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ceilidho · 5 months

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prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 1. tags: dubcon

You duck behind a stack of boxes when you hear Johnny come whistling into the warehouse.

He shouts your name out somewhere off on the other side of the warehouse, voice echoing through the building. You keep absolutely still, fingers clamped around the clipboard that’s pressed close to your chest. Even your breathing slows, open-mouthed so as to keep it almost soundless. It’s strategic. You’ve gotten good at making yourself invisible back here, practically melting into the stack of boxes.

A minute or two goes by with repeated calls of your name, echoing from different parts of the warehouse like Johnny’s making the rounds. Searching for you. He’s probably been looking around the store for ages, with his track record. Someone must have let it slip that you were assigned to inventory today instead of being out on the floor.

You only let out a sigh when it’s been long enough that any reasonable person might have given up on trying to find you in the loading dock.

“Hiding from someone?” a deep voice asks from behind you.

Your gut all but self-ejects. When you turn around, he’s standing there in the same bright blue shirt that you also wear. His is stretched tight across his chest though, like it’s a size too small. You wonder sometimes if it’s on purpose. It’s hard not to let your eyes wander, but by now you’ve trained yourself to keep your eyes level when speaking to Johnny.

“Nope,” you squeak. “Just…you know…counting. Counting boxes and…stacks.”

He laughs, loud enough to make you startle. It’s far too enthusiastic, like you told a particularly funny joke instead of stumbling over your words and you still don’t actually know if he finds you funny or not.

“Cool,” Johnny says, taking a step closer to you. The clipboard doesn’t feel sufficient enough to put any real distance between the two of you. “Thought I could maybe come hang out with ye back here. Dinnae want ye to feel lonely.”

“Nope, not lonely at all. Totally peachy. Actually glad I could catch a break from…everyone.” You take a step back.

He follows you, another step forward. “Aye, dinnae worry, I get what ye mean. Some of the others—” he whistles, “—right buggers. Glad to catch a break myself as well.”

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck. “Aren’t you supposed to be…out in the front? I, uh, don’t want you to get in trouble with Jeff—”

“Ah, Jeff’s fine, kitty, dinnae worry about me,” Johnny coos, sounding pleased as punch. He takes you at face value instead of reading into the set of your jaw and the way you keep inching away from him as he gets closer to you, convinced that you genuinely in your heart care about whether he gets written up or not. “They fuckin’ love me, ye ken? Think he wants ta take me out for lunch tomorrow, but told him I’d only go if he invited ye as well.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” you whisper instead of screaming. You’re doing that a lot these days. Talking through the scream bubbling behind your front teeth.

“Would ye want ta then?” he asks, suddenly in your face, three quick steps bridging the gap between you in barely a second, hardly enough time for you to blink. You blink and it’s just Johnny, in startling definition. Thick eyebrows and scar across his chin, the bridge of his nose perfect like he’s never broken it before. “Grab some lunch with me?”

“I, uh…I brought my lunch from home.”

“It’s a’right, I’ll buy it for ye, hen. Dinnae need ta waste your money.” Sometimes when he talks to you, he gets like this, fervent and almost desperate. He seems only half aware of it. “Ye like that mediterranean place nearby, right? Seen ye go there once or twice; wanted ta tag along, but dinnae want ta alarm ye.”

“You saw me go there?” you repeat.

“Aye, happened ta glance out the window when ye were on your lunch break. Back before management changed my break time. Cheers for that as well because it was really startin’ ta bother me, ye ken? Not being able ta eat with my favourite coworker.”

You never know how to respond when Johnny lets on a bit too much about how he feels about you. Sometimes he slips up and it comes rushing out, a big spool of thread unwinding in front of you.

“Yeah, well…I don’t know about today but maybe…” you say, trailing off. There’s a danger in just brushing him off, you feel.

“Tomorrow then,” he decides, grin still splitting his face. “I’m no’ on the schedule, but I can drop by at your lunch break and go with ye. How’s that sound?”

“Well, you know…it sounds…” He’s close enough now that if you lean forward, you’ll faceplant in between his pecs. Despite everything, you have to slightly fight the urge. Sometimes you think it’d be easier if he weren’t so absurdly gorgeous. It doesn’t make any of his actions okay, it doesn’t excuse his behaviour just because he’s pretty, yet still he pulls you in somehow, magnetic. “It sounds—you know, actually, I think Jeff wanted to talk to me about something, so if you don’t mind—”

Johnny tries to say something, but you manage to duck around him and scurry off, disappearing into the stacks of boxes before pressing forward until you burst out the main doors out of the warehouse. It leads to a hall that goes towards the store, but you haul it to the women’s washroom instead. The one place he can’t follow you inside.

In the washroom, you can finally breathe. Resting your hands on either side of the sink, you look into the mirror where haggard eyes with deep circles underneath stare back at you.

You flinch when one of the toilets flush and the stall door opens, another coworker stepping out.

“Did I hear Johnny outside?” she asks, taking the sink beside you to wash her hands. You nod, still tongue tied. “He really follows you everywhere, huh?”

For a second, your shoulders relax. “God, I know, he’s always just hovering—”

She cuts you off, sighing dreamily. “You’re so lucky. He’s so hot, it’s unreal. I can’t believe he works here, like that’s insane. I’d kill to have him as obsessed with me as he is with you.”

“He’s—he’s not into me, he’s just…you know, he just hovers.”

The water shuts off. Your coworker shoots you a dubious look, almost mocking. “Yeah, alright. Sure. Not into you. Not like he hangs off your every word. You don’t have to be humble—we’re already jealous. It’s like rubbing it in when you pretend like it’s totally normal.”

You slump, defeated, when she leaves without drying her hands. It’s moot to try and commiserate with anyone. They don’t see him the way you do, not for who he is. Your coworkers love Johnny; you’ve seen someone genuinely fistpump after being scheduled with him.

They don’t see any of the weird shit though. They don’t see the way he insists on walking you to your car well into the evening after a closing shift together. They don’t notice the way Johnny laughs a little too hard and with too much vigour when someone calls him your shadow, his eyes just a little too bright and fervent.

They’re never around to see him ask if you want to sit on his lap while he shows you how to use the forklift in the backroom. They’ve never seen him beg management to let him take his breaks with you and doesn't let you have a moment of peace, just sits with you in the breakroom or follows you to your car when you say that you're going out for lunch.

Sometimes you look at him and think, this guy should not be in the Appliance section of a big box store. Johnny should be on the front cover of magazines, in commercials for toothpaste, acting in Hallmark movies, or maybe hand modelling for obscenely ornate watch companies that cost the equivalent of a mortgage—not handing out free samples of sliced cheese.

That was then.

It starts like this: an overeager sales associate who butts his way to the front of the line on your first day.

You think at first that you’re golden. It seems like a sweet deal—an easy enough job, maybe not what you went to school for, but still something to pass the time and not too backbreaking. Plus, the guy shaking your hand and chatting up a storm in front of you is making you melt inside. He’s easy on the eyes—all bright smiles, effortless charm, either just brushing or exactly six feet, and built. Broad shouldered and lean.

Johnny’s a model employee as well—knows the handbook inside and out, and shows you the ropes on your first day along with the assistant manager giving you a tour of the store, which is helpful because there’s at least three floors that you could easily get lost on. He walks elderly customers to their cars with their bags, shows up to work early for every shift, always with a smile and a positive attitude, and you find out early on that management loves him because of his frankly incredible sales record.

(And you get it too; you can’t imagine anyone looking into those gorgeous blue eyes and turning him down.)

He's also a spokesperson for the company in all of their internal training videos because he was hired through some “Jobs for Vets” program that they just rolled out. The guy can also stack things on a shelf like no one's business, products lined up with military precision (hence the ex-military status).

All in all, you can’t help feeling like for once in your life, you didn’t draw the short stick.

Then one day, you’re alone with Johnny in the breakroom early in the morning before the store has opened yet and he turns to you with a wide, boyish grin and says apropos of nothing, “Named my fleshlight after you.”

You think your brain skips a couple tracks like a record player. You rewind and replay what was just said to you. There’s no two ways about it—you must have misheard him. Of course you did because surely your coworker of two months didn’t just look you in the eyes and say with a sweet sunshine smile that he named his sex toy after you.

He doesn’t laugh, just stands there and smiles while stirring sugar into his coffee. He takes it black. You take note of that because the brain still has to work when the mind shuts down momentarily, so you use it instead to catalogue things around the breakroom. One of the motivational posters hanging near the door is hung a bit off-centre. The fluorescent lightbulb on the far side of the room is dimmer than the others. Johnny’s eyes have a little light spot in them like the tip of an ocean wave.

“Excuse me?” you ask, dumbfounded. Your voice sounds hollow even to you.

“I named her after ye,” he repeats, not a trace of shame in his voice. “Used ta not have a name at all, but figured since I say it so much when I’m enjoyin’ her, she might as well share it with ya.”

He stares at you after saying that, letting it hang in the air. Your brain chooses that moment to come back online and all it can do is load that image of Johnny home alone with his fleshlight, toes curled in his sheets and the muscles of his legs straining as he moans your name. All you can do is give a little awkward laugh, growing more uncomfortable by the second the longer he stares at you without blinking.

Then, something passes over his eyes and suddenly he's back to normal, laughing and clapping you on the arm before wandering off to the men's apparel section.

It leaves you reeling for the rest of the day, sure you imagined it. It recontextualizes a few things for you though. He’s always been on the handsy side, verging on inappropriate, but skirting just enough around the edges of it that you usually brush off Johnny’s weird behaviour. Chalk it up to annoying little brotherly tendencies. You know he has a few older sisters anyway; you figured it was just how he related to women in his environment.

Not so.

It escalates after that initial escalation. Not that things started off on an appropriate note, but at least before you could rationalize most of his quirks.

Now it’s this: his hand on your lower back during work hours when you’re busy helping a customer and he sidles up next to you, pinkie brushing so low on your back that you worry for a second that he might slip it down the back of your pants. Lifting you up by the hips whenever you have a hard time reaching something on a shelf instead of just reaching up and grabbing it for you. A complete misuse of his height. He digs his fingers into your sides and never lets you go right away when he puts you down.

“Aw shit, bonnie,” he coos when you complain about it hurting you. “Dinnae mean ta hurt ye. Want me to give ye a little massage in the breakroom?”

You learn quickly that there’s no point in complaining about his behaviour to anyone. You can't complain to any of your coworkers because the second you so much as criticize his work, they bark at you to be nice to him. He's just re-acclimating to civilian life, of course he's not perfect at his job yet, they say. They defend him almost viciously; the real jealous ones even tell on you in front of him, leaving you to stand there embarrassed and on the spot until Johnny just smiles and says that it's alright. That you'll just have to teach him better.

There’s not much you can do besides grin and bear it. You can hope one day that you'll get transferred; you don't have much hope for him being transferred. Not with how endeared he is to management.

When you finally open the door, ready to leave the bathroom and get back to work, you nearly scream when Johnny lurches off the wall across from the bathroom door where he’s been leaning. Waiting for you.

“C’mon, hen,” he says, all teeth. “Lemme walk ye back ta work.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x you #soap/reader #ikea soap #john mactavish #soap mw2 #soap mactavish #soap cod

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wrestlingwithlife · 10 months

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That Is Some Wild West Shit Right There

When a mission goes of the rails and Y/n gets separated from the rest of the task force he is forced to use the skills he learned growing up in his home town to get back to his team.

Task Force 141 x Male!Cowboy!Reader

—————————————————————————————————————

“This has got to be the stupidest place to build some sort of evil science base.” Y/n hissed into the coms, back pressed up against a massive crate.

What Y/n assumed to be a lab was built practically on the side of a cliff. On one side of the lab you had a mess of trees that was practically just a jungle, and on the other a sheer drop off that led to one of the angriest looking rivers Cowboy had ever seen.

“Relax, we’ve almost got the last of the files downloaded.” Ghost eased the antsy male. Y/n grumbled a bit.

There were a few more beats of silence before a blaring alarm sounded, Y/n cringed at the noise. “Relax, huh?”

As a group of enemy soldiers went to run into the building Y/n stood up and opened fire on them to take the heat off the rest of the team and keep them from getting cornered in there.

“Y’all get yer asses out here now!”

Ghost was first out the door, sliding behind a box on the opposite side of the court yard for cover. The others weren’t far behind, but Y/n was on the complete other side of the yard. Trapped between the armed group of terrorists and the sheer drop off.

“Cowboy, how copy?” Price’s voice buzzed in the coms. Y/n ducked back down as a few of the soldiers turned their attention onto him.

Gaz threw out two smoke bombs, offering a bit of cover. Y/n took his chance and darted to another crate a bit farther away, but far to close to the cliff for his own comfort.

“Just peachy.” He hissed, ducking under the onslaught of bullets that rained down onto his crate.

“What the hell is that? Wait—“

“Get down!”

Y/n was able to cover his head just in time as a loud explosion shook the area. The crate he was behind blasted back in to him, shattering and sending his disoriented form flying back.

“Cowboy!” Soap shouted, breaking from his cover, but he was to late to reach his friend.

Y/n grabbed desperately at the edge of the cliff, but it was no use. Task Force 141 was forced to watch in horror as one of their own plummeted into the raging waters below.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜

Y/n’s eyes opened blearily. His head was pounding and everything was fuzzy, but he forced himself up onto his elbows.

His eyes adjusted a bit and he took in the area around him. The room he was in was quite homey. Beautifully woven tapestries hung on the walls and intricately crafted pottery decorated almost every space. The male was laid out on a woven mat, all of his things sat nearby.

The h/c haired soldier checked his body, cursing when he found the damaged tracker. There was no way his squad would be able to find his location now. Where ever the hell he was.

Heavy footsteps sounded from the hall, and a middle aged man walked into the room. His face was kind and worn with smile lines, and he appeared to be of some sort of Hispanic decent. His smile widened when he saw Y/n was awake.

“Ah! My friend, we were worried for you. Fishermen found you in river.” The man spoke, his voice heavy yet still welcoming. “I saw the patch on your arm, you are American?”

Cowboy nodded. “Thank you for bringing me into your home, I could never repay such an act of kindness.”

The man shook his head, waving his hands in front of him. “It is you who I could never repay. Your service is the ultimate payment.”

A soft smile graced the southern males lips. “Then perhaps you could answer some questions?”

Y/n explained everything. The terrorists, the explosion, the river. The older man listened intently.

“We were supposed to go to La Ciudad Perdida after we completed our task for extraction in two days, but I don’t even know where I even am.”

At the mention of the city the man, who Y/n had learned to be named Mateo, perked up. “Our fishermen found you not long ago, and the city is not to far. Come, I will see if I can help you.”

At the mention of the slight hope Cowboy was quick to grab what he still had, following Mateo from his rather large home. As they walked out the older man leaned down and whispered something to a young boy who was quick to scurry off.

“My village does not have vehicles like trucks and jeeps, but there may be another way for you to travel.” Mateo spoke. “La Ciudad Perdida his eight miles west of here, a long journey on foot. However…”

The boy from before returned, rounding Mateo’s home with a massive black horse in tow. The horse moved with a sense of elegance and pride to it, like it had complete confidence in every step it took.

Mateo smiled at the beast before turning to Cowboy, who was still watching the stallion in awe.

“Can you ride?”

Cowboy turned to look at Mateo, eyes shining like new born stars. “I have my whole life.”

The older gentleman smiled. “Good. Than Guerrero will be your mount. He his unflinching at the sound of gunfire, he shall run for you bravely.”

“Warrior…” Y/n whispered the meaning of the stallions name to himself, stroking the giants forelock. “Mateo, how can I repay you for this?”

He waved the h/c haired male off. “I already tell you, your service pays for it all. Besides, I am wealthy man. I have many horses.” The old Hispanic’s eyes shined with mischief.

Y/n laughed, clasping Mateo’s hand in his own and giving it a firm shake. “I will not forget this, my friend.”

Y/n pulled himself up into Guerrero’s saddle, taking a moment to adjust his gun and equipment so the weight was more even. With a final wave to Mateo, Y/n rode off into the direction of La Ciudad Perdida.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜

Y/n did is best to keep Guerrero at a trot the whole ride. As much as he wanted to get there as fast as he could he had no idea what kind off situation he would be riding into, and he wanted both him and the stallion to have plenty of energy when they did arrive.

“You know, I always used to imagine doing this.” Cowboy chuckled to nobody but himself and the dark horse. “Riding into battle on a horse. Maybe it seemed silly, but I always thought that would be so badass.”

Guerrero snorted, shaking his head in response. Y/n chuckled, patting the stallion’s neck.

It wasn’t long before the outline of the city became prominent against the horizon. Y/n couldn’t help but smile that they had made it in time.

“Guerrero, I promise to you I’ll have you taken to my ranch back home where you will be treated like a king.” The southern male promised the horse, rubbing his neck. Y/n felt impossibly giddy about the fact he was about to be reunited with his teammates.

Once the city began to take shape the stallions steps paused for a moment, ears forward as he listened intently. It was only a moment before Y/n heard it too. The sound of raging gun fire, it was without a doubt coming from the city.

“That’s not good.” Y/n kicked Guerrero into a gallop. “Hyah!”

The black stallion whinnied, charging towards the city at impossible speeds.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜

Soap’s back was pressed flush against the truck he was hiding behind, Gaz right next to him as gun fire rained down over their heads.

After watching Y/n disappear into the raging water shit hit the fan. Ghost had went on a rampage, slaughtering every terrorist he could get his hands on.

Gaz had tried to find Cowboy’s location using his tracker, but the thing had obviously been damaged or destroyed in the river. That alone ebbed at Soap’s hope that he’d ever see the male again, but Soap knew better than that.

Cowboy was fighter. He was harder than nails with the kind of spirit that would put even the most wild of animals to shame. Soap knew if anyone could survive it would be him.

But that was counting on the fact that the rest of them would make it out. Whatever was left of the terrorist group had managed to regroup and followed them to their extraction point.

They had been caught unaware, and now all four of them were pinned down, unable to break from the cover long enough to wrap around behind the group.

Ghost cursed as he ducked his head back behind the crate he was using for cover next to where Gaz and Soap were. Price wasn’t far off, hidden behind his own rather large crate.

The most infuriating part about this whole thing is that there were only six terrorists. The task force without a doubt had them outmatched, but they had managed to get the drop on them.

“This is fucking insane. How many rounds could they possibly have.” Gaz cursed as the bullets continued to rain down.

Soap shook his head, reloading his own gun. “I don know, but I’m about sick of this.”

The shooting faltered for a moment, and the terrorists began shouting things Soap couldn’t make out. In the beat of silence a new noise was heard. It sounded like the beat of hooves on pavement, and it had the group leaning a bit to see what it was.

A hulking black mass was speeding down the street of the abandoned city, atop it sat a figure with a assault rifle poised and ready. The four could not believe their eyes as their teammate came charging in, giving a wicked laugh.

“Holy shit, Cowboy!”

“That is some Wild West shit right there.”

Y/n aimed his gun at the group of terrorists, the angle he came in at giving him the perfect opening. His heart thudded with wild adrenaline as he gave a loud war cry, littering their bodies with bullets.

The group didn’t know what had hit them.

Guerrero charged forward bravely, his ear hardly twitching as Y/n rained down hell onto the group. When the last of the terrorists had fallen Soap and Gaz were the first to move from their spots, followed closely by Ghost and Price.

Guerrero slid to a stop and Cowboy leaped from his saddle, Soap enveloping him into one of the tightest hugs he’d ever experienced.

“Ah, you amadan! I knew you’d be alright!” The Scottish man bellowed, grinning from ear to ear as crushed the h/c haired male in a hug.

Gaz was next to reach him, throwing an arm over his shoulders and ruffling Y/n’s hair affectionately.

Y/n ribs felt like they were cracking from their crushing force, but his smile was wide. He was ecstatic to be back among his teammates.

Once Soap reluctantly released the male Price reached up to ruffle his hair for himself, grumbling about Y/n giving him a heart attack.

“Yeah, I suppose I don’t want to give grandpa any more scares.” Y/n teased, giggling as he earned himself a playful slap to the side of the head from his captain.

A large arm wrapped it’s was around Cowboy’s shoulders, giving him a light squeeze. The male looked up, meeting Ghost’s steely gaze.

“Glad you didn’t die.” The masked male said, giving him a pat on the shoulder before letting him go. Y/n smiled, Ghost wasn’t one for public affections, so that alone was equal to Y/n being swept off his feet and praised from the mountain tops.

“Have I got a story for you guys.”

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜

“Thanks, Ricky. I really appreciate this man. Alright, talk to you later.” Y/n hung up his phone, pocketing it as he went back to towel drying his hair. Ricky was Y/n’s transport guy. The man in charge of getting Y/n’s horses and live stock from one place to another.

And thanks to Ricky, Guerrero was now on his way to Y/n’s ranch. Where Y/n was sure that the stallion would get the full royal treatment.

Y/n tossed his towel into the hamper, opening the door to his bedroom. Price and Ghost were already there waiting for him.

Price was sitting on Cowboy’s bed, leaned up against the wall and reading a book. He sported a grey T-shirt and pair of loose black joggers, his usual hat sitting on the bed side table.

Ghost was leaned up against the head board, a few pillows stacked behind him for comfort. The masked male wore a black tank top and dark grey sweats, his sleeve of tattoos also on display.

Y/n shuddered a bit, he had a few tattoos of his own. The emblem of his ranch on his left shoulder blade and a few more on his legs, but the sight of Ghost’s sleeve just made his heart flip. He’d have to get one of his own soon.

Cowboy made his way over to his bed, crawling over Ghost to sit closer to the wall. Once he settled against the pillows he huffed, throwing his legs over Price’s lap. The Captain only chuckled, shaking his head before going back to his book. Though, one of his hands stayed resting on the males thigh, his thumb drawing small circles into it.

Before Y/n could get fully situated Ghost reached out, tugging the shorter male in with an arm around his shoulder. Y/n’s head hit Ghost’s chest and he looked up to meet Ghost’s gaze, but the other wasn’t looking at him.

Cowboy knew Ghost needed this. Needed to feel him, needed to hold him, needed to know he was still here. Y/n could only imagine the storm of emotions they had all felt watching him topple over a cliff and disappear into the raging waters.

The southern male hummed a bit, reaching for the remote to get the true crime show pulled up. Now all they were missing was—

The door to Y/n’s room burst open, causing the three to jump a bit as Soap and Gaz tumbled into the room, each holding a bowl of popcorn.

“Alright we’re ready! Sorry it took so long, someone kept burning theirs.” Gaz shot Soap a look, making it clear who the guilty subject was.

Soap stuck his tongue out at Gaz before fumbling his way into the bed. He somehow managed to get between Y/n and the wall, laying his head on the males hard stomach. He gave the country boy a grin, offering him some popcorn which he happily accepted.

Gaz huffed when Soap took the best spot before plopping himself down by Y/n’s leg, resting his head on the thigh that Price wasn’t rubbing circles into.

Now that everyone was settled Y/n started the new episode of the show and everyone soon became engrossed into it.

With all of the bodies piled around and on top of him Y/n’s body was pleasantly warm, he snuggled back a bit into Ghost’s hold at the cozy feeling. Ghost’s eyes cut over to look down at the h/c haired male.

Ghost leaned down a bit, lips brushing the top of Y/n’s head through his mask. He turned back to look at the TV before Y/n could look up at him.

But Y/n didn’t need to look up, a smile crossed his face, he knew. He brought a hand up to rest on Soap’s head, playing with his fluffy Mohawk as he watched the old murder mysteries play across the screen.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜

Phew, there you go my lovelies! Hopefully this didn’t feel to unrealistic, but I’ve always imagined the riding in on a horse scenario ever since I thought of Cowboy Reader in the military lol

I’m planning on doing a little 4th July special for Cowboy Reader too so be looking out for that!

As always, hope you enjoyed!

- Author~Chan out ✌️

#cod fanfic #cod mwii #task force 141 #cod x male reader #task force 141 x male reader #male reader #cod x cowboy!reader #cowboy!reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #gaz mw2

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stevebabey · 1 year

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Eddie loves to complain.

It’s a known fact to Eddie, to Wayne, to every single sorry son-of-a-bitch who winds up being friends with him, that Eddie loves to complain. Half the time he opens his mouth, it’s to let an absurd about of bitching fall out of it. Trailer trash with a trash mouth, is what he calls himself sometimes, always with a wry grin.

Even more so, Eddie loves to complain about how Steve Harrington seems to get everything he wants in life.

He gets the big house at the end of the block, the spot of captain of the basketball team (not that that’s a position Eddie would ever gun for), the stupid title of ‘King Steve’ that let him soar through high school, untouched.

Missing homework? Well, King Steve Harrington just gets a gentle reprimand, a reminder to make homework a priority next time. Whereas, Mr. McKay had nearly popped his eyeball out in stress when chewing Eddie out for his missing homework in the very same week.

Double fucking standards. He’s pretty sure he’s seen Steve get free shakes down at Harper’s Diner which made Eddie scoff— as if the likes of Steve Harrington can’t pay for his own shakes.

So, yeah, to Eddie? Steve Harrington gets everything he wants.

It becomes so much of a habit — bitching and blaming King Steve for every other minuscule inconvenience as well — that even when Eddie has the week from hell and his entire worldview is shifted, quite literally, upside down, he still complains about Steve.

Because, damn it, even at all this, Steve is better than Eddie is.

Ignoring the fact it’s definitely not Steve’s first rodeo, Eddie can’t help but keep the bite in his tone. It feels a bit too humiliating, being kept bed-ridden in Steve’s empty mansion due to wounds that need tending to every day. Hidden from angry mobs because he’s that unlikable in this town.

Worse, is that even though Steve got a bite taken out of him too, he seems just fucking peachy compared to Eddie.

Pathetic Eddie who can’t even change his own bandages yet. Steve’s more gentle than Eddie probably deserves for all his bitching at him.

Because, of course he bitches. Eddie can’t help it; some defence mechanism from within that isn’t sure how to handle the fact Steve is, like actually genuinely, a decent person. It’s worse when Steve waves it off. Shrugs off his pointy comments, might make a comment about being ‘someone’s grouchy and tired’ but is still so fucking nice.

Until the one day he doesn’t shrug off the comment— this time when Eddie makes a complaint, whinging and grumbling about can’t believe I’m stuck with Steve Harrington playing nurse, Steve narrows his eyes. Then he sighs.

“What’s your problem with me, man?” Steve asks, not unkind, just probing. He’s still winding one of the bandages around Eddie’s torso, the latter propped against the bathroom sink.

Fuck, this bathrooms massive. It’s bigger than Eddie’s entire room at the trailer. He hates it for that. He hates that he’s had more gentle touches in this bathroom in the weeks living here, with Steve, than he had in his whole 20 years since— well, since his mama died really. He tries not to think about that much.

Eddie really glad he asked; he thinks he’s had this whole speech prepped since sophomore year and Steve’s stupidly fluffy hair and smarmy grin walked through Hawkins High’s front doors. Charmed his way to top of the school with his stupid perfect life.

But, well, not all of that is true anymore. Eddie knows there’s quite a few holes in his original fantasised idea of what the perfect life of Steve Harrington looks like. Doesn’t matter, Eddie’s still got a bone to pick. He’s stubborn that way.

“What’s my problem? Did you meet yourself in high school?”

Steve winces a bit at that, his eyes ducking away but his hands keep moving, winding the gauze slowly and carefully. He doesn’t say anything, thinking, but Eddie rolls on regardless.

“Dude, you get— you have everything. You have the house, the popularity- shit, half the population of the school had the hots for you.” He doesn’t mention that he was at one point part of that population. Might still be if Steve keeps being so nice to him. Damn, he’s easy.

His tone as he talks tells a completely different story though, all annoyed and dramatic. “I once saw Miss O’Donnell wave off a failed test just cos. Just cos you were you! That’s the same fucking test that failed me the first time round.”

Eddie waves his hand around, on a roll now; he’s had plenty of practice with bitching about the likes of how Steve Harrington has it all.

“I know all this shit is, well, not fuckin’ ideal but even then! It’s like, of course, you’ll roll out of this with some badass scars that the chicks will dig.”

Steve is still listening intently, Eddie can tell because his eyes flick up to meet his every couple of seconds. His hands keep working.

Eddie huffs and winces at the pain that radiates up and down his side. “If you had these scars,” he gestures up and down. His side is undeniably worse than Steve’s own, they both know. “It would just be badass. Survivor shit, yanno? On me, it’s just, like, shitty mutilation.”

The sentence hangs in the air and Eddie feels his embarrassment creep up by how quickly that turned into a pity-fest, which absolutely not the point. The point is that Steve gets it all and Eddie gets nothing — and that’s how it’s always been.

Steve says quiet for a bit thinking as he ties off the end of Eddie’s bandage. He has to pull it tight and Eddie winces again, another flush on pain. Even if it’s not as embarrassing as it had been in the beginning, Steve taking care of these wounds for him, Eddie still hates it.

“So, that’s your problem with me? You think I get everything I want?” Steve asks plainly, pulling his hands back and folding them across his chest. Eddie hates how handsome he looks doing it. Then hates himself for noticing it.

“In a manner of words, yes.”

Steve uncrosses his arms and suddenly leans forward, planting his hands on either side of Eddie’s hips on the bathroom counter. He leans into his space and Eddie has to force himself not to pull back instinctively. Steve’s face is very close to his.

“And... if I want you?” Steve asks, voice dipping quieter in a way that makes Eddie’s stomach tighten. He represses a shudder and only after, do the words dawn on him; there’s no hiding the way he gets a little wide-eyed and fuck, he just looked at Steve’s lips. Wait, what? Eddie’s heart is thudding like a trapped rabbit’s, wild and quick.

Steve’s stare is intense, eyes a little darker than usual. He looks at Eddie and just for a moment, his gaze drops to his lips. Steve licks his own, his knuckles on the counter growing whiter as he grips it tighter and steels his nerve.

“Do I still get everything I want?”

#break from da blurbs bcos i am on STEDDIE BRAIN at the mo!#i've also had that dialogue in my drafts for yoinks #yet again.... gay ppl in my phone #i trust u to find this #sorry to all my stevie followers u will have to see this just once lol #maybe twice #steddie #ruby writes steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #wahoo

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ichorai · 11 months

Text

apple pies & break-ins ; tangerine.

pairing ; tangerine x assassin!spouse!reader (gender-neutral pronouns)

synopsis ; tangerine comes back home just as you're about to leave.

words ; 1.9k

themes ; pure fluff, mild comedy, established relationship (married), assassin au

warnings / includes ; blood/injuries/weapons, slightly suggestive, tangerine has a potty mouth, lemon cameo, tangerine being clingy and sappy

main masterlist.

The entire house smelled of cinnamon, apples, and buttery pie crust. You sliced up another apple, taking care to carve out its core, before tossing it in the sugar syrup and popping the chopped pieces of fruit into the crust to bake in the oven. As soon as you bumped the door shut with your hip, the front door creaked open, followed by a familiar jangling of keys.

You glanced up with a warm smile, glad that your husband was finally home—except it was quick to melt away when you took in his disheveled appearance. There was blood all over him, dribbling down his hairline, splattered over his neck, staining his once-pristine clothes.

Despite his haggard state, he sent you a tired beam, his mustache twitching with the smile.

“‘Ello, love,” he greeted, making his way to you behind the kitchen counter. “Close your mouth, darlin’, you’ll catch flies.” With a cheeky smirk, he slotted a finger beneath your chin, effectively snapping your lips shut. He mildly winced when he noticed he accidentally left a faint print of sticky blood on your jaw, but wisely decided not to tell you.

You fixed him with an unimpressed stare. “Jesus, Tan. Is that your blood?”

“Not sure, honestly. It’s coming from all over—some of it’s bound to be mine. Don’t worry about me, love. I’m fuckin’ peachy. Speaking of, it smells really good in here. You bakin’ something for me, darling? I’m flattered,” he hummed, leaning forward to kiss you.

Before he could, you ducked away from him, pushing his face to the side with a wrinkled nose. “Ugh, go shower first, you’re getting blood everywhere! To be honest, I would’ve felt better knowing it was yours.”

“Ouch,” he murmured, though his grin still lingered by the corner of his mouth. “You wound me, sweetheart.”

Relenting, you leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his unsuspecting lips. “There. You happy?”

“Very. Thanks, love.” He sent you a playful wink before slinking off to the bathroom, whistling a peppy tune under his breath on the way. You rolled your eyes and smiled to yourself, before turning to clean up the mess of flour and sugar and apple cores you’d made on the kitchen counter.

When your husband finally slunk out of the bathroom, a thick white towel hanging low around his waist and another ruffling at his damp curls, he made his way back into the kitchen.

“Put on some clothes, Tan,” you scoffed when he pressed against you from behind, sprinkling a bit of cinnamon sugar on the apple pie you had just taken out of the oven.

“Hm, you don’t like me like this?” he queried, verging on a whine since you weren’t paying him the least bit of attention. “Naked and at your disposal?”

Amused, you finally turned around in his arms, trapped between him and the counter. The blue of his eyes were hooded and lustful, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. You, however, smiled sweetly at him. “You’re not naked.”

“Well, that can easily be remedied—”

Before he could reach down to undo the towel around his waist, you stopped him with your hands gripping both his wrists, quirking your brows. “As much as I’d love to, I have to call in for a job soon. I’m running late already. I was baking the pie for you in case you got back while I was gone.”

“Another job?” asked Tangerine, clearly upset at the turn of events. “Can’t you call off? I’m sure they can send another bloody assassin to do their dirty work.”

You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, before gently pushing him away so you could head off to your shared bedroom and get changed. To none of your surprise, your husband trailed along behind you like a sullen puppy. “It’s a lot of money, baby. Don’t think I could afford to keep skipping jobs just to laze around with you.”

With a disappointed grumble, Tangerine wrapped his arms around you from behind again, squeezing tightly and kissing down your neck. “How long will this one take?”

“I’ll be back tonight,” you reassured him. “Tomorrow at the very latest.”

“Alright,” he acquiesced, though not without a loud sigh. He sat down on the bed, watching as you shirked off your flour-covered shirt in favor of a dark button-up. “You remember how we first met?”

Of course you did. You remembered it as if it was yesterday. You crossed your arms, stepping in between his legs by the edge of the bed. Both of his hands went to your waist, fingers curling over your back and absentmindedly tracing loose shapes on your sides.

Looking up at you, he spoke between pressing soft kisses along your abdomen, over the black shirt you had donned, “I was on a mission with Lemon in Madrid… and we were in a tight situation. Bullets flying everywhere, my leg fucked up, and my gun jammed. Then, whaddya know, the most beautiful fuckin’ person I’ve ever laid my eyes upon comes flying through one o’ the windows. Took out three people with one knife, and took out another four with a bloody crossbow. You looked at me, covered in blood, and asked if I was alright. I told you that you were fucking gorgeous—and then you fell in love with me, right on the spot, and the rest is history.”

You burst out into a fit of laughter. “Hm, that’s not how I remember it. Need I remind you that I shoved you to the side because you kept getting in my way, asking if I’d like to have dinner with you? Gods, Tan, you were a pain in my ass. And your brother was laughing at you.”

“Cunt,” he grumbled at the mention of his brother. “Well, even if you didn’t fall in love with me right then and there—I did. I knew I had to be yours from the moment I saw you.”

You lowered yourself to a crouch, cupping his face and caught his lips in a feverish kiss. When you pulled away, you pressed your forehead against his. “Are you telling me this because you want me to stay?”

A sheepish grin tugged at the corner of Tangerine’s lips. “Is it working?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’. You pulled away, slinging a packed bag over your shoulder and heading out the bedroom. “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby. Love you.”

“Wait! You said you’d come back tonight!”

True to your word, you had returned home at midnight, stumbling through the door tired and weary. Thankfully, you weren’t too banged up, just a scratch on your shoulder from the graze of a bullet that you managed to patch yourself before coming back. You were greeted with Tangerine dozing on the couch, a shitty reality show glowing on the television screen, with the half-eaten apple pie on the coffee table in front. He startled awake when you flicked his cheek with a smile.

“Hey, sleepy,” you said, dipping down to kiss his forehead, sauntering towards your bedroom to get changed.

As expected, your husband scurried off the couch to follow after you, gathering you into his arms and kissing you deeply. “I missed you,” he murmured, accent thick and lilting.

“Come on, I wanna get to sleep,” you said, tugging him to the bed with a muffled yawn.

In no time, he was curled up behind you, his large arm thrown over your waist and hand splayed out over your stomach. His nose was buried into the back of your head, unable to wipe the pleased smile off of his features.

It was relatively easy to drift to sleep, given how exhausted the two of you already were.

Not even three hours later, with the two of you already deep in slumber, there came a loud crashing from the front of the house. Someone was breaking in.

Immediately, you sat up in the bed, slipping out from beneath Tangerine’s heavy arms and the blanket. The cold air kissed your bare skin, sending a shiver spidering up your spine. You reached beneath your pillow to brandish a small emergency dagger you kept between the mattress and the headboard. Your husband also startled awake at the loud sound, eyes tired yet wide, grappling for a gun he kept beneath the bed.

“Stay in here,” he whispered, striding forward to the bedroom door, left slightly ajar.

“Like hell I am,” you quietly gruffed back, hot on his heels.

Knowing that there was no stopping you, Tangerine blew out a breath and the both of you crept closer, light on your feet. With no warning, Tan shouldered the door open and stepped out in one fluid motion, lining the gun up with the intruder.

A second later, he immediately lowered the weapon with a long string of exasperated curses. You peered over his shoulder, tense muscles loosening upon seeing Tangerine’s brother, Lemon, frozen in front of the broken window. His lips were twisted into a grimace and his eyes were as wide as saucers. There were shards of glass glimmering in his dark hair.

“What the fuck, man?” your husband erupted, immediately clicking the safety back on his gun and shoving it into the waistband of his sweats. “Are you daft? The fuck did you break my window for?”

“I was looking for you! Never heard a peep from you two after your missions. I just assumed the worst!” he exclaimed. For a moment, Lemon’s dark eyes flickered to you. “Hi, Y/N. Look lovely, by the way.”

You crossed your arms, more amused than anything. “Hey, Lemon.”

“Why didn’t you fuckin’ call us, then? Bloody fucking idiot! Going down and breaking my window like that,” he angrily muttered, stomping forward to inspect the damage. “You’re paying for this, you twat.”

Rearing back, Lemon snarled, “Oi! I did call you! Didn’t answer your phones, the neither of you. I thought something happened! Forgive me for worrying about my brother and my in-law!”

“The fuck you mean, I would get the fucking notification if you called me!” Tangerine hissed back, pressing the heels of his palms into his sleepy eyes. After a second, he reached down into his pocket, fishing out his phone. He pressed the power button once, then twice. A third time for good measure. “Well, fuck me. It’s dead.”

You hid a smile behind your palm. You married a complete, hot-headed idiot. With an exasperated roll of your eyes, you wiggled your fingers farewell and swiftly turned, yawning as you dragged yourself back into the room. “I’m going back to bed. You two behave yourselves.”

Both of them grunted goodbyes at your departure, before immediately carrying on with their arguments.

“Why didn’t you just call Y/N?”

A long pause. Lemon's eye twitched. “Didn’t think of that, to be honest with you… What are you, a fucking halfwit? Of course I called Y/N!”

"Oh, right, yeah, Y/N does put their phone on DND before bed. Right."

"Right."

Frowning, Tangerine barked out, “Still, you’re a fuckin’ idiot, you know that? I could’ve shot you!”

“Alright, alright, calm your tits. D’you mind if I crash on your couch for the night?”

“What, are you bloody mental?” Another pause. “Alright, fine. Just take your shoes off. Don’t want you tracking mud all over the place.”

Half an hour later, Tangerine crawled back into bed, settling himself behind you. You had fallen asleep already, but shifted with a pleasant hum when he pressed a ticklish kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“Love you,” he whispered, tugging you closer to his chest. You drowsily murmured something incoherent in response, and Tangerine contentedly drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

#tangerine x reader #bullet train fanfiction #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine x you #tangerine fluff #tangerine imagines #tangerine drabbles #tangerine headcanon #bullet train tangerine #bullet train tangerine x reader

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bigfatbimbo · 25 days

Note

bro i accidentally unfollowed u when trying to click the askbox so PLEASE ignore that im sorry 😔

ANYWAYS! FLUFFY HCS TIMEEE!!!

starting off strong with velvette:

velvette is a girly girl at heart and she definitely has like a 70 step skincare and haircare routine, that she so graciously shares with you. velvette loves babying you in the sense that she both loves being pampered and pampering you, and she just wants you both to feel pretty ✨ you definitely have spa day dates and she always takes time out of your evening to do nighttime skincare with you

along w this, velvette definitely loves being pampered as well and on days where she's too tired to do so, you'll wipe off her makeup for her while whispering sweet nothings to her while she drifts off in your arms

velvette is one of those people who ALWAYS smells really nice, and definitely has a signature scent. im picturing it but its hard to describe so i'll try my best, but i imagine she smells sweet in a berry type of way, sort of like rasberries and strawberries? but it also has like another very elegant aroma of a hint of peachy vanilla too. idk maybe im just insane. but ANYWAYS she has like a very specific perfume that she wears and when you both first start dating, she not so subtly offers for you to start wearing it too. your hers, so why shouldn't you smell like her as well? this perfume is very expensive and is literally her signature smell, so literally anyone who smells it on you knows your hers and its velvette's subtle classy way of "marking" you

okie okie now some lute hcs too bc i have sm for her and she's my fav and i love sharing my hcs for her ‼️

once she begins to trust you enough, lute would absolutely love it if you cut her hair for her. as someone who used to have like a halfshave buzzcut (that was an... era...) having short hair actually takes a lot of time and energy to maintain bc it grows SO FAST. lute's hair grows pretty fast and it can be quite the challenge to cut on her own, so once she realizes you can cut it for her, she would totally be down to let you cut it

lute teaches you basic self defense, she always wants you to be safe and would feel 100x better if she knew you could defend yourself. sure, you're in heaven, but that doesn't mean danger might not arise elsewhere

even tho lute seems pretty small physically, she's actually ridiculously strong and can and will pick you up! she loves carrying you bridal style, and if you were ever out in public and you were sick of walking, she's definitely the type to scoop you up without another word. she'd even carey your shoes for you if they were the cause of your discomfort!

lute always buys you small gifts like necklaces and charms and loves seeing you wear them. its one of her main love languages and while she isn't great at expressing her feelings through words with her sharp tongue, her gifts are always meaningful

OKI OKIE ONE MORE CHARACTER AND THAT CHARACTER IS LUCIFER i love him sm 😭😭😭

luci 100% has bought you matching couples jewelry before, he LOVES those cute and cringey couples things and if you ever bought him one of those couples' necklaces that connect into a heart, or one of those like puzzle piece rings that connect to eachother, he would NEVER TAKE IT OFF

lucifer loves doing things for you. your really tired and don't feel like taking off your makeup and accessories? dw he'll do it for you!!! he also loves brushing your hair and untangling it, and will put a lot of time and effort into making sure your relaxed and happy

lucifer is big on communication, both romantically and platonically. sometimes he'll randomly ask you if there's anything he can do better or anything he can improve on, and will always take your advice

he makes you so many things!!!! from jewelry to ducks to trinkets, you definitely have a shelf in your room dedicated to gifts from lucifer. he gets really invested in making them too, he loves putting intricate details and designs onto each of his creations

lucifer would cook for you and he's surprisingly really good at it. it was one of his random depression hobbies that he picked up during liliths absence, and nearly every morning he's up before you to cook you breakfast

MORNING PERSON (derogatory and affectionate). this man is up at the ass crack of dawn just to help you get ready for the day. he'll lay put your skincare/toothbrush for you, wash your face for you, cook you breakfast, help you with your hair, he just loves helping you get ready. he always gives you a kiss on each cheek before you leave the house, and you make sure to do the same!!!!

THIS GOT SO LONG HELP 😭😭😭 i was gonna do vox hcs but i figured i can always save them for later i dont wanna crowd this ask up too much AJBDJS- ANYWAYSSSS HOPE U FEEL BETTER ELLIE UR WRITING ALWAYS MAKES ME HAPPY SO I HOPE THIS CAN MAKE U HAPPY!!!!

OH MY GOD SO IM FEELING WAY BETTER TODAY SO IM ACTUALLY GOING TO GIVE MY THOUGHTS ON ASKS!!

So Velvette and spa days literally just make so much sense like they would be so amazing oh my god. She would absolutely love to style your hair after too, and the perfume idea is so genius like that’s very in character, I SALUTE YOU.

Lute and gift giving as a love language like… just makes sense. Because she doesn’t strike me as someone who’s particularly skilled at communicating her emotions, especially when it comes to love. So like she would absolutely be all up on the gift giving business, but like literally anything she sees in a store window for a small second and is like “y/n likes that color.” Like bro is like a raccoon she just brings you shit.

And Luci oh my god he’s such a cutie! I’m so glad everyone recognizes Lucifer and his “Oh, he’ll cook for you” energy because that is so him. Also morning bird Lucifer is adorable and I get the feeling he’s one of those people who is obnoxiously loud in the morning, like you wake up to pans banging together clumsily from the kitchen where he’s cooking you breakfast or Lucifer accidentally dropping some super loud object in the bathroom.

ANYWAYS TO SUM UP, I LOVE THESE HEADCANONS! Days I have Rose rambles in my inbox are GOOD DAYS 🙌

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel headcanon #inbox open #bimbo rambling

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sunnybeewriting · 1 year

Text

peachy keen. Part Three

Words. Why are they so damn hard sometimes?

Holy smokes, I’m sorry it took me so long to do this chapter! I won’t lie, I defiantly needed some time to get my brain to write again, but I’m here now! Also, I just wanted to say again how much everybody’s likes and reblogs and comments mean to me! So far everybody has been so sweet and encouraging, and it makes me so happy! I’m so glad people seem to like Peach and peachy keen.

Also, if I don't reply directly to you, whether you reblog or comment or are anonymous, I still read and love them all! Every comment makes my day!

We’re getting pretty close to halfway through this story, so thank you again! If you like this chapter, please leave a like or a comment!

WORDS: 10.6k

WARNINGS: Adult Language, Sexual Tension (I'm sorry!)

Sweat stings your eyes and makes your sight blurry as you gasp for air, gripping your knife so tightly in your right hand that it hurts the cut on your palm.

The muscles in your thighs, shoulders, and arms burn with exhaustion, begging for rest. Your teeth are gritted in wild determination, chest heaving.

Quaritch stands a few feet from you, tail whipping behind him and body lowered into a half-crouch. His right hand clenches around his own knife, much bigger than yours, and he grasps it much less harshly than you do. His breathing is even, but there is the slightest, barest sheen of sweat on his forehead.

That fact might be inadequate to others, but to you, it is clear, proud evidence of your progress.

You grin fiercely at the sight and he bares his sharp teeth back. They glint in the daylight before his mouth stretches into his own feral smile.

The muscles in your legs tighten and you lunge toward Quaritch, blade stretched out in front of you as you swipe toward his shoulder.

He jerks to the side and your knife misses him by a scant inch. You stop your body from being thrown off course by your body weight, tightening the muscles of your core and jerking to a halt.

You whirl around to face Quaritch again and barely have time to duck your head to avoid getting a knife in the face.

Quaritch doesn’t stop there, using his close proximity to grab your right arm with the hand not holding his knife. His hand wraps around your slender wrist easily, broad fingers overlapping. He jerks you in close to him by your arm and you crash face-first into his chest with a grunt, knife raising to slice at him on instinct.

He drops his knife to the ground to free his other hand, and he grabs your wrist tightly just in time to stop the blade from slicing through the fabric of his tank top and into his skin.

You struggle in his grip, face and torso pressed against his chest, both wrists caught in his grasp. You jerk your arms back and forth in an effort to loosen his grip, leaning your body backward, but he doesn’t budge.

You glare up at him, angry yellow eyes matching the color of his amused ones, and you growl when his body doesn’t move an inch even with you pushing away from him with your entire weight. Your nose scrunches up, sharp teeth showing as you snarl at him.

He smirks at your attempt to intimidate him and tightens his grip to the point of pain.

Aching lightning shoots up your wrists into your arms, and your growl turns into a yelp real fast.

“You done fightin’, sweetheart?”

Anger flares deep in your stomach at his patronizing tone, and you cry out as your vigor to remove yourself from him returns with gusto.

“I’m going to kick your ass, dickbag!”

His eyebrow raises at your ballsy words, and he chuckles.

“Yeah? How you thinkin’ you gonna do that, huh, Peach? Seems to me like I’ve got you right,” he tugs you in closer and your chest crashes right back into his, “where I want you.”

You hiss and jerk your right leg up as fast you can, knee aiming to hit him right in the balls.

Hope it hurts!

Quaritch moves to your right side just in time for your knee to hit his thigh. He takes his left leg, hooks his foot around your remaining one, and pulls.

Your leg gives out from under you and you fall backward with another surprised yelp, landing hard on your back. Air whooshes out of you for half a second as you gasp, and then you’re struggling to sit up, eager to get in at least one hit for the day.

But Quaritch is too fast for you and he grabs your arms, flipping you quickly over onto your stomach. You struggle fiercely as he squeezes both your wrists behind your back with one large hand, legs kicking up as best you can whilst on your belly.

He kneels over your pinned body, chest pressed solidly against your back. His face lowers down close to your ear, and goosebumps erupt over your body when his breath puffs out across the sensitive skin of your neck and ears. Your ears twitch frantically as he comes closer, and he whispers softly, so soft you can barely hear it,

“Looks like you’re mine, Peach.”

You grunt one last time before falling limp and pressing your face into the ground in submission.

Your heart thunders in your chest so harshly you can hear it in your ears and you pant, trying to slow it down. You lay there for another ten seconds, eyes squeezed shut, before you distantly realize that Quaritch has yet to release you from his grip, nor remove his chest from your back.

You blearily open your eyes and turn your head to where Quaritch is positioned, wondering what the hell is taking him so long to let you up.

Quaritch’s wild eyes sear into your own when you move. Your stomach swoops low when you see the hungry look in them. You stare at each other, chests heaving in tandem, and your pounding heart lurches unsteadily in your chest. You can feel the bare skin of his shoulders and arms forced against yours.

Slowly, one finger at a time, he unclenches his fingers from around your wrists. They were so tight you distantly wonder if they will leave finger-shaped bruises on your skin.

You blink at the relief of blood rushing back into your arms, and the spell between you is broken.

Quaritch blinks rapidly, the untamed look behind his eyes fading slightly as he realizes he still has you pinned. He slowly, almost reluctantly, moves his chest from your back, and suddenly you can breathe. You hadn’t even realized he was pressing so much of his heavy weight on you that you were breathless from it.

Fresh, sweet air rushes into your lungs, and your heart finally starts to slow. You lower your wobbly arms to your sides and start pressing upwards, raising your chest off the ground.

Little pieces of gravel cling to your tank top and you shakily lift a hand to dust them off. You lean back on your knees, and as you are about to shakily pull yourself to your feet, a great, blue hand drifts into your eyesight.

You look up, surprised, and yep, Quaritch is holding his hand out for you to grab in a very startling, very suspicious show of uncharacteristic generosity.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously up at him from your position on your knees kneeling before him, almost certain that the second you reached for it he would pull his hand back like an elementary school bully. You glance at him, and he simply quirks his eyebrow, as if saying, ‘Well? You gonna be a pussy?’.

You hesitantly place your hand into his. He adjusts his grip until he’s holding your hand firmly, and then with the tiniest of tugs, he lifts you up quickly, as though you weigh nothing more than air.

You go flying, almost crashing face-first into his chest again. Luckily enough for your nose and forehead, which still ache from the first time, you are able to stop yourself by bracing a hand against his chest. Your fingers brush against the cool metal of his dog tags.

His chest heaves once, twice, before you are tearing yourself away and stepping three paces back.

“You know, Peach, I almost miss when you were floppin’ around, all loose-limbed and wobbly legs, like a newborn foal. It was fuckin’ hilarious.”

You roll your eyes hard but don’t take his snobby words to heart. That was the thing about Quaritch; if you let him, he’ll poke and poke and poke until you either snap and scream at him or wilt into a pile of tears, just because he’s so damn relentless.

You, on the other hand, had done the only correct thing you could when faced with someone as seemingly mean as Quaritch; you let the things he says roll right off your back. You have to be careful when listening to Quaritch, have to dig deep and pick out all the little words that mean nothing until you're left with the bare bones of what he really means. Ignore his intimidation tactics, ignore his insults, and listen.

Otherwise, his asshole attitude and mean words would just drive a person crazy.

He disguises his compliments inside insults just because he can. And while that may not be good enough for other people, it certainly was enough for you. It was so much better than the irritated snaps and pissy words he would throw at you at the beginning when you were learning the basics, so you’ll gladly take whatever you can get.

Speaking with Quaritch is like speaking an entirely new language.

“Thanks, Quaritch,” you say breathlessly, taking his words for what they really were: a compliment.

He grins at you, smacking you on your sweaty back harshly. Air once again flees your lungs and your knees threaten to give out, but you stay standing simply for the sake of your pride.

“Got enough energy for another round, or you too tired?” he asks smugly.

“Yeah, no, I think I’m done for the day, sorry,” you gasp without shame. It’s a miracle you’re even able to form words right now, really.

He barks out a laugh. “Pussy.”

Quaritch tilts his head up toward the shining sky. Daylight catches in his yellow eyes and turns them a warm, molten gold. It steals the breath from your chest for just a moment, and you stare, caught and unable to look away.

You don’t even realize you’re practically gawking at him, looking like a stunned idiot, before he turns his head back down toward you and shoots you a glower. “What?”

You blink frantically and look down, flustered at being caught. Your hands rise to rub at your eyes, as though you are trying to clear them after staring into the bright sun for too long. “Nothing!”

He looks skeptical but lets it go. His eyes flicker down to your cheek, and he blinks.

Before you can startle or move away, Quaritch lifts his hand and brushes the back of his index finger against the soft skin of your blue cheek. His hand is back at his side so fast you can hardly believe it had happened at all.

You freeze, mind blank as you struggle to understand what just happened. You fully gawk at him now, confused and shocked at the unexpectedly tender action.

Uh. What?

Quaritch blows on his finger and then seems to notice your startled expression. He glares at you, clearly annoyed. “What? You had an eyelash on your cheek. You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He sneers at you, crossing his arms almost defensively over his chest.

You dazedly press a hand softly against the cheek he had brushed against, skin still tingling there. Even if there had been an eyelash there, you can hardly believe he had actually willingly done such a tender act. You can’t imagine him doing that to any of the other members of his team, or even yours.

You suddenly think of him brushing an eyelash from David’s cheek, who gazes up at him as adoringly as you probably had.

The mental image is almost enough to make you giggle hysterically. It is enough to make you a little nauseous.

“Right, right, sorry. Uh, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

His gaze seems to linger on you, eyes flickering over your face and tail flicking erratically behind him. His lips seem to twitch up just slightly at the corners. He rubs the finger he used to brush your cheek, and you wonder if his skin was also tingling. Eventually, Quaritch nods in acquiescence before moving toward the gate of the courtyard.

“See you ‘round, Peach.”

------

You’ve been in Bridgehead for over two months now, but this is the first day it rains.

You stand outside in your Avatar, head tilted back, eyes fluttered closed. It’s hard to say that it’s raining, really; it’s more of a very light, misty drizzle. The raindrops are so small that they seem to dissipate into the air by the time they reach you. Only a few are thick enough to splatter against your face and the concrete ground, but it’s still enough to make the corners of your mouth tilt up into a small, satisfied smile.

Rain back on Earth was not as fresh or clean as the water pouring from the skies of Pandora. Many places on Earth experienced droughts, rain rarely appearing. Other places were constantly wet, soaked with rain that smelled and tasted almost sharp, sour. The rain there was unbalanced, like most of the things back home.

On Pandora, though, it is beautiful, refreshing, clean. It smells sweet as you deeply breathe in the humid air, and every time you do it feels as though something deep in your soul is being healed, something you hadn’t realized was torn. You wonder if this is what it was like back on Earth hundreds of years ago, before all the pollution and corruption of the world.

You’d never felt anything like it before.

The dreary weather turns your small amount of clothing heavy and wet with humidity, making it stick uncomfortably against your slick blue skin. You refuse to go back inside, though, much too pleased to be out and breathing this amazing air.

The drifting clouds above you are gray and thick, full of unreleased water as they block the daylight. As a result, what little light there is reflects sadly off the metal and gray walls of Bridgehead, turning the area even more depressing than usual.

Regardless of the gloomy view, you much rather be out here than in your quarters or with the other members of your group. When you left, the most interesting thing happening was James trying to balance a pencil on his nose while your team lounged around on yet another uneventful day.

I miss Quaritch.

It’s a sudden thought, one that takes you completely by surprise and jolts you straight out of your peaceful position and mindset. It’s a strange insight when you realize you miss someone you probably shouldn’t.

But you just couldn't help it; for all that Quaritch is intimidating and an asshole, he is also really, really… entertaining.

There are a lot of bad things you could say about him and his mean personality, but one could never say he was boring. And it was almost embarrassing, how much he made you laugh. It wasn’t even until a few days ago when he had said something biting some poor soul who walked into a doorframe while staring at his holotablet, and your mouth had lifted once again into an entirely too amused smile. That was when you realized that Quaritch is fucking funny.

Your cheeks were almost hurting with how much he had amused you that day, even just by being Quaritch. There was just something about the crude, mean way things he sometimes said that just tickled you pink. Of course, it was the most amusing when his biting words weren’t directed toward you.

Quaritch has only been gone for two days, away with most of his Recombinant Unit to meet with a few RDA managers on the other side of Bridgehead. It had been a surprise trip, and he left the morning after your last lesson with him. Really, you would have much preferred to go with him, just so you could see the way Quaritch would surely loom over a few tiny, terrified paper-pushers, rolling his eyes at anything they had to say. You would have paid good money to see that.

Spending all this time with Quaritch is kind of making me heartless.

Instead, you’d spent those two days almost bored to tears, waiting impatiently for him to return so you could be entertained.

Quaritch had left you with a sly smirk and another hard smack on your shoulder, promising to return in two days to continue with, as he said, “Our pansy-ass tree-hugger lectures”. He had also promised to be back soon enough to keep kicking your ass in combat.

Asshole.

You pretend not to notice the slight twinge of fondness accompanying that thought.

He’d said he back this afternoon and that you’d continue your lessons tomorrow. It’s completely unfair how much you look forward to seeing that douchebag again.

“What are you doing out here all alone, hm?” Margot’s voice from behind makes you startle slightly, too lost in your thoughts to have noticed the sound of her approaching footsteps even with your ridiculously sensitive ears.

You smile and turn your head to look at her as she comes to a stop to your left. Her Avatar stands just over you by around two inches, but it is still enough to make you tilt your head back just slightly to meet her wide, yellow-green eyes. While your Avatar is just a little bit plusher than a typical Na’vi, in accordance with your human body, Margot’s is thin and tall. She’s beautiful in her human form, but there is just something…ethereal, about these bodies.

Truly, the strength, the agility, the beauty. It simply put human bodies to shame.

You’d spent an embarrassingly long time in front of a mirror when you first started linking, too consumed with awe to do much else but look. Wide, doe-like eyes covered by thick, long eyelashes, not unlike your human body. Sweet, round face, body made more slender by the natural physiology of the Na’vi. It was you, but different.

“What, am I missing something interesting back at the center?” you puff softly in disbelief. “The only thing even remotely entertaining is watching David make a fool of himself again, and even that is getting boring.”

Margot smiles and tilts her head in agreement, crossing her arms over her chest as she says, “Well, you got me there.”

You puff lightly again, this time more in irritation than disbelief. Your arms fold in front of your chest, unconsciously mirroring Margot’s stance. “Really, what’s the point of even being here if we aren’t going to do anything that actually means something? I’m tired of sitting around and staring at the walls all the damn time. It’s been two months and we should be out there, doing what we came here for!”

Fierce annoyance at the RDA suddenly bubbles in your stomach and makes your fists clench. You were a scientist for Christ’s sake, you weren’t meant to just sit around and do fuck all for the rest of your life. You needed to be out in the world, feeling and breathing in nature and science. You’d go crazy if you didn’t do something soon.

You can’t wait until you’re out in Pandora, hearing the breeze ruffle the leaves of the trees. To hear the loud, overwhelming noise of rushing water from a natural waterfall and not a man-made construct. To actually see and experience nature in real life and not through a screen

It had only been three days since Miss Hall had mentioned your team’s first outing into the wilderness of Pandora, but she claims to have received no word from the RDA about when that would happen.

Soon, she promised, but soon could not come fast enough for you.

Margot sighs. “I know. This fucking sucks, but we’ll be out before we know it. And hey, take the time to enjoy the peace and quiet for now. We’ll be up to our tits in research and paperwork soon, and then you’ll be wishing for time off.”

She pops her hip into yours and you wobble to the side. The brief anger that controlled you flees just as fast as it had come. Your hands unclench and your arms fall to your sides.

“Yeah, that’s true. I guess.” You mutter the last two words grumpily, pouting just a little bit.

Margot laughs and uncrosses her arms to throw one around your shoulders.

“We’ll be alright.”

She tilts her head back just as you had a few moments ago, breathing in the sweet air deeply. Her next words are quiet, tinged with heavy melancholy.

“You know, I always wondered what the Earth was like before we came. Do you think there was rain like this?”

You look up at the gray sky yourself. While the color matched the clouds back on Earth, these would eventually dissipate, replaced by a strong, blazing light that warmed everything it touched.

The pollution clouds back home were there to stay.

You swallow. “Yeah. I think there was.”

------

A few hours later, just before the eclipse begins to bring darkness over Bridgehead, you lay your Avatar down to rest in the sleeping quarters and link back into your human body. You were in your Avatar for over six hours, which means you now have a persistent headache that pounds sharply at your temples, a growling stomach, and an irritatingly full bladder.

After relieving yourself and walking to the mess hall to stuff yourself full of sandwiches and coffee, you march back to your room. You lay on your back atop your stiff mattress, staring vacantly up at the blank white ceiling as you struggle to think of something that would entertain you.

When no miracle suggestion arrives in your brain, you huff and sit back up. As you do, you catch sight of something brightly colored laying on your desk, and a wonderful, awful idea pops into your head. You rise from your bed and pad over to your desk and carefully pick the small thing up, raising it closer to your face so you could look at the details.

It’s a simple little thing, about the size of your palm. Small blue strings of beads connect to a green, rock-like pendant, and on the top is a metal circle for attaching a chain or cord to it like a necklace. The Na’vi words of tihawnu and hafyonr were etched into the pendant.

Protection and wisdom.

You’d spent hours on finding the right materials for creating it, marching all across Bridgehead. Then you’d spent hours modeling it.

You made it for Quaritch.

The Na’vi have many pieces of jewelry, clothing, headpieces, and other items they wear with pride, items that have great meaning to them. You got the idea to make it for Quaritch the day he left, as something to give him when he got back. You figured it would be nice for him to have something other than just your words, pictures, and videos about the Na’vi, something tangible that he could actually hold. It wasn’t an authentic piece of Na’vi culture, but it would do.

He's probably back by now. Maybe I should just take it to him.

You consider the thought just briefly before thinking, why not? Not like I’m very fucking busy at the moment.

With that you put your shoes back on, fix your hair, and then you’re walking out the door.

As you make your way toward Quaritch’s room, you begin to have second thoughts. It’s entirely possible he won’t even be back yet, still stuck in meetings. Or maybe he is back, but he laughs right in your face when you give him the pendent, calling you all the stupid and, frankly, uncreative little nicknames he has for you.

Nerves begin to invade as your mind goes over every possibility, your gut twisting. Your face begins to scrunch up in a tight frown, eyebrows furrowing as you scowl darkly at your feet as you walk.

It’s fine, if he doesn’t like it then he doesn’t have to wear it! I’ll take it back and give it to someone who appreciates what I do, like Margot. Maybe I’ll even give it to David!

You think for a moment before wincing, quickly discarding that idea. You’d rather throw it straight into the garbage than give it to David of all people. The asshole would probably just think you were coming onto him or some shit like that.

You arrive at his door much quicker than you hoped, stopping in front and taking another moment to smooth down your clothes and take a deep breath. Then you hesitantly raise your right fist and knock three times on the door. If you can even call it knocking; they’re more light taps than anything else.

When you hear no movement or any footsteps approach the door, you knock three more times, this time making sure it’s loud and clear to hear.

Still, no one opens the door.

Fine with me!

Just as you turn to leave, ridiculously relieved he wasn’t even there, a deep, loud voice booms out from behind you on the other side of the hallway.

“Hey!”

You startle, heart leaping into your throat as you whirl around with wide eyes.

Standing before you is a Recom Unit soldier, one you’ve never seen around Bridgehead before. He’s almost as tall as Quaritch, but not quite as muscled, more lean. While most of the other Recom members you’ve seen have their hair shaved fairly close to their scalps, his is almost long in comparison, even if it is only by a few inches. He’s covered in all kinds of tattoos, wearing the usual green tank top and camo shorts of his unit. The only thing unusual about him is the way he looks even younger than any of the other Recoms.

His wide eyes seem to sparkle as he eats up the remaining distance between you in just two long strides, standing before you with a sharp-toothed, youthful grin. He comes to a stop only a foot from you and you have to take another two steps back to see him correctly. Even then, you have to crank your head back.

“Oh! Uh, hi?” you say nervously. What the hell does this guy even want?

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you! I saw you knocking on Colonel Quaritch’s door. You gotta be Peach, right?” he asks. His smile doesn’t fade even a little bit as he talks.

Your eyebrows rise in surprise before you can help yourself.

Peach? How the hell does this guy know about Quaritch’s little nickname for you? Quaritch can’t have mentioned you to his team in enough detail that they’d be able to spot you standing in a random hall, could he?

Your surprise must show on your face because his grin softens into something a little more genuine. That fierce sparkle never leaves his eyes, though.

“Must wonder how I know you, huh? Quaritch told us all about your little arrangement.”

…Really?

You can’t help your skepticism; you’d never have thought Quaritch would willingly admit to his Recombinants that he needed help with something, let alone help from a ‘science puke’.

The man laughs at the look on your face, eyes scrunching up at the corners. He leans his torso down just slightly to look you better in the eye before he says, “You know, he talks about you a lot. Well, a lot for a man like Quaritch. If you want, I can take you to see him.”

Your mind wavers, torn between being utterly bewildered at the thought of Quaritch talking about you, a lot, apparently, and between considering whether the effort of going with this random stranger to find Quaritch was even worth it.

Eventually, you sigh and nod your head reluctantly in agreement. It’d be much weirder if you backed down now. And besides, you’d already made all this effort. Might as well see it through.

“Uh, yeah, thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

The young man’s grin grows even sharper. He straightens up and sticks his hand out in greeting.

“Cool! My name’s Leo Williams, but you can just call me Williams. If you just follow me, I’ll take you right to the Colonel.”

You clasp his hand with your right hand as best you can, and your entire arm moves up and down with his force as he shakes you vigorously.

This guy is like an excited little puppy.

He releases your arm and then turns around back toward where he came from. He takes three long strides before you remember you’re supposed to be following after him, and you lurch toward his direction, walking quickly to reach him before he rounds the corner of the hallway.

You catch up to him just in time before he leaves your sight. You have to fast walk to keep up with his ridiculous pace, almost jogging at one point. Luckily for you, he seems to notice your predicament, and he slows down with a sheepish grin until you’re walking much easier. While your Avatar body was now in shape and could walk and run easily without even getting out of breath, your original body is defiantly not in such good condition. Especially with all the muffins and coffee you’ve been having these past two months to stave off the boredom.

You walk for a few more minutes before you gather the courage to squeak out, “What have you heard of me?”

“Oh, nothing all that interesting. Quaritch just likes to bitch about the lessons he has to take with you. ‘If you wanna find the Na’vi, you gotta think like the Na’vi’. You know, that kind of shit.” Williams laughs, tossing up air quotes as he mocks Quaritch’s deep voice and unique way of speech. He playfully rolls his eyes when he’s done, looking down at you and shooting you another grin.

“Oh.” You say simply, dejectedly. You scowl at the floor as you continue your path.

It was expected that he’d complain about it, but still. He could be less of a dick about it.

Now that you got him talking, Williams doesn’t shut up for the next twenty minutes. He leads you out of the building, across several busy platforms, and into another building you’ve never been in before. He chats all the while, seemingly about nothing of any importance. He only pauses a few times to let you respond to his questions or give your own opinion before he’s off again, talking about something completely different.

By the time you seemingly reach your destination, you are sorely missing Quaritch’s biting words. At least with him there were comfortable pauses of silence.

You both walk through the sliding glass doors and into a wide area, passing all sorts of massive workout machinery and equipment. Dumbbells the size of your torso litter the ground. Large mirrors reflect your image and the bright, fluorescent lights across the entire area, and you look at your reflection. Just as you thought, you look ridiculously small and insignificant walking next to the giant, bright blue Williams.

This must be the gym area for the Recom Unit. It looks like a playground for giants.

“Well, look who it is. Where the hell you been, Williams?” As you turn a corner, another Recom member pops out of nowhere, slowly setting down the jump ropes he’d been using. He’s panting a little bit, completely shirtless with dark, tattooed words and patterns across his arms, chest, and navel.

“Ah, sorry! I got a little distracted with some of the software I’ve been working on, took me a bit longer than I thought it would to finish. Then I ran into a little someone knocking on Quaritch’s door.” He looks down at you, grinning sheepishly.

Another one comes out of a room full of treadmills. She’s almost as tall as the men she comes to a stop in front of you. Just like the rest of the others you’ve seen, her arms and part of her upper chest are covered in tattoos. But while theirs had been dark and mostly black, hers are full of vibrant yellows, reds, purples, and blues. The colors stand out starkly against her bright blue skin, but the contrast is beautiful. Her hair is pulled back into almost a mohawk style, and she wore it well.

Her golden eyes pierce yours as she looks down at you. Her mouth pulls up into a skeptical sneer.

You suddenly realize you’re completely surrounded by three massive, tattoo-covered, insanely muscular humanoids who excel in combat and are total strangers to you. You can easily admit to yourself that you’re intimidated. Not because you fear for your safety or anything, but because you can only dream about becoming as good as these guys. Only the best of the best can be a part of Quaritch’s team; you know he expects nothing less.

They tower over you by several feet, and you feel like a tiny mouse caught by three giant cats.

Your already fast heartbeat picks up in your chest and you can feel a cold sweat trying to break out on your body. Your face burns from the intense attention you suddenly find yourself the center of. If you had known this would have happened when you knocked on Quaritch’s door, you would have said fuck it and booked it out of there as fast as you could. You’re not afraid, but goddamn are you nervous right now. You really, really want to make a good impression on these people. You’re nowhere near their skill level, and you really wish you were in your Avatar. At least then you’d have some level on them, even if it was minuscule. And you wouldn’t feel so small.

The woman seems to notice your increasing nerves, but thankfully she doesn’t point it out to make fun. Instead, her smirk grows wider and her eyes sharpen.

“What’s this little pipsqueak doing with a knucklehead like you, huh, Williams?” The woman asks, crossing her arms over her chest. The motion causes her biceps to bulge under her tattoos, and she pops her bright pink bubblegum as she scans your body up and down. Her eyebrow raises, expectantly waiting for an answer.

You swallow and lift a hand in a quick nervous wave. You introduce yourself by your first name and weakly say, “Uh, hi! I’m just here for Quaritch, I’ve got something for him.”

“‘Here for Quaritch’, huh?” The woman snickers. She looks you over again slower and much more obviously, this time with less of a calculative look and more of something with a strange gleam in her eye. She smirks when she meets your wide-eyed gaze again, before she loudly says, “You must be Peach.”

Goddamnit! I might as well change that to my permanent name at this point!

Your lips thin, but you manage to laugh weakly and mutter, “Yeah, guess that’s me.”

“Hm. Well, it’s about time you met some of the unit, given that Colonel Quaritch is the head of our team. My name’s Z-Dog,” she pops her gum for emphasis, smug smile never leaving her face, “This asshole here is Lopez. He’s a quiet guy, you won’t be hearing much from him.”

Z-Dog smacks a hand across Lopez’s back, and the cracking sound of her hand making contact with his bare skin and the sheer force of the hit makes you wince. If she ever hit you with even half of that strength, you’d have a dark bruise spanning your entire back for at least a month.

Lopez doesn’t even seem to feel it, though, not even moving an inch from the force or grimacing. Instead, he just rolls his eyes at Z-Dog’s words and starts rubbing his hands with a nearby towel.

You have to wonder if hitting each other isn’t just a Quaritch thing, but something the Recom Unit as a whole just likes to do.

Lopez looks you over in the same considering way Williams and Z-Dog had. While you had been able to figure out at least a little bit of their thoughts, Lopez is a blank slate, expression stoic. His yellow eyes simply flick over you once before returning your gaze.

“And you obviously already met Williams. You need to watch your things when he’s around, the little shit likes to nick stuff when you aren’t paying attention.” She glares pointedly at Williams, who laughs guiltily but nods his head in agreement.

“Hey, I only take the things you aren’t going to be using! And I give them back eventually, you gotta admit that.”

Z-Dog scoffs and rolls her eyes but relents and turns her attention back to you. She tilts her head in consideration as she stares down at you. Her smirk grows salacious.

“So. You got something for Quaritch, huh? Can we see it?” The tone of her voice as she speaks makes it seem as though she doesn’t really think you have anything to show her.

Why else would I be here for Quaritch if I didn’t have something to say or give him?

“Couldn’t you have waited and given it to him tomorrow morning? Don’t you guys have your little, uh, lessons, then?” Z-Dog snickers and adjusts her hips just slightly enough for it to be suggestive. Lopez rolls his eyes and elbows her hard in the side of her stomach, but you can see his own small, crude smirk. Williams looks like he’s barely able to hold in his own laugh, rubbing at his jaw and flushing a light lilac.

No way.

You barely keep from gasping and clutching at your neck like you have pearls, but only just. If you had thought your face was red before, it’s nothing compared to the fire that spreads through your cheeks, ears, and all the way down your chest. Embarrassment and surprise are shockwaves through your limbs.

They totally think we’re fucking! Oh my god! Why?!

Their insinuations were not at all subtle, probably trying to get a reaction from you.

God, these fuckers are just like Quaritch.

You swallow thickly, dignity and pride fleeing from you quickly. They must think you’re some sort of pet for Quaritch, dropping everything to come when he calls. They think your lessons and training sessions are just when you and Quaritch-when you and Quaritch-

Oh, this is so humiliating! Why can’t they just act like grownups and not middle school boys! They’re making fun of you!

The overwhelming embarrassment coursing through you lights an angry fire in your stomach. Your fists clench at your sides, eyebrows furrowing.

“No, I can’t show it to you because it’s confidential, and I know that Quaritch does not like to be kept waiting, so if you don’t mind, I think I’ll be heading to him now.” The snap doesn’t come out as aggressive as you wanted it to, but the point gets across.

Z-Dog keeps snickering but relents, throwing her hands up. “Alright pipsqueak, we were just making fun. Williams will take you to him, don’t worry your pretty little head.”

Your anger blows away like smoke and you blink, relaxing your fists.

Well, that was easy.

“Besides, wouldn’t want to keep Quaritch waiting for his girl any longer, huh?”

Never mind.

You scowl but let it go. She’s just poking at you, trying to see how long it’ll take for you to blow. Just like Quaritch, really.

You turn your frown into a tight smile. “Thanks for your help.”

Z-Dog scans your face for anything else she can use to make you angry, before sighing deeply. She crosses her arms over her chest once more, and her smirk becomes just slightly more genuine.

“You know, I think I kind of like you, almost as much as the Colonel does. Guess we’ll see you around. Maybe you’ll meet more of the squad soon.” Z-Dog shoots you one last smirk. Lopez rolls his eyes at her again but gives you a tiny nod goodbye, and then they’re off, sauntering out of the room and toward the front of the gym with not a care in the world.

“Nice meeting you, Peach.” She tosses a peace sign over her shoulder before she’s out of your view.

You watch them go, stunned that this little conversation had even taken place. You really, really hope they weren’t off to tell the rest of the team about the stupid little human woman that was on her way to meet with Quaritch in private and wouldn’t even tell them why. That would be the last thing you need. Clearly, they already think something else is going on, and you don’t want to give them any more fuel than they already have to make fun. Are they as bored as you are and the only thing they can do to entertain themselves is sitting around gossiping like a bunch of old ladies?!

God, you can’t imagine what Quaritch must have said or done that got them all even thinking about this!

You’re jolted out of your concerned thoughts when Williams gently places a hand on your back.

“You ready to go, Peach?” he asks lightly.

You turn around and glare up at him, clearly still a little miffed about what just happened and the way he had laughed at your expense.

He has the shame to wince a little bit. “Yeah, sorry about that. The team can get a little…rowdy, when they’re bored.”

You stare at him harshly for a moment longer before sighing and nodding your head in acquiescence. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t something all that serious anyways.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

Forgiven, Williams grins in relief before pushing you forward, his palm still in contact with your back.

“Quaritch should be right over in the weights section of the gym! He likes to spend a lot of time over there. I think it’s just something for him to do when he’s not ranting about Jake Sully and the Na’vi.”

He leads you deeper into the gym and up a flight of stairs before turning left.

“You know, I think he likes working out more than he likes the team, and-”

But the rest of Williams's sentence is drowned out, muted in your ears, because in front-in front of you is-

Oh…my god. Oh my god. Jesus. Fucking Christ.

Your thoughts, your concerns, your nervousness, it all drifts away and into the wind with nary an attempt to pull them back. Your mind goes blissfully blank, all too eager to focus on the sight in front of you.

Quaritch grunts and lifts his arms, raising a bar attached to a ridiculous number of weights. His sharp teethed are clenched, and for the first time, you actually see sweat heavily beaded on his face and chest.

And the real kicker, the thing that knocks your breath straight from your chest, is the fact that he’s shirtless.

You gape at the wide expanse of muscled, deep blue skin that’s proudly on display in front of you. Sweat glistens on his taught stomach, and his biceps bulge as he lifts the bar a few more times before setting it on the ledge. He pants for breath, pink tongue peeking out and tracing the line of his bottom lip.

He looks debauched.

Warmth blossoms deep in your stomach.

Williams’s constant stream of babble slowly filters back into your ears, and you blink. You hadn’t even noticed that your eyes had begun to burn from the time you had been staring at Quaritch, completely uninterrupted, not even blinking once.

You swallow thickly and struggle to break free of your trance. Even then, you don’t tear your eyes away from Quaritch. Luckily, Williams is too focused on his own talking to care much about where you are looking.

Everything that has led to this moment has been so, so worth it.

Quaritch sits up, still breathing deeply, grabs a gray towel from the ground laying next to him, and uses it to wipe the sweat from his face. After he’s satisfied with that, he runs the towel over his chest and down toward his navel. The towel brushes the edge of his shorts, going under by just a centimeter.

You nearly swallow your tongue.

“…and even then, I definitely didn’t think he was going to be able to fit the whole thing in the helicarrier-oh hey, boss!”

Williams jolts out of his speech, lifting an exciting hand to wave at Quaritch even though he’s just on the other side of the room.

Quaritch finishes wiping the sweat from his body, face set in its usual neutral expression as he turns to look towards William’s loud voice. His yellow eyes flick several feet down from Williams's beaming face to your own. You don’t even know what your face looks like at this point; nervous, blank, or ridiculously dazed. You’re praying for blank.

Quaritch’s eyebrow raises when he sees you, surprise stretching over his face before it settles into the regular slow, sly grin he seems to favor. He lowers the towel and turns fully to face you.

Williams pushes you forward as he marches closer to Quaritch. His hand is still pressed against your back, as though you’re about to take this chance to run away.

Quaritch notices Williams’s proximity to you. His eyes seem to darken and he glares at him, teeth clenching once more. He stands from the workout equipment he had been using, and he even seems to tower over Williams’s lean form, let alone your own.

Williams notices Quaritch’s glare and jerks his arm away from you guiltily. Quaritch’s tense expression relaxes just a little bit.

“Hey boss, looks like something sweet is here for you!”

“I can see that, kid. A peach, just for me?” Quaritch grins slyly.

You think you’ve set a new record for the number of times a person can blush in a day. Your already flushed face burns brighter at his words. The amount of heat radiating off of them is insane, and the overwhelming scent of Quaritch’s sweat is… strange. It’s not as sharp and pungent as human sweat, no, it’s almost sort of…sweet, like the rain you had smelled earlier.

Yeah, something sweet with an underlying hint of tartness, like citrus or lemon.

Whatever it is, it’s fucking good. You wonder if all members of the Recom Unit, all the ones stuck in their Avatar bodies, smell as good as he does. You hadn’t smelled anything from Z-Dog and Lopez, but they hadn’t been sweating as much as Quaritch.

You remember when you first met up with him while in your Avatar body, the way his rainwater and coffee smell nearly had you losing your mind. If that’s what it’s going to be like if you meet others of the Recom Unit while in your Avatar, you’re going to have to avoid them forever so you don’t embarrass yourself.

Why the fuck does Quaritch always smell so good?! What kind of body wash is he using, and where can I get some?

Your lips press together before you smile hesitantly and reply,

“Ha. Yep, it’s me. I just, uh, I just came to give you a-”

You choke and cut yourself off before you can finish your sentence.

I can’t fucking say I’m here to give Colonel Quaritch what’s practically a fucking friendship pendant! He’d kill me!

You cough lightly and resume your sentence, hoping nobody noticed your pause. “I have something for you?” It comes out more of a squeaky question than a statement.

But Quaritch doesn’t make fun of your voice like you thought he would, for once not rising to the easy bait. Instead, he simply raises another eyebrow and repeats, slowly, like you’re an idiot, “Something?”

Williams wiggles his eyebrows again as he looks down at you, mouth opening quickly to say something you know you won’t like. Quaritch notices and glowers at him before snapping, “That’ll be all, soldier.”

Williams closes his mouth with a click and holds his hands up in mock defeat as he backs away from you and Quaritch. His sharp smile stretches across his face boyishly and he makes finger guns at you while saying, “Bye, Peach!”

You and Quaritch watch Williams’s lean form leave the weights area via the sliding glass door. Neither of you speaks until the door slides all the way shut again, leaving only silence.

He sighs deeply, as though he has all the weight of the world on him just because you came to see him. It makes you scowl.

“Alrigh’, Peach. What’s so important you couldn’t wait till tomorrow?” He crosses his arms over his chest. You struggle to keep your eyes on his face and not on his bare skin. He’s so tall that it makes that simple task so hard, because all you want to do is just look down slightly, and he probably wouldn’t even be able to tell you were ogling him.

You open your mouth and suddenly find your brain devoid of words.

Quaritch groans and tosses his head back in exasperation before he grabs a hold of your right upper arm. He leads you over to the steep staircase you had struggled up when Williams lead you to Quaritch, and gestures for you to stay at the top. You follow his command, albeit confused, and he takes a few steps down the platform. His height shrinks just a little bit

He stands just a little bit away from you, but now you don’t have to crane your neck to look up at him and he doesn’t have to look down at you so far. You’re still much shorter than him, but still, it’s much better.

You’re surprised he even bothered; the past times you had spoken to him while in your human form, he had used your height difference to intimidate you, scare you into helping him. This was a surprisingly kind gesture. You're also astounded he hadn't just made you stand on a stool like a toddler.

You grin at him, entirely too warm-faced.

He notices and scoffs. “I just didn’t want to have to bend down and break my damn back to talk to you, is all.” There’s another brief pause before he snaps,

“Well? I don’t have all damn day.”

Before you lose the meager amount of courage you had mustered in your heart, you gingerly take the green pendant from your pocket and lifted it between your bodies. It’s grasped tightly in your hand, your fingers clenched around it before you loosen your grip.

Your stomach tightens before you can speak, butterflies erupting deep in your gut. You can already feel your face blushing. Your eyes flutter down to the ground before you can stop yourself, just so you don’t have to see whatever unpleasant expression will come over Quaritch’s face.

You reach over and grab Quaritch’s hand as best you can, lifting his arm. Surprisingly, he lets you. You carefully press the pendant into his blue palm, fingers tingling when they brush against his. Your hands linger together for just a moment too long for it to be casual before you quickly move away with an awkward cough. You swallow thickly, opening your mouth hesitantly before you quietly say,

“I made this for you. It’s just a pendant. The Na’vi believe that the word on it brings protection and wisdom. I know it’s not really authentic, given that it was made by a human and out of materials found around Bridgehead, but I just figured you might want something physical to go along with our lessons. Just so it isn’t only my words and the pictures I show you, I don’t know.” You babble on and on, too afraid to stop talking.

You lift your eyes hesitantly to look at him, gaze flickering across his face quickly to take in his thoughts. His face is blank, but there is a look in his eyes. Confusion, perhaps, or maybe disbelief? There’s a slight furrowing of his eyebrows, but he doesn’t immediately scoff or make fun of you like you thought he would.

“…For me?”

He slowly lifts his arm, as if expecting you to leap backward and laugh in his face. He brings the pendant closer to his face to examine it.

“I dunno, I just thought you might like to have something kind of from them, just to, uh, really put yourself in their mindset, I guess. You don’t actually have to wear it or anything, I just figured you might want to look at it? But yeah, I made it for you.”

Your voice trails off near the end of your sentence, becoming quieter and quieter until you’re almost whispering. Your shoulders lower in on yourself and you grasp your left wrist in your hand in front of your body, quietly putting your head down and looking at the floor.

A few seconds pass in tense silence. When Quaritch makes no sound and doesn’t move a muscle, you discreetly raise your head slightly and take a peek at his face. Your fists clench tightly and your stomach drops when you see his expression remains stoic, eyebrows lowered and eyes filled with an emotion you simply cannot name.

Stupid, stupid! This was a bad idea! He hates the Na’vi, why would you even make something that you knew he wouldn’t even-

Quaritch clears his throat and your head shoots up fully to meet his eyes with your own wide, too-hopeful ones. You imagine you look like a sad, stupid little girl, but you just can’t help yourself. Every time you talk with him, you always seem to forget yourself, say and do and feel more than you should.

He stares down at you, eyes boring into yours. You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to.

“Thank you.”

The words are spoken so softly you barely hear them, but they’re enough to make the tension release its hold on and sweet relief and warmth bloom in your chest.

He accepted it, he didn’t even throw it back in your face!

You relax, shoulders relaxing. A deep, unbidden sigh leaves your mouth before you can help yourself. You beam up at him, happy eyes suddenly scrunching up slightly from the force of your smile, face surely alight with joy. You suddenly feel ridiculously delighted.

Oh. I’m so glad I did this.

Quaritch looks surprised at your obvious reaction, and his bright yellow eyes soften. Unknown emotion flickers across his face before it’s gone in a flash and even more surprise takes over. His ears flick twice on the sides of his head.

He returns your smile almost hesitantly. His eyes are still stunning and they almost glow, even in the bright lights of the gym center.

He looks the most unsure and taken aback you’ve ever seen him, but his smile. Oh, the smile is so different from his usual sly smirks or smug grins.

This smile is genuine and small and sweet.

He looks so pretty.

Your chest clenches and you swallow hard. Your heart begins to pound, breath coming quickly. A tight, overwhelming urge to move, to do something vividly overcomes you. Your hands twitch at your sides, your feet shuffle an inch closer. You can’t help the way your eyes drift down to his soft-looking lips just once before quickly snapping back to Quaritch’s gaze.

Even on the steps he’s so much taller than I am right now. Maybe-Maybe I could get him to lower himself down so I could kiss him-

Your eyes pop wide and you almost gasp, viscously jerked straight out of your vivid thoughts as you realize what you’d been thinking. That wonderful, fuzzy feeling of warmth that clouded your thoughts abruptly pops, and you’re left in the unrelenting grip of cold, unfeeling reality.

Holy shit!

You jerk back a step with a quick breath and break the fierce eye contact you had been holding with Quaritch for an unknown time. It could have been seconds or minutes, you don’t even know anymore.

It seems you weren’t the only one lost in the moment. The second you step back the spell is broken, and Quaritch jerks back in the same manner you had. You hadn’t even realized he had been leaning closer as well, muscles just as tense as yours, chest frozen still as though he wasn’t breathing.

Even now, even though he had moved back, he refuses to look away from you. You clear your throat loudly and smooth an unsteady hand over your pristine, unwrinkled shirt, and you can feel his intense yellow eyes burning into the side of your face.

The both of you remain still, neither one wanting to make the first move of shifting backward or forwards.

Eventually, Quaritch takes a step closer into your bodily space. The smell of him becomes even stronger, and you can’t help the way you breathe it in deeply one last time, mind unwillingly going fuzzy, before holding your breath. You’re frozen, unable to move as he hovers over you.

You find the courage to finally look up from the ground to return his intense gaze. The sight that meets you stuns you, makes your heart thunder in your chest.

The warmth from earlier returns with a vengeance, swirling down deep in your stomach. A pulse begins to pound between your legs, and you shift as unnoticeable as you can.

Quaritch’s eyes are dark and burning, and you’re locked in, helpless now. You can’t move even as he lowers his head down to yours, and for one thrilling moment, you think he’s going to press his lips against yours. Your mouth tingles just from the thought. You want to close your eyes, but your brain refuses.

Instead of kissing you, a large hand gently presses a soft thumb against the tender, sensitive skin of your pink bottom lip.

You gasp, gaze lowering and cheeks burning. Your breath comes quick, fluttering against his hand as your chest rises and falls. If someone saw you now, they would think you looked just as debauched as you thought Quaritch looked earlier, cheeks rosy and eyes glossed over.

He consumes every angle of your view. He overwhelms your senses so much that the only thing you can feel is him, think is him.

His thumb presses closer, so close to touching your tongue, and you just can’t take it anymore.

Your pink little tongue brushes against his skin, taking a taste before darting away just as fast as it dared, but it's too late.

Quaritch hisses between his sharp clenched teeth, long and strained, and your eyes dart back up to his face. Your heart jolts when you realize he’s enjoying this as much as you are, as tempted as you are. His pupils are massive, leaving only a ring of gold. Tension and, god, desire battle on his face.

“You know, Peach, I’m not sure how much of this I can handle before I take what I want.” The words are tense, whispered through clamped teeth, and you want, oh how badly you want to give in, to smash your lips to his. But there’s something that warns you in the back of your head, something that hisses that once he’s had you he’ll abandon you. You’re just a new, shiny little toy that he’ll fuck and be done with. You won’t matter to him if you sleep with him.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Against everything, all your instincts, all the voices, all your gut says, you like Quaritch. You like spending time with him, like the way his eyes crinkle whenever he laughs, like the way he teases you. You like his curled smile, like how hard he always seems to make you laugh, the way your skin tingles whenever you touch, the way he gets adorably frustrated when he fumbles a Na’vi word, the way he never lets you give up, even when you’re exhausted. You could go on and on and on.

You want to matter to him. He's important to you now.

The reality hits you hard. You have feelings for Quaritch.

So far on Pandora, Quaritch has been the main person that has kept you sane. Margot is a blessing, but what you feel for Quaritch is so different. Yes, he can be a massive dick sometimes, and yes, he has a very strange, almost obsessive hatred toward certain people. There are a lot of bad things you can say about him, but it’s the small, almost unnoticeable, kind things he does for you. Just being in his presence makes you stupidly pleased.

Maybe it’s just you turning crazy from being on an alien planet, bored, and suddenly having a whirlwind of chaos crashing into your life. Maybe it’s from spending hours together every day for months, pressed up against one another and fighting and learning and teaching. Seeing rare little parts of one another that no one else seems to see. You’ve shown him vulnerability, and he’s shown it to you as well, in his own way. You highly doubt he’s walking around brushing eyelashes from other people’s cheeks or thanking them so softly when they give him things.

You really, really like him.

And you don’t want to ruin that.

So, you shift back.

It’s just an inch, barely more than a centimeter, but it makes all the difference. Suddenly, you can breathe again.

Air rushes into your lungs, and the world around you seems to shift and open up. It’s not just you and Quaritch standing on a staircase, lost in one another. The sound of the overhead fan filters into your ears, and cool air brushes against your cheeks. Your fuzzy head clears, and the tenseness in your body fades as you relax, resolute in your decision.

You want, oh how you want, but it’s just too soon. If you slept together and things ended badly, whatever you had with Quaritch would be ruined, and you’d spend the rest of your life avoiding him.

You want Quaritch to be in your life, god help you.

So you’ll wait, until you’re sure he actually, fully cares about you. Until you’re sure he isn’t just playing with you, isn’t just wanting to fuck you because you’re something new.

And if that never happens, then fuck it, you’re fine being friends with him until he gets bored.

You open your eyes you hadn’t even realized you shut and look up. Quaritch is already looking at you. His eyes are still mostly black, and he surprises you when he speaks.

“You’re testing my patience, Peach.” The words are supposed to convey annoyance, but his tone is as gentle and understanding as you’ve ever heard it. You’d had no idea he could sound like that.

Fondness strikes you hard.

You stretch your arm over the steps and reach up as high as you can, standing on your tiptoes. Your fingers barely brush against the soft skin of his right cheek. Just for a second, Quaritch leans down until your hand can better encompass his face. He tilts his head and leans into you, yellow eyes looking like warm, melted butter. His desire still burns there, but it’s faded into something almost tender, and it makes your heart swell.

You realize that maybe Quaritch doesn’t want to lose your tentative, fragile little relationship either.

He’s always surprising me.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Quaritch.” You whisper softly. You stroke his face one last time before dropping your arm.

“…See you tomorrow, Peach.” He says, just as quietly as you before he leans back.

You look into his eyes one last time, and then step to the side and walk past him. You hear him turn to watch you go.

“Hey, Peach?”

You turn around as you make it so the bottom of the stairs, hands in your jean pockets. Quaritch stands higher up than ever before, and a wide expanse of stairs separates you.

“…Thanks again.” He lifts his arm, and you can see the flash of green of your pendant clutched gently in his large blue hand.

You smile. “Of course, Quaritch.”

Tagging: I tried to get everyone!!

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somethingtizz · 6 months

Text

Cozy lil kiddos

Brownie belongs to @kathren-is-here

Larry belongs to @salad-of-potatoes

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rosewaterandivy · 8 months

Text

Live from New York…

Summary: a meet cute for everyone’s favorite rockstar!eddie and head SNL writer/weekend update anchor gf

WC: 4204 🫠 (my hand slipped)

Pairing: rockstar!eddie x screenwriter!gf

Warning/Themes: work related stress, smitten Eddie, hectic SNL schedule built around cocaine, meddling actor!steve harrington, encounters in close quarters, Eddie wearing Le Labo Santal 33– which should be a warning all its own, my usual brand of filth™️

A/N: we’ve had our meet cute with actor!steve, now it’s Eddie’s turn!

Series masterlist | playlist | currently spinning:

At Studio 8H, you always hit the ground running on Mondays. Hopefully, you’d lazed away or slept off the hangover from the after-party on Sunday, but sometimes you weren’t so lucky.

Today was one of those days.

A subway ride from hell, you were pretty sure your bodega guy was mad at you (again), and the inevitable spins and mouth sweats which could only mean—

“Hey killer!” Pete greets, towing the week’s host and musical guest behind him.

And because this situation could only get worse, you hold up a solitary finger and duck into a nearby dressing room to puke and rally.

“Fuckin’ Mondays, am I right?”

A rich voice greets you as you make your entrance back into the hallway, someone wearing a panoply of rings shoves a cold water bottle in your hand while you push your sunglasses up the bridge of your nose.

“Y’alright there, boss?”

A nod as you guzzle some water.

“Just peachy, Davidson.” You heave a sigh, grimacing as you make eye contact with the host, Steve Harrington, and one fifth of the musical guest in the form of Eddie Munson. “Sorry for the uh—" you gesture vaguely to the dressing room.

“No worries,” Steve says with a smile, “We’ve all been there.”

Eddie, for his part, snorts a laugh.

“Charmed,” you chirp, readjusting your canvas tote on your shoulder and resuming your walk down the hall.

“Pitch meeting in 5!”

The Monday meeting was always a wash. Pitches that were half-formed or outright veto’d by Lorne or the host, and Pete giving the same pitch for the fourth month running that no one bit at.

Typical.

Steve was affable enough, charming in the way only an actor could be, easy to laugh and joke. Eddie Munson, however, was all long-limbed ease and looked at you in a way that was unnerving.

No matter. You didn’t have the time to contemplate why the frontman of Corroded Coffin irked you, not when the cast members were especially needy for your attention and the writers retreated to the conference room.

“Chloe,” you huff as the small blonde trails after you, mouth going a mile a minute about a new impression she’d perfected.

You stopped short at your office door, causing Chloe to bump into you. With a slow turn, you try to smile in a well-meaning way, sunglasses sliding down your nose again.

“Can this wait until later?” Your hand twists the handle, allowing you to slip inside the room and escape the sad fall of her face. “I promise you’ll have my undivided attention this afternoon, okay?”

That seems to perk her back up. She gives you a smile and salute before trotting off back to her dressing room.

You sigh and slide back against the closed door, eyes slipping shut for the briefest of moments. Not open long enough to clock a mop of brown curls lazing on your couch.

“Exhausting being on top, isn’t it?”

Your eyes open only to land on Eddie Munson, laid out on your couch as if he owns the place.

“How did you get in here?”

You cross to the desk, heaving your tote onto it and peel the glasses from your face. Falling into your chair, you await his reply and open up your laptop.

Rooting around in your tote for your notes, you notice a coffee cup and danish at his side.

“Is that my cherry danish and cold brew?”

“Hmm?” He turns toward the sound of your voice. “Oh, this? An intern dropped it off.”

Eyeing the bite taken out of the danish, you sigh. “And you just assumed it was for you?”

“It’s not?”

“Unless Corroded’s rider has something about cherry danishes on it—“

“I just thought since your little performance this morning, you wouldn’t be in the mood.”

He sits up with a stretch, arms rising above his head, a sliver of skin visible above the band of his boxer-briefs.

Calvin’s, of fucking course.

You repress the need to roll your eyes. “How kind,” you say instead, flipping through your notes and typing a few ideas down.

“I thought so.” Eddie stands up, depositing the danish and coffee on your desk. “I’m more of a bagel and lox guy myself.”

“I’ll alert the media.”

He smiles slow, which is more attractive than you’d bargained for, annoyingly enough. His teeth are perfect against the plush pink of his lips, and he’s close enough, leaning against your desk, that you can smell the faint scent of his cologne— wood, leather, and violet?— cut through with a faint aroma of tobacco.

“I only have your best interests at heart, sugar.”

By Thursday, things started to even out. Some solid pitches turned into sketches, bumpers filmed and canned, and one only one sex dream about Eddie Munson.

You’d take what you could get.

It was basically inevitable, that fucker has been annoying you all week— popping into your office uninvited, sending the interns out for inane tasks just to get you alone, and, the real kicker, sending Harrington in as reinforcements.

“He’s not a bad guy,” Steve says, taking another bite of his lunch— subs from the Teamsters, your favorite day of the week.

“Munson?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, having made out your garbled phrase. “Ed just comes on strong, but he’s harmless.”

You roughly swallow and take a sip form your drink. “Whaddya mean?”

Steve pauses, sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Oh, uh,” he shrugs, “He likes you. Was that not obvious?”

You stare at him blankly.

Eddie Munson, attracted to you?

Yeah, when hell freezes over.

“He’s just razzing me,” you say, more to yourself than Steve.

He drops his sub on the wax paper and wipes his mouth with a napkin.

“That’s what you think?!”

“Well—" you sputter, indignantly. “If that’s how he shows his interest…”

Steve laughs, a bright and delightful thing. If only it wasn’t at your expense.

“Oh my god,” he wheezes. “Robin’ll get a kick outta this— holy shit.”

He pulls out his phone and sends off a text. The next thing you know, his assistant is barreling through your office door.

“You’re shitting me,” is what she says, eyes cutting from him to you. Communicating in some secret language of eye contact and gestures that was wholly beyond you.

That lunch was the last semblance of peace you’d had for the week before Eddie Munson began wooing you with increased vigor.

By Saturday, you’d had just about enough of his nonsense. More flowers than you knew what to do with, mini fridge in your office stocked with all your favorites, the writers actually doing their jobs for once— which was honestly just creepy, but you’d allow it.

“What did he do?”

It was the final read-through before the dress rehearsal later that evening. The writer’s room was packed, and no one had tried to kill anyone else yet.

Truly bizarre.

“What did who do?”

“Cut the shit,” You grouse back. “Munson, what did he do, threaten you idiots? Promise backstage passes— what?”

A hang-dog new hire sighed. “Said he’d have our guts for garters if we fucked up your week.”

“Yeah,” someone else chorused. “Said we’d wish all those Satanic rumors were true once he was done with us.”

And, as a result, no one had tried to steal your Emmy this week, you occasionally went home at a decent-ish hour, and no one had unnecessarily barricaded themselves in their dressing room.

Huh.

Maybe Harrington had a point.

Eddie Munson attracted to you? It’s more likely than you think!

The thought eluded you through the dress rehearsal and show itself, but reared its ugly head at the after-party.

A successful show, a compliment from Lorne, and several drinks had you feeling warm and buzzy. Harrington had wrangled you up on a table when “Teenage Dirtbag” came on, assured you it would be fine dancing on tabletops in high-heeled boots.

All was well and good until someone spilled a drink on said table and nearly sent you toppling to the floor.

Strong arms gripped your waist, settling you against a broad shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“The fuck was that?!” crowed up at Steve, the music far too loud for you to make out his response, before you’re carried from the dance floor to the coat check room and placed back on your feet.

Right side up, Eddie looks flushed and concerned, checking your face and body for any signs of injury.

“You okay?”

Voice softer than you’re used to, not the gruff exterior or persona he plays into for the public. And, it’s nice. You’re just buzzed enough not to be horrified at the realization.

You laugh and press a finger into his heaving chest, “You like me, dontcha?”

Eddie laughs, dodging your gaze as his chin tucks into his chest. “Honestly?” He says after a beat, “You scare the shit outta me.”

“What,” you pout, “Little old me?”

Your finger idly traces nonsensical shapes against the black cotton of his shirt. He takes a breath, watching the trajectory of your hand.

“Not in a bad way,” he allows, eyes finally dragging back to you. All warm umber and hints of whisky. His hand touches yours, bringing an end to your wandering fingers.

Eddie swallows audibly and cocks his head to the side. “You’re just so…”

“Intense?”

There’s that slow smile again. He takes a step closer to you, hesitant as if he’s expecting you to push him away.

You don’t.

A shake of his head that frees a few strands from the low bun he’d dawned at curtain call. You brush your fingers against the soft curls and scruff of his jaw.

Eddie takes in a sharp breath, eyes closing minutely as his forehead rests against yours.

“You,” he breathes, voice low, “Are going to ruin me.”

Not a threat, but a promise.

A smile tugs at your lips. “Awfully presumptuous of you, Munson.”

“Call it a hunch, sweetheart.”

You close the distance between you with your lips. They slot into his with ease, your hand tangling itself into the curls at the nape of his neck.

He groans, something low from the cage in his chest and steps between your legs as your eyes fall shut. Your back hits the wall, his hand cradling your head, thumb rubbing idly along your scalp.

Eddie smells divine, and you’re not sure whether it’s the drinks or your own hormones that are to blame. But he tastes even better, the burn of whisky a comfort as his tongue sweeps across your bottom lip.

You open beneath him like a night-blooming flower, lips, and legs parting with ease. A wet click when you part, allowing you to take a shaky breath in. He moves along your jaw, soft lips sponging kisses there before lighting upon your neck.

“Fucking hell,” you groan, head rolling back against the wall behind you, earning a low laugh from him.

Everything feels amazing, your skin is buzzing at his attention, hands desperate to grab hold and never let go.

As his hips cant into your own, you can feel the hot, hard line of him. Your eyes flying open at the sensation and the thought that you may very well die getting dicked down by Eddie Munson in a coatroom.

But oh, what a way to go.

He’s on you again, lips and tongue eager for entry, before you can say anything stupid. Your mouth opens with a stuttered breath as Eddie slowly grinds against you.

He’s saying something, praises falling from his lips but you can’t possibly reply. Too wound up from arousal to be any sort of conversationalist. The pressure against your clothed heat is just right, and you’d like nothing more to get his pants off and ride Eddie to kingdom come.

That is until Steve Harrington barrels through the door.

“Oh shit,” he says, stifling a laugh. “My bad.”

He’s in and out in two seconds, but the mood is broken.

Eddie’s head rests against your shoulder while he catches his breath. You can feel the heat of his flush against your neck.

“So,” he begins, voice a low rasp. “I guess—"

“Your hotel is closer.”

He perks up at that, head rising from your shoulder with a quirked brow.

“Essex House, right?”

Eddie nods, picking up what you’re putting down. He scrambles for his phone, texting something before grabbing you by the hand and leading you out of the club and into the brisk New York night.

Falling back against the plush comforter, you drag Eddie down with you. Teeth clicking against each other in the effort. He huffs a laugh into your mouth, pushing you back against the pillows on the bed.

“You’re a pretty good kisser,” you say, propping up on your elbows.

“I may have heard that once or twice,” he says, tugging his shirt up and his head before tossing it elsewhere.

You make quick work of his jeans, while he occupies himself with mapping the geography of your body with his lips. He nips at your hip, earning a squeak of surprise from you as his arms cage you in.

His hair, now loose from the torment of your hands, tickles as it drags along your exposed skin. Eddie popping open the buttons of your blouse torturously slow.

Your lips claim his once more as his finger skims against the soft curve of your breast. You shudder at the sensation, unable to focus on anything except him.

Half-lidded eyes gaze down at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. With a roll of your eyes, you wiggle out of your shirt and pop the button of your trousers.

He’s quick to follow, fingers pulling at the fly and tugging the offending fabric from your legs.

The second the damp lace of your thong makes an appearance, Eddie groans loudly— head falling against your hip.

“Oh, my god.”

Too pent up to feel bashful, you tangle your fingers in his hair and give it a tug. Another groan, lower and deeper than the last.

“So pretty,” he breathes against your heat causing you to shiver.

His fingers hook into the fabric and pull them down the plush of your thighs, lips skating across the sensitive skin as he goes. Eddie is back on you before you can sit up to take off your bra; tugging you up to settle on his lap while reaching around to expertly unhook the lacy garment.

Distracting you with a kiss, it takes you a minute to realize that Eddie has apparently been struck stupid at the sight of you bare before him. His eyes rove over what feels like every inch of your body, as if he could never get enough.

“Hey,” you prompt with a roll of your hips. It’s delicious and delightful, sending sparks straight to your core. A soft sigh before you continue, “How do you want me?”

That seems to wake him back up. Eddie shakes himself alive and says with a bite to your lips, “As many times as I can have you, sweetheart.”

He lays you gently back down and grabs a condom from the bedside table. Before you can offer your assistance, however, he’s back between your legs with a singular focus: making you come. Hard and frequent.

By the time you reach your peak for the second time, he’s three knuckles deep and two fingers in. Your babbling incoherently while he smirks up at you, occasional coos of “Doin so well f’me” and “You can take another, right sugar?”

You nod, impatient for your next orgasm. Who would’ve thought that Eddie Munson could turn you into a needy brat without even seeing his dick?

Certainly not you.

“Eddie,” a broken pathetic whine from you. He’s worked in a third finger, impossibly, and you’re about to explode.

Pulling his lips from you clit, he glances up, lips and chin wet with your slick. “Yeah?”

The lighting in the room is low and warm, only enhancing his features, eyes blown dark with lust and lips ruddied and swollen from licking and kissing.

Another whine as you make grabby hands at him, “Wanna come on your cock.”

He chuckles lowly, sponging a kiss at your hip. “That so?”

You nod dumbly and wet your lips.

He rubs along your g-spot and your eyes roll back into your skull.

“Hmm,” he hums, “Why don’t you come on my fingers again and then you can make a mess on my cock?”

Not the answer you wanted to hear, but you’re too far gone to care. A petulant pout on your lips, but before you can make your retort, Eddie does that magical thing with his fingers again making you keen as you come.

Your vision whites out briefly, walls shuddering at his ministrations wetly.

“There’s a good girl,” he says, voice silky and low. “Knew you could do it.”

Damp fingers grasp your chin before prodding at your lips. You open your mouth to suck at them, tongue grazing against the cool silver of his rings as he watches.

Faintly, you hear the tearing of the condom wrapper as he extricated his hand from your mouth. Calvin’s long gone now, Eddie fists his cock to roll the condom down his shaft. And you can’t seem to pick your jaw up from the floor.

He looks almost nervous, brows furrowed and biting his lip. You can see why— he’s got the biggest and prettiest dick you’d ever seen. Cockhead flushed a rosy pink as he strokes himself, and you're not the best at spatial awareness but there are definitely several inches of him to reckon with.

“Hey,” you say with a swallow, mouth having filled with saliva at the sight of him. A jerk of your head, “C’mere, honey.”

With a smile, he returns to you. Kisses laved to your chest, neck, and finally lips while he situates himself against your petaled heat. Bumping against your abused clit, you sink back into the pillows with a moan.

Hands loosely cradling his collar and legs wound high against his back, you pull Eddie down for a slow kiss as your rock up against his shaft. He licks messily into your mouth as one of your hands snakes down to guide him inside.

He shudders at the sensation and the visual of your hand on his dick, small and dainty in comparison. “Fuckin’ hell.”

You hum contentedly. “You ain’t seen nothin' yet,” and drive the message home with a buck of your hips. His cockhead slips in, stretching you slightly but not unpleasantly.

He pauses, not wanting to hurt you or go too quickly just for it to happen again— too big, can’t fit. Surprisingly, you shimmy working him further into your cunt, inch by inch, until he’s buried to the hilt.

Eddie thinks he’s going to die like this— bottoming out in the girl of his dreams, all before he can blow his load or get you off like he wants to.

The stretch is good— hitting depths you didn’t realize were possible until now. Making your own efforts with the aid of your fingers and toys appear pathetic. You could vibrate out if you skin at the sensation— keyed up and pulled taught before he’s even had the chance to move yet.

You clench at the thought, causing Eddie to pant and moan against your neck. His left hand taps at your right leg.

“Can you raise that up, just a little?”

You acquiesce, and he thrusts experimentally. The angle changes everything, causing your blood to thrum and punching the breath from your lungs. Right leg wrapped around his waist while the other rests lazily against his hips.

Eddie kisses you quick, tongue eager as he works you open. You can hear the smack of his skin against yours, both damp with the exertion, accompanied by a sound and sensation wholly unfamiliar to you.

There’s a wet squelch when he bottoms out every other thrust or so, and the coil in your gut gets pulled tighter and tighter. Heat and pressure are building in your cunt and radiating outwards.

You jolt upwards, breasts brushing against his chest, nipples hardening in the cool air. “Eddie I’m—" your voice catches in your throat, a tear falling from your eyes and cascading down your cheek.

Before he can see your unintended emotional display, you bury your face into the curve of his neck with a gasp. His hips stutter as you draw closer, neck growing damp with your tears.

“Shit. Did I—"

You quiet his concerns with a shake of your head, “No baby, I’m good. Keep going.” And with a languid roll of your hips, you seal the deal.

Eddie’s thrusts slow, the angle forcing his pelvis to tilt and drag exquisitely against your clit. Your head drops back against the pillows. He licks his lips and watches your mouth fall open with interest. He loves the way your eyes can’t seem to focus, the way your tongue lies heavy in your mouth, the way you try to hide from your pleasure, but he knows you’re excited.

Your next orgasm crashes upon you like a tidal wave, walls fluttering like the wings of a frantic hummingbird. You nearly scream from the pleasure of it all, mingled with a pinch of pain as a gushing soak drenches the both of you.

Your body jerks forward, pinned by Eddie’s hips and the cage of his arms holding you close. You can feel him moving inside you in long strokes before he stills to let you ride it out.

“That’s never happened before,” you slur out.

“Yeah?” He smirks, resuming his thrusts, pace nearly brutal now— diving into you so fast and hard that your eyes well up with tears. It doesn’t feel like you’ll reach the peak again, feels like you’ve been on the cusp since the coat room.

Your brain is fried and completely blissed out— fucked stupid by a rockstar you'd known for a week. You can only gasp in clipped short breaths as the air is continuously punched from your lungs.

Eddie bites his lip, eyes fixed on the way his cock spreads your cunt. The way your pussy is glistening and cherry red from his ministrations.

“Wish you could see yourself,” he groans out. “Such a good girl, takin’ all of me.”

Eddie could be talking gibberish and you would still nod along, falling apart as you stutter and plead, begging for him. I want it. I want it. Iwantitiwantitineedit. I need you.

A few more strokes and Eddie comes hard, thick ropes of come released into the condom, shuddering against the clenching of your walls— tight and wet and hot. Your name falls from his lips in a broken moan causing you to break open, crying out pitifully and throwing your head back against the pillows.

And, god damn, he’s just so pretty. All pink lips and pupils blown wide, chest heaving with desperate breaths before he collapses on top of you.

You feel positively ruined for other men. It’s unbelievable, the way he’s seared his touch into your body and brain. And yeah, if you had a soul or whatever, probably that too.

It may not be the most orgasms you’d ever had, but it’s damn near close and certainly the most intense yet. Your body trembles against Eddie’s torso, while he sucks on your neck, murmuring praises into your ear. Calls you sweetheart, baby, good fucking girl. Keeps himself inside, nestled comfortably deep.

You’re likely to faint if he doesn’t stop— intense whispers, slow movements, and rubbing sweetly against your walls. Eddie drags another orgasm out of you, miraculously so, almost letting you forget how torn open he’s made you feel. Your toes curl and go limp again for what feels like the umpteenth time, plaint against him as you catch your breath.

He lands a soft, barely-there kiss against the lobe of your ear and wipes the sweat from your neck and brow away.

“You okay?” He asks in a whisper, sending chills down your spine. “You got a little—"

“Overstimulated, yeah,” you answer with a laugh. Your arms drape around his collar lazily. “I’m good,” you say with a smile, “Never better.”

“Yeah?” Eddie’s smile is a bright bashful thing. He ducks his head, like he can’t believe you’re real, and bites his lip.

“Gonna be pretty useless for the next couple of hours though.”

He glances back up at you. “Really?”

“Totally.” Your fingers card into his hair, working against his scalp. “This guy fucked me stupid and now I can’t feel my legs so.”

He laughs, the vibrations reverberating against your ribs before rolling off of you to discard the condom. His hand finds yours again in the near-dark, cool metal against the damp of your palm.

You lay beneath the fluffy duvet, facing Eddie. Your legs were entwined with his and he has a big, stupid grin on his face. You were sure your smile matched his own.

A phone trills into the still of the room, Eddie groans in frustration and grapples with finding it on the nightstand. He answers it with a huff of annoyance as Steve Harrington's voice cascades through the speaker.

“So…” he sings, the street noise of the city serving as background, “You guys fuckin’ or what?”

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