you know probably don’t exist in England. “Fish and chips?” You offer, pulling up the one British food you’re confident in naming. 

“Fish and chips it is.” He says, turning on the car. 

“I have yet to have real fish and chips.” You say, settling into the passenger seat. 

“Well, I know the perfect place.” He says, pulling out of the parking lot. 

You don’t have to go far before he’s parking on the street and helping you out of the car. His hand settles on your lower back, guiding you down the street to a fish and chips shop. 

It's too early for the dinner rush, the shop mostly empty and quiet. Price orders for you before guiding you to a table, and you let him sit facing the door and front window. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. They seem so relaxed on base, though you suppose that's the place they feel the most comfortable. You can't even imagine the kinds of things they've seen, the horrors they've been subjected to. 

You don't want to think about the things they've done. 

Your eyes snap downwards as Price's hand slides across the table, closing around yours. You don't want to think about the things he's done with those hands. The lives he's taken, the people he's tortured. Will he ever turn those hands on you? 

They've given you no reason to fear them yet. They've all been kind, polite. Even Ghost hasn't truly given you a reason to fear him, despite his obvious disapproval and hard exterior. 

You know nothing about them. 

You've known them for just over two weeks. You can't possibly have any understanding of who they are, how they express their emotions. What if they get upset? What happens when they get angry? What if you anger them?

“I know this hasn’t been easy for you. Any of it.” Price says, drawing you from your worried thoughts. “I know you were taught to expect this, perhaps not this exact situation, but something like this. Being sent off to some strange alpha to join their pack, bonding with complete strangers. None of us were expecting this either. It’s been an adjustment in a lot of ways, but I want you to know that we’ll take care of you. You need anything, you tell us. You want anything, we’ll do our best to make it happen. We’ll keep you safe.” He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “I promise you that.” 

You want to believe him. You really do. They haven’t given you any reason to not believe it. 

It’s only been two weeks. 

You continue to talk with him as you eat, making light conversation, getting to know him a bit more. Despite the trickling uncertainty in the back of your mind, it feels good. It feels like a date, something you had dreamed of before you presented, something you had imagined happening when you finally got old enough to start looking for potential mates and packs. 

Of course, back then, you had thought you’d be an alpha. 

It had been expected of you. 

Price has his arm wrapped around you as you walk back to the car, his hand on your hip. It’s possessive almost, and it makes your stomach flutter. Price is the only one you haven’t kissed yet, well, besides Ghost, but you’re certain you’d wind up through a wall if you even thought of trying. It’s almost ironic that Price would be the last, considering he’s going to be the one claiming you, the one you spend your heat with. 

You stare out the window as the buildings fade into farmlands again. The sun is setting, painting the world in oranges and reds. You still feel a bit warm from Price’s possessive hold on you, his teasing in the store. You can still feel the tickle of his beard on your skin, his lips pressing against your neck. 

You jump when rough fingers trail down your arm, pulling it from where it had been resting in your lap. 

“You were right.” Price says as he lifts your hand to his face, pressing his nose against your wrist and inhaling for a moment. “Strawberries are the strongest note in your scent.” He lowers your hand again, lacing your fingers together. “What’s got you all worked up over there.” 

You stare at him, your face getting warm again. Of course he can smell it. You can smell the muskiness beginning to form around the edges of his scent. Desire. “You haven’t kissed me yet.” You say, moving his hand into your lap. “You're the only one that hasn't...well, besides Ghost.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “You sound disappointed.” 

You untangle your fingers with his, letting his hand rest on your thigh. “What if I am?”

His fingers flex against your leg, the muskiness of his scent strengthening. “Then maybe we should fix that.” 

The cocktail of scents in the car is intoxicating, and you feel bad for the poor beta soldier at the gate when Price rolls down the window to hand off your IDs. 

Price is out of the car as soon as it's parked, moving around to your side to open the door. He pins you against the side of the car as soon as you're out, caging you in with his arms. 

You stare up at him, head swimming with the musk laced in his scent. You can see his eyes shining in the light next to the door of the barracks. He looks like a hungry wolf, the back of your neck prickling with excitement. 

He leans down, breath fanning your face as he gets closer and closer to you. You press yourself against him, hands gripping his shoulders as he presses his lips to yours. His lips are surprisingly soft, his beard tickling your face. He growls quietly against your lips, pushing you harder against the side of the car. 

You let out a quiet sound in response, hands gripping his jacket. His hands slide from the car to your sides, sliding down to grip your hips. You can feel the muscle hidden beneath his jacket and shirt, the strength that he possesses. He may not be purebred like Ghost, but he’s still every inch an alpha. 

You let out another quiet sound as he pulls away, pressing a caste kiss to the corner of your lips. “Bloody hell, now I know what those boys were on about.” He breathes, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“They were talking about me?” You ask, pulling back slightly. 

“Only good things.” Price grins, leaning down to kiss you again. “Sweet as sugar.” He breathes, kissing you again. “And just as addicting.” He pulls away from you, his hands resting on your waist. “We should get your stuff inside so you can get it all set up. Want me to fetch one of the boys to help?” 

You bite your lip. “Or you could just do it.” 

He stares down at you, something flashing across his face but you can’t quite make it out in the low light. “You’re sure?” His voice is quiet, taking on that soft tone it often does when he speaks to you. 

“You’ll have to eventually.” You shrug. “Might as well start now.” 

He leans down, kissing you again before pulling away, opening up the trunk. He grabs most of the bags, only leaving the pillows for you to grab before he leads the way into the barracks. You open your door, stepping in first before he follows. You dump your pillows on the bed, and he sets the rest of the bags on your desk. 

“Blankets in the wash.” You say, digging them out of the bags, pulling the tags off. 

“I’ll take them.” He says, fishing out his stuff from the bags before taking the blankets from you. 

You switch out your pillows for the softer ones, organizing the decorative ones just the way you want. You squish the strawberry to your chest again, a smile forming on your face before you flop back onto the bed, sinking into the soft pillows. It’s almost perfect, you think. 

“Comfortable?” Price’s voice rumbles in the doorway, a smile on his face as he stares at you. 

“Much better.” You say, sitting up and placing the strawberry in its place. 

The two of you finish taking everything out of the bags, decorating the rest of your room. The posters on the walls, and the nightlight on your desk. It feels far more homey already, and you know you’re going to sleep well tonight once the blankets are out of the wash. 

“Thank you.” You say, looking up at Price. “This really means a lot.” 

“All in a day’s work, love.” He says, pulling you into his arms again. 

You lean against his chest, resting your head over his heart, listening to it beat steadily against your ear. 

You wake up suddenly, yet you’re not quite sure why. There’s no one in your room, your new nightlight easily showing you that. Your mouth is dry, but there’s a line of wetness down your chin. You reach across your nightstand, your phone illuminating the time. 

Just past one a.m. 

You smack your lips, feeling thirsty after the excitement of the day. You’d forgotten to grab water when you left the rec room and you huff out a sigh. You don’t want to get up, but now that you’re aware you’re thirsty, there’s no stopping those thoughts. 

You don’t even bother with slippers as you pad to the door, opening it up. You leave it cracked as you sleepily shuffle towards the rec room, the barracks almost dead quiet this late. You grab a bottle from the fridge, unscrewing the top before drinking a few gulps. It’s cold and tastes divine, soothing the dryness of your mouth. You screw the top back on, closing the fridge before heading back towards your room. 

You turn the corner, still half asleep, nearly yelping as you slam into a chest. You stumble back a couple steps, staring up at the covered face looming over you. You gulp, holding the bottle to your chest. 

“S-Sorry.” You stutter. 

“You’re out of bed.” He says quietly, voice rumbling in the silence. 

“Thirsty.” It’s all you can manage as you hold up the bottle. 

He stares at you for a long moment, eyes flickering all over your face. His chest is heaving, almost as if he had been running before you ran into him. His hands are closed into fists at his sides, knuckles almost white with how tense he is. You think for a moment he might be mad, but you can’t catch any whiff of ozone in the air. Your nose prickles at the scent, but it’s not anger. 

Your tired brain can’t make sense of it, yearning to sink back into the softness of your bed again. You slowly shuffle around him, taking cautious steps, waiting for him to reach out and stop you, but he doesn’t. He simply watches you go, standing there in the hallway as you slip back into your room, not moving until he hears the click of your lock slipping into place. 

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows, @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10, @cassiecasluciluce @darling006 @sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph 

#call of duty #call of duty fic #x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #poly 141 #task force 141 x reader #omegaverse #a/b/o #alpha/beta/omega dynamics

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

could we get some gally headcannons please?👀

Whatever you want to write🩷

Thank you ❤️

gally in a relationship headcanons

masterlist

finally some gally love <3 idc what anyone says, his eyebrows are beautiful. NSFW BELOW.

the glade

enemies to lovers type shit. i'm talking y'all would go as far as avoiding meal times just to avoid seeing each other.

he'd always be staring at you—from across the glade, through the bonfire, literally all the time.

sooo many interactions would end with y'all being up in each other's faces and throwing petty insults.

you'd slap him if he says anything that borders on sexism. he eventually learns what's what.

'there's a thin line between love and hate'.

other gladers would get so annoyed by how much he talks about you. his favourite excuse: "she just pisses me off so much".

but there's no excuse for jerking off to the thought of you late at night.

honestly, he would probably realise he likes you when you scull his secret recipe drink in front of him.

he'd ignore his feelings until you're the only thing on his mind and it infuriates him so fucking much.

you would be arguing one time and then suddenly he kisses you. the kiss would be aggressive, heated, and most likely up against a tree or hut.

suprisingly, his confession after would be very vulnerable and tender.

everyone is confused the next day when you're practically glued to each other's sides

gally would be very protective and borderline possessive. he'd hate it whenever other guys stare or talk about you.

would probably end up in a fistfight over it.

he'd be a rough/passionate kisser.

he'd be very into thighs. his hands are big and calloused so he'd enjoy wrapping them around the plush of your thighs, kneading the soft warm skin in his hand.

despite his gruff and harsh demeanour, he would always hold/touch you with utmost delicateness, apart from heated moments.

guards you whenever you shower.

would break so many rules for you. reluctantly, of course.

y'all know the term 'sleeper build'? that's gally. he might not seem extremely muscly at first glance, but once he starts heavy-lifting and building, his arms are legit bulging.

your first time together wouldn't be too great, but once you practice more, it gets good. like, really good.

love love loves receiving but also thoroughly enjoys making you come and knowing only he can do it.

his favourite sex position would be holding you up against a wall. he likes feeling strong.

arguments would almost always end with him taking you into the forest and fucking you against a tree.

when he gets stung, he would probably fight through the changing to tell you he loves you one last time before getting speared. oop.

the last city

when y'all reunite, you'd both collapse to the floor in each other's arms kissing and crying which surprises you. the gally you knew was not a crier or favoured public affection.

gally changed a lot since you last saw him, emotionally and physically. he is taller, more muscular, and has a more level-headed and calmer attitude.

he'd be more emotionally available and willing to be open and vulnerable with you.

the first thing y'all do when you're alone is have sex. and he even fucks differently.

the better wording would be 'make love' instead of 'fuck'.

he is much more gentle and loving and focuses on your needs wayyy more than his own. he couldn't believe how aggressive he previously was with you, how selfish he was.

he would worship your body and show you how much you really mean to him.

you would make him leave his mask on one time while y'all fuck. its hot af.

would always be touching you—an arm wrapped around your waist, holding your hand, your thighs, etc.

the hugs, man. he'd literally pick you up and engulf you in his arms. all the time. this mf had a severe epiphany and realised his love language was touch.

would always be complimenting you. "you're beautiful, you know that?", "god, you're a fucking angel.", etc

wouldn't get mad if other guys talked to or stared at you anymore. he would probably joke about it with them instead.

well, maybe he would be a little aggressive.

"yeah, ha-ha, careful or i'll throw you to the cranks".

trusts you to be able to take care of yourself but is still a major worrier, especially during the war within the city.

after arriving at the safe haven, he would build a house for you. you would enjoy watching him because, well... muscles.

all in all, gally would be an extremely different man compared to the one you first met, making your love for him stronger than it had ever been.

#wife of all dilfs ✍️ #gally #gally x reader #gally maze runner #gally x you #tmr gally #will poulter #gally tmr #the scorch trials #the maze runner #the death cure #gally smut #gally imagine #tmr newt #tmr thomas #newt tmr #thomas tmr

[hanasnx]

hip to be square.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: themes similar to the movie | allusions to violence and murder | sexual content | sexism | fiancée!reader | dumbification | degradation | rough sex | anal play references | anal fisting reference | drug references | allusions to asphyxiation.

“You’ve worked up quite a sweat.” PATRICK BATEMAN notes in thinly veiled repulsion. Those cruel hands on your hips restrain themselves, and you can feel that tension against you. Instead, he pours his ample strength into yanking you back on him, choked sounds emit from your gaping mouth. In a way, this is an obligation, he can't really enjoy the way your cunt squeezes him, or how his thumbs fit those perfect back dimples—not in the way he wants to. If it were up to him, he'd squeeze the life out of you while he screwed those lifeless brains to pieces. Finally a bitch like you would be put to good use, eyes rolling back as the lack of oxygen grows black dots in your vision. You'd claw at his grip around your neck, easing in to crushing your windpipe, the light would die as he watched, and he wouldn't even falter in his pace. Those hips would still be fucking you, like he is now.

Hard and rough, it hurts. Abusing your cervix as you're bent over the perfect white covers of his California King. You bounce on him like you want more, but in reality you're limp as he directs your body the way he wants it to move. An irrefutable force against you that you are powerless to soothe, unbeknownst to you your only line of defense to protect you from his wrath is the ring on your finger.

You're engaged to him.

In his eyes it was an unavoidable tragedy. All his friends are your friends, you live in his area, and you're a ten minute commute from work. If he's looking to blow off steam during lunch, he'll pop in for a visit and use you up with a pillow covering your head. You don't catch on to the fact he doesn't want to look at you while he ravages you, never question why he insists on hitting it from the back if he can help it. It aids that you've got a nice ass, plump and round and fits in his palms when he handles it. When you aren't being a priss, sometimes you'll let him slip a finger into your asshole. At one point he managed to convince you to let him fist you, but he'd slipped you one to many things that night, narrowly avoiding a messy emergency room visit. There was no way he was going to wait up for you in such a place so late at night. What would he have told everybody? That his fiancée was some junkie? Absolutely not.

Nails dig into your skin at the memory, the salt of sweat burning that raw that makes you mewl. He steels himself from demanding you shut up, instead assuaging the urge by smacking your hand away when you reach back to hold his in a petty attempt to get him to let up. Cruelly, he drills you. Those pathetic noises release in pain, you don't even sound human. "What are you to me?" he spits, looming over your little body as his every muscle contracts fucking into you at a reckless pace. You're sore from his weight, but you can't do a thing about it when being treated like shit never felt so good. A ring of cream foams at his base, taken from you as your cunt confuses punishment for desperation, your expression twisting so hard you'll get wrinkles early. He'll have to divorce you before that happens, otherwise people will think him vain. "Answer me, you idiot, you're supposed to answer me."

Somehow, you don't notice how he's talking to you. How it's different than the cold and distant nature you're accustomed to in public. "Nothing." you breathe out. "I'm nothing." You chase whatever you can get your hands on, scrambling for whatever stupid response you can muster in this state. Apparently, it pleases him, a sea of moans flowing out through his deep voice as he satiates himself using you like a sock with your name on it in his room.

#indy: drabbles #ch: patrick #patrick bateman drabble #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman x fem reader #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #patrick bateman x y/n #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman fic #patrick bateman fanfic #patrick bateman fanfiction #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #american psycho #reader insert #patrick bateman #tw drug mention

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Seven: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink (Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation[Be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin is perfect boyfriend material. He’s also insane, but that’s okay. He’s thinkin’ some thoughts [diary entries from Ani AND you] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

Diary Entry: July 14th

You’d better be so fucking glad that I’m not insane.

I offered you my weapon and you didn’t take it. You have zero self preservation skills, your fight or flight response is so low that it concerns me. You’re worse than a opossum, instead of playing dead you play pretend that it’s normal to have a home intruder with a knife in your bedroom.

You didn’t even attempt to get up and run, not that you could’ve. You wouldn’t have made it more than two steps without collapsing. You could hardly speak, slurring your words like a drunken fool.

You didn’t even call anyone after I left. Didn’t text anyone. Didn’t get out of bed until 1:00pm this morning. If I didn’t have the audio on full blast all night I would’ve busted back in and made sure you were still breathing.

Honestly I’m alittle jealous.

Stupid I know, to be jealous of myself. But you didn’t know it was me. Yet you still let me sit there, you let me talk to you, you let me scratch your head like a good little girl.

Did you really believe it was all a dream?

Do you remember it today?

Can you feel my hands on your skin? Can you taste my cum on your lips?

Did you know it was me?

Date

July 14th

You woke up groggy, way, way past the normal time your internal alarm clock jolts you awake. Disoriented wouldn’t even begin to describe how you felt right now. This was a feeling like nothing you’d ever experienced before.

Unlike last night when your mind was refusing to kick off the blanket of sleep while your body could scarcely react… now your mind was wide awake and running rapidly while your body was aching and not properly calibrated.

You’d been so utterly relaxed during your deep sleep that your muscles got the rest they’d been searching so desperately for your entire life. You felt loose, rested and smooth while also feeling as though you’d been stomped to a pulp by a stampede of angry cattle.

Your head felt swimmy, your lungs felt like they’d been working too hard. Your eyes still couldn’t fully focus either, so it was no surprise that you stumbled clumsily to the kitchen and spilled coffee grounds all over the counter.

You rested your forehead against your folded arms on the counter top, needed a moment to rest your eyes from the harsh lighting. The pounding in your head traveled from one side to the other, keeping a continuous presence behind your sensitive eyes. The moment of silence, well, it gave you time to think.

You had wanted so badly to believe last night was nothing but a weird ass dream, it wouldn’t have been the first time.

But your hopes were squashed when you woke up and saw your diary on the edge of your bed. Even the air felt disturbed, like your room itself was letting you know that it wasn’t all in your head.

He had said he wouldn’t hurt you and you believed him.

He didn’t hurt you.

But if not… why drug you? Was he planning on it and you’d interrupted his plans? Though being a kind, caring, crazy person he backed off instead of forcing you to endure whatever he decided for you while you were awake?

Or had you caught him after the deed had been done?

That ache. That horrible longing in your gut that just refused to go away… was gone. Not dulled, not in hibernation. You felt satisfied and sated.

He said he didn’t hurt you… maybe he just...

You shoved your thoughts into a corner and taped the box shut. That was absolutely sick, you cannot think that way. You can’t. What the hell is wrong with you? You shouldn’t be okay with that.

You should cry. You should scream and wail and cry and throw up.

But how could you be disgusted by a man that had taken away the yearning that had been so deeply rooted within you for so long? Maybe… maybe he didn’t even touch you like that.

Maybe whatever drug he’d given you had somehow flipped the reset switch.

“Sure.” You whispered to yourself, leaning against the countertop. “Sure, that’s all it is. Just that.”

“I have no reason to doubt him. If he wanted to hurt me he would’ve done it. I caught him, if he was truly a terrible person he probably would’ve killed me.” You reasoned with yourself.

“He just came to say hello.” You put your face in your hands, breathing deeply. “Yep. Yep. Yep. That’s all.”

You chose to ignore that fact that your panties were glued to your cunt that morning.

Conveniently over looked the obvious hickey on your left breast.

Pretended not to notice the taste of something salty in the corner of your mouth.

That’s all in your head. He didn’t do that, you didn’t feel sore. You would feel that wouldn’t you? You would’ve woken up right?

‘Right. I would’ve felt it. I would’ve woken up. So it was a dream. Yes.’ You nodded resolutely in agreement with your inner voices.

Some guy dressed as Ghostface was not in your bedroom.

You got out your diary to write about your night at the bar and how wonderful it was, and you fell asleep before you could put your pen to the paper.

Someone slipped something in your drink and it made you sleep very soundly. Someone who didn’t get the chance to take advantage because your two best friends walked you home.

Your subconscious knew that’s what happened and it made all that other stuff up. It’s time to reevaluate your bookshelf. No more dark romance. It’s turned your brain to mush.

Anakin. You should go ask Anakin to review the footage from the bar security cameras. Put your mind at ease that no one had even attempted to follow you home. Maybe you’ll see that no one even drugged you in the first place and you just have one hell of a hangover and an overactive imagination.

First things first though, scoop up those spilled coffee grounds and dump them into the filter. The water gets hot enough, it’ll be fine.

Absentmindedly grabbing your new hello kitty mug, you failed to notice the slip of paper inside until you almost poured creamer over it.

You quickly snatched it up and unfolded it.

‘Sleep well?’

——————————————————————————

“Anakin!” You banged on his front door and he answered relatively quickly.

He appeared in a pair of flannel checkered pajama pants and a short sleeved white shirt, socked feet and messy hair.

“I’m not picking my nose I swear, I’m changing my nose ring.” He grinned, one finger in his left nostril while he screwed on the ball to a new black steel ring, replacing the previous plain stainless steel one.

“M’sorry I didn’t mean to-“

“No worries baby, what’s up?” He asked, running a hand through his hair before shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Can you do me a favor please?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Of course, what’d you need princess?” He asked, his face full of sympathy. “Wanna come in? We can chat.”

He didn’t wait for you to answer, he simply stepped aside and held the door open, lifting that arm slightly so he could usher you underneath his arm and into his apartment.

“Need a drink or anything?” He asked, thumbing toward the fridge.

When you shook your head he gently grasped one of your elbows and brought you to the couch, he kneeled on one knee and held both your hands with his. He looked up at you like he was studying the most delicate piece of artwork on earth.

“What’s going on doll?” He whispered, tucking a hair behind your ear, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Your eyes flashed at his lips quickly, and widened slightly, but you shook your head.

‘If only you knew.’ You thought, your inner voice giving a mirthless laugh.

“N-no.” You sighed. “Is there anyway you can convince your boss to let me look through the security footage from the bar last night?”

“Yeah sure, I doubt he’d care.” Anakin shrugged. “Why? Did you lose something?”

“Um no.” You said, contemplating on telling him your story, no matter how stupid it might make you look.

“You can tell me anything sweetheart.” Anakin cooed.

“It’s just… I think maybe someone slipped something in my drink last night.”

“You think someone drugged you?” He repeated, his hands tightening around yours.

“Well I don’t know for sure!” You said quickly. “I just woke up feeling weird and dizzy… n’ well I don’t know it doesn’t matter.”

“I’ll make sure we get that footage okay?” He promised, pulling you into his chest and smoothing your hair down your back.

You didn’t speak, you just let him pet you for a moment. The thought of telling him what had actually happened scared you. It made your stomach flip, twist into knots and yank your guts so tightly that you thought you’d never be able to eat again.

He’d think you’re nuts. He’d think you’re a liar. He’d think you wrote that note yourself. He… what would he do? If he believed you? Would he call the cops? Get angry at you for not doing it yourself?

You were vaguely aware of Anakin speaking to you and once he realized you weren’t comprehending a single word, he stopped. He leaned back to look at your face where it rested against his chest.

“Babydoll?” He said worriedly, waving his hand in front of your face to get your attention. “What’s got you all tore up?” He asked in a whisper.

You shook your head, hoping to scramble your thoughts back into order.

“It’s nothing, I just…” You breathed deeply, realizing only now that you’d started to cry.

The safety you felt with Anakin had allowed you to feel these confused feelings in a closed and controlled environment. You chided yourself for thinking he’d react offensively, you may as well just tell him. At least part of it… right?

“Hey, princess.” He said, his voice tinged with a worried kind of uncertainty. “You’re kinda scaring me, I need you to talk to me baby.” He whispered softly.

“I think someone broke into my house last night.” You blurred out suddenly, your words surprising yourself. The moment they left your lips the words caused you to shudder, eyes watering, staring at Anakin like a poor hopeless little kitten on an ASPCA commercial.

“What do you mean someone broke into your house?” He asked sternly, his hands firm on your shoulders.

“I don’t know. Maybe I imagined it.” You said embarrassedly.

“I checked all over the apartment this morning and can’t seem to find out how they got in. I just remember someone being there.” You added, biting your lip as you picked at the skin on your fingers.

“Do you want me to go look?” He asked softly. “You can stay right here, I’ll go look if you want.”

“Really?” You sniffled. “Will you?”

“Of course.” He soothed, cupping your face with both hands and wiping the remnants of your tears away. “You stay put. I’ll be right back.”

Anakin grabbed a thick Sherpa blanket…

Sherpa blanket? He has a Sherpa blanket? Hot. A man with good taste in throw blankets is a man worth pursuing.

He covered you up and patted your head, his fingers stalling momentarily as he gave you a wide-eyed, quizzical look as though he might ask you something or maybe had an odd thought. But, you could see him internally shaking whatever it was that crossed his mind away.

“I’ll be back in a sec okay?” He said, walking to his front door and shutting it with a click behind him.

Anakin walked into your apartment and idly stood in the kitchen, thinking to himself and wondering just how much you remembered. Boogie purred and looped around at his feet so he scooped her up and held her like a baby while pacing the room.

“What should I do? Hmm?” He asked, scratching beneath her chin.

“You have great advice usually.” He muttered. “C’mon… I- fuck.” He groaned.

“I can’t just ask her can I?” He huffed. “No, I can’t.”

“I’ll just… offer to put up some cameras,” he chuckled to himself. “Easy. It’ll make her feel better huh?”

“Thanks… good kitty.” He said giving her a peck on the head before sitting her on the kitchen counter and walking back to his apartment.

He popped his head around the corner to see you still sitting exactly where he left you.

“Good news is: there isn’t anyone there now.” He said with a sympathetic smile. “I can’t find any evidence of a break-in…”

“I know!” You said, exasperatedly throwing your hands up.

“Hush.” He said sternly. “Just because I didn’t find anything, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen okay?”

He doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t believe that your space had been invaded, that your sanctuary had been tainted. But, he believes that you believe it was. And that’s enough of a reason for him to play along for your peace of mind. Within reason of course. He’s not confirming your fears, he’s leaving it open ended but putting up a gate to keep it in check. He’s protecting you from yourself and your own anxiety.

Too bad he’s wrong. Although it’s real sweet that he’s trying.

“Okay.” You blushed at his change in tone, like he was speaking to a child having a tantrum.

You didn’t fully understand why, but every time he did that, it made your stomach flip- in a good way. It was… strangely comforting? Maybe? Or maybe it was just hot, either way you weren’t complaining in the slightest.

“Do you want me to set up a security system for you? Some cameras or?” He offered, sitting next to you and opening his arms which you quickly leaned into.

“Cameras?” You echoed, why hadn’t you thought to put those in when you moved in? You’re a girl, living alone, in a less-safe area of town.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Would that make you feel better?”

“I don’t know… maybe just those window and door alarms?” You suggested. “You know the ones that make that horrible screeching sound when they’re armed and someone tries to open the door?”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

“I had one on the back garden gate at my moms house.” He said, smoothing out your hair.

“Really? Why?” You asked.

“Cause she thought I was sneaking out.” He chuckled.

“Were you?”

“Yes.” He laughed. “I just wanted to go smoke with my friend who lived in the same subdivision as us. Apparently she’d been hearing the gate open and shut.”

“She was never one for confrontation, so I guess scaring the shit out of me was her way of telling me to stop sneaking out to smoke pot.” He smirked. “I screamed, like a real actual scream. Sounded like a little girl.”

“Oh poor you.” You laughed, looking up at him as you giggled. “My parents never found out I snuck out.” You said teasingly.

“Oh really? What were your methods?” He snorted.

“Well, we didn’t have a fence first of all.” You said. “Second, I was on the ground floor and my bedroom window didn’t have a screen in it.”

“Mmm.” He nodded, his chest rising and falling methodically. “Smart.”

“Yep.” You smiled. “So how bad did you get in trouble?”

“Trouble? None.” He chuckled, leaning back to look at you. “I was momma’s pride and joy, I could do no wrong. She just gave me a warning, unspoken. But still very, very loud.”

“Oh so what you’re saying is she let you get away with it huh?” You laughed.

“Pretty much.” He smiled, pausing for a moment. “So is that what you want then?”

“Yeah… I think I’d rather have those. Maybe it’ll scare ‘em off and make ‘em scream like a little bitch, like you.” You teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh baby, you wound me.” He sighed. “Guess you’ll have to find someone else to install them for you, huh?”

“What?” You sat up and furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

“What?” He said mockingly. “You really want a little bitch installing your security system? My little girly hands just won’t get the job done.” He teased.

Little girly hands? Little girly hands?

Those hands were anything but little, everything masculine. Strong and firm. Long fingers that would lace perfectly in yours, those same fingers would feel at home between your…

“Fine, I take it back.” You said quickly, pulling yourself from your dirty thoughts. You couldn’t seriously be drooling over those veined hands while discussing your potential house invasion.

“Good girl.” He grinned. “I’ll order them for you okay?” He said, brushing his knuckle against your cheek.

“Thank you.” You sighed in relief, ignoring the shiver his touch sent through you.

“No problem princess.” He said softly.

Diary Entry: July 14th

God I feel so… conflicted.

I never feel conflicted when it comes to you. It’s so strange, this feeing. It’s like I’m being pulled in two directions.

I love you. So much baby.

I love the way you felt in my arms today. I loved the way you let me hold you, comfort you. We have such a good connection. Such a normal, real, blossoming relationship.

But I’ve went and made things complicated haven’t I?

I should’ve waited. I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve sucked it up and just watched through the cameras and kept my hands to myself. I have patience, I should’ve used it.

It’s just… you’re so tempting.

You love it. Whether you know it or not, I know it. I see it, hear it, taste it. You need me. Conscious and consenting or unconscious and oblivious. Either way, you need me.

So it’s really not my fault. I might’ve thrown the snowball that’s triggered the avalanche, but you’re not running from it. You’re letting it drag you under and doing it with a blush and blissful smile.

Ghostface has thrown an unexpected but possibly very interesting wrench in my plans. You reacted so strangely. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s eating me alive inside, the way you just… accepted it. It’s amazing.

Truly, it’s astonishing. This side of yourself that you’ve kept locked away and hidden from view, maybe even hidden from yourself until now. Do you have a Pit too? Did that surprising reaction crawl out of the depths of your enigmatic mind?

It’s a mystery to me. One I will never crack, it drives me nuts. Knowing that there’s a truly unsolvable puzzle in front of me, I can pick and pick and pick, but I’ll never find all the pieces. You’re too smart, too clever, too perfect. Why would your mind maze be any different?

What have you got hidden in there? In that one place I can’t break into? The one part of yourself you can hide from me?

I’ve gotten a taste, a small one. Lightly salted, hardly seasoned thoughts sprawled on the pages of your diary. No one, not even me, writes everything down. There are things that will stay locked away in my mind, never to be spoken or written. I’m sure you have those things too. Probably not anywhere near as… depraved as mine. But strange and unusual enough that you’d never willingly allow anyone to learn.

As much as I hate that I can’t read your mind, I love it too. That hidden side of yourself that is only for you. It’s something I’m not sure that you would ever show me, not even when you’ve finally fallen in love with me. Not even when we’re too old to care about anything but our happiness… I don’t think you’d share it then either.

That’s a shame. It really is.

But you might share that side of yourself with Ghostface.

I know you.

I know you well enough to realize that the fawn who timidly, but let their curiosity guide them to speak with Ghostface is not the same doe that blinks up at Anakin with adoration.

You. Are. So. Much. Like. Me.

Anakin looks at you with a sense of love, pure and unfiltered. He wants the best for you because he cares so deeply. He wants to keep you safe and warm and forever happy. Because that’s his duty as a loving and caring partner. Your protector and provider.

Ghostface looks at you with love yes, but also obsession and deeply rooted perversion. An infatuation so strong that he’d shed gallons of blood just to get to you. He wants the best for you, in his own way. He wants to keep you safe while giving you the danger he knows that you crave. He wants to keep you warm by feeding the flame of your own twisted little fantasies. The ones so dark you won’t even write them in your diary. He wants to keep you forever happy too, just not in the traditional sense.

And if he gets to have his own fun along the way… well, we both know I’m a fan of killing two birds with one stone. Of course Ghostface would have some mutually beneficial, selfishly planned ideas too, right? He’s unafraid to be what Anakin tries to keep hidden.

Maybe we can have both? Separately… at least for a little while.

You can have us both.

We can have the fawn and doe.

That could be fun. I think I’d like that. You’re just perfect, you’re so perfect. I never would’ve imagined I would be lucky enough to find someone who was as fucked in the head as me. The theory is of course untested, but I have a feeling that I’m right. I think you’ll love Ghostface just as much as you love Anakin.

Because I love the fawn just as much as I love the doe.

The doe that blinks up at me like it’s been caught in the high beams of a truck. The doe that is clever enough to carry on a good banter with me. Sweet and kind and gentle. That’s the recipe for the perfect little deer, they’re such a gentle animal. Soft.

Just like you. They bed down in the softest grass, nest themselves up in a way that keeps them hidden and safe. You do the same, all those stuffed animals and the ridiculously thick and fluffy comforter you sleep under.

They’re smart. They can be sneaky and quiet if they need to be. They have hard and dangerous hooves if they truly need to use them. So do you, but you’ve proven that just like a doe, you’d rather return to the safety of your nest instead of bucking up to kick your problems square in the chest.

Even though they’re smart enough to know they’re prey, they’re too sweet, too pure to believe anyone could have bad intentions. That’s why the bucks have antlers. Sharp and precise, ready to clash into whatever threatens his doe, head first.

Sound familiar?

Then there’s the fawn. The you I’ve only just begun to know. Tiny, meek, fragile. A bleat so small and unsure that it’s comical, like the way you spoke to Ghostface.

They cower, hide. Walk on unsteady legs that cause them to flounder when they’re nervous. They get overconfident; leaping and running on those lanky limbs and regretting it when they fall to their knees, legs folded beneath them and calling out for their protector.

They have those innocent doe eyes all the time, not just when caught off guard. Like the you that Ghostface met. So curious and wrongfully trusting. They don’t realize danger until it’s too late, they’re just exploring the world around them and suddenly they’re gone.

That’s why it’s important that you stay within arms reach of me. That’s why I watch you so closely. That’s why you need me.

They’re so easily taken advantage of; the purity, the innocence, it’s a recipe for disaster if it’s left to develop on its own. But when it’s nurtured? Well cared for? Allowed to roam within reason? In the safety of the net it’s protector has spread out for them?

Well, they’ll blossom. Just like you. You’re so eager to learn and soak up all the knowledge you’ve been so curious about, but too afraid to seek out on your own.

Ghostface can help with that. He’ll keep you safe while giving you the room to explore. He’ll allow you to think that you’re independently experiencing a new world, even though he’s the one who’s crafting it for you.

What a surprise it’ll be when we tell you we’re the same guy. It’ll be your dream come true huh? Sweet and tender boyfriend material, bring home to momma, respectful and gentle Anakin. With a side of… well controlled obsession motivated lunacy.

See? I’m self aware. Crazy people don’t know they’re crazy. I’m not a psycho, I’m. Not. That. Kind. Of. Guy.

But Ghostface is.

I love you. You love me. We can just merge the four of us together. Fours a crowd but twos a party or some shit like that.

Date

July 19th

Anakin waltzed into your apartment and locked the door behind him. In his break and enter self imposed uniform. No mask though, he just had it tucked under his arm just incase. He liked to be prepared, especially after you’d surprised him by waking up when he’d so carefully planned for you to do the opposite.

He scooped up Boogie for company, went to your bedroom and locked the door behind him. He kicked off his shoes and climbed into your bed, staying standing to adjust the camera above your bed. He needed to uncover that lens. No reason to suffer with just the audio anymore, not when he had a perfectly good excuse that you were semi aware of now.

With task one complete he propped up his phone against one of your many stuffies to have the background noise of one of the shows he’s finally getting around to watching: Narcos. He can understand the hype around it when it was first released now and kind of wishes he’d sucked it up and jumped on the bandwagon to watch it with everyone else in the world back then.

With his work area set up he reached under your mattress with one long arm and pulled out your diary. He’d been impatiently waiting for you to formulate some questions and he’d hear you speaking to yourself about it the night before.

So he cracked open the little pink book and pulled out the red ink pen he’d brought along.

It just wouldn’t be as fun to use one of your cutesy little gel pens or just a plain old black one. But it would be fun to add just a dash more intimidation into the scenario.

It’s a proven fact that red is an uneasy color for humans. It’s one of those things that never fully went away when people developed past the primitive brain. Most people don’t even realize it, but studies show that red ink really does affect the brain. It’s very subtle but it’s still there. The mind is a strange place.

Red bad, blood red, scary.

That’s why all good horror movies have the killers write in red ink… or just straight up blood. It’s unsettling.

Anakin leaned back and got comfortable, flipping through the pages to read the few entries that he hadn’t yet, before moving on to the main course, a page titled: Answer Me

——————————————————————————

Your Diary Entry: Answer Me

Do I know you? If I don’t then who are you?

We’ve met.

Nice try, you’re not getting that out of me yet. Bold of you to ask though, I like that.

Just call me Ghost.

I’m sure that I know you, why else would you hide your voice?

Clever girl.

What do you look like?

You saw me. I didn’t realize you needed glasses.

Do appearances mean that much to you? Well, here’s what I look like under the mask:

Funny, huh?

Why me?

I don’t have enough room in this book to answer this question sweetheart.

So I’ll shorten it: you’re perfect, precious… and I love you because of it.

How did we meet?

You’re really confident that you’ve met me. It would’ve been embarrassing if you were wrong.

:)

I saw you, you saw me. That’s how most people meet isn’t it?

Will you come back?

I’d have to be dead to be kept from you, even then you’d never be without me.

The afterlife is just a step behind the living.

It’d be fun to try out that poltergeist stuff anyway, don’t you think?

How did you get in? I checked and had a friend check… no sign of forced entry.

I know. I saw you both.

Not too long ago, you left your window unlocked. My main goal is to keep you safe and happy, you can’t be safe with an open window easily accessible by a fire escape. So I climbed in and closed it for you.

Have you looked for your spare key lately? I know where it is. It’s in my pocket. On my keychain.

How long have you been watching me?

I like the way you asked this. Not ‘how long have you been doing this’, not ‘how many times have you broken in’.

I’ve been watching you for quite a while now. Long enough that you should’ve definitely noticed by now. Just another reason you need me to protect you. You’ve been completely oblivious.

Go to the next page for the rest of this. I have more to say; you need a lecture.

Hello again, let’s continue shall we?

You’re utterly hopeless in the way of self awareness and keeping watch of your surroundings.

I walk you to and from work nearly everyday.

I sat on your fire escape every night for weeks, to watch you fall asleep on the couch, watching your little shows.

I’ve been to your sisters house, I’ve been to the library to see who is in your book club, I’ve even been to the gym with you.

You never noticed. That’s… forgivable. I’ve been very good at keeping myself hidden, ie. all the times I laid on top of the roof next door to watch you sleep through your bedroom window. But that was before I started visiting your home.

(Have you noticed that those curtains stay closed now? I always shut them for you because you’re forgetful.)

But you know what isn’t forgivable? Everything I’ve done inside your home that you’ve never noticed.

Sweetheart, I love you. I really do. But god you’d probably die without someone around to hold your hand. Haven’t you noticed that certain things seem to be growing into less of a chore and more of a manageable task?

I know that you have, but you thought it was all you, all on your own.

I’ve been making sure your favorite mugs are washed. I’ve been vacuuming because you never do it enough. I’ve been taking out the bathroom trash on the off occasion because I know you hate doing it.

I replace things for you. This one really gives me a giggle.

You’ve been using the same bottle of Persil laundry detergent for almost two months. Ever wondered why it stays half full? No?

Your favorite cereal never runs out either.

You’re adorable, so clueless.

It’s all helpful things sweetheart. No worries, I’m not just some weirdo creep. I do actually care about you and your well-being too. I love you.

You haven’t missed a single birth-control pill since I’ve been setting it out for you.

You’ve been sleeping so much better, in your own bed where you should be, because of that yummy SleepyTime tea. It’s nice to wake up feeling rested isn’t it?

I did my research, remember when you felt real down a while back? That’s when I started setting out your medicine and giving you that tea. I read that it was probably a hormone imbalance because you’re too forgetful to take your pill consistently.

I like to help, I want to help. It makes life easier for you and that’s what’s most important. That’s what a man should do, take care of the one he loves, keep her happy, safe and loved. I’m dedicated to you. I want you to know that.

Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked and you have more questions to be answered my curious girl.

If you didn’t plan on hurting me, why did you drug me, why did you bring a knife?

Valid question.

Am I being watched ALL the time?

No, I’m not a psycho. You deserve privacy, I’ve never peeked in on you in the bathroom in any capacity. I don’t always watch you in your bedroom. But I do listen. I like to hear you snore, it’s like ASMR.

I’ve never accidentally seen you naked if that what you’re asking. It’s always on purpose.

Why haven’t you made yourself known? Why no weird calls or notes or anything? Isn’t that a thing stalkers do?

No. It’s not. At least not for me.

I don’t want to freak you out. Leaving weird calls and notes would scare you. That’s the last thing I want.

I’ll start, let you get the full experience lol.

(Not creepy shit though I promise.)

What do you get out of watching me sleep? Have you touched me?

You’re beautiful, peaceful, angelic. It’s just nice to be in your presence. It’s calming in a way. Like how grandmas knit to wind down in the afternoon. Kinda like that I guess.

Maybe.

Are there cameras here?

Yes. But not everywhere, like I said, you deserve privacy.

They’re here for security reasons, but also because it sucks to sit in the rain on a fire escape. My ass would get frozen to the metal grate when it was cold.

I don’t use them for what you think though.

Will you ever tell me who you are?

Would you be able to cope with knowing my identity? I mean, there’s a reason I wear the gloves and mask, change my voice. Like I said, you know me in the real world. I won’t ever show you my face if it means losing you there.

I’d stop coming here like this though. If you wanted. But I don’t think you do. Do you?

You’ve obviously read my diary. Is that why you chose Ghostface?

What do you think? :)

There. Questions answered.

Don’t expect me in person for a bit, you should take some time to process. I know it’s a lot.

I’ll still be there for you though, I wouldn’t leave you completely. Never.

I have a feeling you won’t tell anyone. But I do of course have to ask: please, don’t tell anyone okay? It’d make me sad :(

Not even Lukey or Anakin okay?

I’ll warn you before I make an appearance next time.

Date

July 28th

The bell above the door at the Bluebird chimed and your head perk up immediately. There he was, right on time.

Anakin had been much, much closer to you since your meeting with Ghost. You still hadn’t told him. Probably never would.

Who would believe something so insane anyway? Anakin had handled the whole ‘home intruder and I’ve been drugged’ situation extremely well. He was very supportive, your certain that if you did ever share the information on Ghost with him, he would do his best to validate you, but he’d definitely make you go to therapy.

“My princess.” He grinned, walking up to the counter and sitting on a barstool, both hands palm up on the countertop for you to place yours in.

“Hey Ani.” You smiled softly, you loved this.

You loved what this had bloomed into. You never thought you’d fall for a traditional guy, but here you are, with Anakin.

“Whatcha got left? Almost done?” He queried, rubbing the backs of your hands with his thumbs while he gazed at you with those dreamy blue eyes.

“I’ll be ready to leave as soon as Sara clocks in.” You peered back into the kitchen, hoping to see her walk in the back door any moment.

“Good, we’ve got places to be.” Anakin teased.

“Do I have to go in my work clothes?” You whined. “I smell like french fries!”

“Mmm my favorite perfume of yours.” He snickered. “No, you don’t baby. I brought you a change of clothes. Dress or pants?”

“Oh? You brought options?” You asked in surprise.

“Of course I brought options. I’m not a mind reader.” He smirked.

“No, but you might as well be.” You laughed.

“Mmhmm.” He looked down at your hands and laced his fingers with yours. “Pants?”

“Yes please.” You nodded with a laugh. “See? Mind reader.”

“I wish.” He rolled his eyes. “Just know my girl well that’s all.” He smiled, one hand leaving yours to cup your cheek.

“Sara’s here.” He nodded to the back door as it was opening.

“Oh good!” You said, patting his hand on your cheek and spinning around to clock out.

Once Anakin had led you out to his car he opened the back passenger door and handed you one of your small backpacks with clothes in it.

“Change inside?” He asked, nodding toward the restaurant.

“Ew no.” You scoffed. “I’ll just change in the backseat.” You shrugged.

“Sure thing baby.” He laughed, gesturing for you to get in.

He stood outside with his back resting against the side of the car, ever respectful of you and your boundaries. Soon enough you knocked on the window and he moved out of the way to open the door for you and help you into the front of the car.

“Lookin’ good princess.” He let out a low whistle that had you blushing.

“Thanks.” You squeaked, despite being so comfortable with him, you couldn’t help but be bashful sometimes.

He was never not confident in the things he said to you. If he wanted to tell you something, he did. With his full chest.

Tonight was your first real, official date. Anakin had planned it all for you, you weren’t privy to his choices but you assumed it would be casual considering the clothes he’d offered you. He’d said ‘men should plan the dates and their girls should just enjoy them’.

Fuck feminism. Anakin made you forget you had the right to vote, he made you forget what it was like to do things on your own, he made you forget the horrors of being a girl left alone.

With him around you never had to lift a finger.

So it was no surprise that when you arrived at the restaurant he walked around, opened your door and offered you his arm. Not unexpected that he would order your food for you, somehow he always knew what you wanted, you didn’t even bother picking up the menu anymore.

Not a shock at all that when he got you home you didn’t have to do anything but lay back and be loved.

Part Eight

Just realized that probably not everyone knows what a butterfly knife is, so here’s a gif (I’ll put one in the previous post too) like you’re telling me this isn’t Anakin’s weapon of choice??? Show off.

Tag-List:

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[carpenterswife]

HALF OF ME (i)

SUMMARY: Despite appearances, you’d learnt Soldier Boy was, actually, capable of being a good man. Somehow, you’d wormed yourself into his good books, and had the rarest privilege of seeing him without the suit, the drugs, the ego, the everything. Just as things were going good, his heart somehow getting even warmer for you, the world separates you in the cruelest way.

PAIRING: Soldier Boy x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3573

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Sexism (set in the 1980’s), typical Soldier Boy behaviour, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, questionable morals (peer pressuring drug use), sexual content, eludes to smut, Soldier Boy may be a bit OOC at times, gore.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Becoming a world famous supe was never something you’d ever wanted. Sure, you’d grown up with their photos on your bedroom walls, your father telling you stories of when the first ever supe came to be, insisting he fought alongside the Soldier Boy in the war

The people around you seemed to idolise them. These… mostly regular people in tight suits, pretending to be better than everyone else.

You knew better. You knew enough. Enough to know supes were dirty, and corrupt, and definitely not the heroes they presented themselves to be. That their hands were more blood than they were skin anymore.

And, frankly, you wanted nothing to do with Vought or Payback — or whatever the fuck those shitty, useless superhero teams were called. (Seriously, what did they actually do? Except sit in their pretty tower and take the peoples’ taxes?)

Your father, however, had different ideas.

So, at 18, you woke up in the hospital, after an ugly head collision, with superpowers you’d never had before. A miracle, the doctors called it, a supe whose extraordinary powers had been hidden for her whole life. When you got home, you forced the truth out of your father. Compound V, he called it, a new chemical made by Vought.

No one was born a supe, he admitted, it all came from a liquid in a vial. The truth hurt you, as much as it didn’t really surprise you. Chosen by God, my ass.

This wasn’t supposed to be your life.

But it’s certainly what it turned out to be.

Payback were as shitty, if not more, than you’d originally thought. Each of them had… many flaws. Soldier Boy, obviously, was the worst. If the Devil reincarnated himself, he’d look and act like Soldier Boy.

Simply talking to the man made you want to shoot yourself.

Well… it did at one point.

Two years down the line, things had changed. Soldier Boy was still insufferable, sexist, arrogant, and a major asshole. But… he wasn’t so much a dick directly to you, as he used to be. In fact, if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was actually somewhat nice to you. As much as his macho heart could manage, anyway.

You noticed it the first time when he saved your life on a mission. He’d grabbed your waist when a grenade clinked at your feet, whirling you around and to the ground, squashing you against his firm chest, using his shield to protect you both from the hot blast. He’d shrugged it off as nothing; as something any leader would do for his team. Then you watched him hit Gunpowder about for not following his order to a T, and realised… maybe he did treat you different.

It was undeniable these days.

You were the only person on Payback that Soldier Boy could remotely tolerate.

“You need’a be more careful.” Despite the hard look on his face, Soldier Boy was staring down at you, as a Vought doctor wrapped clean bandages tightly around your midsection. It was a bullet to the wound; which, with being a supe, wouldn’t be too bad, but you didn’t heal inhumanely fast like he did. “You’re fuckin’ useless when you’re hurt.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for your concern, Soldier Boy.”

His eyes narrowed into a harsh glare. “Ben.” He corrected you, for what was probably the 50th time. Each time he did, he got more annoyed with you. “How many times do I have to say it? Is there a brain in that pretty head’a’yours?“

You grunted, spinning on the bed and hanging your legs off the side of it. “Thanks for the compliment.” Ben rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, not offering a hand as you groaned in discomfort and got to your feet. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be healed up by the time we set off for Nicaragua, if that’s what you’re worried ‘bout.”

Ben just grunted, displeased. “Ain’t happenin’.” He immediately shot that idea down. “We leave for Nicaragua next week. You ain’t comin’. Sit this one out.”

You stared, expecting a joke. Clearly, he wasn’t. “Seriously?” You groaned, unhappy. What was it with this guy? “I’ll be fine. It’s a silly little bullet.”

“I was holdin’ your fuckin’ guts in your body.” He walked away, reminding you of just how bad your injury actually had been. He had, indeed, practically been keeping your guts inside of you as you bled out. “You ain’t going. You’re stayin’ here.” You chased after him, pulling your shirt on as you left the infirmary.

“Ben—“

He whirled around to face you. “I said, you’re fucking staying.” He growled, glaring down at you. God, were you glad you were on his side. This man was terrifying. Six feet of pure muscle, strength and violence. “You’re better off here, using that face of yours to get some PR.”

“And, what? The others will back you up?” You scoffed, grabbing his wrist as he went to walk away again. His expression went cold at your touch, but you didn’t flinch. As much as he tried to scare you, Ben wouldn’t raise a hand at you… probably. You had faith in the man. “They can’t fight for shit, Ben. Gunpowder hasn’t even discovered his own dick yet. You think you’re gonna have your back covered out there?”

He ripped his wrist away harshly. “I don’t need my back covered.”

“Everyone needs their back covered.” You argued. “Even you.”

He chuckled, sarcastic and dry. “You worried ‘bout me, princess?” You gave him a ‘seriously?’ look, as he took a step closer, mouth curled into that ever-infuriating smirk. “I’d perform better if you sent me off with a taste of that—“

“Ben.” You interrupted him, unimpressed. You rolled his eyes at his predictable behaviour. “I’m not gonna fuck morale into you.”

“Shame.” His eyes flicked up and down, tracing the curves of your body. “Bet you’d be a firecracker.” He walked away again, and you threw your hands up, groaning. Ben chuckled as he turned the corner. “Think it over, sweetheart.”

“You’ve got a hand.” You called back to him. “Use it!”

Conversations like that were very common with Ben.

It’d be a normal conversation (as normal as it gets with him) — and then he’d start talking about fucking you against the nearest surface, and all pleasantries went down the drain. Seriously, he thought 80% with his dick, and 20% with his actual brain.

And that was being kind.

But, beneath all of his macho assholery, was his genuine worry. You knew he wasn’t letting you accompany the rest of the team to Nicaragua because of your injury, despite how minor it was, and that he was worried you’d injure yourself further.

He was just… shit it showing it.

Poor bastard wouldn’t know emotion if it slapped him in the face.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

“I am not wearing this.”

Okay… scratch all of that. Maybe Ben was just a dickhead.

He lounged back in his chair, grinning lazily, legs spread like he owned the place. He probably thought he did. “Why not?” He took a sip of his whiskey, ice clinking against the sides, eyes never leaving you from over the rim of the glass.

You held up the fabric. “Seriously?”

It was basically a scrap of fabric, with how much it covered up. You didn’t shy away from showing skin. You quite liked short skirts and pushing the line. Because, as a supe, there was a line. Vought liked it when you showed skin — apparently it made your ratings go up with the male fans, no shocker. But, too much skin on display, the male fans started calling you a whore, and the ratings shot back down.

It was a bit like a balancing game, trying to find the perfect amount of skin to make the boys ogle but also respect you. An impossible feat, truthfully.

And this? This was definitely classed as too much.

“I don’t see the issue.” His smirk said otherwise.

“My tits are not gonna stay in this, Ben!”

His smirk just grew. “Again, I don’t see the issue.”

You groaned and put the dress down. “No. I’ll get my own dress. I am not wearing that.” You tell him, arms folding across your chest. You didn’t miss the way he checked out your tits, and the way the placement of your arms accentuated them.

He rolled his eyes, obviously not happy with your decision. Leaning towards, elbows on his knees, Ben’s eyes took you in. “Why?” His head cocked to the side. “You’d look hot. It’d make your ass look great.”

“That’s not a compliment.” You grumbled, pushing a hand through your hair. Ben made a small grunt of disagreement, but didn’t say anything otherwise. “Listen, there’s a certain line. Alright? If I wear that, every guy out there will be callin’ me a whore. Okay? Imma find something else.”

He hummed and sat back. “I think you should wear that one.” Sighing heavily, you just rolled your eyes at his persistence. “All those assholes will be blowin’ their pants just lookin’ at you, sweetheart.”

“Again, not a compliment.”

Ben stared at you, and silently took another sip of his whiskey. He always seemed to think these crude, rather sexist and inappropriate remarks were compliments. Like commenting on your body. Or saying you’d be a freak in bed. Which were obviously not actually compliments.

You rolled your eyes, rubbing your forehead. “I’ll find another dress, Ben.” You told him, definitive. There was no way he was going to convince you to wear that dress.

“What a disappointment.” He grinned, lopsided. “I was lookin’ forward to seein’ you in that dress.”

“Again,” you deadpanned as he checked you out once more, “you have a hand… use it.”

Ben just smirked, and sipped his whiskey again.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

You wore the fucking dress.

The asshole always won. Always.

He looked so fucking pleased, as you walked into his after-party, wearing the dress he’d picked out for you. His smugness was clear, brushing through the crowd with ease to come to you.

Ben hummed, eyes dilating as he stared you down. His eyes lingered on your tits, as they always did. “You look…” he hesitated, trying to think of a compliment that wasn’t degrading, and failed, “fuckin’ hot. If you weren’t such a bitch, I’d bend you over right here.”

Your face pulled together in disgust, looking at him with your lips pressed together “… gross.”

He chuckled. “Drink?” He offered. “I got your favourite.”

And there he goes again.

Being nice.

It did your damn head in.

Accepting his offer, you shivered as his large hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. They all seemed to part like the Red Sea as he came through, a fact that amused you greatly.

Seriously. These women looked at him like he was Jesus reincarnated, when he’d totally call them in a whore in bed.

Ben silently reached out for your favourite alcoholic drink, pouring it into a glass. His eyes scanned over the room, smirking at a few of the women ogling, sending them rushing to their friends and squealing. He merely chuckled and handed you the full glass.

“Thanks.” You murmured, taking it from him. Your eyes stared up at him for a moment, curious, before looking away again.

What was it with him? How could be such an egotistical one minute, and then be nice and respectful the next? It was like a guessing game, trying to figure out what mood he was in.

He grabbed your wrist, his grip firm, but not enough to hurt you. “Come with me.” He guided you through the crowd once again, to the doors in the back. As he pushed through into the room, he flashed you a cocky grin over his shoulder. Dickhead.

This room was far quieter. You noticed, immediately, the only people present were supes and celebrities, not the random civilians that’d been granted a pity invite — or the women Ben thought were hot. This was the main party. There were drugs covering every table, with various big names passed out on the chairs, blazed.

Ben lead you to the corner, where he’d obviously already been busy, if the half-snorted lines of cocaine proved anything.

Silently, he offered you a line, which you gratefully accepted.

You didn’t do drugs before you joined Payback. In fact, you’d avoided them, promising yourself you’d never become that type of person. But it was the norm within Vought. Every supe spent their nights filling their bodies to the brim with various drugs, poisoning themselves. So, you started smoking weed to fit in.

Then Ben found out you only did weed, and decided it wasn’t enough. With enough pressure, he’d gotten you onto any other substance he could convince you to try.

It made you more attractive, in his eyes, as you spiralled into addiction like him.

In fact, it got him rock hard, to snort lines or share a joint with you. It was so fucking hot, watching your eyes glass over as you got higher with every hit, with every line. God, it turned him on so bad.

You snorted your third line of the night, when Ben suddenly pushed you back into your chair. Bewildered, you stared at him, as he snatched up a baggie of the white powder. Your heart leapt to your throat, the moment he moved aside the slit in your dress, revealing the bare skin of your thigh. All breath left your lungs, watching him pour some of the powder onto your thigh.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

He was about to do a line off you.

He glanced at you through his lashes, smirking at the shocked and flushed expression you wore. He used his pocket knife to cut the lines, mindful of the sharp blade against your soft skin.

God, this was hot. He found it hot. You found it hot. It’d be a damn miracle if you ended the night with your clothes on at this point.

Your skin tingled as he sniffed up the first line, of his hands roughly gripping the top of your thigh to steady you, his other holding a rolled up $100 bill. He groaned in pleasure, body physically shuddering, head shaking, as the drug made his body run hot.

He did the next line, the grip on your thigh becoming tighter as his pupils began to blow up.

Was it getting hot in here? Or was it just you?

Maybe it was the cocaine in your systems, maybe it was the fact Ben was just… so damn hot, but you couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing his hair and forcing his head up as he snorted the final line off your thigh.

He looked up at you, pupils blown, lips parted. Holy shit. This man was sculpted like a fucking God. Your body shivered. “You finally takin’ my offer, sweetheart?” He chuckled, shaking off the immediate effects of the cocaine, raising himself up to your level.

“Fuck me.” You whispered, breathless, practically begging him.

His eyes went dark, almost black, with lust. The smirk on his lips made you squeeze your legs together. “Don’t need to ask me twice.”

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

You understood the hype now. You understood why women bent their knees the moment Ben uttered a word to them.

Holy shit, did this man have talent.

Your legs were still twitching, the space in between your legs throbbing and tingling with how many times you’d come on his fingers, his tongue and cock. You’d counted four, before your vision had gone white.

Jesus, he had stamina. A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed it’d been just over five hours since you’d first fell into Ben’s bed. That super strength was better for more than just fighting, after all. This man should be advertised for his abilities. No shocker he was an American sex symbol.

He’d just fucked your brains out.

And now, he was staring at you with admiration, laid on his side, in the same bed he’d just railed you in. “You feelin’ okay?” He murmured, genuinely concerned.

“Yeah.” You rolled over to face him, a jolt of discomfort and pain in your hips and thighs. You might have to hold back on… doing anything for the next few days, however. “You didn’t break anything.” You joked, soft and breathy.

He chuckled quietly, hand sliding around your waist and dragging you closer to him. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to do that.” He whispered, uncharacteristically soft and gentle.

“To fuck me senseless?”

He smirked. “Mm, I have dreamt of that.” Your eyes narrowed in mild disgust at the image of him having wet dreams about you, swatting his chest. He grinned and caught your hand. “No… I meant how long I’ve waited to have you. You’re fuckin’ perfect. Not just your body. Everything about you is so sexy.”

Your brows furrowed, squeezing his hand, and then worming your fingers out of his. “What do you mean?” You asked softly.

He seemed to struggle for a moment. He wet his tongue with his lips, making your body tingle again. Jesus. “Let’s get dinner.”

What.

“Me and you.” Ben smiled, tracing the curves of your body with a featherlight touch. “Real fancy. I’ll pay.” Was he… asking you on a date right now? The Soldier Boy, asking you on a date? Instead of fucking you and tossing you out?

“You’re serious?” You asked softly, surprised. When he nodded, you grinned, biting your lip to contain it. “Okay, Ben. Let’s get dinner.”

His eyes lit up. Ducking his head down, his lips touched yours, gentle and affectionate. His kiss spoke so many words; his hands gently cradling your body, as he kissed you like you were made of glass. The touch was intimate and loving, widely different to the one he’d used when he’d been on top of you.

No, this was completely different. This was him being vulnerable. This was him showing you just how he felt, without the words.

He smiled against your lips and pulled back, just enough to speak, but his words were still brushing yours. “Yeah?” He whispered, in response to your agreement.

“Yeah.” You stared at him with big eyes.

He grinned, almost boyish in its nature. He stared at you in adoration, seeming to be collecting the words on the tip of his tongue.

You giggled under his stare. You sat up, pulling him with you, grabbing the blanket that he had draped over his headboard. It was fluffy and warm, and smelt like his cologne, and you didn’t hesitate to wrap it around your shoulders, cocooning yourself.

If possible, his gaze softened even more. “You’re adorable.”

Quietly, you laughed. “You sure you wanna do this, Ben?” You stared back at him. Ben was nothing if not a womaniser. Settling down was nothing like him. “Get serious with me, I mean.”

“You’re the only one I’d ever want to.”

Your brows pulled together, confused. “Why?”

Ben soothed a hand through your hair, green eyes drinking in the perfections and imperfections on your face. “You’re the only one I trust.” His voice was gravelly, still heavy with the effects of your recent endeavours. His hand travelled through your hair, and then came down to cup your cheek.

Wrapped up in his fluffy blanket, your head rested on the wooden headboard. “I trust you, too.” You whispered, tilting your head into his palm. His skin was rough, painted with callouses and scars. Every scar on his body had a story. And you’d spend the rest of your life learning every single one.

Despite himself, he smiled at you, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “I’d kill for you. You know that?” His words made you shiver. Ben killing people wasn’t exactly new… or surprising. But doing it for you? God, it made your stomach heat up — and other parts. “These assholes don’t hold a candle to you, doll. Countess? That whore is— is repulsive compared to you.”

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes affectionately. “Ben.” You scolded quietly, though not with an ounce of anger.

The supe just smirked, chuckling deep in his throat. “You want me to drop that bullshit PR relationship I have with her? I’ll do it. In a fucking heartbeat. I’ll be with you, publicly, if you want me.”

“You’d ruin your reputation for me?” Now that — that meant something. Ben could say anything and everything; he was a master manipulator. He could get anything he wanted with that smile and his suave words. But, if there was one thing he would always prioritise, it was his reputation. He’d do anything to be the alpha male. Anything.

“I’d do anything for you.” He grabbed your hand within his much larger one, guiding it to his chest. He pressed your palm over his heart, allowing you to feel his heartbeat. “I’ll do anything for you, to be with you.” You felt the steady rhythm of his heart. He wasn’t lying. That, or he was a great fucking liar. “I’m never leaving your side. I’m yours.”

Your eyes searched deep within his. “Always?”

Ben smiled. “Always.” He leant forward, gently pressing his lips against yours in a tender kiss.

Three months later, Soldier Boy died in a nuclear meltdown.

A/N: jesus christ this took me so long to write 😭 but i’m so happy with how this first chap turned out. it’s gonna get so much more fun to write we get to the action 👀 pls lmk if there’s any mistakes, as i will go back n fix them !!! hope you enjoyed <3

banners by @cafekitsune

TAGLIST: @onlyangel-444 @deans-spinster-witch @fumolemon @anundyingfidelity

#soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys #the boys tv #the boys fanfic #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #half of me

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 6/12)

HIII this ones a bit spicy, but buckle in, decided to take a little turn in this part so don't hate me <3

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: eddie realizes his true feelings for you just a little too late

contains: enemies to lovers trope, themes of sexism/misogyny, smoking, drug and alcohol use, sexual themes, more jealous!eddie, masturbation (m), mentions of oral (f receiving), and eddie being a dick <3

word count: 4.2k

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| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

A 4/4 kick drum is beating in Eddie’s head when he wakes up.

Eddie still hasn’t learned his lesson when trying to outdrink Jeff, so he fails every time, no matter what, because Jeff is a fucking canteen of a human. Eddie does stupid things when he gets as drunk as last night, but the good thing about being blackout drunk is you remember nothing, so there’s not much to regret and cringe about.

There’s a show tonight, and Eddie has to take Wayne to the airport, so unfortunately, Eddie can’t spend the day recovering in his bed, and he’s forced to drag himself out of bed and rinse off the sour smell of alcohol and sex from his skin.

Breakfast has definitely passed, and Eddie curses the crew for not waking him up because his stomach growls as he turns the shower on. As Eddie prepares to hop in the shower, he thinks over what little events he can remember from yesterday because why not torture himself with the embarrassment?

A particular memory doesn’t hit Eddie until he’s halfway through his shower, but god, when it does, Eddie can’t stop thinking about it. Kissing you and pressing into you so close he could’ve sworn he felt the racing beat of your heart against his chest. The feeling of you beneath his fingertips, your hips grinding down onto his with those sinful and pretty sounds falling from your lips and onto his. The taste of your skin bursting in every inch of Eddie’s mouth and the overwhelming desire for more, more, more.

Eddie can’t help it with his head pounding and spinning with the lustful memory of you. He can’t help it when his hands stop doing the job of washing his body and start roaming instead. Can’t help it when his mind starts making up all these different scenarios of him fucking you as he wraps his hand around the base of his cock, stroking up once and running his thumb over the head.

He hisses at the sensitive touch, eyes fluttering as he adjusts his grip and begins stroking himself. The shower wall is cool against his back when he shifts to lean against it, the sharp contrast of the cold wall and steaming hot water hitting his chest and rolling onto his cock, sending shivers up his spine.

Eddie lets his mind wander. He thinks about you and how he wants to pull more of those pretty sounds from you. He wants to lick into your mouth and sink his fingers into you so he can taste your moans as he plays with you. He wants to see how wet he can get you with just his fingers before you’re asking for more. He wants to unwrap you like a present and lay you down to part your thighs and sink to his knees, part your folds, and marvel at the way you drip and throb for him. And Eddie wonders if you would let him taste you. He wonders if you would let him suck pretty marks into your thighs until you’re whining and begging him to give you something. 

“What do you want, princess? Gotta tell me what you want first.” 

Eddie doesn’t even get far enough to think about sinking his cock into you before he’s cumming in spurts, white sticky ropes of cum splattering onto the shower floor as he curses and moans, chest heaving and wet hair sticking to his flushed cheeks. And Eddie’s cock is always sensitive in the morning, but he can’t seem to stop stroking himself with the image of you in his mind because fuck, he wants you, even if it’s almost painful.

And he hates that.

He hates that he wants you. Hates that he thinks about you all the way through his second orgasm— hates that he doesn’t stop thinking about you even after the fact. He hates that he thinks about you as he finishes showering and gets dressed for the day. He hates Jeff for barging in and ruining whatever could’ve happened between you two yesterday. He hates that he remembers thinking about you when he was fucking Lany into his hotel bed last night. And he hates that he can still smell her on his sheets because all Eddie wants to smell, see, hear, and touch is you. And he fucking hates it.

Yet, his chest blooms when he sees you at rehearsal. He gets that weird feeling in his chest where warmth spreads like a firework and bounces around his insides— and he gets so distracted that he fucks up a chord on the riff he was playing. No one seems to notice, so he pays no mind and keeps watching you.

And Eddie thinks about what Wayne told him this morning as they shared a quick hug before final departure, “Don’t chase that girl away, son. She’s good.”

Eddie chose not to think too hard about what Wayne meant by that.

He’s thankful he decided to wear sunglasses today because Eddie can’t seem to take his eyes off you. You look good, the way you styled your hair is different, and you’re wearing flared jeans that wrap around your ass and thighs perfectly with a fitted white top that hugs you in all the right places; Eddie, for some selfish reason, wants to believe you wore that to grab his attention. Mission accomplished.

You wander off somewhere near the end, and Eddie tries not to seem too eager when rehearsal wraps up, but he makes a beeline toward Richie and asks where you went.

Richie is too busy to ask why Eddie’s asking about you, but his questioning tone isn’t hidden when he tells Eddie you went to the snack room.

Eddie’s chest does that weird thing again when he walks into the room, fingers itching at the memory of how it felt to hold your hand. You’re standing over the snack table with your back facing Eddie when he walks up, clearing his throat to grab your attention. He frowns when you don’t turn around, but then Eddie realizes you have headphones covering your ears, so he gently taps your shoulder.

You seem startled when you turn to him, wide and pretty eyes blinking in realization as you remove your headset. “Were you saying something?” You ask.

Eddie says the first thing that comes to mind, “What are you listening to?” 

“Oh,” you blink, “Um, Cass Elliot.”

Hippie shit.

You turn around to grab water from the table, and Eddie thinks this may be a bad idea because he doesn’t even know what he wants to say to you. Usually, Eddie is the one to give short and dead responses because he can’t stand you, but for the first time since he’s met you, the roles are reversed.

“Think we can finish that interview? Before the show, maybe?” Eddie asks. And god, this is embarrassing— he needs a smoke.

You turn to him again and shrug, “Nah, I think I've got enough on everyone now. I really only need the group interview now. See you tonight!”

And then you’re gone.

And Eddie thinks, what the fuck?

This isn’t how things are supposed to go. Eddie is the snippy one, and you’re the sweet one that’s way too nice to Eddie despite his disgusting attitude and bitchy personality. 

Eddie’s bothered for the entire day, catching glimpses of you talking to band and crew members and James— fucking James. 

Eddie wants to believe what you said yesterday, “No, nothing is going on between me and James.” but does James know nothing is going on between the two of you? Because it doesn’t fucking look like he does. Not when he keeps leaning in to talk to you, or when he shares a bag of chips with you, or when he’s practically attached to your hip for the entire day.

It’s pathetic, really, the way James is fiending for every second of your attention, and it pisses Eddie off that you’re buying into it. Showtime rolls around, and Eddie does a few lines with the band to get himself amped up before stepping on stage and playing like hell. Eddie keeps his eye on you throughout the show, and he pays the price when he sees James teaching you how to use his camera, wrapping his arms around your frame and whispering instructions in your ear as you test out taking pictures of the stage. Eddie’s chest stirs with something he doesn’t quite enjoy, and it only intensifies when he sees James drop a hand to gently rest against your hip, watching as a smile stretches across your lips in excitement when you show him the picture you’d captured. 

Eddie pops a string when he sees it happen, cursing into his mic, shoving his guitar pick between his lips, and angrily removing the guitar to quickly swap it out with the spare one handed to him from the side stage. Eddie plays the rest of the show with an angry heat running through his body, and he thinks you might be doing this on purpose. Flirting around with James right in his face to make him jealous, and Eddie swears he won’t fall for whatever shitty plan this is, but fuck, do you play dirty.

You never join the band in their post-show shenanigans, but tonight, you decide to tag along for some reason— or rather, someone. 

Fucking James.

Eddie thinks he should just fire him at this rate. Get rid of the problem at the root and burn the stem so it never returns because fuck James. He makes you laugh, he’s gentle with you, and he can sweet talk like a motherfucker, and Eddie knows that because he’s been on the receiving end before— he’s well aware of James and his undeniable charm. And he can’t believe you’re falling for it.

Eddie takes endless shots, trying to blur out the distasteful sight of you pressed against James’ side in the booth, talking about god knows what. The night ends relatively early since everyone is a bit tired from the day and the longer day they have planned for tomorrow, so everybody is in their respective rooms by the time the clock strikes one in the morning. But Eddie can’t seem to fall asleep— especially not with the knowledge that James definitely didn’t go to his room but instead followed you into your room. Eddie doesn’t like that.

Eddie paces his room for some time before he breaks and finds himself knocking on your door. You don’t answer for a moment, and Eddie suddenly thinks he might be strong enough to knock down a heavy oak wood door. Maybe Eddie shouldn’t have smoked before coming here. He always swears the weed will take the edge off, but in reality, it makes him dumber and more impulsive than before, as seen a few days ago when he was right in the same position— knocking on your door at an ungodly hour of the night.

Eddie raises a hand to knock again, but he’s relieved of the job when you swing the door open in nothing but a white robe, drops of water running down the sides of your neck and dripping between the valley of your chest. Eddie wants to drink up every last drop.

“Is James in here?” Eddie asks.

And maybe Eddie shouldn’t have started with that because now you look like you want to punch him in the throat. Your eyebrows furrow as your face twists in a look of annoyance, “You seriously have a fucking problem, Eddie.” You snap. 

“Excuse me?”

“Why do you always come here in the middle of the night to ask me stupid questions?” You ask.

Eddie glances over your shoulder, scanning the room for any signs of a dark-haired and tattooed man, but he finds none and seems to find some ease in that. You step into his line of sight, raising your eyebrows questioningly, and Eddie blinks. “I thought you two weren’t a thing.” He says, and you roll your eyes.

“This again? Honestly, why do you care, Eddie?” Your tone teeters on the edge of impatience, and Eddie steps closer, the clean scent of your body wash invading his senses. “Are you?”

“No. I already told you, again, not that it’s any of your business—” “Does James know that?” He cuts you off.

You blink at Eddie in confusion, “What?”

Eddie’s getting tired of repeating himself because he knows you can hear him loud and clear, and you’re just avoiding giving him an answer. Eddie steps closer, practically inside your room and towering over you, and he can’t help it when his eyes dart to your lips and the clear view of your damp chest. “Does James know that you’re not into him?” He repeats.

You gaze up at Eddie, eyes narrowing as you repeat your question from earlier, “Why do you care?”

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Eddie grumbles, fingers curling into the palms of his hands to restrain from reaching out and touching you. And you’re making it so hard, standing there and gazing up at him with these eyes that dare him to do something— reach out, touch me, feel me.

You tilt your head as you speak, a sly grin dancing across your lips, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” You mock.

Eddie laughs softly and humorlessly, “Why would I be jealous of him, princess?” He hums, stepping closer once again, forcing you to step back into the entryway of your room to make room for Eddie to step in fully. His gaze falls again, and you run the tip of your tongue along your bottom lip, “Does he know what you feel like?” Eddie asks. “What I feel like?”

Eddie mindlessly shuts the door behind him, the air thickening with tension in the room as he inches a little closer. So close and yet not close enough. “Yeah. Does he know what your pretty moans sound like? Does he know how you taste, hm?”

You’re sharing breaths now, so close to one another that your lips are brushing against his as you speak, “Do you know how I taste?” You tease. Eddie hums, “Not the best part.”

He presses his lips to yours, soft moans leaving you both at the sudden contact as he finally reaches out and lets his hands roam your body. The robe you have on is thick and soft, but it’s not what Eddie wants to touch. He wants to feel the warmth of your skin and squeeze and grab at the soft and thick parts of you until you moan for more. 

You blindly stumble further into your room, lips busy moving against one another with tongues fighting for dominance. And Eddie thinks you give the most addicting kisses he’s ever had; every movement is right and sends bursts of colors behind his eyelids, sloppy and wet but so fucking good to the point where he wishes he could kiss you forever. 

“The best part?” You manage to say between kisses. Eddie hums in distracted confusion, advancing to kiss you harder as you drop onto your bed. Eddie towers over you, palms sinking into the plush material of the comforter. “What’s the best part?” You ask.

Eddie’s lips curl into a smirk, smattering kisses down your neck as his fingers dance across your robe to the loose knot holding it closed. He moves back to kiss you as he tugs on the fluffy, thick string, and you gasp against his lips when his cool fingers sneak into the open robe and skim across your warm stomach. “The best part,” Eddie begins, leaning down to nip at your jaw as his hands roam your bare skin. “The best part is what’s sitting between these pretty thighs of yours, sweetheart.” He sucks at the skin of your neck, and you mewl as his fingers squeeze at your thigh, pushing your knees apart to open you up for him.

And Eddie has every intention to fuck you right now. He’s been dreaming about what it’d be like to lick into your sweet cunt, to sink his cock in you and watch as every coherent thought melts from your brain, to make you cum over and over until you’re begging him to stop.

But suddenly, you’re pushing Eddie away, a shaky palm pressing into his chest as your thighs squeeze shut, “I-I can’t,” you shake your head, “You have a girlfriend.”

And well, this is news to Eddie. “I have a what now?”

Your lips are pouty and cute, and Eddie wants to go back to kissing you, but you’re wriggling your way out from beneath him and padding across the floor to your desk. Eddie sits on the edge of your messy bed, palming his neglected cock as he watches you grab a newspaper and walk back over to him. He tries his best not to stare at the sway of your breasts beneath your open robe or the cute little panties he gets a glimpse of, but he fails and throbs beneath the palm of his hand. You stand in front of him with a frown, handing the paper to Eddie as he gazes up at you with wide eyes and swollen lips.

Eddie isn’t sure what this is, and the only thing running through his mind is the incessant need to get off, but he humors you anyway and snatches the paper with a look of boredom. You adjust your robe back around your body and cinch it tighter than before, and Eddie mentally mourns the loss of his moment to finally see those pretty tits you’ve been teasing beneath those tight shirts of yours. He flips the newspaper upright and grazes over the page until he sees it— “Corroded Coffin lead singer, Eddie Munson, new girlfriend debut!”

It’s a blown-up picture of Eddie leaving the club, a drunken and sly smirk plastered across his lips with a pretty little redhead he likes to frequently fuck wrapped around his arm— Lany.

Summer of ‘87 Corroded Coffin went on their very first tour. It was three months long, only covered about four states, and was mostly a shitshow, but the boys were just happy to have booked an actual tour— something bigger than The Hideout. 

Groupies didn’t come around until about halfway through the tour— and look, Eddie had his fair share of men and women by that time, but it was different when they were practically throwing themselves at Eddie, and he didn’t have to work for it.

Lany was Eddie’s first groupie. Sweet and pretty with a silky smooth voice and a wicked mouth that blew Eddie’s little inexperienced mind. Lany and her group of friends tagged along with Corroded Coffin for the rest of their tour, and when Eddie asked Lany where he could find her, Lany simply responded with a sweet, “I’m never where I should be, you know that. I’ll find you when you go big.” And a kiss.

And she did. Eddie didn’t see Lany for years until their second world tour and they were now on their fifth, so it’s safe to say, Lany is a fucking veteran of a groupie.

But Lany isn’t Eddie’s girlfriend. 

Far from it, actually, and Eddie’s not sure why the paparazzi are all of a sudden interested in whatever groupies he’s fucking because they usually could care less. Nothing is interesting about Eddie Munson fucking a random girl nobody knows, so who gave them the idea that they’re not only fucking, but dating?

Despite the confusion reeling through Eddie’s mind, something else overtakes and he snickers, glancing up at you with a smug grin, “You been reading up on me, sweetheart?” He teases.

Your expression switches to one of annoyance as you snatch the newspaper out of his hands, ignoring the smirk plastered across his lips as you huff, “No, I— it came with the room service I ordered.” You fold your arms over your chest.

Eddie’s teeth dig into his lower lip as he stands up and steps toward you, tilting his head tauntingly as he speaks, “And you read it, and what? Got jealous?”

Eddie has you trapped against the edge of your desk now, and his fingers skim the warmth of your fingers as he takes the paper from your hand. “This is fake news, princess.” He says with a mocking glint in his eye. He tosses the piece onto the desk and you glance at it, a frown etched deep into your lips. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Eddie assures you, leaning forward to smear kisses across your jaw. You shift beneath him, finger coming up to dig into the flexing muscle of his arms as he snakes his hands around your hips, pulling you closer. “She’s at every show. And you go out together all the time.” You point out beneath a needy breath.

“Because she’s a groupie, sweetheart. She goes everywhere I go, that’s kind of the point.”

Eddie rucks you up against him, sucking another bruise into your skin and reeling at the noise you make. “That’s mean…” You mumble, and Eddie laughs against your skin. “It’s not mean if it’s the definition.” He argues.

“So what, you got jealous of a groupie? You want a chance to be my groupie, hm? That’s why you’re upset, princess?” He noses at the skin below your ear before licking the spot and smiling when you shiver against him. Then, for the second time tonight, you’re pushing Eddie away with a disgruntled look. You shake your head, trying to collect your thoughts as your chest heaves in hidden excitement from Eddie’s teasing. “I’m not— I’m not some groupie, Eddie.”

And Eddie looks at you like you’ve just said the sky is blue, “I’m a journalist. I came here to work and you…” You pause and blink at Eddie as if thinking over your following words, “You’re just getting in the way.”

And Eddie doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like the way it sounds or the way you said it or the way it makes him feel. He hates it.

“Getting in the way?”

“Yes, Eddie, you’re getting in the way,” You snap, irritation heavy within your tone. “I’ve been patient with you this entire time, but you just— you’re such a fucking asshole. I mean— none of this should be happening— this,” you gesture between the two of you, “shouldn’t be happening.”

Eddie’s face pinches in defense, “Nothing is happening here, birdie.”

And you scoff, shaking your head as you speak, “Then why are you here, Eddie?”

And this is the first time either of you has pointed out the obvious mix of feelings stirring between you both, and it makes Eddie’s skin run cold— because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why he’s here. He doesn’t know why your words are upsetting him. He doesn’t know why he hates it when James is around you. He doesn’t know why every time he thinks of you or sees you he gets that warm rush in his chest— he just knows it’s there. 

And it scares Eddie. It scares Eddie to realize that he was wrong about you, to realize that you aren’t all those mean things he said about you, to realize that maybe he likes you a lot more than he’d like to admit. It scares him.

Eddie shakes his head like the words are in there but can’t seem to say them, and he hates it. He hates feeling this way. He hates knowing that he fucked this up way worse than he’d thought because you’re looking at him like you never want to see him again. And you have every right. Because Eddie has put you through more than enough, and honestly speaking, there isn’t a single way Eddie sees this turning in his favor. He’s ruined everything before anything could even happen.

And Eddie hates that.

Your arms slink around your body to protectively shield your frame, and Eddie can visibly see you shrinking into yourself, and he can’t believe he’s the reason why. It hits Eddie like a fucking freight train. All the weeks of tormenting and mean games Eddie has played with you, it’s all bullshit. It was Eddie’s way of protecting himself, and in the end, he only ended up hurting the most delicate and kind person he thinks he’s ever met.

“I think you should go.” You softly say.

And you can’t even look Eddie in the eyes, and Eddie wants to scream. He wants to pull you in, spew out apologies, and beg for any sliver of forgiveness you can give, but you— you’re too far gone. Eddie pushed you off the ledge and watched you drift away, only to cast a rope at the last second. But Eddie’s rope is too short, and you’re gone.

Still, even though Eddie knows he’s done enough damage, his pride wins him over, and on his way out, he turns to say his last piece, “You know, everything was fine until you came along. This is exactly why I didn’t want you here.”

And you both know what he’s talking about. The mixed feelings and the drama— all of it. None of it would’ve happened if you never came along, and even if Eddie thinks he wishes you never happened, he knows he feels the opposite. You both know it.

And if Eddie sees the tiny glimpse of you wiping at your face, he doesn’t mention it. He only leaves you with his words and the slamming of the door.

————

part seven

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a/n: HELLO U MADE IT TO THE END! I HOPE THE GIRLIES ARENT TOO MAD W ME, IK EVERYONE WANTED READER TO HAVE HER MOMENT SO WE GOT A LITTLE SNIPPET OF IT HERE BUT ITS ONLY THE BEGINNINGGG !! as always, thank u for making it to the end and i always love to hear how you feel about it !! <3

————

cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @jesssssmaybankk @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2

@mvnsonslvt @s-u-t @hereforshmut @mmunson86 @welcometohellsock @lma1986 @birdsinmywalls @animechick555 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @spideydreams00 @lorosette @prestinalove @sirensleepingsoundly @eddielives1986

#AGAIN PLS DONT HATE ME #ENJOYYYYY #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie x reader #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson au #rockstar!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson headcanon #eddie x fem!reader #stranger things au #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie smut #rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader #journalist!reader

[st4rg1rl-16]

━━ ✶✶˖° 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗙𝗜𝗩𝗘 | 𝗡𝟰𝗦.

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴(𝘀) ━ 2019 to 2023!f1 grid x driver!female oc

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 ━ twitter goes crazy after some youtubers sexualise the only f1’s female driver and the worst of it all is that she reads every tweet

𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲 ━ 2019, 4 april / 9 april

𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 ━ shanghai, china

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ━ charles and arabella being a little horny (again), mentions of virginity but nothing happens (yet) sexism, sexual objectification so basically men being trash (what a surprise!)

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ━ i suck at warnings anywhore! pain so soon? this is nothing! sadly, arabella is going to suffer a lot :(

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ━ @namgification @louvrepool @d3kstar @omgsuperstarg @whoselly @yl90 @wcnorris

• — need for speed’s masterlist

A COMFORTABLE silence hung over the room, without counting the sounds that the skin of their lips made when they collided with each other, their breaths and sighs or the distant song of birds. A bluish light from the dawn of a cloudy day painted the white walls of the hotel room. You could still see the moon thanks to the large window that was located on the other side of the room, in front of the bed in which both of them were tangled in each other. Although it was already April, it was still cold in Shanghai.

Her long, slender fingers curled into the short strands at the nape of his neck, giving a small tug earning a growl that he felt in his mouth as he caught her lower lip between his teeth. He separated from her, taking a few seconds to observe her and he could swear that there was nothing that could compare to what he felt in that moment when he saw her green eyes that were looking back at him lazily but intensely full of life, her brown locks piled up at the top around her head, her cheeks were red and her lips, oh her lips, her lips were red and swollen thanks to him. Because he had been the one who had left her like this, him and no one else. He watched as she rolled her eyes before he felt her grip tighten on his arm and how with the hand she had on his neck she pushed him even closer to his face to press their lips together again.

Their lips met again and neither of them could be happier. Charles's hands took on a life of their own as they began to roam over the girl's body as his life depended on it. He felt her skin crawl beneath his fingertips, his chest swelling with pride as she let out a breath into his mouth.

"Charles..." She sighed his name against his lips when his left hand passed over her hip and he smiled into the kiss. He raised her hand again very slowly until he brought it to her collarbone and where he gently caressed the skin of her neck before curling his hand around her throat. He pressed his body even closer –if it was possible– to hers.

His hand was big enough to cover her entire neck, he liked that. He moved his thumb caressing the edge of her jaw as he separated from her enough to break the kiss but not enough for their lips to stop touching.

"Tell me, ma belle" He murmured, because even though they were alone in the room it felt like a sin to speak out loud and break that intimate bubble that they had managed to create around them. Arabella's breath hitched in her chest as she saw his sly smile hang on his lips and she felt his grip on her throat tighten for a second "Tell me, what do you want?".

She mentally cursed not only herself but him as well. Her lips parted feeling the need to breathe harder and harder, she really felt like she was drowning. She looked into his eyes and then at his lips, she licked her own, managing to taste him. Charles almost looked away from her eyes when he felt her tongue lightly touch his lips but he held strong.

He tightened his grip, feeling her erratic pulse through her neck, and pushed his hand up, making her raise her chin. He insisted "Mmm?".

Fuck it.

She looked at him pleadingly and practically moaned "You. I want you”.

He analyzed her for a few painful seconds that to Arabella seemed like hours before he crashed his lips against hers. While they were kissing she felt him turning them on the mattress and a second later they were sitting, she on top of him.

The kiss was aggressive and fast but she still felt that he was trying not to hurt her, she smiled earning the grip his hand had moved down from her throat to her ass. She let out a moan and immediately wanted to hide under a rock when she saw him pull away from her but she calmed down when she realized it was to take her shirt off of her. She nodded when he gave her a look asking if it was okay, she thought that it was adorable so when the shirt went over her head she gave him a short kiss to which he smiled sweetly before bending down and starting a trail of kisses from her chin to her cheek and down the column of her throat.

She bit her lip not caring that they were swollen and beginning to sting due to her action, she closed her eyes throwing her head back leaving him more room to paint her neck with kisses.

She moaned again as she felt him suck and bite her delicate skin. She should have stopped him, she should have considered that it was not a good idea for him to mark her that way but she was drunk, too drunk from that sensation that she didn’t know how to explain nor that sensation that she didn’t even know how to name. She didn't care, she only cared about him. It was all him, she felt him throughout the room, in every pore of her skin.

Him, him, him. It was all him.

She was so immersed in that simple pleasure that she didn't even feel uncomfortable or insecure about being in a bra in front of a boy for the first time. It was strange, she really thought the first time was going to be a disaster but for the moment she was quite comfortable and she was quite enjoying it. Had she really missed this all these years?.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt his chin brush against one of her breasts, his kisses had descended from her throat to the skin that covered her esophagus and were about to reach the beginning of her breasts. His hands had moved from her waist and bottom to her back, both hands large enough to cover almost her entire back. She felt one of his fingers caress the clasp of her bra.

“Can I take it off, mon ange?” She lowered her chin again and after looking into his eyes for a few seconds, she finally nodded. She didn't trust her voice at that moment, she didn't believe that anything other than moans, gasps or some sigh was going to come out of her throat.

She let his hands take hold of the hook of the black bra and soon she felt it peel away from her skin. Swallowing, she helped him take it off by passing both arms through the straps. She looked at it in the monegasque's hands and she scolded herself for not having chosen a prettier bra, not that that one was ugly but it was too simple. She shook her head slightly without Charles seeing her, that wasn't important now.

He threw the bra across the room, almost hitting a painting that it looked like it was expensive. He grimaced and she laughed lightly making him smile.

He looked at her, laughing and almost naked on top of him. The expensive painting that he almost broke couldn't compare to the work of art he had in front of him. A small sigh came from deep in his chest. He brushed aside a couple of unruly strands that had slipped past her shoulders and pushed them back, letting them join the rest of the long hair that covered her back. This caught the girl's attention, her laughter began to die, leaving behind a pretty but unremarkable smile.

She shifted a little uncomfortably under his gaze and he denied, caressing her waist, his other hand gripping her chin and forcing her to look at him again when she looked away from him. He looked at her with all the sincerity in the world "You're beautiful, mon ange."

"Really?" Her voice was almost not heard but he did, he would always hear her. He nodded, taking her hand and bringing it to his bare chest, placing it on top of his heart.

"Really" He caressed her face with the hand that was previously holding her waist "You're like an angel, the most beautiful thing anyone can see in their life".

She licked her lips and brought her free hand to his neck. She approached him and rested her forehead on his before closing her eyes "Kiss me, Charles."

And he, more than happy, obeyed. Their lips met for the thousandth time that morning, their tongues began to curl around each other until her lungs began to demand air, they reluctantly separated. Charles kissed her lips chastely before moving his lips to her cheek, down to her jaw and then to her neck as he had done before. After thinking about it for a second he took her hand to one of her breasts and began to caress it, testing the terrain.

Moans soon filled the room when his lips accompanied his hand, especially when he began to pay attention to her nipples. With his lips glued to her chest he looked up at her and he could swear he almost came right there. Her eyebrows had furrowed together, her eyes were closed in enjoyment and her mouth was slightly open while moans came non-stop from the depths of her throat.

Charles's pants were starting to feel pretty tight.

He separated his lips from her skin and flipped them over again, so he was on top of her again. The spanish girl complained when she felt the loss of contact to which he let out a small raspy laugh before placing his lips back to her chest although they didn't stay there as they began to move towards her stomach.

Arabella's eyes widened when she felt his hands get tangled in her pants and her panties. She sat up quickly making him stop and look at her confused.

She covered her face with both hands and let out a loud sigh, muttering curses in her native language. The monegasque frowned at her, crawling across the bed until he was in front of her. Once he was in front of her, he took one of her hands, forcing her to uncover her face, which was red with shame.

“Hey” He whispered when he got her to uncover completely and look at him, he looked at her worried “Have I done something wrong? Something that made you uncomfortable or...”

She was quick to interrupt him “No, no, no. The thing is...”

She bit her lip, uncomfortable with the situation. Charles raised an eyebrow at her, positioning himself more comfortably on her side. He looked at her expectantly, making her gaze nervously travel around the room, avoiding his eyes. She pressed her lips together making them disappear in a fine line when he took her hand and intertwined their fingers.

"It's okay, ma belle" He gave her a small smile "You can tell me if you want."

She took a breath and bit her lower lip again "It's just... I've never been with someone like….that, I-I'm a virgin" She murmured her last words, trying to avoid them, but he managed to hear her.

He opened his mouth, surprised more than anything. It took him a while but he reacted, he began to caress the back of her hand with his thumb to calm her down.“Oh, okay. It's okay, nothing happens. We can go slow, I'm not in a hurry”.

He smiled at her when she finally looked at him. He knew that she was worried about what he would say or think, he could see it very clearly in her eyes but it was true that he didn't care too much about sex, he wasn't with her for that reason.

She covered her face again, letting out a sharp complaint "This is so embarrassing"

He laughed lightly, twisting his hands around her wrists to move them away from her face again, he pushed her making her back make contact with her mattress again. He soon lay down next to her and hugged her. They both looked at the ceiling in silence. Charles knew she was embarrassed –not just because she herself had just admitted it verbally– it was noticeable in the air of the room, in how it had changed. He let out a small sigh and began to caress her shoulder gently.

“After Azerbaijan the race is in your country, are you excited?” He changed the subject, wanting to distract her from her thoughts knowing that she was overthinking, it was something he had observed in her. Arabella had a hard time expressing her feelings out loud so everything was stuck in her mind and he knew that right now her head was in chaos.

He felt her shift against his chest, he tensed for a moment because she, like him, was still naked from the waist up and her could feel her breasts pressing against the skin of his own torso. He kissed her hair letting her get comfortable.

"I'm nervous" She admitted, tightening her grip around his torso. "I'd like my first victory to be at home”.

“Maybe you win here or in Azerbaijan” The girl's gaze traveled to the large window from which much of Shanghai could be seen. She was grateful for having accepted Charles' idea of traveling to the chinese city a week earlier.

She separated her chin from his chest and raised her head to look at him. He followed her with his gaze, tangling his fingers in the rebellious brown locks "And you, how do you feel? It's going to be your first home race in Ferrari”.

He grimaced “I just hope I don't eat the wall like two years ago.”

The girl opened her mouth remembering it “It was you! God, I didn't remember that”.

She remembered when she saw the boy's car hit the wall in the 2017 race in Monaco, they were both still in Formula Two. She still remembers seeing the car smashed against the wall as she drove past it, not much later she was named the winner of the race.

Who was going to tell her that the driver of that car was going to be her teammate and that they would both be half naked in bed? The world was really small.

“You won, right?” He looked at her with half-closed eyes and she nodded, laughing. He clicked his tongue “I remember I wanted to congratulate you but I never did.”

“Maybe thanks to that we are here today”.

He kissed her forehead “And I wouldn't change it for anything in the world.”

SHE frowned when she saw a tweet about how some YouTubers mentioned her, she moved her right thumb to the link and waited for the screen to take her to the YouTube video.

When the video's headline appeared on her screen, her brow furrowed even more. 'Moto2: Argentina Race, summary and our opinion' Her eyes traveled curiously across the screen observing every little detail, apparently they were a couple of spanish boys, one with hair dyed blue and the other brown, it seemed that they were not very far from her age, they had set up a channel in which they commented on Moto GP races and according to their number of subscribers, apparently they were doing quite well. She raised an eyebrow, sensing what the matter was going on.

She pressed play and the blue-haired boy began to speak “Bienvenidos otra vez a…”Welcome back to…

She rolled her eyes heavily before stopping the video and beginning to search through her comments for her name. She stopped a couple of times reading her last name but when reading the comments she could see that they were only talking about her brother, she bit her nail as she continued scrolling down through the comments. She finally started to find her name.

She moved the thin red line until the number 6:02 became present, she pressed the center of the screen again and quickly one of the boys' voice rang through the room. She was thankful that she was back in her room because she didn't know what to expect, much less how she was going to react, so she was thankful that Charles wasn't present.

“Oliver Torres was going very well until he had to go to the pits” Her ears perked up when she heard the name of her younger brother. The blue-haired boy nodded at his friend's words and turned in his chair.

“Yeah, he's really not having any luck this season” He lowered the hood of his head and looked at the camera “At least he doesn't have anyone giving him shit like his sister with Hamilton”.

The other snorted before laughing half-heartedly “Ah, yes, Arabella Torres.”

"He doesn't like her" His buddy laughed, hitting him on the arm, to which the other stretched out making a face.

“It's not that I dislike her, but I don't think it was a good idea to put her in Formula One” He shrugged his shoulders.

The blue haired one looked at him interested "Why?"

“I feel that the FIA accepted her just for being a woman, so that there is diversity. They have Hamilton and Torres, they already have the minimum diversity acceptable by society”.

“That's twisted but I wouldn't be surprised if it were true”.

“Hmm, I also don't like her because he's too narcissistic. She thinks she's the best but come on!, she hasn't won anything. She said she was going to beat Hamilton but she's done everything but win, it's no big deal. Her racing style is shit and I don't know, she isn’t that good”.

“But she is pretty”.

They both looked at each other for a few seconds in silence before starting to laugh. The brunette nodded "Yes, she's hot. Very hot, how old is she?”.

“Eighteen”.

“Ah, okay, then it's legal for me to say this” They laughed again as if it were the best joke in the world “She would be a good fuck, have you seen that ass?”.

“Yes but I'm more of a tits guy, you know.

“It's not that she lacks in that area” He put her hands in front of his chest and squeezed them making an obscene gesture “Some good pillows”.

“Do you think they are natural or she had surgery?”.

Disgusted, she ran out of the video. She dropped the phone and lost her gaze to some fixed point in the room. She suddenly felt disgusted with her body, as if she had the sudden need to cover herself as much as she could so as not to be seen.

How could they talk about her as if she were just a piece of meat with eyes? Was it only her chest and her ass that were important and not that she drove a car every weekend that went three hundred kilometers per hour with the possibility of die every time she sat on it? She pulled her sweatshirt down trying to cover herself as much as possible and lay down on the bed. She felt tears pool in her eyes as she crawled into the sheets. She brought her knees to her chest and hugged them, it didn't take her long to fall asleep through tears.

A couple of hours later, which was actually seconds for her, the noise of her phone indicating that someone was calling her. Her gaze traveled around the room, she felt disoriented not knowing what day or time it was. She could tell that at least it was still daylight thanks to the large window in front of her bed. She ran a hand over her face, feeling the roughness of her cheeks thanks to the tears that had dried on their way to her neck. She let out a sigh and immediately sat up, sitting on the bed. She groaned when she felt a sting in her skull, something that used to happen to her when she fell asleep while or after she cried.

Blindly, she moved her hand across the sheets to touch her phone, picked it up, and looked at the screen. The YouTube application was still open but there was no trace of the video, she looked at the time and breathed a sigh of relief, it was still early.

The phone was still ringing indicating that her brother was calling her.

She pressed the green button present at the top right corner of the phone and brought the device to his ear.

“¿Si?” Yes? She asked fearfully because the truth was that she almost never spoke with her brother, at least not on phone calls, but they did send each other the occasional message to congratulate each other when one of them took a trophy home or to ask about their parents in in case one couldn't talk to them but the other could. They both had a very busy life, him in Moto2 and her in Formula One, so it had been at least six or seven months since the last time they saw each other because it's not like they coincided too much, when one was on one side of the world the other was in the other. It was strange, but that was their relationship.

“I've seen the video” From the tone of her voice he knew that he was angry and the truth didn't surprise her. Since Oliver had entered his teenage years he had acquired some anger problems, of course she couldn't blame him because she was just like him except that when her little brother received some kind of comment or something he didn't like he was quite vocal about it while she decided to keep quiet and let her actions speak for her.

And now you cry like a little girl, her conscience scolded her.

"I'm going to kill them, who the hell do they think they are to talk about my sister like that?" She came back to reality when she heard his growl, behind his voice she could hear motorcycle engines roar. She assumed that he was training for his next race, she felt bad for him, she hoped that the issue would not affect her training.

“Oli, it's okay. Everything is okay” She tried to reassure him “They're just two assholes talking nonsense”.

“No, Bella. It's not okay” He shook her head even though his sister couldn't see him “Do you know what they're saying about you on Twitter? They are talking about your body as if it were theirs to comment on, it's disgusting”.

She saw how her free hand began to shake and she sighed again, she closed it into a fist trying to make the tremors stop. She suddenly felt guilty, guilty that her brother was having a hard time in that moment, he was only sixteen years old and he was witnessing his older sister being sexualized on the internet. It wasn't something a little boy should have to experience.

She heard a door close on the other side of the call “Arabella, I've read tweets where they say what they want to do to you. There are people who have gone to jail for less, it is very disgusting”.

“Fuck” She cursed out loud. She was thankful that her parents didn't have social media.

"Whatever you do, don't look at Twitter, okay?" He sounded like he was pleading from his tone but she knew he was actually trying to be nice and make her say yes but they both knew that as soon as the call was cut off she would run to the blue bird app. He pursed his lips, swallowing his words “I think mom told me that you are in China with your friends, go out with them and entertain yourself as much as you can. Forget it, okay? I'll tell Nick so he can do something”.

“Mmmh, yeah, okay” She nodded quickly, wanting to end the call. She sounded like a masochistic but she really wanted to see what they were talking about her.

“Please, Bells”.

"It's okay, I'm not going to look at it" She promised him. Her face was distorted into a grimace, her chest hurt when she breathed. I'm sorry to lie to you, little brother.

"Please, don't do it" The youngest Torres begged, knowing his sister. He knew that she was going to look at it and that she was going to mentally beat herself up about it, then she would smile in front of the world and say that she didn't give a shit to keep up the appearances. That was his sister, trying to seem strong in front of everyone when in reality she was just a scared girl.

"Goodbye, Oliver" She cut off the call before he could answer her. She pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the screen, moved her finger across it and exited YouTube, the home screen soon coming into view. She stared at the blue bird icon for a few seconds, biting the inside of her cheek.

Her gaze went to her hand, which was still shaking only more rapidly now. She wrinkled her nose regretting what she was going to do but still didn't stop her finger when it moved across the screen.

Her eyes moved frantically across the screen; people talking about how they wanted to fuck her, comments about how she was only in Formula One to be the sex doll for the other drivers, some sick bastards explaining with every detail what they would do to her in bed if she gave them the opportunity and, of course, lastly, a little few comments defending her.

She brought her hand to her mouth trying to suppress the sob she could tell she was fighting to get out of her.

You should have listened to your brother.

SHE FELT Lando's arm slide down her shoulders which woke her up from her trance, she looked at the briton finding his unique white smile.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his tone wasting concern despite the big smile that hung from his lips as he spoke.

"Yes" Sh nodded, passing her arm around his waist so that they could walk more comfortably, she looked at the backs of the others walking a couple of meters more in front of them before looking at the curly again "Why do you ask?”.

"It's just that you've been all morning like in another world, I don't know” He shrugged. His index finger traveled to the junction of his sunglasses to push them up through the bridge of his nose.

It had been three days since the twitter thing had happened and, although she couldn't stop thinking about it, she hadn't talked to anyone about it. She ignored her brother's calls and messages and apparently, fortunately or unfortunately, neither Charles nor any of the others had seen the tweets. The truth is that she thought she had been lucky because she preferred to enjoy her free time with the boys without feeling the clear discomfort that the fact that they read the tweets would bring, she knew that they would try to cheer her up and that they would try too hard that things would become uncomfortable.

She leaned her head against Lando's shoulder and a short time later she felt how he rested his chin on hers. They kept walking until they met the others, who had stood near a bar.

Pierre smiled ladily when he saw them hung together "Is there anything you want to tell us, guys?".

Immediately Daniel began to make noises to annoy them, forcing Max to follow him who resisted but ended up following him with laughter. The gaze of the youngest of the McLaren duo traveled to the Ferrari boy who didn’t look very happy, and moved slightly away from the girl.

Arabella rolled her eyes extending her arm to push the frenchman, simulating discomfort but the smile on her face betrayed her “Que pesado el Pedro” So annoying, Pedro (spanish version of Pierre).

Gasly frowned confusedly at the unknown language in which his friend had spoken to him while the other spaniard laughed loudly. He turned to his best friend, leaning over to murmur in his ear and that no one listened to him “What did she say?”.

The monegasque shrugged while still looking at his teammate laughing with her compatriot while they spoke in spanish. He smiled slightly happy to see her laugh again because these last few days he had noticed that her mood had changed, she was acting strange. He had decided not to mention it knowing that she had a hard time talking but he had set a deadline, tonight he was going to ask her if she was still acting like that. He was relieved to see her gradually becoming the Arabella he knew again. He felt his chest warm up when he saw her smile.

Merde, Charles. You're in too deep, huh?

"Well, let's eat" Norris raised his voice and made his way among his friends to enter the bar although he stopped his steps by turning around to look at the others. Everyone looked at him expectantly wondering what was wrong while he looked at them pursing his lips “Does anyone know Chinese?”.

The other curly haired laughed, hitting his hand against his shoulder as if he had said the funniest thing in the world while the dutchman rolled his eyes, passing between them to lead the group and, finally, go to the bar. He looked at the british “They also speak english, Lando”.

“Oh”.

Ricciardo's laughter got louder, he bent over holding his stomach “Ah, it hurts”.

Carlos looked at him entertained "Look how happy he is always, I want to be like him at his age”.

"Hey, I'm not much older than you." He quickly stopped laughing, put his back straight and looked at the male spaniard who smiled mockingly at him.

"But you're older”.

He opened his mouth to answer him but the hand of the only girl resting on Sainz's shoulder and pushing him towards the bar interrupted him.

"Come on, Carlitos" She kept pushing him, an equally mocking smile stuck to her lips "Don't bother grandpa anymore”.

"Oi!" The Australian exclaimed and both spaniards began to laugh.

Charles looked at them –at her, rather because he only looked at her– with a smile as he followed them from a little far away. His best friend made a noise calling his attention, he looked at him finding that he was already looking at him with a small smile on his face.

"What?" He asked confusedly at what the blue-eyed one laughed catching him in his arms, Leclerc complained when Gasly's arms surrounded his head.

"You like Arabella" He sang causing the younger to stop his movements, he looked at him alarmed but Pierre ignored him "It hurts me a little that you didn't tell me, you know being your best friend and all that but...”

“What are you talking about? I don't like her!” He exclaimed getting out of his grip. The frenchman analyzed him with his eyes, he was on the defensive mode, he definitely hid something.

"Yeah, of course" He took his phone out of the back pocket of his pants and put it on his face "Well, look, how together you can be seen here, holding hands and everything”.

Charles snatched his phone to be able to see the photo better.

"Merde” Shit.

Meanwhile, inside the bar, Arabella was smiling at Verstappen who in a gentlemanly act was holding her chair to sit down.

She gave him a smile “Thank you, Maxie”.

The boy blushed, waving his hand like saying "it's nothing." Lando let out a sharp laugh when he saw the intimidating dutchman blushing.

“And you don’t hold the chains for the rest of us? So rude of you" Ricciardo complained to which the Red Bull driver raised his middle finger in his direction.

"I can hold something else for you if you want”.

Arabella laughed, taking her phone out of the bag that hung from her shoulder, which was ringing indicating that they were sending her messages. All the color left her face, leaving her as white as a paper sheet.

"Mierda” Shit.

#charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #lando norris x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc #ferrari #alex albon x reader #checo perez #f1 #driver!reader #f1 x reader #female driver #fernando alonso #daniel ricciardo x reader #f1 fanfic #female original character #george russell #lance stroll #lewis hamilton

[evilkitten3]

ok so like i know the reason is just. sexism but one thing that really irks me about how the post-timeskip naruto manga handled which characters became medic nin bc it makes absolutely no sense to me

sakura's decision to train under tsunade makes sense, and i love that she got a super strength power up, so no notes there, but the other teams.... yeesh

so first off, team ten. we're told that ino decided to follow sakura into mednin land to keep being rivals with her... despite that at no point factoring into their rivalry at all beforehand. ino never showed any interest in that, nor was the yamanaka clan ever mentioned to have anything to do with healing as far as i can remember. it's like going to art school to stay with your bestie when your goal is to become a dentist. why are you there. find other ways to spend time together. it also kinda goes against her family's whole thing as. the guys who do the torture stuff. and it's barely ever relevant anyway

for team ten, i think the team medic should've been shikamaru, and i think this not just bc i think it makes more sense skill-wise (something about the way the nara clan's various shadow jutsu work just screams "you need good chakra control for this" to me), but also bc i think it would make asuma's death a thousand times more painful. bc shikamaru is a slacker. he's not learning medical ninjutsu bc he wants to, he's learning it bc someone on the team has to in order to stick together. they're all chuunin now; one of them has to be a medic. them's the rules. but he doesn't really care that much, even when he is trying to learn, and he's so used to being smart enough to not have to pay attention in lessons anyway that he's not prepared for classes that require his full focus. and then asuma dies and shikamaru is doomed to spend the rest of his fucking life wondering if he could've saved him by paying just a little more attention to those medical ninjutsu lessons (he could not have (but he'll never know for sure))

team eight makes some sense, since giving the girl who struggles with fighting the healing job isn't exactly out of nowhere, but i do feel it was the lazy choice. kiba already had a sister involved in the medical business, even if she deals more with animals, so he could've started learning from her and found that he liked it. plus kiba's goal is to be hokage, and the current hokage is a mednin, so it's not like it wouldn't support his goal. or shino could do it; would add another layer to his character. hinata works fine but. it's just not a very interesting development imo

but what really gets me is team gai. good freaking grief. out of every single team, team gai was the one with the most obvious choice. bc there was only one choice. lee can't do any kind of ninjutsu, and tenten's only real backstory is that her chakra control isn't good enough for her to be a medic nin. so it had to be neji. canon establishes that every team has to have a medic; this is a policy tsunade got passed even before she became hokage, so no way in hell is she going back on it now.

moreover, neji becoming a medical ninja - especially if hiashi encouraged it - would show some development for the hyuuga clan maybe starting to suck a bit less. bc as a medic, neji would be bound by oath to stay alive for as long as possible. imagine a world in which hizashi came back and hiashi was able to tell his brother that not only was their family starting to change, but his son had chosen a path that would prevent him from ever following in his father's footsteps. it would be the first step (of many) to show that the hyuuga clan was freeing itself from its own bullshit.

also it would've made sakura catching the zetsu pretending to be neji a thousand times funnier. like that's her coworker. they've shared shifts at the hospital together. she's seen neji drink vodka straight from a bottle and then crash on her couch after they got out of a twelve-hour surgery on the fucking dumbass chuunin who managed to step on his own boobytrap. she knows him.

#naruto #naruto shippuden #medical ninjutsu #iryou ninjutsu #haruno sakura #senju tsunade #yamanaka ino #nara shikamaru #hyuuga hinata #inuzuka kiba #hyuuga neji #white zetsu #hyuuga clan #neji should've been a mednin not hinata i will die on that hill

[anyarose011]

You're a Mean One, Miss Hunham {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Four days into being stuck in an all boy's school for Christmas break, and you're on the brink of insanity. If it's not because of Angus Tully still trying to one up you in history lessons, then it's Teddy Kountze getting a hand on something personal of yours (prick).

Part 2 of ?? (Part 1)

Warnings: Swearing, period typical sexism, mentions of pornography, blackmail, minor physical assault, and as always, Teddy Kountze.

You guys don't get to escape being an awkward af teenager just because it's fanfiction, so enjoy! Also, thank you all so much for the love already shown just from the first part alone!

Word Count: 5.0k

You always knew to put a pillow over your head when you heard your father get up from his bed.

“All right you fetid layabouts, it’s daylight in the swamp!” He smacked two metal basins against each other, waking the boys up if they weren’t already, groaning. “Arise!”

It was funny the first day, but by the fourth, it was unbearable. Still, a part of you was grateful for your father; you never had to get up early and run with the boys in the cold, Massachusetts air. Call it nepotism, call it sexism, you were just glad he didn’t want you to interact with them (physically, that is).

The second day you were there, he called you in during afternoon study hall (leaving you on a minor cliff hanger in Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre; forget that it was your third time reading it, it pissed you off). Just like he had done months ago, Paul Hunham hosted a trivia game (whether that was to show you off, or get them to study, you had no idea).

What idea you did have, was beating every single one of them.

For Alex and Ye-Joon, they were babies in your eyes, so you would give them more time to think on their answers whenever they were up. Alex got close on one, but overall, they didn’t do so well.

Oh, the boys your age? Yeah, you didn’t show mercy, even towards Jason.

“When was the last king overthrown?” Your father questioned.

You smacked the desk before Jason could even process the question. “509 B.C.”

“What planets are named after Roman gods?”

“Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn.” You recited it perfectly.

Teddy scrunched his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

Your father pursed his lips. “That was the easiest one I have, Kountze.”

Angus Tully…Angus. Fucking. Tully.

“What emperor temporarily restored peace to Rome and the cost of-?”

Angus hit the desk before your father could finish the question. “-Diocletian.”

“At its peak,” your father eyed you. “how large was the Roman Empi-?”

“2.3 million square miles.” You answered, keeping your eyes trained on Tully.

“Nero had five spouses in total, what was the name of the slave boy he-?”

“-Castrated and married,” you finished for him. “Sporus.”

Back and forth you both went like that, rapid fire at first, and your own levels of exhaustion were catching up to you. After perhaps five minutes of this (maybe ten, twenty, who gives a shit, you were tired), it was one damning question that would haunt you.

“True or false, the Pantheon was built before the Coliseum.”

“True.” You said, slapping the desk with the confidence of a mediocre man.

There was silence in the room, and your father sighed. “False.”

It wasn’t a big deal, it shouldn’t have been a big deal; to literally everyone else but you, it wouldn’t be a big deal.

But it was.

Oh, it was.

It was the second time you lost to Angus Tully overall, the first time from an easy question. Still, while Kountze’s grin made you want to rip out his teeth, it was Tully’s outstretched hand that caused you to snap out of it.

“Good job.”

Two of the most hurtful words in academia, whether it meant for it to be or not. Still, swallowing your pride, you shook his hand, and left the room gracefully.

Then started crying as you walked down the darkened hallway.

It wasn’t like you were weeping, you were just frustrated. Thankfully, by the time your friend Elise came to pick you up, you were fine and had a fun day simply walking around town with her.

You bought cigarettes and chocolate at the drug store, then spent the rest of the day at her house, laying on the floor and listening to records in her room while answering her prodding questions.

“Who’s the cutest one?”

“None, they’re men.”

“Okay,” she rolled her eyes, smiling. “I know that, but if you had to choose.”

“Like, ‘if we were the last man and woman on earth’ I had to choose?”

“Sure.”

“A very tall bridge.”

She laughed, shoving you playfully. “I’m serious!”

“So am I.”

“Really.”

Sighing heavily, you thought for a moment, before smiling. “He’s a football player.”

“What?!” She sat herself up. “You and a football player?!”

“Shut up!” You laughed with her, sitting up.

Elise shook her head. “What about the one you went head-to-head with in trivia today?”

“Ew,” was your immediate reaction. “he’s maybe your type, but not mine.”

“So, you don’t want a smart one?” She questioned. “And that’s mean of you.”

“I’m mean to everyone.” You laid back down on the floor. “And yes, of course I want someone who’s smart, but not smarter than me.”

She mirrored you, laying down and leaning her head against yours. “So, he’s out for the count?”

“One hundred percent.”

“If you say so.” Elise reached up onto her nightstand and handed you a letter. “Also, my aunt left something back at the faculty housing and said she found this in you and your dad’s mailbox.”

You looked at your name in the center of it, and then at the stamp: a toy train.

It took everything within you not to sit up in shock. All you did was smile, say thank you, and slip it into your coat pocket.

You gave Tully his chocolates and cigarettes and didn’t have a problem. It was the fourth day when your father had given them just another ounce of freedom outside of the school, allowing them to walk around the wooded area of campus. You still had your books, but you were also feeling lonesome (the only time you really interacted with any of them was during mealtimes, except for Teddy…fuck Teddy), and you had talked about almost every single thing you wanted to talk about with Mary (God bless that women for letting you read to her too).

So, on December 20th, you laced up your boots (not too tightly), pulled on your mittens, and zipped up your jacket to go on a miniature adventure with the five boys.

“I’m gonna teach you how to play football.” Jason teased you as the six of you walked two by two (you and him at the front).

Shaking your head, you smiled more so at the thought of what you’d look like than his obvious flirting (was he even flirting or just being nice? Decades pass, and you still aren’t sure). “Please no.”

“Come on, it’s easy.”

“Roman history is easy.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not; you’re just smart.”

“It’s easy to me. Football is easy to you, see what I’m getting at?”

Jason shrugged. “Suit yourself, Teddy?”

“Say no more.” He responded, brushing past you and running up ahead as Jason threw the football to him and he caught it.

That left you by yourself for just a moment before seeing Angus walk beside you. You turned your head over your shoulder to see Ye-Joon and Alex lagging behind as they talked.

“Boys,” you called them. “try and keep up!”

They responded with a chorus of ‘Yeah’s and ‘Sorry’s.

“So what, you’re like their mother now?” The second most irritating voice belonging to a boy asked.

You looked over at Angus, hands in his pockets as he gazed down at you. “You’re not exactly the nurturing type.”

“You don’t know that.”

Humming, you stepped over a log in the middle of the path. “So, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Jason’s here because of his hair, Alex and Ye-Joon’s family are in other continents, I don’t care nor want to know about Teddy, why are you here?”

He didn’t respond right away, before then saying. “I was supposed to go to St. Kitt’s with my mom and stepfather, but then they decided to say it was their honeymoon and ditch me.”

Your gaze turned to him and saw him pick up a stick, dragging it behind him to make a line in the snow. Even just from his profile, you could see the anger withing his eyes; bubbling more violently than a volcano about to erupt.

“That’s despicable.” You stated plainly.

“That’s one way to put it.” He scoffed.

You didn’t know exactly how to follow up such a personal conversation, but you wanted to make him feel better (at this point during the break, only because it was the decent thing to do), so you just said.

“You beat me fair and square both times.”

Angus looked at you. “Did I? At your dad’s bullshit trivia?”

“You did. Well actually, it was just me versus five of you, and I do believe the more I talk to Kountze, the more braincells I lose, so-.”

“-Don’t sell yourself short.”

You gave him a quizzical look. “I know, I was just telling you why I lost to you both times.”

He shrugged. “The first time you had to go against fifteen of us.”

“I’m sorry,” you chuckled, genuinely not believing it. “are you suddenly saying that you think I’m smart?”

“I never said you weren’t.” He gave you a look.

“Last time, you looked me in the eye and said you knew more than me.”

That’s what silenced him, and when he nor you said anything after that, you simply walked ahead of him. Hell yeah, you had the last word and made him feel like an asshole (you honestly didn’t know that was possible).

The six of you all caught up with one another, and you spoke with the freshmen boys more about meaningless things (but perhaps that’s what made it so meaningful). Angus, still carrying the stick like he was a child, and it was his favorite toy, said to Jason after talking about if there was anything else to do in Barton.

“What about your car? We could take it, go somewhere, Boston maybe?”

“Nah, we’d get in so much trouble.” He shook his head, nudging you. “Little miss perfect here would snitch on us.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. “I would not. Besides, it’d be easier to say you all kidnapped me, and everyone would believe me.”

“Face it,” Jason passed the football back to Teddy. “we’re stuck.”

 “If we just had some way to get out of here.” Angus kicked a patch of snow. “Just split.”

Jason pointed towards the quad. “Well, you could put a chopper down right in the quad.”

“A what?” Angus furrowed his brow.

“Helicopter, dumbass.” Teddy mocked. “His old man’s the CEO of Pratt and Whitney.”

Jason nodded. “Yeah, he’s go his own bird. He takes it from Stamford to the city every morning. Lands right in our back yard. Pilot’s name is Wild Bill.”

“Wild Bill?” Ye-Joon asked, amused.

“Yeah, flew to Haystack with it. Took the presents and everything. Minus me.”

“Flying with presents,” Alex spoke up. “like Santa Claus.”

That was perhaps the first time you smiled out of geniuses that day.

“Yeah. Just like Santa Claus.”

Jason whistled, and Teddy immediately dashed ahead of him and caught the ball once Jason threw it. The two drifted off playing catch, leaving you and Angus with the freshmen. Alex spoke just as whimsically as he did about Santa.

“If I was back home right now back in Provo, it would be really warm inside, and my mom would be making baked apples, and the whole house would smell like cinnamon and brown sugar.”

Ye-Joon smiled. “That sounds really nice.”

You nodded. “During finals week, I helped Mary and the other cooks bake cookies for you guys. I still think that’s one of my favorite smells of all time.”

“You helped out with that?” Angus asked.

Dropping your smile, you said. “Yeah, and if I knew which one you’d have taken I would’ve spat in it.”

Before he could even come up with a response, Teddy ran up to Alex and yanked the glove off his right hand. “Hey!”

“That’s what you get for ratting me out, you little Mormon!” He laughed before throwing it into the river.

You marched up to him immediately. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Like, what the actual fuck?”

Teddy only stuck his tongue out like a child before running back to catch up with Jason. A part of you (somehow) foolishly believed he would’ve berated Teddy for the obviously asshole act; but he didn’t.

Rolling your eyes, you went down to the river with Alex, hopefully trying to find the glove and be able to fish it out. Though, to no avail, you couldn’t find it.

“It’s gone!” He yelled back up to Angus and Ye-Joon. “My glove’s gone!”

“Twisted fucker orphaned that glove on purpose!” Angus responded. “Left you with one so the loss would sting that much more.”

Alex looked down at his hands before tugging off the other glove and throwing it into the river as well. You glared at Teddy as he had a fun time, still laughing and throwing the ball with Jason. Sighing, you looked back down at Alex and pulled off your mittens, handing them to him.

“Here.”

He glanced up at you before staring back out at the water, rubbing his nose. “I don’t need them.”

“Your fingers are frailer than mine.” You continued even when he gave you a look. “That’s not an insult, that’s a fact. It’s alright, I have pockets.”

Alex, after a moment of debating, took them from you and slipped them on, smiling. “Thanks.”

The six of you were on your way back to school when you felt someone slip their hand into your coat pocket.

“Now what do we have here?”

You turned on your heel, seeing Teddy’s face light up as he waved the letter in his hand. Your face dropped, along with your voice.

“No!”

Immediately, you began to chase him around the small, snowy clearing as if you were a dog and he was a car.

“Theodore fucking Kountze, give that back!” You commanded.

He ripped open the envelope. “Or what, Hunham? You’re gonna tell your dad on me?”

“Just give her the letter, idiot.” Angus rolled his eyes.

Of course, Kountze ignored him, taking the letter out, and money falling from the paper. That’s when he stopped in his tracks and so did you. For the first time since…a while, you were frozen, and you had no idea why.

The rest of the boys caught up to you two, and Teddy picked up the money that fell from the letter; a twenty, a ten, and a five-dollar bill. After the initial shock wore off, he read the letter aloud to everyone.  

“‘My dearest girl, how are you? It’s been a while, and I just want to know what you’ve been up to. Merry Christmas, here’s my gift to you. From, Daniel. P.S. Please send another picture of you if you could.’”

Shame crept in like a shaking animal from the cold, and you couldn’t even look at any of them. Still, that didn’t stop Teddy from taunting you; hell, it probably spurred him on.

“The hell kind of business are you running if you got a someone paying you thirty-five bucks?” He laughed, looking back at the guys. “You think she’s in a skin mag or something?”

“Hey, man, shut up.” Jason rebuked.

“No, I’m serious. They take pictures without showing the face sometimes.” He looked at you now. “Which one is it? Penthouse? Modern Man?”

“Leave it, Kountze.” You hissed, not looking at him.

Teddy laughed. “Don’t tell me it’s Playboy; you?”

 “Are you fucking deaf?” Angus asked. “She told you to cut it out.”

“Piss off Tully, you probably saw her tits this morning in study hall.”

You whipped your head around and couldn’t control the face you made; to this day, you still have no idea if it was pure rage, a form of betrayal, or both at once. Still, you watched as how Angus avoided your gaze like he’d done something wrong; he did, but still. Teddy opened his disgusting mouth to speak again.

“Shit, if I were to line up every girl in Barton, you would’ve been the very last one I-.”

“-I’ll let you take the picture.”

All eyes were back on you, and you looked right at Teddy’s; once confident and sly, now widened with surprise. Who knew it would take just six words for him to shut up?

“What?” Was all he responded.

You swallowed thickly, clutching your hands into fists to keep yourself calm (and to not cry). “I’ll let you take the picture of me, but we have to be alone, and you need to promise me you won’t tell anyone else; especially my father.”

This was not what you had envisioned or wanted to happen on your first outing with them away from the adults in your life. You prayed to whatever god above, Christian, Roman, Greek, Buddhist, it didn’t matter, you prayed that Teddy would grow a brain and take the deal.

“Alright.” Was all he said, shrugging with an excited smile on his face that made your skin crawl.

You nodded. “I’ll take my letter and money now.”

He tilted his head, walking closer to you. “Please.”

Taking a deep breath, you said. “Please.”

Teddy’s grin only deepened, then handed you your things. “You know, Hunham, maybe you’re not a total prude after-.”

Your fist met his eye, and the both of you stumbled backwards; him clutching his face, you your hand. Needless to say, you were both cursing. Still, you managed to gather your bearings and push him over.

“Fucking bastard.” You spat before trying to make a run for it.

Teddy grabbed your left foot, causing you to fall into the snow, your teeth sinking into your lip once you hit your chin on impact of the ground. You struggled, then managed to quickly wiggle out of your boot before getting back up and running like a girl (anyone would run like a girl if they were being chased by a man like Teddy Kountze).

You honestly have no idea how he didn’t catch up to you at the time, but you were on the steps of the main building when you turned back. There they were, just five, not-so-little specks that stood out across the valley of pure white snow. It was only when you slowed down did you notice how cold your left foot was. Your sock was dripping wet from the snow, and you then pulled off your other boot, leaving it on the stairs before entering the school.

Taking a deep breath once you closed the door, you wiped your mouth; specks of blood colored your hand, but thankfully, not that much. Sighing, you walked through the halls of the school, trying to make your way back to the infirmary and hoping that your father wasn’t there.

You ran into Mary instead (a fate worse than death).

“Where are your shoes?” Was the first thing she asked once she saw you in the main hall (you got lost; hey, you’d only been there a few times in the past, don’t be too hard on yourself).

You shrugged, smiling. “We were playing a game.”

“What kind of game?”

“Hide and seek tag.” you leaned against the wall, hands in your coat pockets. “First one to get to the school wins, I hid my shoes under a bush, so they thought I was there, and I made a run for it.”

“You take a fall then? Your mouth’s bleeding.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never slipped on ice?” You managed to joke.

She arched her brow, placing her hands on her hips. “Do you know how long I’ve known you?”

It actually took you a few moments to think back on it; it felt like you’ve known her longer, but no. “Since I was nine?”

“And do you think, in the last eight years, I haven’t been able to tell if you’re a bad liar or not?”

“…Well, am I?”

“Did one of those boys put their hands on you?” She asked the question you both knew was coming. “Was it that shitass Kountze?”

Even with it being a serious question, you laughed (both from surprise and discomfort). “Well like, you should see the hands I put on him. Mary, we were just playing, it’s fine.”

The main door opened before she could say anything else, and you saw the same five boys walk in; Ye-Joon holding your boots. You smiled, approaching them as if nothing was wrong, and you took your shoes. “Thank you.”

He nodded, quickly looking away.

“You all should be ashamed of yourselves.” Mary spoke up behind you, and your heart dropped for a moment as well as all of their faces. “I get that you were playing a game, but you don’t need to be so competitive.”

They turned to one another, obviously confused about the whole thing (you were as well). Still, she continued. “Yeah, little miss Hunahm told me everything. Hide and seek, tag, I don’t care what it was, you all need to be just careful with each other. Poor girl over here took a fall, and I see you did too, mister Kountze.”

At his name, Teddy turned away. Angus spoke up. “We’ll be careful next time, miss Lamb.”

“Please, we’re on vacation; just Mary.” She looked at you. “You’re gonna help me with dinner later, right?”

“I will.”

“Good, stay out of trouble.”

“No promises.”

With that, Mary left through one of the doors leading to the teacher’s lounge. The moment she did, Teddy hissed at you.

“What the hell was that?!”

Rolling your eyes you said. “Didn’t you hear? We were playing a stupid game.”

“You mean you punched me in the face.”

“You blackmailed me into doing something I wouldn’t have wanted to do; we can keep going.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a-.”

“-A what?”

He stopped to your surprise, then changed his tone. “I just don’t think your father would be proud of the choices you’ve made.”

On one hand, damn, those words cut deep enough to almost make you bleed; but on the other hand…

“Are you gonna tell him?” You asked, trying not to sound like you gave a shit.

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “I mean, unless you’re gonna say sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You laughed. “Beating the shit out of you? You started it. Besides, who’s he going to believe?”

Silence was what you were met with. Even at the sight of his face, you only continued to grin. “Teddy, come on, you start ‘not fights’, we all know. It’s not a hard question, I thought you were smarter than this?”

He sighed. “You.”

“Exactly; you’re my bitch, Kountze.” You walked backwards, a little skip in your step. “Don’t you forget that.”

Turning away, you retreated to the infirmary, grabbing your books and escaping to the library in hopes of not having to see any of them for the rest of the day.

Men…so exhausting.

You managed to disappear into the world of The Yellow Wallpaper (not necessarily lighthearted reading, but it was still interesting) and a chapter of The Two Towers before Mary called you down to help with dinner.

After another strange but not so subtle comment from her (“You know you can be honest with me, right? I am with you.”), it was quiet between the both of you. That’s what you always loved with cooking and baking; the quietness, even if you were with one other person. You both just worked in tandem and it was almost frightening how you would both know to move out of the way of each other without saying a word.

Dinner was uneventful; somehow, your father hadn’t noticed the slight bruising on your lip, or Teddy’s eye (the color would probably start to show as days went on, but that was a future problem for you). Not one of the boys your age talked to you; even then, the freshmen kept to themselves a lot too.

So, it was quite a surprise to you, as there was “supervised leisure time” in the library, when Jason Smith sat across from you at the table.

“Hey.” He said softly.

You looked up from Jane Eyre. “Hello.”

“So…” He almost looked nervous (initially about what, you will never know). “you really gave Teddy shit today.”

Tilting your head to the side, you went. “Yeah? Well…he kind of threatened me.”

“No of course. Just…wow.” He chuckled. “You really held him off.”

Nodding, you honestly had no idea what to think. Was he complementing you? In shock? All you were doing was staying silent at this awkward exchange when he asked. “You okay?”

“Huh?”

“Just that, I can’t really read you right now. Did I say something weird?”

“No.” You shook your head, then said. “Well, yes. Sorry, I just…” You tried again. “Thank you, I think? But um…do you want me to be honest?”

“Sure.”

“I’m kind of…no, I am mad none of you stepped in. Maybe not mad but…I don’t know.”

“Well,” he began. “we told him to stop.”

“So did I, but he didn’t.” You wanted to say, but you only knew saying something true would make it worse (this is why you couldn’t be outnumbered by men; it’d make you scared). Instead, you settled on.

“I know, and thanks, but it still would’ve been nice for some help.”

He shrugged. “You seemed to have it handled.”

Six words you thought (and prayed) you’d never hear again; and he said them with a nonchalant shrug. As if, by now, he was already bored and annoyed with a conversation he had started. Perhaps you were reading too much into that last part, perhaps he didn’t mean to come off as callous; but he was still oblivious at the end of the day.

“Look,” he interrupted your overflowing mind when he saw how much it was affecting you. “if it helps, he tried to run after you when you punched him, but Tully and I held him back.”

You took a deep breath as his words sunk in. Then, you chuckled bitterly. “How nice of you to not let him beat me to a pulp.”

He shook his head. “Come on, don’t be like that.”

“Angry? Pissed off?”

“Irritational.”

Your jaw actually dropped. “What?”

He said your name, shaking his head and lowering his voice as if you both hadn’t been quiet already. “Look, Kountze is a dick, we know that. But come on, he said some horrible stuff, and you punched him. That doesn’t really add up.”

“…He threatened me.”

“You basically invited him to take a picture of you alone. I mean, yeah it was to bate him, but still.”

No further questions, you picked up your book and your jacket. Without another word and ignoring how he tried to call you back with a soft tone of voice as he said your name, you walked out of the library without another thought.

Your father asked you about it of course, but all you said was that Jason spoiled a book you were looking forward to reading. He believed you and wished you goodnight, leaving you to lie in your bed and be stuck in your thoughts until snoring reached your ears.

You waited a few more minutes before you stood up, gathering your blanket to wrap around you. As you walked down the hall, the nagging thought of ‘Do I even feel safe in there?’ invaded your mind when you only realized that you were going to be in a room with both Jason and Teddy. You were outside of the hall for longer than you would imagine, when you heard quiet voices on the other side of the wall.

“…I had an accident.”

“Yeah, you did. Shh, stop crying. If they hear you, they’ll crucify you. Which would be ironic, since you’re Buddhist.”

You had to cover your mouth from the unexpected line. How…strange it was to hear Angus Tully be this comforting. You heard the smaller voice again and heard that it was Ye-Joon.

“I know it’s an excellent school, and my brothers went here. But I miss my family, and I have no friends.” His voice broke at the end, and so did a piece of your heart.

Then, Angus with his words of wisdom, said. “Yeah, well, friends are overrated. I’ll help you hide the sheets in the morning, all right? In the meantime, find a dry spot, and try to get some sleep.”

“Thank you.”

You gave it a few moments, still reeling over the gentleness of it all, before entering into the light of the infirmary room. You knocked lightly on the door frame not to frighten anyone.

Angus turned over his shoulder, and somehow didn’t jump when he saw you.

“Hi.” You greeted.

“Hey.” He responded, trying to act like his common, moody self.

You wanted to acknowledge what you heard; tease him (but not in an unkind way) about him being nice, ask him why, in the dead of night, was he like this and not in the daytime? Still, all you could manage was the basic.

“Is everything alright?”

He nodded. “Yeah, just nightmares, you know.”

“No,” you shook your head, deciding to lighten and grace the room with your sarcasm. “I’ve never had one in my life.”

Angus seemed to catch on, and it surprised you greatly to see him actually smile. “Nobody likes a bragger.”

“So that’s why you don’t have any friends.”

…Too much; too much sarcasm.

Both of your smiles fell, and you wanted nothing more than to shrivel up like a leaf and die in front of him, then have someone sweep out the crumbs of your body and then them on fire in the snow before burying the ashes.

You still can’t believe you came up with that metaphor quicker before you could say. “I’m just gonna…”

He nodded. “Yep.”

“Goodnight.”

“’Night.”

You scurried into the other room and under the covers of the bed. The fear of Teddy and Jason no longer was the thing keeping you up at night in that room; it was the worst possible thing you could’ve said to Angus Tully of all people.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

#angus tully x reader #angus tully #the holdovers #mary lamb #teddy kountze #paul hunham #Youtube

[pastadoughie]

i am literally begging people to stop putting sexism and transphobia on my dashboard please fucking think critically abt ur internal biases for 5 secconds and please accept even an ounce of critisism without assuming that someone is attacking you unfairly

alot of you have extremely sexist beliefs that you dont recognize because within social media as a whole these are incredibly normalized, covering blatent homophobia and misandry in tumblr buzzwords doesnt make you not sexist it just lets you be sexist and homophobic and transphobic in a way that is socially acceptable and incouraged within a queer centric space

i keep seeing posts talking abt how people actively like artwork (writing, photography, drawings) more when they find out its of a butch lesbian and not just a dude, and like, if your opinion on a peice of media can change solely based on the gender of the person being depicted by it, with zero change to the character, then that implies an inharent bias against men like, just because its men doesnt mean it isnt sexism

same thing where people think that media depicting gay men is better when it explicitly isnt written by a gay man, like that implies a fundimental disrespect of the work based on the sexuality and gender of the author. if you like an artwork but then you find out its written by a trans women, and all of a sudden you think its garbage, you are transphobic, but when people try to point this same bias out for the works of queer men this is largely written off.

i know ppl will argue abt punching up and whatnot, and while i do in some ways agree with that overall sentiment, i think that we should be striving to uh, not be sexist at all, rather then just being misandrists instead of mysogenists, like, if you only care about sexism when it hurts women/women ajacent people then you dont actually hate sexism you just want it to harm a different group of people, you dont hate the system you just want to be ontop of it and benifit from it

misandry and mysogeny present in different ways, they arent a directly comparable thing, different people have things worse in different ways so its rlly hard to take a group and say "this group has it worse", like yes generalizations like that can help in an extremely broad sense, but the world is not black and white and this kind of shit is mindnumbingly complex, trying to act like there is some kind of objective scoreing system for who is more oppressed then who is just unproductive and harmful

and moreover, someone having it worse then you doesnt make you less deserving of trying to make your situation better, i dont experience racism and in many many many ways i have it easier then poc people, that does not make me undeserving of support and that doesnt make me complaining or trying to better my situation unreasonable

we can care abt the lives and want to better the situation of different groups simoltaniously, we dont have to stop caring about racism because we want to better transphobia

i get that transwomen have it rlly bad and i do not experience the exact same struggles as them, and therefore cant comment on alot of them, but so often i see erasure of queer men in order to give more focus to transwomen, and just because trans girls go through alot of shit doesnt make that ok

one thing that people have to recognize about misandry and specifically transmisandry that you dont really have to see as much with its mysogeny counterparts is that they have far more attention and people care far more about activism for queer women/women in general, queer mens experience and specifically the transmasc experience is very very very often erased and written off even by supposedly trans friendly and queer sorces, people care more about butch lesbians then they do trans men dispite the insane ammount of overlap between the two groups, when researching about historical butch lesbians alot of them are just, trans guys that people are misgendering and mislabeling as butch lesbians because ooooo woemennnnn

being transmasc myself i can say that like, the erasure of trans men is an extremely large issue, for large swaths of history the experiences of trans people arent paid attention to at all, and even looking at media coverage today, if people are going to talk abt transgenderism they are talking about it specifically under the lens of trans women

this is largely because misandry (specifically, people thinking that having cock and ball makese u somehow predatory) makes trans women an easier punching bag, trans women get more attention because they are easier for radfems (misandrists) to be bigoted against in a more violent way, if you assume all men and amab people are violent and predatory by nature then this makes justifying violence against trans women easier

and yea being a punching bag for the media is fucking hard but it does mean that activism for that group is much much much louder, more people are complaining about trans women so more people know abt the specific issues they face

but dispite trans men yaknow, also existing and recieving a shit ton of transphobia and erasure over history they dont get talked about as much, people hate us and are violent twards us but we dont nessasarily get the same outrage for our treatment

trans men are just as often get the dismissal for being women, and the outrage for being men as trans women do we just dont get as much support and thats really difficult! often people seek to treat transmasculinism as some kind of new thing like, i get the comment often that "usually its boys that wanna be girls" and its like, no. its not. its simply that people care less about us

i think that its really easy to misenterpret me here so im gonna just get this out of the way, i dont think that women have it easier then men in a broad socital sense, but also, i dont nessasarily believe that means that my complaints are invalid, being a queer woman is not a walk in the park, and neither is being a queer man, and both groups experience homophobia transphobia and sexism in different ways, so acting as if saying one is objectively worse then the other is unfair and reductive

i think that if we want to get anywhere in regards to making it easier to be trans then we need to talk about all queer experiences, you cant just, only care about trans women you have to care about all trans people, and moreover queer people in general, this means you HAVE to be vigilant about people wrapping up sexism in a tumblr buzzword packadge, you need to consume things critically and you are not immune to pipelines, people dont just wake up and become radfems you get continually fed more and more extreme idologies, being fed things that you 90% agree with untill you eventually become completely removed from the groups you were supposed to stand with

you can care about the oppression of multiple groups at once, and if you think activism in any way involves the erasure of a certain group then you have fundimentally misunderstood what youre supposed to be doing, queer men exist and they deserve support and respect and you need to be able to support and respect them without being like "ohh she is soooooo trransfemme coded" like. men can be queer and still be men, they can be queer and still deserve your love and support, i am begging.

also yes i am aware that outside of my specific experience of tumblr people fuckin hate trans girls and women in general and they dont feel the need to do this shit. but that doesnt mean what im talking about is not an issue and is not something that people need to change and address. if you find urself doing this shit you have got to reflect on yourself, you arent immune to transphobia or homophobia or sexism ESPECIALLY if you think that you somehow are magically immune. nobody is. no identity is. everybody is suseptible to this shit and it takes active critical thinking in order to combat it

#the beast speaks #i keep seeing this shit on my dash crying screaming throwing up i am begging people to get even a single ounce of reading comprehension #i get this is the piss on the poor webbed site but i try to have hope in humanity and every day i am disapointed further #retchid opinions

[salmon-bagel]

Tf2 mercenaries x Seductress! Class! Reader

Warning: nsfw content, female reader, sexism

Scout

When Scout heard that there's a woman who's a professional at seduction, he had already started plotting.

"Hello, name is Y/n L/n, but you can call me the Seductress. It's nice to meet you."

"Heya, nice to meet cha' mommy- Oh, i mean mommy i mean mommy i mean mommy i mean mommy-"

Constantly hits on you. Scout believes that you're the type of girl that's 'easy', someone who will let anyone bang them regardless of who they are.

That boy isn't going to leave you alone until you let him into your pants.

Even when he's not busy trying to get in between your legs, Scout is asking you for advice on how to woo the ladies. Considering you're a professional at flirting with people.

You go back and forth on giving him good advice and bad advice. Sometimes you feel bad that he can't get a girlfriend. Then again, you think to yourself that no woman should be within three feet of Scout because of how much of a horny asshole he is.

After some time, you did grow to have a soft spot for him. Since he's bullied a lot by the other mercenaries. He can be kinda cute when he's not being a complete jerk.

Soldier

Soldier treats you like the other mercenaries. Ruthlessly bleating in your ear when you're doing something wrong.

"GIVE ME ONE HUNDRED SQUATS NOW! I WANT THAT AMERICAN ASS NICE AND PERKY BY THE TIME YOU'RE DONE!"

He wants the best from you. Regardless of your gender, he'll push you to the limit until he's proud enough to call you a warrior.

Soldier tests that you're a good seductress by making you flirt with him. It's an ego boost on his part, but he's genuinely trying to make sure you're hot enough for the enemy.

"YOU CALL THAT FLIRTING!? I'VE HEARD BETTER FLIRTING FROM A MONKEY! AT LEAST THEY CAN PUCKER THEIR LIPS BETTER UNLIKE YOURS!"

Buys you clothing that he believes would work well when you're seducing the enemies. It's always american themed swimwear or lingerie. You began to believe he's just buying that for himself for you to try.

Whenever the team successfully wins for the day, Soldier immediately rushes towards and smacks your ass as hard as he can.

"NOW THAT IS AN ASS I'M PROUD TO CALL AMERICAN!"

Sniper

Sniper believes your work is very unprofessional. Considering he believes you have to whore yourself out to the enemy team. Instead of using your actual skills.

He says he has nothing against prostitution or sex work in general. Sniper just thinks that stuff you do should be kept behind doors and not on the battlefield. He says it causes too much of a distraction. However, you claim that 'distraction' is the point. Sniper doesn't seem to get it.

You honestly could care less what he thinks. Snipers throws jars of piss for a living, and he really thinks he has the right to judge other people?

The truth is you're good at seducing people. Too good. That it distracts him from doing his own job. Sniper has a tendency to watch you through the scope of his gun.

The way your body gets all hot and sweaty from the terrible heat, oh it does something to him. Sniper has imagined licking your sweat off your tits while you degrade him for being such a filthy fuck.

You are his go-to jerk off material. The women in his porno magazines don't get him off like they used. The only way he can relieve himself now is by imagining your fat ass bouncing on his cock.

When he noticed a pair of your panties in the laundry basket, Sniper couldn't help himself to inhale the sweet scent of your panties before putting them back.

Sniper knows he's a damn hypocrite.

He slut shames you for what you do, only to get off to you afterwards. The post nut clarity consumes him with guilt and shame.

Sniper still hasn't built up the courage to apologize to you.

Heavy

Heavy is one of the very few people who treat you like an actual human being. He was raised by a single mother alongside three sisters. Heavy knows to treat a woman right. Less he wishes to face their fury.

Heavy doesn't understand why you seduce the enemy. You're supposed to shoot at the enemy, not bat your eyelashes and wink! However, after watching your work on the battlefield, he gets to more of an understanding.

"Oh, I see. You lie to enemy and lure them in like fish? HA! Very clever!"

Absolutely loves gunning down the enemy that is distracted by you.

Is one of the few men who genuinely falls for you for your personality. Heavy knows you're drop-dead gorgeous, but he knows that beneath all that beauty is a truly intelligent woman. You earned your place on the team by impressing Mann Co., with your skills instead of batting your eyelashes and begging to be a part of the team. You make his heart swoon like no other woman has.

He likes to write you poetry. It helps convey how he feels for you because he's too bashful to put it into simple words.

Heavy is not afraid of anything. Nothing, not even death itself. However, it took him a lot of courage and constant rehearsal to ask you out on a date.

He hopes to start a genuine relationship with you. Heavy doesn't want a one-night stand or be friends-with-benefits with you. He wants you to be his girlfriend and maybe possibly his wife later down the line.

Engineer

"Well, I'll be! Aren't you the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

Engineer is taken aback by your good looks and sauve personality. He genuinely questions why you wanted to be a mercenary. A beautiful lady like yourself is too of high risk to get hurt!

Will always be there to help you if it gets too much for you to handle.

However, he can be very overprotective over you on the battlefield. Engineer thinks it would be safer for you to stay on the rancho relaxo than getting shot at by the enemy. As much as you'd like to not do anything on the job, Mann Co. isn't paying you to be lazy. They see everything and will tell you to get off your ass and start fighting.

You have to beg Engineer that you can do it on your own. He understands your point of view and begrudgingly lets you fight with the others. Even if it means going against his code of defending and protecting a lady when she needs it.

While putting up dispensers and sentries, he can't help to admire you from afar. Engie believes that a guy like him has no chance with a girl like you. What woman would be interested in a bald man who has a robotic hand and locks himself away in his work? No gal that's who.

Engie fantasizes about working up the courage to flirt with you and ask you out, which would eventually lead to a rather sensual night spent together. He did try to ask you out once but miserably failed. Engie kept stuttering and mispronouncing words out of nervousness while attempting to seduce you. You couldn't make out what he was trying to say. Thankfully, Demo had the heart to pull Engie out of that mess of a conversation and save him from further embarrassing himself.

So now, he just admires you from afar. Dreaming that one day he'll get to win your heart.

Spy

Surprisingly, he wants to get to know you as soon as possible. It's not every day you get to meet a lovely lady.

When he learns of your class type, oh boy, this man will make you question if you're even meant to be the Seductress.

"Mademoiselle, you are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid my eyes on."

"Do you know why they call Paris the city of love? Why don't I take you there and show you?"

"If the verb ‘to love’ didn’t exist, I would have invented it upon seeing you."

Spy leaves your entire face red and completely frozen after he's done talking to you. He's so flattering and charismatic. In comparison to the other men, he makes it seem like they're not trying at all. It isn't their fault, though, Spy is a natural at wooing the ladies.

You're surprised when Spy gifts you things that you really like. You never shared these intimate details with him before or with the other mercenaries. When you asked him how he knew what you specifically liked, Spy merely winks at you and grins. He has a way of receiving information without anyone knowing.

He has a tendency to kiss the back of your hand whenever you two are greeting each other. Spy is a gentleman and can't help himself to be sweet to a beautiful woman.

When Spy asks you out on a date, you agree to it because you have been meaning to go out. You felt like you'd go insane if you stayed in the base any longer. You put on your best dress and left with Spy into town.

After having a nice meal and a few glasses of wine, both of you give into temptation. Spy could hardly keep his hands off you when he drove you both back to the base. All your clothes came off the moment you reached his bedroom. You found it a little strange he refused to take off his mask. Oh, what the hell. He's hot and treated you to a nice date.

In the morning, you receive uncomfortable stares from the other mercenaries. Let's just say you and Spy weren't exactly quiet during your lovemaking. Unfortunately for the others, you decided Spy would become your fuck buddy.

Medic

He's been meaning to include a female subject in his experiments- I mean, he's glad to meet you!

You try your best to steer clear of him. However, on the front lines, it isn't so easy. When you're constantly getting shot at and stabbed by enemies, you'll need the Medic's help to get better.

When he sees you in action, Medic feels a new emotion that he's never felt before. Is this.. love? Maybe it is. Or maybe it's just lust.

Medic has never been infatuated with any woman. Except you. The way you lure in these pathetic men with your good looks and false promises, only to kill them afterwards- oh God, it makes him giddy. He feels like a schoolboy all over again!

Medic does routine check-ups on you. To make sure all your lady parts are in working order. In reality, this perverted fuck wants to have an excuse to grope you. Always gaslights you into believing he's not being a degenerate.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Why, of course! Breast cancer isn't something to take lightly!" He'd respond. You would understand, but after thirty minutes of him fondling your breasts, you knew what his true intentions were.

Medic writes you love letters and his dove, Archimedes, deliver them to you.

The letters start off relatively sweet. Medic writes that he views you as a Goddess, a truly ethereal being that is too perfect for this world filled with lesser mortals. And how he's the only man truly worthy for you.

Then, the letters take a complete turn the more you read it. He writes how he wishes to fulfill every filthy fantasy he's ever had with you. Oh boy, the list is long. For one, Medic wants to tie you down, gag you, and breed you like the filthy whore you are. Another consited of how he wants to fuck you on the battlefield while you're bleeding out and fingering your open wound as if it was your pussy.

You've stopped reading his letters and tend to light them on fire.

Demoman

"So, how much do you regularly charge for a quick shag?" He'd ask you before laughing his ass off.

Demo will never take you or your work seriously. Even if you politely ask him to.

He doesn't see what's so hard about showing off your tits and saying how much you love to suck cock. Demo believes you should've been a stripper if you wanted to tease men so desperately.

You frequently explain to him in detail how you help and provide for the team. You honestly can't tell if Demo deliberately forgets or because he gets drunk so often, he hardly pays attention to you while you talk.

Don't worry, though. After you've instilled the fear of women into him, he'll be gladly reminded that he shouldn't judge or ridicule a woman. If his mother were here, she'd knock some sense into him.

Demo apologizes to you, drinks, gets drunk, and apologies some more

"I'm sorry, lassie! It's just that I just get so lonely sometimes! What woman would give me, a one-eyed freak, a chance!"

He bawls on the floor, crying in front of you. You attempt to cheer him up by comforting him. Instead, you end up getting drunk with him.

Did you shag him in the heat of the moment? That's all up to you ;)

Pyro

Has no idea what you're doing to the enemy. Anything sexual you do is translated as innocent in their vision. Will never know what real seduction or sex.

Luckily, they think everything you do is nice and polite!

Regularly gives you grotesque gifts, which are usually human hearts and bones. You begrudgingly take the gifts because you know they mean well and don't wish to be disrespectful.

Pyro has a tendency to go through your closet when you leave your room. Or while you're sleeping. Either why, they steal your clothing and belongings. They pick out outfits and wigs they like along with makeup supplies. You wonder where you placed your dress and immediately begin searching for it. Maybe you left it in the laundry room. As soon as you exit your room, you see Pyro wearing your clothing over their suit. Fake eyelashes have been glued onto their eyes, and lipstick smeared all over the breathing hole.

You can't even be upset with Pyro. They're doing their best.

You let Pyro keep the dress they're wearing, considering it most likely wouldn't fit you anymore.

#tf2 #tf2 soldier #tf2 medic #tf2 heavy #tf2 demoman #tf2 pyro #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #tf2 sniper #tf2 engineer #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you

[fuckmycrane]

18+, smut, dead dove do not eat, stepcest, noncon, drug use, hints of sexism/misogyny.

Oh Crane... the man you are 🤍.

Stepbrother!Crane who thinks he is better than you because he is studying psychology. He belittles your career choice, and if you chose the same as him, Jonathan will constantly compare your progress to his.

Stepbrother!Crane who uses you as a lab rat, always asking you questions and "psychoanalyzing" you. He is always ready to comment on your behavior, your responses and your actions.

"You don't have to be so aggressive, darlin'. I know, I know— you hate it when I call you that, but you know that irrational anger is part of a pattern that..."

Stepbrother!Crane who constantly is mansplaining you. It's annoying to the point that you simply stand up and lock in your bedroom, screaming against the pillow from pure frustration. He just stays in the living room, smirking pleased with himself.

Stepbrother!Crane who used you as the lab rat for his first fear toxin prototypes. Before it even was meant to create hallucinations, he just intended to cut every brain signal, sending it to a deep slumber— or momentarily induced coma— and he did it every Friday night before bed.

Stepbrother!Crane who after the third time experimenting with you couldn't help himself and undressed you, watching your seemingly dead body and constantly checking your pulse— what if he accidentally overdosed you?

Stepbrother!Crane who not only writes his progress with the toxin, but also fucks you every Friday night. He enjoys how responsive your body is despite being shut down, he likes how you don't fight back. Crane leaves bruises and marks that you can't simply explain the next morning... accompanied with a sticky mess in between your thighs.

#— ✏️ anya writes! #jonathan crane x reader smut #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x y/n #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane fanfiction #johnathan crane x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader

[t9fi]

allure. — roymen sukuna☆

pairing. True form, lord!Sukuna. Fem!reader.

Warnings. Misogyny. sexism. spanking. m!masturbation. sukuna being sukuna. he is still a big meanie. slut shaming. lil lord/king kink. sukuna is strong and manly and yummy

word count. 1.5k

notes.  so sorry bbgs on the late chapter!!! hope this makes up for it !!

ch. three.  

Sukuna muttered angrily, his frustration boiling over as he trailed behind you after your dramatic exit. The humiliation in front of his friends had ignited a fire within him. He couldn't understand why you were making such a fuss.

As he reached his bedroom, he realised the door was locked. He knocked impatiently.

"open the door, little girl."

You failed to respond, prompting him to knock once more. This time, he pressed his ear against the door, catching the sound of your soft cries.

How adorable.

"Y/N, open this fucking door or I'll break it down," he declared firmly, exerting his dominance over you. And it worked. The door clicked as it unlocked, slowly swinging open.

Sukuna stood tall, his imposing figure towering over you, his intense red eyes piercing into your very soul. You could sense his anger, his disappointment.

He pushed you inside and locked the door behind him.

"You're utterly pathetic, aren't you?" Sukuna sneered, his voice deep and husky. He advanced towards you, causing you to stumble back.

In an instant, he seized your wrist, forcefully raising it up. "Typical women, always complaining when they don't get what they want," he spat, shoving you against the nearest wall.

His knee slid between your trembling thighs, eliciting a gasp from you. "Shut your mouth," Sukuna snapped, gripping both of your wrists and pinning them against the wall.

As he noticed tears streaming down your cheeks, his other hand reached out to wipe them away. "Is it just because you couldn’t touch me?" he chuckled, mocking your vulnerable state.

You shook your head, attempting to speak but failing. Sukuna grabbed your face, his grip firm. "Tell me," he demanded.

With a gulp, you managed to stammer, "Y-you made me feel used."

He pushed you away, only chuckling in response. He rubbed the temples of his forehead and sighing before sitting on your now shared bed. Sukuna looked into your eyes, you were only new to this, you didn’t know how this worked. 

“And what do you believe your duties as a wife are? Merely to sit there and look pretty?" Sukuna spoke, making you feel stupid. 

Your heart raced, a part of you yearned for him to treat you like a real wife, to care for you. But you knew deep down that it was just a fantasy, something you could only dream about when you closed your eyes at night.

"You exist to be used, to be touched. I am the King, and I can do whatever I damn well please with my wife," he growled, his words dripping with dominance.

His intense gaze bore into your soul. Sukuna's hand tapped his knee, urging you to come closer. Without hesitation, you followed his command. "Tch, crawl, you slut," he commanded.

You were taken aback, your eyes widening in surprise. "I said crawl, don't make me repeat myself," Sukuna snarled, his impatience evident.

Feeling foolish, you dropped to your hands and knees, crawling towards your husband. He smirked, clearly amused by the sight of you. Eventually, you stopped and sat on your knees in front of him, locking eyes with him.

"Because you insist on acting like a brat, I have no choice but to treat you as one," Sukuna sneered.

"But you know, I don't want to, little one. You're still so new to all of this, I can tell. But as your husband, it's my duty to show you what's right," you nodded, determined to be his good girl once again.

"I'll teach you how to pleasure me properly, and then you'll receive your punishment. Understood?" he questioned.

"Yes, my Lord," you replied obediently.

Sukuna slowly began to remove his kimono, revealing his naked form. Your eyes drank in the sight of his chiselled abs, strong arms, and thick thighs. It was enough to make you weak at the knees.

Your gaze eventually landed on his cock. It was a sight to behold, with a flushed red tip and delicate veins tracing its length.

He took hold of his member, his voice dripping with authority. "This is how you please your King."

Sukuna's tip glistened with wetness, oozing with anticipation. The temptation to touch him, to bring him pleasure and make him release, was almost unbearable. 

Slowly, he began to stroke himself, his low moans filled the air, his grip on his cock firm and unyielding. Unable to contain yourself, you whimpered, your lips forming a pout.

"Did I give you permission to speak, slut?" His gaze bore into you, his hand never ceasing its movements. You shook your head, your eyes cast downward. "Fuck, look at me, need to see your eyes, princess" he commanded.

Princess? 

The pet name sends a surge of desire straight to your core, leaving you dripping with need. Meeting his gaze, you saw the hunger and lust burning within his eyes. His hand quickened its pace, more pre-cum spilling onto his fingers. Sukuna's moans grew louder, more desperate. "Ah, fuck," he gasped.

His crimson eyes locked onto yours, his hips thrusting into his own hand. "You like watching me stroke my cock slut, Yeah? I know you fucking do" he growled.

The sight before you was mesmerising. Your King pleasuring himself, causing your mind to blur with desire. You craved him, yearned for him.

“Bet that pussy is so wet f’me” Sukuna moaned, “fuck, lemme see”

Leaning back, you slowly revealed your body, pulling your kimono up to your hips. His eyes were fixated on your cute little panties, but you knew he wanted more. "Oh, look at that, I can see a wet spot right there," he exclaimed, pointing to your clothed clit. 

"Take them off for me," he demanded, and without hesitation, you slide your panties down, exposing your bare pussy to Sukuna's hungry gaze.

"Such a pretty fucking pussy" Sukuna moaned, his hand moving faster along his cock. You could sense his climax approaching, his movements becoming erratic. "gonna cum, s-shit, gonna cum, spread that pussy, princess."

Eager to please him, your fingers delicately spread your labia open. Sukuna let out a primal groan as he released his load, calling out your name in ecstasy. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming.

"That's how you please your King," Sukuna smirked, his satisfaction evident. "Now, strip."

Without hesitation, you shed every piece of clothing, revealing your naked body inch by inch. “Lay down on my lap," he commanded, his dominance palpable.

Your body rested against his knees, your chest pressed firmly against them while your hand clenched the sheets, trembling with fear of the impending punishment. Suddenly, a light slap landed on your ass.

"Gonna have to smack the fuck outta this ass to make you act right, dont i?" he playfully taunted, his hands gently kneading your cheeks.

"I miss my good girl, you know? You're gonna be my good girl again after this right?" he said with a slight pout. You nodded in agreement, eager to gauge his reaction to your actions. 

In response, he let out a low hum and said, "Count for me."

Without warning, he raised his hand and delivered a sharp slap to your backside, causing you to cry out and your hips to involuntarily jerk. 

Again and again, he continued to strike your ass relentlessly. "That's five, fuck," you gasped, feeling the sting intensify with each hit. 

His voice dripped with venom as he spat, "This is what you get for embarrassing me, disobeying me, belittling me." The room filled with his cursed energy, reminding you of the wicked and vile King he truly was. "I'm sorry, my Lord," you pleaded through tears. 

Sukuna laughed sadistically at your state. "Be a good slut and take your punishment."

Suddenly, he ceased his assault, his hands now gently caressing your reddened cheeks. "Stand up," he commanded. 

You complied, tears streaming down your face, standing naked before him. "There she is, my good girl," he remarked, a twisted sense of satisfaction in his voice. 

He rose to his feet, his touch tender as he cupped your face, his thumb softly stroking your cheeks. "Go clean yourself up for me and get ready for bed," he instructed. 

To your surprise, he smiled at you, actually smiled, before lightly kissing your cheek. He chuckled darkly and left the room.

Resting your head against the soft silk pillow, you curled up into a comfortable ball, yearning for sleep. However, slumber eluded you as you eagerly awaited your husband's arrival to join you.

The maids had adorned you in a delicate pink ensemble - the top barely concealing your boobs and the bottoms teasingly revealing your curves. With closed eyes, your thoughts wandered to Sukuna - reminiscing about the way he delighted in his own pleasure and how he would punish you. The mere memory sent shivers down your spine.

Suddenly, the door creaked open - Sukuna had arrived.

Pretending to be asleep, you felt a sense of anticipation as he approached. The back of his hand gently caressed your cheek, his voice barely audible as he whispered, "my sweet girl," assuming you were in slumber's embrace.

The bed dipped as Sukuna settled beside you, his strong arms encircling your waist while his other hand played with your hair. A rare sense of peace washed over you, a feeling so unfamiliar yet comforting.

Sukuna's chest pressed against your back, his warm breath tickling your neck. He placed a tender kiss upon it, whispering, "goodnight princess."

#jjk smut #jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna ryomen x reader

[pinguwrites]

Dark!Neil refusing to pull out when the reader needs him to due to not being on birth control.

"no please stop, we can't! . . . hehehhehHAHHHAHA "

Drabble: dark!neil refuses to pull out

pairing | dark!neil lewis x girlfriend!reader

Warnings: non-con, smut, dark!neil, forced breeding kink, sexism, implied reader co-owns gumshoe video with neil, PROCEED WITH CAUTION, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE

Disclaimer: Watching The Detectives characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

A/N: you have @mrkdvidal1989 to thank for this, I took a break from another fic to get this out real quick so I could give you guys some fuel 😘. Writing about neil also reminds me of a dream I recently had where Neil spit in my mouth on a beach sooo yeah

"Fuck, Neil!"

You weren't sure what had gotten into your boyfriend today. Since morning he had been uncharacteristically handsy and needy — not that he wasn't a little pervert most days — only that it was becoming so public and obvious that you had to swat Neil's hand away and give him a warning glare just so he would quit warding of the customers, multiple times since you both arrived at Gumshoe Video.

"I had a dream," he had murmured, wrapping you up in his arms, only for his hands to slide up underneath your skirt and feel the curve of your ass, to which you had snapped at him before frantically looking around the store to see if anyone saw.

"Well," you said in response, "you can tell me about it later — Friday's are one of our busiest times!"

Neil had backed away after that, but you could still feel the longing glances he sent over to you. You almost felt bad, though you knew you had to be professional at work. Besides, you relished in the idea of teasing him.

The moment you two had stepped foot inside your shared apartment he had pinned you against the wall and attacked your lips. He carried you to your bedroom, shoved you down on the mattress, grabbed some lube, and started thrusting like mad dog.

"P-please, slow down," you whimpered, the bed shaking so hard the creaks could be heard through the halls. His cock slid in and out of you at a pace Neil never used before, filling up your walls ungracefully, like you weren't his girlfriend, but a hole.

"Can't," he moaned, burying his face in your breasts. "Can't help myself when I'm around you. Just need you so bad . . . You know that dream I was telling you about?"

"Neil — just a break — "

Neil groaned, his hot breath on your neck. "I know women aren't that smart, but c'mon, it was only this afternoon."

Neil could be sexist sometimes. Your family and friends told you to avoid men like that, which was the specific reason you avoided telling them about your boyfriend's often slips. It was just — you loved Neil. You really loved him. There wasn't much else about the topic to discuss, or at least anything you wanted to admit about how problematic it really was.

"I remember," you said, breathless. "Is this what it was about? Fucking me till I pass out?"

"I bred you."

You froze, though your body was still moving due to Neil's deathly grip and the way he was shoving into you so desperately.

"N-no," you protested. "You can't now, I'm not on birth control. I don't have anymore, I ran out, the store's closed — "

" — It's not just that," Neil hissed, interrupting you. "I want a child."

This was bound to happen soon. You and Neil were well on your way to marriage, but not now, not like this. Not when you knew that you both weren't ready to raise a kid.

"You're just saying that because of the dream." You placed your hands against his chest, halfheartedly pushing him off. You didn't want this to be a struggle. You were hoping that he would understand the message and pull out, but he didn't.

Neil shook his head.

"Yes," you insisted, then you got scared. You didn't want to be the woman who only married her man because she got knocked up. What if Neil and you broke up after this? That would be even worse! These few moments of pleasure weren’t worth all the headache in the future.

Neil took your hands and pinned them above your head, pushing them into the soft, cold pillow.

"You do what I say, understand?" Neil said sternly, looking right into your eyes. "Be a good girlfriend and let me give you a child."

"No," you cried out, turning your head, your fear increasing by the second.

Neil used his free hand to grab your chin and forced you to look at him. He had never been this forceful, this violent before.

"Stop being so goddamn stubborn," he spat. "You're gonna have my child wether you like it or not."

He wiped away your tears and buried his head his head back in your breasts, muttering, "Stupid bitch."

Taglist:

@henrywintersdearestgirl @shroombloom-rry @meetmeatyourworst @nela-cutie @madnessandobsession @slut4thebroken @qqquartz7 @mrkdvidal1989

#neil lewis #neil lewis x reader #neil lewis x you #neil lewis x y/n #watching the detectives #cillian murphy #fanfiction #pinguwrites #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober masterlist

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 2/12)

hiii here's these two again, enjoy!!

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: eddie still hates you, you're way too nice, and gareth fucked up big time

contains: enemies to lover trope, themes of sexism/misogyny, smoking, drug and alcohol use, reader gets injured (nothing crazy), eddie hooking up with someone that's not reader, mean eddie, sexual themes, a glimpse of needy n sad eddie, mild violence (eddie punches someone), and Eddie being nosey <3

word count: 5.6k

| previous part | next part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Eddie can’t do it.

He can’t fucking stand you. He hates that you’re everywhere, always around, always lingering— like a fucking hawk— just silently watching and waiting for one of them to fuck up. And he hates that you carry that fucking journal everywhere, always jotting down notes about whatever bullshit you write about— and he’s sure it isn’t any good either way because most of the time, the band does the same shit every day. There’s nothing for you to write about. They do a show, hang out backstage, catch wind of some party, stay out until they can’t physically walk anymore, and crash as soon as they get to the hotel. 

It’s the same shit. Yet, you’re always writing something down as if something new has happened— as if it’s something intriguing and eye-catching. 

You barely talk for the first few days; you just watch and observe, and Eddie thinks this must be how animals at the zoo feel— on display and putting up some fascinating show. He hates it.

After the third show, you start to loosen around the edges and start actually talking, like a normal human being. You talk to Jeff the most, laugh at his shitty jokes and ask him questions about songs and lines he’s written in past songs, and Eddie hates that. He hates watching you sit next to Jeff and scribble in your journal as Jeff strums out a new hook. 

He hates that whenever he brings you up to Jeff and makes some snide comment about you, Jeff never joins in— just shrugs and says, ‘She’s not too bad, actually.’

As if Eddie would ever believe that.

Gareth hardly pays any mind to you; he's too busy checking out chicks and just… being Gareth, but you’ve talked to him on multiple occasions. Eddie’s caught glimpses of you two chatting at rehearsals or in the green room. You even sat with him at breakfast the other day, and Eddie— Eddie almost blew a gasket because that was his fucking seat.

You’re ruining everything, and nobody seems to notice except for Eddie, and it’s driving him nuts.

“Dude, you’re gonna scare her away if you keep glaring at her like that,” Jeff mumbles, turning back to his guitar as he runs a dust cloth over the neck of the instrument. 

They’re in the studio today because there’s no show tonight, and against all of Eddie’s wishes, Richie still invited you to come sit in for their session. Eddie watches through the glass of the sound booth as you settle in on the brown couch, pulling out that stupid journal and a pen, mindlessly clicking it a few times before writing a note. Ridiculous. 

Eddie glares at Jeff and works the gum in his mouth as he pulls a face, “Good. She can blow off the face of the earth for all I care.” He grumbles, sitting down in the metal chair beside Jeff. 

Jeff looks at him, raises an unimpressed eyebrow, and shakes his head, “She’s not going anywhere, man. You’re gonna fuck it up if you keep being so… hostile toward her.” He points out. Eddie leans back in his chair, pulling out a box of cigarettes and sparking up. “I’m not gonna be the one to fuck it up,” Eddie mumbles through smoke, “You guys are practically feeding her all the information she needs on a silver fucking platter. She’s a goddamn shark.” 

Jeff scoffs and says nothing more as he continues cleaning his guitar. Eddie glances at you and watches you talk to the producer, smiling and laughing at something that Eddie can’t hear because the mic is off and the door is closed. 

Aside from how annoying and creepishly lurk-y you are, Eddie can admit you’re pretty. You have a pretty face, pretty smile, pretty hair, a bright look in your eyes that Eddie can’t stand because you look at the rest of the band like they hung the fucking moon when they speak. You look at everyone as if they’re so important, and Eddie thinks that’s dumb. 

He glances at Jeff, watches him silently for a moment, and glances back at you, takes a hit of his cigarette before speaking, “You like her?” he asks.

Jeff glimpses at Eddie and laughs with a shake of his head, “Isn’t that precisely what you’re pissed about?”

Eddie shakes his head, “No, like,” he kicks the heel of his shoe into the floor, “Do you wanna fuck her?”

Jeff pauses his task and watches as Eddie puffs on his cigarette. “I have a girlfriend, Eddie.” He reminds the boy. Eddie glances at him and scoffs, “That chick from Chicago? Thought that was just for fun.” He responds. 

Eddie remembers the girl from a few weeks back, remembers Jeff sneaking her on the bus while they had dinner. He didn’t know they were serious.

Jeff shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief, “No, man. She’s come to like every show— and her name is Naomi; she’s not a chick.”

Eddie grunts in response, burning to the end of his cigarette when Jeff stands up and nudges him with his foot, “Just talk to her, dude. She’s not as bad as you think she is, and she asks good questions— actual questions, about the music and shit. None of that,” he waves a hand in gesture, “stupid shit we get from reporters. She’s good. Just try.”

Jeff leaves Eddie to mill about it and finish off cigarette, snuffing it out in the ashtray sitting on the amp. Eddie doesn’t believe Jeff one bit; he thinks you’re a liar who’s mastered the art of manipulation and has weaseled your way into gaining his friends' trust. He doesn’t believe you are here for the music, as Jeff had said; he thinks— knows— that you’re here to find the cracks.

You’re here to find the cuts and bruises and press into them so you can tear them apart piece by piece. A starved monster, preying on his band for some sick and twisted story to feed the media so you can climb the ladder of your industry. Eddie has met and knows people like you, and he can call your bluff from a mile away.

He doesn’t believe Jeff. But he does, however, know how to play your game. 

The next day is show day— the fifth show of the residency, and Eddie is in a good mood. He woke up with a girl in his bed, got high, went for a short walk to a nearby cafe, and even signed a few autographs for some lovely fans. On top of that, you haven’t shown up for rehearsals yet, and Eddie thinks the world is working in his favor today if you skip.

He’s playful today. He jumps on Gareth’s back and makes him run down the rows of the arena, screaming and hollering like wild animals. He and Jeff take Richie’s golf cart and go for a spin backstage, giggling when the security chases them and tells them speeding backstage is prohibited. They don’t listen, though; Eddie ignores everyone’s warnings and keeps hauling ass down the nearly empty hallways, swerving around boxes and equipment like a madman.

And Eddie may be mean sometimes; he may push people's buttons for the hell of it and do things he knows he shouldn’t just to get a reaction out of it, but Eddie isn’t cruel. He isn’t a psychopath who likes hurting people, so he doesn’t mean to speed past you and spook you badly enough to stumble into a stack of road cases.

Eddie saw you, and he tried to warn you, yelled out for you to move out of the way, and even honked, but you had a pair of headphones stuffed over your ears so that you couldn’t hear the squealing wheels of the golf cart or Eddie’s warning. He almost took you out. Almost. But he didn’t because he swerved at the last second, and you panicked and stepped back, stumbling on the heel of your shoe and falling onto the cold cement floor, slamming your back against the black boxes.

Eddie curses and comes to a screeching halt, parking the golf cart and following Jeff as he jogs over to you, quickly asking if you’re okay and helping you to sit up. As you speak, your face is twisted in confusion, wincing and sitting up, “I’m fine, I just— I just fell, it’s fine.”

Eddie watches from a few feet back as Jeff helps you stand up, face pinching in an expression of pain when you put your weight onto your ankle, and Eddie doesn’t believe it for a second. “I think you might need to get that checked—” Eddie cuts Jeff off and speaks the first thought that comes to his mind, “Why didn’t you move out of the way?”

You look at him, anger replacing your look of pain as you glare at Eddie. You grip the band of your headphones and wave it at him, “Because I didn’t fucking hear you, jackass.” You snap. “What, you couldn’t see the big ass machine hurling your way?”

“No,” you seethe, “You shouldn’t have been driving that fast anyways; this isn’t my fault. The least you could do is say fucking sorry.” You spat. And Eddie just thinks you’re a brat. Before Eddie can respond with an even bitchier response, Jeff is cutting in with a wave of his hands, “Okay, this is fucking stupid,” he scoffs, “just let me drive you to medic so you can get checked.”

Eddie doesn’t even bother helping Jeff get you to the golf cart; he simply watches as you fake your limp all the way to the vehicle and thank Jeff for helping you get in. Jeff looks back to Eddie and raises an eyebrow, “Are you coming, man?” 

Eddie wouldn’t willingly spend a minute with you if someone paid him to do it. 

He shakes his head with a scoff and tells them to go on, he’ll meet them at the stage later on, and Jeff takes off without another word.

“Did you try to hit the journalist with a fucking golf cart?”

Eddie’s good mood is long gone. 

After the whole golf cart fiasco, Eddie took his time walking around backstage and burning through cigarettes before finding himself in the room filled with snacks and drinks. He’s standing at the table filled with chips and sodas when Richie storms in and starts causing a goddamn scene.

“What—” “You know what I’m talking about.” Richie snaps. Eddie’s face twists in annoyance, “I didn’t try to fucking hit her; she didn’t move out of the goddamn way because she’s an idiot,” Eddie grumbles, returning to his task of sifting through the different brands of chips. Eddie doesn’t believe you’re actually hurt. That pathetic fall was as minor as a fall can get, and he thinks Jeff and anyone else who believes your shitty acting skills is dumber than a rock. 

Richie snatches the bag of chips out of Eddie’s hand and tosses them onto the table, ignoring Eddie’s protest as he speaks, “She sprained her fucking ankle, man.”

Eddie scoffs, “She’s faking it, Richie; anybody with brains can see that from a mile away.” He rolls his eyes. Richie looks at Eddie as if he’s lost his mind, as if Eddie is the worst villain to ever grace the goddamn planet, “You’re fucked up,” and Eddie’s stomach twists in some weird way he can’t explain. 

“You have some serious fucking issues, man. That girl did nothing to you, and you treat her like shit.” Richie spits, and Eddie hates how his throat feels tight, like someone shoved a golf ball down his throat. “Get over yourself.”

Richie leaves Eddie in the empty room, silent and, against Eddie’s wishes, feeling like the shittiest man alive. 

Eddie’s good mood feels like a dream now.

He’s silent throughout rehearsals. He sings his parts half-assed and plays his solos half-assed, too. You watch from the side of the stage, propped up on one of the road cases to take the weight off your ankle, and Eddie doesn’t even glance in your direction the entire time. He avoids you at all costs, leaving the room when you walk in, going the other direction you’re walking in, and even skipping lunch to avoid crossing paths. 

You’ve been like a ghost all day; everywhere Eddie goes, you’re somehow there, walking with a shitty limp as if trying to rub it into Eddie’s face that, ‘You did this. This is your fault.’ and Eddie can’t stand it. By the time the doors open to the arena, Eddie is more than ready to finish the show and steer clear of all traces of you.

You watched the show on the TV in the dressing room, silently snacking on a bag of Ritz crackers with your foot propped up on the coffee table beside the couch. The medic advised you to avoid putting pressure on your ankle for the next few days so you couldn’t have your usual front-row view of the show. 

The boys do good; they perform a new song they’re working on, and the crowd seems to have loved it. As usual, they get up to their ritual backstage antics, pregaming for whatever party they’ll attend, loud and obnoxious music, and cheering on whatever drinking game they’ve made up. You’re silently writing in your journal, updating the last entry on what you’ve witnessed today. Interpretations on the new music, drabbles on what you and Gareth briefly discussed about his childhood, and quick notes on whatever comes to mind while writing.

You hardly notice Eddie stumbling through the dressing room door until you hear him bumping into the side table with a curse. You look up, silently watching as he looks around the room, searching for something you’re unsure of. You try to keep your voice level to not scare him, but he is startled either way, “What are you looking for?”

His eyes are low, puffy around the edges from the alcohol he’d tossed back earlier, hair tousled with curly strands clinging to his lips. His lips are slick, swollen, and red, clothes askew on his lean frame. His jeans are unbuttoned, belt clinking as he sways a bit, licking his lips as he stammers, “Uh… my uh, my jacket—” he blinks, stumbling to lean against the door and blinking hard, “M’looking for my jacket.”

Your eyebrows raise as you watch him, the disheveled and captivating mess he is, bleary eyes gazing at you through a cloud of eyeshadow and whiskey. You breathe and point to the chair in front of the vanity, “It’s over there.”

His gaze follows your lead, landing on his strewn jacket, cursing as he walks across the room. You busy yourself with your journal, picking up where you’d left off. You can hear Eddie rustling behind you, and you try to avoid glancing back at him, but you fail, glancing in time to watch as he leans forward into the mirror to tug at misplaced strands of his hair. 

He’s silent for a moment before clearing his throat, glancing back at you through the mirror, “I’m uh… I’m sorry about,” he gestures to your elevated foot, forgetting you’re not even facing him, and rubbing the back of his hand to rub his nose and sniffling, “About your foot… Was really shitty of me.”

You glance back at him, a ghost of a smile gracing your lips, “Thank you, Eddie. I appreciate your apology.”

Eddie scoffs, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and shoving a stick between his lips with quivering fingers, “Yeah, well, that’s the first and last apology you’ll ever get from me so…” you silently watch as he lights his cigarette, puffing out a cloud of smoke and glancing at you through the mirror, “cherish it.” 

You quietly sigh and shift in your seat, ignoring his remark, “You going out tonight?” You ask.

You watch as he steps away from the vanity and walks over to the couch, plopping down on the farthest side from you with a deep sigh, “That’s the routine.” He mumbles around a cloud of smoke.

You nod, an uncomfortable silence settling over the two of you as you continue writing. Eddie is slumped down in his seat, quietly puffing on his cigarette as he gazes at you through low lids, “What are you writing?”

You look at him; pen paused over the sentence you’d been writing as you tilt your head, “I’m working on my piece… you know, the piece you’re starring in.” Eddie grumbles in response with a single nod of his head, and his eyes are so low you’d almost think he’s falling asleep if it weren’t for his determination to finish his cigarette. 

“Why— why haven’t you asked me anything?” Eddie asks.

You look at him, doing your best to keep a neutral expression as you fold your hands over the paper of your notebook, “I wasn’t under the impression you wanted to be… bothered.”

Eddie glances at you, scoffing, and you remind yourself that you’ve already somehow made the man despise you, so it’d be better to hold your tongue, opting not to remind him of the shitty attitude he’s had since you met. “I’m part of the band, aren’t I?” He shrugs, picking at the loose threads of his ripped jeans. “Shouldn’t I have as much coverage as… Jeff?” He mumbles, and you think he might be under the impression that you can’t hear him, but you do either way.

Your eyebrows raise, and you shift in your seat once again, “Well… would you like me to ask you some questions?”

Eddie is more gentle when he is drunk, you think. More pliable, softer. The stone-hard deflective shield he has thrown up for you has withered beneath the alcohol. Where his eyes are usually cold and sharp, they are now softer and telling— of what, you’re not sure yet. He shifts further into the couch and shrugs, and you take a deep breath and flip to a clean page, scribbling Eddie’s name in the corner.

“Okay, Eddie,” you begin, turning ever so slightly to face him. “Tell me about yourself. Tell me about who you are aside from the frontman of Corroded Coffin.” You glance between your notebook and Eddie, patiently waiting as he takes a drag of the burning paper. He looks at you, the majority of his face shielded behind unruly dark curls, and the room is so silent it’s nearly deafening.

Eddie shakes his head so gently you almost don’t notice the movement, “I don’t…” he bounces his leg once, “I thought this was about the music.”

You nod, “It is.”

Eddie gently blinks, like if he blinks too hard, the earth might shatter, and you think it’s beautiful, and you think you might hate that.

“It’s about the music, but I can’t write about the music without knowing the creator, can I?”

Eddie looks at you, eyes almost clear with lips parted around smoke. He blinks again, and you smile in encouragement, situating the pen in your grip. He looks at you, studies you, his gaze dropping to your awaiting hand, and his face twists in some expression you can’t put a finger on.

Before Eddie can speak, the door opens, both of your heads snapping toward the door as a tipsy Gareth pops his head inside, “Eddie, come on man, the car’s here.”

If Gareth had noticed the odd combination of you and Eddie sitting on the same couch, willingly enduring each other's presence, he wouldn’t mention it. 

You look back to Eddie, and you almost want to stop him as he gets up because, god, you were so fucking close. So close to finally touching Eddie. But he’s gone quicker than he came, the scent of his cologne and smoke lingering like a ghost, and despite Eddie giving you absolutely nothing to write about, you find yourself writing about him either way with nothing but his scent to aid you.

Eddie is drunk, and he can not, for the life of him, stop thinking about you.

A girl is climbing over him in the back of a taxi, and Eddie can only think about you. The look of pain you had when you stood up after falling, the way you looked at him as if he was the bane of your existence— it makes Eddie’s stomach churn, and he wishes the culprit for his nausea was the alcohol, but it’s not. Eddie knows it’s not because the second he thinks about the way you smiled at him in the dressing room, the way you said his name, the way you spoke so gently despite how much of an asshole he’s been to you, Eddie’s sick stomach settles and erupts in this annoying warm flutter.

Eddie can’t think of anything but the fact that he wants you to smile at him more, wants to hear you say his name again, and talk to him in your gentle way.

His face pinches in frustration, fingers gripping the girl's waist as she mouths at his neck. She moans against his skin, grinding down against his bulge and grinning when she feels him rut up against her. Eddie mumbles something, he’s not sure what he mumbles because his brain is split between worlds of scary feelings and arousal, but the girl laughs, scraping her teeth against his thumping pulse, “That journalist?” She asks.

Eddie blinks away the foggy cloud, “Huh?”

Lany pulls away from his neck and looks at him, biting her lip and tilting her head as she rubs up against him again, Eddie grunting in the back of his throat as his face twists in pleasure. “The journalist. You said her name.” Lany hums, drifting her hands up Eddie’s chest and grappling at the collar of his unbuttoned sheer top. Eddie blinks again and shakes his head, “I didn’t,” he denies.

Lany giggles, “You did, Eddie.”

Eddie glances over her shoulder, making awkward eye contact with the driver through the rearview mirror, and he slightly grimaces and looks back to Lany as she leans in, ghosting her lips over his and tauntingly whispering your name. Eddie grunts in protest, squeezing her hips in a warning. Before he can say something, Lany kisses him with a hum before pulling away to where her lips brush against hers as she speaks, “Did you fuck her?”

Eddie pulls away from Lany, a look of distaste on his face as he glares at her, “Did I— what? No,” Eddie cringes as if it’s the worst thing he’s ever heard— and it’s not, and Eddie… Eddie hates that, he thinks. “No, I didn’t fuck her. Are you serious?” “You want to fuck her then?”

“I want you to stop talking about her,” Eddie counters, dragging his thumb across her bottom lip and watching as he drags the plump flesh down, grinning when Lany nips at his fingertip. “Maybe put these pretty lips to good use, hm?” He taunts, grin widening when she nods and sucks his thumb down to the last knuckle, his jeans tightening at the feeling and sight.

And if Eddie did say your name, he doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t dwell on the fact that he’d been thinking of you for whatever odd, fucked up reason, and he doesn’t try to figure out what that weird flutter feeling is when he thinks about your softness, the softness he’s been depriving himself of.

He doesn’t dwell on any of it because Eddie is drunk, and when Eddie drinks, he thinks of and does stupid things, things that sound good at the moment but will screw him over in the long run.

And Eddie wants nothing to do with you anyway, and it’s not like one half-assed drunken conversation changed that, right?

Eddie’s got a blistering headache and a churning stomach as he stands outside the studio the following day. It’s drizzling, gloomy clouds drooping over the looming buildings of New York, and Eddie always hated this kind of weather; he preferred a full storm over the tease of a shower.

New York has never been Eddie’s favorite place, it’s dirty, and reeks of trash, and the people are shitty, but he likes how easy it is to blend in with the crowd; not many people notice him here, and that’s rare these days.

He’s leaning on the stoop of the building, tiny drops of rain dripping from the portico onto his leather-covered shoulders. A burning cigarette hangs between his fingers as he watches the traffic go by, taking slow puffs to ease his body.

He hardly notices you when you bounce up the stairs until you stand just two steps below him. He glances at you and sees the coffee cups in each of your hands. You extend one out to him, “Would you like one? They accidentally gave me two.” You offer.

And you’re fucking nice. Despite how shitty Eddie has been towards you, you’re still nice to him, and Eddie, for the life of him, can’t stand it. He thinks you’re weird, insane, stupid. Thinks you were probably dropped as a baby more times than anyone can count because there’s no way somebody in their right mind would willingly give him the time of day when he’s treated them as shitty as Eddie has treated you. He nearly ran you over, for Christ's sake.

Still, Eddie doesn’t falter, “No. Probably spit in it on your way here.”

You laugh, and it irks Eddie in a way that makes him want to shiver as if the sound were nails scraping against a chalkboard. He distracts himself with a drag of his cigarette as you say, “I didn’t, but thanks for the idea.”

Eddie grunts in response, focusing on the last of his smoke as you tell him you’ll see him inside before walking up the rest of the stairs. Eddie barely acknowledges you as you pass him, but he acknowledges the sound of something dropping beside his feet. He looks down with pinched eyebrows, eyeing the notebook lying on the wet ground.

It’s your notebook— obviously— he’d know that stupid journal from anywhere. It’s a pale yellow with two leather straps you like to tie in a lousy bow, and Eddie believes it’s an annoying color, but he thinks that has more to do with the fact that you chose it. Mindlessly, Eddie picks it up, shaking off the rainwater before it seeps into the pages, and he turns to give it to you because he’d assumed you realized you dropped it, but you’re gone.

Eddie blinks, eyeing the door and the book in his hands, and Eddie knows he should just follow you and give it back because that’s the right thing to do. Knows he shouldn’t peek inside to see what your mind is like, knows you’d probably kill him because Eddie would do the same if anyone looked into his thousands of journals back home, but his fingers itch, and before he can stop himself, he’s flicking his cigarette bud away, leaning against the building and cracking the front page open.

Eddie’s not sure what he’d expected. Maybe something interesting, like a list of dudes you’ve fucked or some rant about a friend, but Jesus, how much more boring could you get? Grocery lists, reminders to book appointments, dates for work meetings, boring shit that Eddie could care less about. He flicks through nearly half of the book before anything piques his interest, snickering when he comes across a page of you talking about a guy named Danny, “What a sap,” Eddie mumbles to himself, softly chuckling and turning the page.

He flips through a few more pages before halting because Eddie's name is right at the top of the page. 

The door opens, and he jumps, fearing you might be searching for your lost journal, but it’s only a staff member. Eddie watches them trot down the steps before returning to the treasure in his hands, eagerly reading as if the book will turn to dust before he gets a chance.

And Eddie thinks he’s fucked up, screwed up in ways he never really wants to address. Despite Eddie’s outwardly attitude of thinking he’s the best at everything and knows all, there are still ugly parts of him that he so badly wants to reach inside and pull like weeds from a garden, crack his chest open, and take it from the root; pieces of him that can make him crumble quicker than a house of cards on a rickety table. 

However, the way you write about Eddie— the words you use and the so careful placement of each thought— it makes Eddie feel something he forgot he ever could about himself, and he doesn’t like how it makes his insides twist. He hates it. Eddie hates that you can read him as if he’s a fucking children’s book. Hates that you can see and point out parts of him that have been lost for so long he’d thought it was a dream. He can’t stand it. 

But as much as Eddie swears he hates what you’ve written and as much as he hates that it makes him feel something other than disdain, he can’t stop reading. He wants to read all you can say about him and only exist in the imagery you create of him because Eddie, for once in a long time, is someone in your eyes.

You write about Eddie like he is a person, a human being with real feelings and depth and a history of memories you’ve never seen or heard of before, but you still somehow manage to paint him so clearly. Inside your words, Eddie exists as more than the entity that fame has created him to be, and Eddie can’t remember the last time he read something about himself and didn’t feel like a pawn. 

It’s… refreshing.

Eddie flips the page, thinking there will be more you’ve written about him, but he’s selfishly disappointed when he realizes it’s just a personal entry. He scans the page, nearly deciding to close it for the day, when he catches a glimpse of a familiar name— Gareth.

It takes Eddie a moment to fully grasp the words you’ve written, the meaning of what exactly you’re explaining that you’d apparently discussed with Gareth. As soon as he lets the words settle into his chest, he’s storming into the building quicker than he can comprehend.

Bursting through the room of Richie's rented studio, Eddie makes a beeline for the sound booth where Gareth is busy tapping out a steady beat.

Eddie barely acknowledges you and the rest of the band in discussion off to the side, but his abrupt appearance has halted all conversation in the room. He storms up to Gareth behind his drum set and wastes no time gripping the man’s collar, gaze lit with fire and words seething as he leans in and glares down at the man. The room goes silent as soon as the question leaves Eddie’s lips, “Did you fuck Chrissy?”

Chrissy Cunningham was Eddie Munson’s high school sweetheart.

As the story goes, Eddie spent the better part of high school crushing on the cute captain of the cheerleading squad. For as long as he can remember, Eddie had been labeled as the school freak— something to do with his love of fantasy games and ‘odd music taste’— so he’d never imagined he would get a chance with Chrissy, but that all changed after a weird spiral of events they experienced together.

Eddie and Chrissy dated for a few years until Corroded Coffin went big. The long-distance trial of their relationship didn’t last long; Eddie rarely called Chrissy, and when he did call, they could only ever find time to argue about whatever Eddie had been photographed doing. Chrissy never came to watch the band once they moved out to LA, and she broke Eddie's heart the one time she did. 

So, it’s no surprise that reading the words in your journal has twisted the knife that’d been lodged in Eddie’s chest for so long that he was sure he couldn’t feel it anymore— he was wrong.

Gareth is looking at Eddie as if Eddie has asked him if the sky is blue and Eddie’s mind is a whirling wind of fire. “What are you talking about, man?” Gareth’s eyebrows pinch in confusion.

Eddie sneers and pulls him closer, Gareth leaning so far off his stool that Eddie's grip on his shirt is the only thing keeping him from the ground. Gareth drops his drumsticks to grab Eddie’s wrists as Eddie speaks, “Don’t bullshit me, Gareth. Did you fuck Chrissy, yes or no?”

Eddie looks at his best friend, and he sees lies, something he’s never had to associate with their friendship, and it almost hurts him more than what Chrissy did. Gareth stutters, shaking his head as if he wants to say no, tries to say no and deny that he slept with his best friend's girlfriend, but he can’t.

Gareth whispers Eddie’s name so quietly Eddie nearly misses it, but the quiver in his voice is all Eddie needs to hear to know the truth. Eddie doesn’t take a second to think before he cracks a closed fist down on his best friend's cheek, sending him back, crashing into the symbols in a clatter of noise.

He doesn’t wait to hear Gareth’s spew of apologies, and he doesn’t wait to listen to the pathetic excuses he makes up because he’s marching over to you next, a scowl on his face as he tosses your journal into your lap, and you look up at him in shock, “You dropped this on your way in.” 

And if this is the end of Corroded Coffin, then Eddie’s sure you’ll have one hell of a story to write. That’s what you wanted all along, isn’t it?

A good story.

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part three

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a/n: AHH U MADE IT TO THE END, PLS LET ME KNOW HOW U LIKED THIS PART I LOVE TO HEAR UR FEEDBACK, ILY BYE

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