#nothing against indians | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedgito · 2 years

Text

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 pt. i ✧ ˚ · . 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬��𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: something that is desired all the more because it is not allowed—you find yourself torn between the idea that even though eddie is in a position of authority as your professor, he’s still what you crave the most.

cw: 18+ (minors, dni) teacher/student relationship, age gap (21 & 29), corruption!kink (eddie is well aware of what he’s doing), background ronance, max is readers bestfriend, eddie likes to wear his hair up for class and hates being formal, bratty!reader (sorta), angsty touches, a smutty cliffhanger, ect & lots more to come (pun intended)

word count: 11.6k - part two, part three, part four

The campus was huge and crowded and everything you hated all wrapped into one—but you couldn’t beat the view, the pleasant Indians weather, and all the amazing classes the college had to offer. And normally, first days would be terrifying, crippling your anxiety, but there was nothing but excitement; for now, at least.

Most of your morning was spent combing through syllabuses and trying to find your classes, which is mostly your own fault, deciding on a major so vastly different from your main course work—by the time afternoon rolls around, you’re forced to walk clear across campus, nearly ten minutes late to your class and faced with a surprisingly unirritated gentleman, who’s three seconds away from shutting the door closed indefinitely.

The man steals a glance at his watch, arm twitching slightly to force his sleeve back. His eyes glance up to you for a moment and back down, “Not a great way to start off your first day,” He comments cooly, face void of any emotion, “is this gonna be a habit?”

“No—god, no,” You respond, slightly out of breath, hand clutching the strap of your book bag, “I’m just getting used to where everything’s at—I didn’t get a chance to visit the campus earlier, I have no idea where anything is or—“

“It’s fine,” He assures, beckoning you into the classroom, surprisingly full, forcing you to the front row, positioned almost directly in front of his desk—this was the beginning of your nightmare, “let’s just be mindful of time, yeah?”

Not that Eddie has ever been punctual a day in his life. But, he’s learned that being a hard-ass is more effective than not giving a shit at all, especially when it comes to his students.

“Yeah—yes, I promise.” You swear, forcing a thin smile before making an immediate line for your desk, hoping that the further you sink, the more unnoticed you’ll be. Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the case.

The loud slide of the chalk against the chalkboard as he writes his name across the green slab is defeating, most of the class watching in fearful silence—like there was some impending doom about to descend upon them.

“Uh, sir—“ You can see him visibly tense at the word, “are we going to be learning how to play any instruments in this class?” The voice comes from a boy who seems naturally quiet and more reserved, mortified by the fact that he even found the courage to raise his hand and ask a question.

There’s a small roar of laughter from the others, but you look along stoically, watching his face upturn slightly.

“Don’t call me, sir—please,” He laughs lightly, “it makes me feel old.”

“Professor Munson,” He corrects himself, “sorry.”

“You’re fine,” He assures, “and look—this isn’t an intro to music, it’s intro to musical therapy. We’re not just studying instruments and music, we’re also studying behaviors, the mind, how all of this stuff connects and affects people’s thought process and aiding certain struggles they may have.”

His way of talking is animated and refreshing, a stark change from the usual monotone professors you’ve run into all morning.

“So, if you’re just expecting to learn how to play the piano or something, this class probably isn’t for you,” He explains, eyeing down about a quarter of the class that makes a collective groan, “hey—I’m just being honest.”

And you knew you wouldn’t see half of those people in a week, jumping at the first chance to transfer, but you couldn’t help being intrigued. It wasn’t necessarily your first choice for a major, but it took you by surprise; your love for psychology and mind studies mixed with your love of music, it seemed like the perfect storm. Plus, your professor wasn’t the worst person in the world—yet.

He easily snaps open the cuff links to his sleeves, rolling them halfway up his arm, revealing a rather striking depiction of bats, swarming around the expanse of his forearm.

He definitely seemed like a tattoo guy, but it was still odd to see so openly—his feet tap together as he takes a seat on the end of his desk, scanning the room. You can’t help but notice his lopsided tie, wanting so desperately to fix it—it was bound to drive you nuts.

“It’s probably best to get most of your question out of the way today,” He says, “so, shoot them at me while you have the opportunity.”

A few hands fly up, he points off to your right, a couple rows behind you.

“So—are you a therapist?”

He snorts a soft laugh, shaking his head, “No—I don’t have all the proper certifications, but I assist therapist a lot when they’re looking into doing stuff related to musical therapy. I know enough to get by.”

The smile he flashes leads you to believe that he’s trying to be humble.

“Do you play any instruments?” Another student asks freely, the heads of the rest of the class snapping in their direction.

“A few,” He answers, hand waving about in a noncommittal manner, “mostly just guitar.”

He adjusts his tie again, even more lopsided now and you can’t help but stare it down, focused on nothing but the black, shiny material of it—Eddie clears his throat softly, catching your attention.

He’s staring right at you, caught red-handed—quick, think of something—

“Who do you usually work with?” You ask suddenly, “In your line of work, I mean.”

Outside of being a professor, obviously.

Another laugh, more subdued. “Veterans, mostly, and a lot of children.”

Eddie claps his hands together very suddenly, startling most of the class, including yourself. “Anyways, let’s go over the syllabus so there’s no confusion—I don’t need you guys bugging me outside of my office hours, as much as I love to teach.”

You sense another jab coming, but it doesn’t.

The syllabus review is a breeze, setting you up for what most of the semester entails, including when he was available—again, making it very clear that he wasn’t available outside of office hours.

And then he’s adjusting the damn tie again, almost like it’s wringing his neck to death. By the time class ends, he dismisses everyone with a simple wave, a few students lingering around their desks, debating on whether they should drop the class or not.

The voice that trails from the front of the classroom as you take a step down catches your attention, pulling your head up to look at the culprit. “Staying or dropping?” He asks.

Professor Munson. It felt weird and unnatural as it rolled around in your mind, still not falling from your tongue.

“Staying,” You answer surely, “I knew what this class was before I signed up—I’m not about playing roulette with taking a college class.”

“Fair enough.” He’s leaning against his desk again, hands shoved into his slack pockets, shiny, gold watch resting on his wrist, and you can’t take it anymore, the frustration boiling from your chest

“Your tie,” You say abruptly, pointing at the material, “It’s crooked.”

Really fucking crooked.

He takes a glance down, finger slipping in the space between his tie and neck, pulling at the offense piece of clothing, loosening it until it’s snapping away.

He balls up the tie and tosses it behind me, landing messily on his desk. “I never wear those after the first day—hate them. They’re so stupid.”

“Or, you just don’t know how to tie a tie.” You point on, mouth speaking before your brain can catch up—realizing much too late that this was your professor, not a friend.

Eddie scoffs mockingly, “And I’m sure you do.” He counters, watching your face drop slightly.

You did, actually—but that wasn’t the point.

“No one ever taught me.” He tells you, “So I’m wingin’ it.”

You nod thoughtfully, surprised at how quickly you managed to embarrass yourself. “Oh.” You say simply, it’s all you can manage.

You save yourself for further humiliation by offering a wave of goodbye, breaking the uncomfortable tension that had grown between you both, excusing yourself immediately.

And if that was horrible enough, your night would be even worse.

☆.｡.:*

“The Hideout?” You ask curiously, twisting the flyer in your hand, “That place is still open?

Max snatches the paper from your hand, shoving it into the pocket of her jacket, protecting her from the biting cold of wind—the beginnings of Hawkins autumn weather creeping up on you.

It didn’t help that you were barely covered from the waist down, skirt leaving little to imagine as the slit ran high up your thigh, thankfully the long sleeve top you wore was enough to save your upper extremities.

“Nancy and Robin swear by that place—plus, they’ll be pissed if you don’t go.” Max explains in her usual ‘could care less’ tone.

The only reason she was going was because of Lucas—a boy she’d met during her first class that day, who she also invited out, despite barely knowing. You couldn’t blame her, though. Max could handle herself well enough, that was for sure.

The drive is long, further out of town than you expect—hidden on some rundown road on an empty corner, bare except for the small bar, yet the place was packed with cars.

“Okay, maybe this place isn’t as rundown as I remember,” You take note of, “or everyone really wanted to get drunk tonight.”

Either way, you were definitely heading toward the latter option, following closely after Max. It doesn’t take long for Max to be pulled away though, quickly distracted by the only reason she came here, abandoning you.

“Have fun,” You remind her, “seriously.”

You could take care of yourself, settling up at one of the empty tables before the stage, perched on the uncomfortably tall seat, ordering yourself a quick drink as a server passes you.

“Hey!” A perked up voice yells out from behind you, arms wrapping around in a gentle hug—no one had the nerve besides Robin, who quickly caught you in a fuller hug as you turned to face her. “How have you been? Where’s Max?”

“She’s busy,” You laugh, giving her a pointed look, which she catches on quickly. “Where’s Nance?”

“Right here,” Her delicate voice peaks out from behind Robin, watching as her hand sneaks into Nancy’s, squeezing firmly.

You smile to yourself, but Robin sees it, shoving you an annoyed look.

At least those two finally figured it out—almost ten years later.

“So, you two know who’s playing tonight?” You ask curiously, sipping on the beer that the server passes to you on their way through the crowd.

“Yeah, he’s an old friend—we haven’t seen him in a while, though.” They both frown at the mention of it, sharing a quiet glance. “We should’ve invited Steve, Nance.”

“He never wants to leave the house, you know that.” Nancy adds, “His kids keep him busy enough.”

And it seemed like Steve got the life he always wanted, for the most part—but it’s still somber to think about, wishing just as badly that you could’ve seen him once more.

“Maybe next time.” You offer, and both of them smile.

“I’ll have to remind him to invite you to his littlest’s party in a couple months,” Nancy says, “he misses you.”

The feedback startled all of you, pulling you from the conversation and toward the stage, light dimly over the center. The lights around the bar dimmed in contrast, adjusting everyone toward the men gathering in their places on stage.

You squinted carefully, watching the guitarist adjust the microphone, pulling it up to his height. His hair was long, unruly, and obscuring his face as he leaned forward, speaking into the microphone.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” He asks with a decent amount of enthusiasm, receiving a hearty applause in return. “We’re Corroded Coffin.”

The name blanks in your mind, not ringing any immediate bells.

It was definitely a crowd full of fans—or family, at least. They excitement was palpable, everyone leaning on the edge of their seats.

“This is our first show in a couple years, so go easy on us.” He laughs, head flicking up to move the hair out of his face—again, he spots you almost instantly.

The intake of breath is involuntarily, getting caught in your throat. The blush that creeps up your cheeks is hot and burning, noticeable from a mile away.

Eddie fucking Munson, your college professor—of all the chances and fate in the world this is how your night was going to go?

Eddie clears his throat, immediately averting his gaze. “We’re just doing cover songs tonight—so if you’ve got a request, send it through Gareth.” He instructs, jerking his head over his shoulder.

And despite how mortifying this all feels, Eddie plays his heart out; you’ve never seen anything like it. He’s a person who expresses himself through his body and his music, clearly—thrashing wildly and putting every movement he can into his playing, bouncing on his feet. He can’t be bothered to stay still, which is a complete difference from his classroom demeanor.

From what you’ve seen, at least.

“You good?” Robin asks, nothing the ghostly look on your face.

“Yeahyeah, uh—“ You reply distantly, “The lead looked familiar, but I think it’s a coincidence.”

One hell of a fucking coincidence.

“Eddie?” They both ask simultaneously, “There’s no way.”

Eddie Munson. Again, your professor—but also, a friend of a friend, and a complete fucking stranger otherwise. You must’ve pissed someone off well enough down the line to end up in this position; the biggest dose of karma you’ve ever felt.

“Like I said—it’s probably a coincidence.” You assure them, eyes still locked on him.

“Yeah—I don’t think we started hanging out with him until after you moved schools.” Nancy supplies, further attempting to assure you.

Eddie catches another glance at you and you can’t help but down the bottle of beer in one go, immediately leaving your seat to ask for another, leaving your friends to congregate at the table.

The song ends abruptly, falling off of a long guitar solo, and you can’t even dare to look in that direction, faced shoved into the drink you gripped in your hand.

“Come here, come here,” You hear Robin call from behind you, but you know it’s not for you, another rumbling voice slipping through the many others, a weak protest, “Stop being like that.”

There really was no arguing with Robin and Eddie was smart to keep quiet, following her obediently to the bar. The hand that clasps your shoulder is light and gentle and Nancy shoots you an apologetic look as you look behind you.

“Ringin’ any bells now?” Robin asks playfully, holding her hand up under his face, like he was on display. Eddie makes a face, side eyeing her affectionately.

“No, sorry,” You lie easily, shrugging him off. Eddie seems to relax at that, half-expecting you to out both him and yourself—not that there was anything wrong, it was just another freaky coincidence, “What’s his name again?”

And really, it’s just to poke fun, the slight buzz creeping into your system.

“Eddie Munson,” Nancy replies, glancing between the both of you, “Edward, if that helps.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at that, hand held up in desperation as he called out for a drink over your shoulder, reaching around you to grab the bottle. You visibly tense at the proximity and he notices, still, he doesn’t try to move away.

This was too weird.

“Nope, still nothing.” You tell them, sticking to your story.

Robin shrugs, “Well, I should probably explain—Nancy used to babysit her when she was younger, her and Max and all those crazy little kids that we always told you about—“

It made you wince; babysitter, Nancy, kids. It was the worst sequence of words that could’ve been spoken in history, to your professor, in the middle of a bar, that he was also playing at.

“Robin,” You warn, “I’m sure he doesn’t care.”

“Nah,” Eddie shrugs, leaned beside you against the bar, metal chain clinking against the counter-top, lifting the beer to his lips leisurely, “It’s nice to meet you.”

And the smile seems forced, but his voice is steady, easy—you almost believe him.

But, then Nancy and Robin are pulled off in a different direction, catching up with another small group of friends and Eddie is staring at you.

And not secretly—very, very openly.

“I swear I didn’t—“ You start.

“I don’t usually,” He interrupts.

You both take a hard stop, looking each other down.

“You first,” He instructs, bring the drink to his lips once more, “then I’ll go.”

“I swear I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” You explain, “otherwise I would’ve skipped out.”

He wants to ask why, but the answer seems obvious—no one wants to see their teacher outside of school.

“I don’t usually make a habit of letting my students see me like this.” He motions to his get-up, hair loose and clothes even looser, aside from the obviously homemade jacket he wore, patches hand stitched and worn at the seams, but the weirdest part of it all—the ripped jeans. It felt out of place for someone nearing their thirties. He catches your gaze, the judgement evident. “My point exactly.”

“So, that’s why you don’t know how to tie a tie.” You challenge, taking a long sip of beer, eyebrow quirked in amusement as you swallow, cheeks puffed out by the liquid.

He scoffs softly, amused at your comeback. “We shouldn’t even be talking right now, you know that?” He points out, yet he hasn’t moved an inch, still close enough that if you decided to separate your thighs, he’d fit perfectly.

You hum quietly, “Yet, you’re still here.” Another beer down, another slipped into your hand like clockwork, throwing it back easily. “So, who’s fault is that?”

Him being the responsible adult and all, not that it really mattered here. This would be a level playing field outside of any other circumstance.

“Wait—can I ask a personal question?” And maybe it was the alcohol talking.

“No—“ He answers quickly, but your brain bypasses it.

“How old are you?” You ask curiously, “You look too young to be a professor.”

Eddie looks stunned, affected by your forwardness, but he takes it in stride. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment—I’m twenty nine, a couple years older than Nancy and Robin.”

You don’t press on the additional information, but nod thoughtfully, taking another quick sip of your beer.

“Sorry—it was bugging me. I have a bad problem with filtering my thoughts.” You admit sheepishly, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, fiddling with the flimsy zipper on your skirt.

“Clearly,” Eddie laughs, bringing the bottle to his lips slowly, stopping just as his lips pressed the rim, “Are you even old enough to be drinking?”

“Are you going to kick me out if I’m not?” You challenge playfully, Eddie doesn’t bite, looking you down accusingly.

It was as if he suddenly shifted back into teacher mode, judging your choices and feeling the need to scold you.

“I’m twenty one,” You tell him, “don’t have a fucking stroke over it.”

You don’t know why Eddie’s eyes shift, scanning full body, like he’s trying to take all of you in—both of your contrasting styles outside of school are a welcomed surprise; he doesn’t really expect it from you. But, you could say the same for him.

“Wasn’t gonna,” He assures you, nursing the beer near his mouth, forearms leaned against the bar now as he looks toward you, eyes catching the way your fingers fiddled with the label on the bottle, “you cold?”

Your leg crosses over the other, goosebumps riddling your skin—it’s like he’s a mind reader, the entrance door of the bar swinging open, a cold blast of air spreading throughout. “Not really.” You lie, gripping the end of your skirt to shift it down.

You could’ve been more practical, shown up in jeans and some worn out band shirt, but you wanted to look nice—feel cute and dressed up for once, was that a crime?

“Hey, there you are,” Max calls from behind you, scattering toward you with a wide-eyed Lucas in tow, “so you met Eddie?”

You turn in your seat, staring the fiery redhead down, a smile plastered on her freckle covered face.

“You too?” You ask incredulously, glancing toward Eddie, who seemed rather unfazed by it all now. “What the hell?”

“He used to live across from me, back in high school,” Max explains, which makes sense.

You moved after middle school, leaving most of Hawkins in your rear view, aside from the occasional letters to Max—both of you swore that despite the distance, college was your nonnegotiable; both of you applied, both of you got accepted, it was some sort of divine miracle, but neither of you questioned it.

“Small world,” Eddie shrugs from beside you, finishing off the last sip of his beer, “you staying out of trouble, Red?”

“Probably not,” She replies honestly, before turning to you sheepishly, “—do you think Robin will give you a ride home?”

“Max,” You groan, her look switching from hesitant to pleading, “fine—whatever, I’ll talk to Robin.”

“I love you,” She says endearingly, wrapping you into a quick forceful hug, nearly knocking you from your chair, “I owe you one.”

“Uh huh,” You reply sarcastically, waving her away, “See you tomorrow.”

When you turn, Eddie is slapping a fresh bill on the counter-top, returning his chained wallet back to his pocket.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you Monday.”

Saying it makes it even weirder.

“I won’t tell anyone.” You assure him, seeing the way his eyes catch yours, almost thankful. He doesn’t have to say it—he didn’t take you for the type to brag, but still, it’s a comforting confession. “I promise.”

The last part feels like too much, but Eddie smiles regardless, adjusting his jacket over his shoulders, preparing for the crisp, cold air that awaits him.

Robin, find Robin. Your brain scrambled, searching around for your friend—or Nancy, but neither of them are anywhere inside of the bar.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

“Everything okay?” Eddie asks softly, pulling the hair caught under the lapel of his jacket.

“I think they left,” You frown slightly, preparing yourself to walk several blocks until the nearest bus station, feet already sore and achy from the uncomfortable heels you wore, “Robin and Nance.”

And Eddie has the internal battle with himself for at least half a minute, weighing the odds of how uncomfortable this could be, or how creepy it may come off, but he wasn’t going to leave you high and dry—he wasn’t raised that way.

“Where am I taking you?” He asks suddenly, swinging his keys into his palm.

“Huh?” There was no way you were taking a ride from your teacher, of all people. “—I’m fine, really. I just need to walk far enough to the bus stop.”

“In those?” Eddie asks pointedly, staring down at the heels that hugged your feet like a vice grip, already sore from only a couple hours of use. “It’s not a big deal—are you going back to campus?”

You nod hesitantly.

Eddie motions toward the door and you follow obediently—your feet could thank you later. You knew there was no harm in a ride home, either, Eddie was far from the normal sketchy men around Hawkins, but it didn’t feel right. It felt like keeping a secret from your parents and doing something that had persistently told you not to, or how often the school system looked down on relations with staff outside of school, no matter the level or severity. It seemed that Eddie was hoping you’d keep this to yourself—he was counting on it.

☆.｡.:*

“Did you enjoy the music at least?” Eddie asks halfway through the drive, one hand gripping the steering wheel while the other fishes for his pack of cigarettes; a bad habit he’d yet to break.

“I mean—they were cover songs,” You shrugged, “Metallica is alright, but I prefer Bon Jovi and Quiet Riot—“

“Are you shitting on Metallica, right now?” Eddie asks, shocked by the admission. He manages to wiggle a cigarette out with one hand, tossing the box toward the middle console, “Do you mind?”

Part of you wants to say yes, just to be difficult, but you shake your head. He flicks his lighter opening, lighting the end of the cigarette until it burns a bright amber, ashes falling from the tip.

“You dress like you’re stuck in the eighties, dude.” Eddie seems offended by the comment, but takes it in stride.

“Says the lady who still listens to Bon Jovi.” Eddie sharks, pulling the cigarette from his lips, smoke billowing from his nose as he breathes, “

You hate how nice it is to watch, his soft lips pursing into a tight line. One more hit at him and he’d probably fail you out of spite, but you do it anyway.

“Says the guy still singing eighties cover songs.” Eddie winces at the jab, flicking away the ash from the cigarette, held out in the air as he searches for his retort.

“So you hated it?” Is all his brain can muster at a time like this, brain hazy from the amount of beers he consumed—you could say the same for yourself, the alcohol buzz is still ever apparent—you wouldn’t have ended up in a situation like this while stone cold sober, that’s for sure.

“No,” You reply honestly. The music was good, the performance was even better, but still—it seemed he was searching for your approval, like it would make all the difference, “but it’s the mid nineties, you need to get with the times.”

Eddie scoffs offensively, a few more puffs before he’s rubbing the cigarette to its untimely demise, pulling into the quiet campus.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” He says, coming to a stop, “—I hope this is close enough, the last thing I need is someone catching me dropping you off.”

Then he shouldn’t have offered a ride, which was his first mistake of many.

It’s offensive how handsome he looks under the dim lights radiating from the inside of his van—an odd choice for a teacher of his salary, but it still makes sense, somehow.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sir.” You retort, throwing the last bit in for fun—he tenses again, visibly. He doesn’t correct you, though, which is even more difficult to understand.

He offers a simple wave, friendly and polite, then he’s gone and halfway across the campus before you can even process what happened.

It also doesn’t help that the first thing you see in your dreams that night is his face—ungodly in the way he worshiped your body, from head to toe; it was definitely the alcohol talking.

☆.｡.:*

Monday drags more than you expect, having nursed your hangover during the weekend, it felt like an aftershock was trying to overtake you, your focus lacking. It wasn’t unlike you.

You replay the conversation with Eddie in your head a few times that weekend, realizing that even through your drunken haze, Eddie was not attempting to be teacherly toward you—he was friendly, a natural conversationalist, it felt wrong.

It felt even worse when you fell asleep, his head stuck between your thighs as you dreamed that night, “She’s so pretty,” His voice is faded, muffled—like he’s stuck in a tunnel and too far away, “fucking soaking wet, too.”

And it feels too real as he licks a broad stripe up your cunt, moaning obscenely as his face is coated in your wetness, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit—it’s too much for you to process.

“Good afternoon,” Eddie’s voice carries through the door to his classroom, satchel and coffee in hand, looking just as worse for wear. His hair is tied back in a loose bun, no tie today, and his slacks look like they’re been worn for a week straight, wrinkles and all, “nice to see the class has downsized.”

It has, nearly half of the original class is gone—which really, it was better for you. You couldn’t focus in large classes and it felt less personal, more disconnected than you liked.

Eddie tries desperately to keep his energy up during the duration of the lesson, but he’s lacking on all fronts—maybe he had a rough weekend?

When he hands out the first assignment near the end of class, he stops by your desk, leaning on the railing to speak to the entirety of the class, “And don’t freak out—this is just a basis to see where you heads are at in terms of what music you like, how it makes you feel, it’s just a soft introduction into some of the stuff we’ll be covering over the semester.”

It’s a list of various songs, bands, genres—a mix of things dating back to the early fifties, up until more recently. “Go out, rent some of this if you’ve never heard of it, and write what you feel—that’s it. Easy enough?”

Eddie doesn’t acknowledge you most of the class, which is expected, but disappointing. He seems preoccupied, distracted, clearly bothered by something. But, it wasn’t your problem—the only focus you had now was your course work, which was the first thing you started on that night; a very giddy Max rummaging through your dorm room as background noise, so disorganized it could drive you insane.

“He drove you here?” She asks.

“Yes—but you can’t say anything, Max. I’m serious.”

You didn’t have anything to worry about, you knew that.

“I didn’t even know he taught here—or that he was even a professor. I mean, I know he finally graduated but—“

“Finally?” You ask curiously, swiveling in your chair to face her fully, interest fully piqued.

“He had a rough time in high school—he didn’t graduate until he was twenty, I think.” She explains, busy hands now stopped in their tracks. “He’s been through a lot.”

Your eyebrows raise in question, hoping Max would spill everything she knew—you couldn’t help but be curious about him, even if he was your professor.

“He probably doesn’t even know I go here,” She laughs slightly, “His mom and dad were never in the picture, though—at least I never saw them, it’s always been him and his uncle. He hung out with Nancy, Steve, and Robin a lot—closer to when he was graduating, they’ve stayed good friends, I guess.”

You nod slowly, absorbing the information.

“Is he mean?” Max asks randomly and you almost laugh, “My professors are the worst.”

“He’s fine,” You shrug, “It’s kinda nice that he’s not such a dick, you know?”

“What does he teach again?”

“Musical therapy?” You respond, wondering if that would surface any other tidbits of information.

“Oh—that kinda makes sense. He was always listening to music, then he just disappeared after graduation, but his uncle always talked about how he was helping people, doing something he really liked—I just never bothered him about it.”

There’s a long silence before Max can’t help herself, perching herself on the surface closest to you, pens scrambling to the floor as she takes a seat on the edge of your shared desk.

“What did you guys talk about?”

“The weather,” You say flatly, not receiving any type of reaction from her, “—-just music, that’s it.”

“But, babe, you love music.” Max reminds, like it wasn’t painfully obvious.

“And—he’s my professor, it’s fucking weird.” You explain, but even Max doesn’t believe you. “What—why are you looking at me like that?”

“You two are so similar,” She laughs, “It’s freaky.”

“Maxine—what are you trying to imply?”

“Nothing,” She shrugs, hoping from the desk, “—remember that I’ll be your maid of honor at the wedding, though. We pinky swore.”

“He’s my professor, Max.” You stress again, Max smiles wide, annoying you further.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, right?” Max asks, realizing that you’d used the same playful jab at him the night before.

“What?” The coincidence was uncanny.

“Eddie used to tell me that whenever I tried to justify doing something I wasn’t supposed to—I’ve grown, obviously,” That’s not entirely believable, but you keep your mouth shut, “the saying stuck with me—it’s kinda fun to use.”

“Whatever—did you get the music I asked about?” You ask, impatiently switching the topic to something less scandalous.

“Everything was spoken for,” Max explains, trying to let you down gently, “I really tried—but I guess everyone in that class had the same idea on where to go, unless you want to take a trip to the store and buy them—“

And it dawns on you, Eddie must have some sort of music collection, “Wait—what time is it?”

Max takes a quick glimpse at the alarm clock on her nightstand, “A quarter past five, why?”

Still open for office hours—you prayed silently, despite your lack of religion, hoping that he was still in his classroom.

“Give me a ride.”

Max doesn’t question it, being the best friend she is.

☆.｡.:*

“I’m busy,” He says before you can even knock on the door, your loud ascending footsteps giving you away, “come back in the morning.”

You peek through the window of the door anyways, seeing a perfectly relaxed Eddie reclined at his desk, feet propped up as he jotted something down in a book, tongue poked out in focus.

“Uh Professor…Munson,” It felt foreign and weird, “I just had a question.”

His demeanor changes on a dime at the sight of you, unbusying himself completely. It’s a little hysterical, but endearing nonetheless. It makes your stomach flutter at the sight, scrambling to button his shirt higher, seem more professional, not that you hadn’t already seen him outside of work.

The door creaks open, his head popping through as you back away, “What’s going on?” He asks, surprised that anyone would dare to bother him outside of normal class hours. It doesn’t take you long to realize that he only mentioned the office hours out of courtesy, he didn’t actually expect anyone to bother him.

“I was trying to work on your assignment—“ His eyes softened, and it made you flinch, feeling exposed, “I don’t really have the money to buy any of the music and everything was already rented out—-so I wasn’t sure what to do.”

“Oh,” He wasn’t sure what to expect but he finds himself opening the door wider, welcoming you inside, “Yeah—a few students raided my shelf before class was over but I’m sure there’s some left.”

“Thanks,” You reply shyly, squeezing beside him, watching as he lingered by the door still, hands shoved into fists in his pockets, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, sir—“

“You can call me Eddie—here, at least.” And that definitely doesn’t feel appropriate, but if he’s insisting, well…

“Sorry, it just feels…strange, I guess.” It’s not how you wanted to describe it, but it’s the only word that comes to mind. “I can’t imagine how weird it is running into your students outside of class.”

“Probably as weird as it feels running into your teacher,” He adds playfully, lightening the mood. It’s nice that he’s not so bothered by all of it, “Oh—I’ve got some Elvis in there, a lot of classic rock. I’m not sure about the newer stuff, though.”

“Max has some of it.” You comment without thinking, sifting through the box of music, picking and choosing as you went.

“Max?”

“She’s—she’s my roommate here.” You answer quietly, unable to meet his eyes as he walks closer, leisurely making his way around his desk.

“I guess I should’ve put that together,” He says, taking a moment to examine the sweater you’d shoved on, “You two share a closet?”

“Among other things.” You smile, grasping the stack of Cd's in your hand, “How did you know?”

You share a glance down at the faded sweater, reading off the name of some random skate shop back in rural Hawkins, a place you’ve never stepped foot inside of.

“I got that for Red on her sixteenth birthday, before I left.”

Eddie’s frowning now, nearly unnoticeable, but you see the way his mouth creases, eyes turned down. “It’s her favorite,” You say, in an attempt to make the mood less dark, “but I always steal it from her—she’s let me take residency over it at this point.”

“It looks nice,” Eddie says suddenly, feeling the slip up as it slides off his tongue, rambling even further as he says, “on you—I mean, it’s a nice sweater—that’s why I bought it.”

You laugh softly, bottom lip jutting out as your mouth curls into a smile. “Thanks, Eddie.”

He scratched at his temple, ringed finger shining against the light refracting from the lamp on his desk. You’ve never noticed it before—or them, since his hand was adorned with three, that you could see.

“Hey, those are cool—“ You point out, finger pressed in the direction of his upheld hand. He stops, views his hand, almost like he’s forgotten he was wearing them, “I’ve noticed them before.”

“I try not to wear them during class hours, the administration thinks it’s unprofessional.” The nature of the rings, not the fact that he wore them—if he had a wedding ring it wouldn’t matter, but the thought of marriage made Eddie want to vomit.

“Fuck ‘em.” You say crudely, shoulder shrugged In indifference.

Eddie’s mouth hangs open slightly at the sudden outburst, amusement flooding his face, “I’m still your professor—probably should keep that type of language to a minimum.”

You snort at his indication that he had any type of hold over what you do—he couldn’t be further from the point.

“Or what?” You say challengingly, “This isn’t high school—it’s not like you can give me detention or tell my parents.”

“I am the one handling your grades.” He counters, hip leaned against the edge of his desk. Your free hand travels to your waist, slipping underneath the sweater to rest against the skin.

“You don’t intimidate me—I hope you know that.” You remind him carefully, eyes narrowing in his direction. “The other’s are terrified of you, but that shit doesn’t work on me.”

And he should know better—you shouldn’t even be here and he definitely should be flirting with a student, if you could call it that. Was this flirting? Was this crossing the line? He’s studied body language for a long time, through the process of his treatment of people, and he can’t help but notice how relaxed you seem, almost enjoying the back and forth.

“You should go,” He says quickly, avoiding any further lines being blurred or crossed or misconstrued; you were his student and it was unprofessional, “my office hours are closing soon.”

“Uh huh.” You nod slowly, adjusting the stack of music under your arm, watching the way Eddie’s fingers drum against the desk impatiently, like he can’t wait to get you out of there.

If he was really that bothered, he could’ve said something.

“Thanks again, professor.” You say with grandeur, motioning to the stack of Cd's, “It’s greatly appreciated.”

Eddie tries to ignore the small sliver of skin that shows underneath your slightly raised top that was no longer obscured by your hand, almost like you’re doing it on purpose.

Which, yes, you absolutely were.

You slip by him silently, avoiding the way his eyes follow you. It felt predatorial, but not uncomfortable—and that’s what you hated about it.

He didn’t look at you as a student—he looked at you like something else; you couldn’t put your finger on it.

Eddie turns on the heels of his shoes, “I expect those back tomorrow,” He warns, but there’s no sense of actual ramifications behind it.

You don’t answer fully, a small nod that Eddie doesn’t quite notice. He grabs the sleeve of your sweater gently, his fingertips pressing against your covered arm. “I mean it.”

You look at the hand that gripped your arm for far too long, Eddie still holding on just as hard. “I know.” You appease him, “And if I don’t—you know where to find me.”

The glance to your desk is silent, but done in unison.

“Wanna let go now, sir?”

Eddie hates the way his dick twitches under the material of his corduroy slacks, releasing the bunch of material from his grip. You half-expect him to scold you for the remark, but he’s speechless, for once in his life.

“Sorry,” He apologizes, feeling like he’s made things uncomfortable, but it’s so far from that—he has no idea, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“On time, hopefully.”

It’s just another playful comment, but it has Eddie gripping his thigh from the inside of his pocket, muscles tensed in frustration.

You leave with a wordless smile that’s burned into Eddie’s mind for the rest of mankind—and it’s definitely not the first thing he thinks about when he slips his boxers down his thighs that night, cock still half-hard from earlier in the evening.

☆.｡.:*

He becomes a permanent fixture in your dreams as the weeks grow on, unbeknownst to him—not that he can say much for himself either, annoyed by the finite nerve you have to walk into his classroom, skirt pulled halfway up your waist, ass barely peeking out of the bottom of the pleated material.

He knows it’s wrong and going against all of the rules set it place for this very reason, but he can’t help himself. So, he suffers in silence—not that it was anything new to him, he’s done it his entire life; under different circumstances and situations perhaps, but the basics of it still remained.

“Fuck—spread your legs,” His voice is hushed, quiet against the skin of your leg as he sucks a deep purple mark into the skin, jerking at the touch of cold metal, the outside of his rings grazing your thighs, “wanna taste you.”

It feels too real—you toss and turn in your sleep restlessly most nights, dreaming about your professor with his hands around your thighs and his mouth buried deep into your cunt.

And with little to no interaction during class, aside from the occasional glance in your direction, he kept his distance—which wasn’t a surprise, he had no idea.

He had no idea that his student was practically pining after him. It doesn’t help that you’ve seen him outside of the classroom, dress downed and free of an inhibitions or rules; it was a special kind of torture.

It’s late October when Eddie speaks to you directly, alone—he’s got most of the class set up on various different instruments of their choosing, allowing them to feel them out and play freely, and somehow—by some fucked up fate, you get stuck with a six string and not a clue how to play.

Fake playing wasn’t working, Eddie could spot it from a mile away. You don’t chance the glance up at him, but the squeak of his shoes is enough warning, bracing for whatever remark was going to be sent your way.

“Have you ever played before?” He says instead and your eyes immediately shoot up to him, all previous restraint thrown out the window.

“No, not really.” You say truthfully, watching as Eddie pulled up a chair in front of you, facing the back of it in your direction, thigh swinging over the side—his jeans tightening with the action, along with your thighs. You really needed to get your shit together.

“Here,” His hands come out to rest over yours, adjusting your left hand over the base of the guitar, your right hand around the neck, “This is A,” He presses your finger over the cord, instructing your other hand to strum.

It’s slightly out of tune, but the guitar seems old—probably provided by the college rather than Eddie himself, “That’s good,” He praises calmly, “Now try playing an A sharp,” He guides your hand further down the neck, the warm, rough skin of his hand covering your own. He feels tough and worn and you notice the small cuts around his fingertips at this proximity, breath catching as his hand grasps around the wrist that was actively strumming the guitar, “it’s really complicated at first, there’s a lot to learn.”

“Clearly,” You say, forcing down the smile that threatened to break through, “how long have you played?”

He seems surprised that you cared or even tried to ask.

“Since I was about twelve, probably.” He answers honestly, “More than half my life.”

Eddie still hasn’t moved his hands, either—he can’t be bothered. It doesn’t look as incriminating as you thought, but still, you knew. He helps you play through a few more notes until he’s gotten you to the point of playing a small, five second tone—but it’s all you can really manage.

“It takes a while.” He assures you, not that you wanted to pick up a guitar again after this.

“Why don’t you play?” You ask sweetly, smiling flashing with nothing but devious intent, handing the guitar over toward your professor.

“Nono—I’m really not—“ He protests, setting the guitar back on its stand beside you.

“Not what? That good?” You ask curiously, he was worse at lying to himself than he was to you.

“Are we forgetting how I saw you play that night?” You ask quietly, nothing how his gaze lingered with yours, “Because if that wasn’t you then—“

He gives you a muted look of warning, wanting you to drop the topic of conversation, but you can’t be bothered. He wasn’t in charge of you, not really.

“You can play a Dio song blindfolded, I bet,” You point out, still keeping enough of a hushed town that only Eddie can hear, “Your eyes were closed that entire set.”

“It was my first time back home in a while,” He defends lamely, “It helps with the nerves.”

“I thought it was really good.”

Eddie’s eyes light up in a way you can’t ignore, bordering on shock and adoration, it’s the first real smile you’ve seen from him.

The end of class comes quicker than you want it to, forced to pack your belongings back into your bag in a rush, everyone’s already managed to file out before you can even think of zipping your bag up.

“Hey,” Eddie calls out, every other student already long gone, “here, take this.”

It’s a flyer, similar to the one Max shoved into your hands a few weeks prior.

A different bar, same band; one night only.

“I’m probably breaking a thousand rules by giving you that,” He explains carefully, “but maybe you and Max could come out and watch us play—tell her I’ll even throw in some free Kate Bush.”

Your smile is warm, folding the flyer and stuffing it into your pocket. “I told you—I’m not the type to blab, Eddie.”

You hate how easy it feels to say his name in such a setting, still dressed up in his ridiculous attempt at seeming studious and professional. You knew he hated it, he knew it too.

“I can ask her—if not, I’ll still show.” You tell him.

He was only inviting Max to be courteous, but that wasn’t up for him to decide whether or not you actually brought her along. Either way, he was appreciative. He knew that a lot of the support he received back home was mostly done out of obligation and sympathy, but with—it felt real. He didn’t know you, he didn’t have anything to prove to you, and more importantly, you were genuine and honest; he hated that you took up this class. Hated it.

“It’s not a big deal if you can’t.” He offers as an out.

There was no way you were going to miss it, not with how Eddie was looking at you now; despite the circumstance, it was so blatantly obvious to you how badly you wanted him.

“Eddie, I’ll be there.” You assure him once more.

And if the smile that spreads over his face isn’t something worth worshiping, you’d surely find something else.

☆.｡.:*

The bar is small, on the complete opposite side of town—but Max still offers to drive you, but it’s definitely not for your own benefit. She hasn’t shut up about Eddie since you’d told her the situation, the weird looks he gives you, and the horrible filthy dreams you’ve been having; sans the super embarrassing details. She gets it—it’s incredibly amusing to her, but she gets it.

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” You asks, fingers tapping nervously against the ripped denim of your jeans, frayed material pulled between your fingertips. “He did invite you.”

“Babe, I’m doing you a favor.” Max interjects, halfhearted smirk on her face.

“He’s my teacher—for the last time,” You begin, beyond desperation, the words falling from your tongue weren’t even believable to your own ears, “I’m not trying to fuck him, Max.”

“I did not say anything about fucking him,” She laughs amusingly, turning into the parking lot of the bar, “—it’s just not as weird as you’re making it out to be. I’ve known Eddie for a long time.”

“You’re really missing the point.” You say, rubbing the frustration on your face away with your hands, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

“Oh whatever, don’t tell me you suddenly have some strict moral compass,” Max replies flippantly, “you want to screw him and you know it.”

The suspense is enough of an answer. There was no lying to Max, she knew just about every deepest, darkest secret you carried.

She pulls to a stop outside the entrance, turning toward you carefully, “Also—I can’t pick you up so you’re gonna have to ask him for a ride. I love you.” She rambled it off in one breath, barely giving you time to process. “See you tomorrow?”

It’s the one fight you decide not to pick with her, because for some reason, you know it’s for your own good.

“Hey—you made it!” The familiar voice calls from behind you—Eddie, guitar case in hand, the rest of his band mates in tow. “Red.” He acknowledges, offering her a nod. “There’s parking in the back.”

“Oh—I’m not staying,” She shouts from the driver’s side, “take care of her or I’ll murder you, Munson.”

Max is pulling off before you have any last fleeting chance to run, leaving both you and Eddie at a loss for words.

“Pulled a fast one, didn’t she?” Eddie asks after a moment, gathering by your side, following you into the bar. “She’s sneaky as hell, I’ll give her that.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” You huff softly, watching your step as you crossed the threshold, hit in the face with the smell of cigarette smoke and cheap beer.

“A beaut, isn’t she?” Eddie asks sarcastically, but despite that, the bar still garnered a decent amount of attention, packed to the brim with older gentlemen—nothing like bars near campus.

“I think I found your target audience,” You joke lightly, catching the smirk that crosses Eddie’s face as you glance over your shoulder. “I’ll fit right in.”

Eddie slaps a twenty into your hand, “Here, drinks on me—since I forced you here,” You look at him reluctantly, “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I didn’t plan on drinking tonight.” You insist, forcing the bill back into his hand, “I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?” He asks, eyeing you carefully, like he’s trying to find a hint or tell, something to figure out what exactly your mind was fighting against—which right now, it was the fact that Eddie looked ridiculous with eyeliner, yet, still criminally attractive.

It’s exactly why you shouldn’t have come tonight, because whatever could happen—you weren’t sure if you had it in you to shut down.

You nod with finality. Eddie takes the money back reluctantly, stuffing it into his front pocket. He feels terrible that you have to sit there, alone—all to watch a shitty cover band play a few songs.

But to you, it was worth it.

You sit and wait, forcing away the bartender a few times until he finally gets the message, leaving you be. It’s quiet, aside from the hum of laughter and idle conversation, Eddie and his group setting up silently onstage—that impending feeling in your gut expanding further as you watch him move around, guitar strap swung over his neck, watching shamelessly as he adjusts the instrument against his body.

He catches your eyes then, sending you a cheeky smile that has you face burning on the spot—at this point, you care less about your professional relationship, if it could even be considered that.

Eddie plays with all the gusto you expect, belting out lyric after lyric on his performance high; it’s unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. It’s hard not to compare him to his classroom demeanor, more restrained and relaxed—it was forced, that was easy to tell. But this—this was Eddie, unafraid and free to behave how he pleased, it was unfair how attractive he was, both in looks and personality. It felt like you’d know him longer than just a few weeks; months maybe? Years?

It was like hanging out with an old friend, discovering new and old things about one another; you’d spill your heart to him at a moment’s notice if he asked—and that’s why this felt so dangerous.

☆.｡.:*

“How was it?” Eddie asks as he rounds the corner, still slightly out of breath and face covered in a sheen of sweat. You hand him a napkin in silence and he laughs, but accepts the offer.

“Good,” You smile honestly, “I really enjoyed the gradual crescendo from Holy Diver into Living After Midnight—“

Eddie could kiss you on the spot, which is such a startling thought that it stops all thinking completely—you were absolutely too good to be true, it was a constant reminder every time you spoke, making him fight with this taboo feeling more and more every day.

“Do you still need a ride home?” He asks suddenly, interrupting your waterfall of compliments, “I was going to head out already.”

“Well, considering Max left me stranded,” You say with an empty bitterness, knowing that her attentions were mostly good, “yes, I do.”

Eddie nods a silent direction—and just like the first night, you follow without question.

☆.｡.:*

The foot that isn’t pressed on the gas pedal is shaking insistently, leg bouncing against the leather of Eddie’s seat, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He can hear you humming, mumbling the song on the radio to yourself, another classic—one of Eddie’s favorites, and he really can’t help himself anymore.

It was just a small, innocent indulgence. Who could it really hurt? You were both consenting, capable adults—and the worst thing you could do was turn him down, which Eddie really hoped wasn’t the case, but he was beyond caring about norms and rules, driven by the pure fact that he just wanted—wanted you, in any sense of the word.

“What are you doing?” You ask curiously, watching as Eddie searched idly through his stack of music, somehow still managing his focus on the road.

“Changing the song,” He comments simply, pushing the disc into the player—the soft synth of the song pushing through the speakers of his van, “do you know it?”

“Corey Hart, right?” You ask, taking a wild guess. You’d only heard the song once, but it was still catchy enough that it stuck around in your brain, “I didn’t picture you as the type.”

“You’d be surprised.” He comments oddly, turning the volume up slightly.

He notices the humming again, the small head bop along to the beat. “You like it.”

It’s more of a statement, rather than a question. You catch the side of his face, the small glint in his eye as he focuses back on the road.

“That's presumptuous of you,” You retort, hands twisting in your lap, “it’s alright, I guess.”

“Mind if I do a little study?” He asks hesitantly, breath catching in your throat for half a second.

“Of me?” You ask with a laugh, “I mean—if you want?”

“Your heart is racing, for one,” Eddie points out slyly, watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest as the beat picked up, chorus running through the silence that filled the air, “and you’re squeezing your hands.”

“Okay, genius,” You remark, “You’ve got eyes, good for you.”

He’s not really using his degree in this situation, it’s more of an innocent observation of the already underlying tension that Eddie couldn’t help but notice—the obvious body language giving you away. The song was just a secret favorite of his, but you didn’t need to know that, not yet.

“Mind I make one?” You ask, “An observation, I mean.”

What was the harm in it anyways? Eddie nods for you to continue.

“You’ve been shaking your leg since we left.” You point out, the bouncing coming to an abrupt stop, “and I’ve never seen you do that—ever.”

“It’s the after performance buzz.” He replies cooly, but you can’t be bothered to believe it. “It’s not that unusual.”

“Eddie—you’re making that up,” You tell him, eyeing burning into the side of his face, “what’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah—why are you lying?” It’s a bold question to ask, heart fluttering in your chest. But, the way he looks at you has your legs crossing in frustration, squeezing together to relieve that ache growing between your legs.

“So, you want to pretend I didn’t notice that either?” He asks, eyeing the full expanse of your body before stopping on your legs, still firmly crossed in the seat, hands white knuckling each other under the long sleeves of your shirt. “Uncross your legs.”

“What? No.” You scoff, offended by his forwardness for a brief moment.

Eddie slips his hand under your knee wordlessly, prying your legs apart. You can’t help but look at him as if he’s lost his fucking mind—that doesn’t stop your legs from following his order. It made the ache that much worse.

“Don’t,” He warns hesitantly, the small shift in your leg giving you away, “it’s not gonna help.”

“Help what?” You reply dumbly, “I can’t cross my legs? Is that a crime?”

Eddie’s gaze lingers for far too long, noticing the flush of your chest and the way it creeps up your cheeks—they felt like they were on fire. In the midst of all the back and forth, it’s hard to keep focus on the main fact at play—teacher, student, your mind screaming, wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

“I can help.” He makes a subtle nod toward you.

It didn’t take a genius to know what he was talking about. You were very well aware of the issue. You want to weigh your options, come up with some stupid reason to wiggle out if the situation—but nothing comes to mind. The way Eddie’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel has you digging your nails into your own thigh—you’re going to cave, you can feel it.

“Eddie.” You warn, watching as his hands lingers toward the gear shift, resting against the cracked and worn down plastic covering.

“Our secret, right?” He teases, like this whole situation wasn’t built on secrecy. You nod willingly, legs spreading a few inches wider. His fingers trail the seam of your jeans, stopping on the button, popping it open with deft fingers. “Move this way—yeah, there.”

And when his fingers breach the seam of your underwear, your mind sings a soft praise of release, watching as his hand forces its way into the tight space, leaving him no other option but to cup your cunt with his full palm.

There was no turning back now.

His middle finger drags through your folds testingly, matching the slow undulating beat of the song, like this was a game to him. You have no idea how to handle your hovering hands, too afraid to touch him, so they wrap around the headrest behind your head, fingers gripped tightly together.

Your legs spread wider, giving him better access—you were rutting into his hand at the shift of position, feeling that familiar tingle of pleasure as it shot through your body, mixed with the feeling of a bite of forbidden fruit, avoiding Eddie’s heated gaze as he shifted between you and the road.

It feels reckless and stupid, but you can’t find the courage to stop.

The first dip of his finger is like heaven, feeling unfamiliar after so long, despite how often you touched yourself, you couldn’t remember the last time there had ever been anyone else but you—not since the first summer after you graduated; freshly eighteen and naive, letting a much older man have you how he wanted—it’s uncanny, the situation your in now. But this, it doesn’t feel like that.

“Fuck—“ Your voice catches, stomach clenching at the curl of his middle finger as it slipped inside of you and back out, pace so insufferably slow, “—need more.”

“There she is,” He smiles to himself, confidence oozing in his tone, “—shit, you’re such a liar.”

It takes you a minute to realize that he’s not talking to you at all—which sends you down a different wave of emotions, pussy clenching around his lone finger, gasping at the way he curls it against the soft walls of your cunt, searching desperately for something out of reach.

“How long has it been like this?” He asks curiously.

Since the moment you met him, is what you want to say.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You reply breathlessly, back arching away from the seat, cunt pressing further against his hand as he slips a second finger inside.

At the lie, Eddie stops without warning, and it gives you a headache, that slow build of pleasure deflating immediately.

“The truth,” He says, though, it’s more of a demand, “tell me.”

And fuck, if you weren’t putty in this man’s rough, calloused hands.

“Since earlier,” You reply, rewarded with the soft brush of a fingertip over your clit, you quickly unzip your jeans to allow for more room, “when I saw you onstage.”

Eddie’s groan in response tells you everything you need to hear. He slows to a stop at a red light and it’s the first real glance you share with him the entire evening, both of you seeing straight through each other, bodies overran with pleasure.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” He says, and it seems a little late for a realization like that, you can’t help but laugh, “what—you think it’s funny?”

“You’re the one with your hand down my pants, sir.” You retort, earning a disciplined squeeze as he shoves his two middle most fingers back into your cunt, molding around him like glue.

“Sorry—I know you hate that word,” You say playfully, “But do you mind if I use it? Or, do you prefer professor?”

It was your turn to play into the guilt he was feeling, though it didn’t seem to be concerning if he still had his hands shoved down your pants so willingly.

“Shut up,” He forces out, swerving slightly at the way you cunt clenched around his fingers, insides fluttering as he curves his fingers wildly, grazing that sweet spot deep inside of you, “don’t call me that.”

His hands were larger than yours, making up for all the work you missed out on.

“Too far?” You ask teasingly, knowing that was the least of your worries; all moral lines crossed, blurred, forgotten about entirely. Eddie’s fingers pull back to graze over the sensitive nub, rubbing in small, leisurely circles, “Fuck that—that feels—“

Your moan is so unashamed that it surprises you, hips bucking up into his hands as you nearly leapt out of the seat.

Eddie can’t take the suffering much longer, pulling off onto the winding side road, tucked into a nest of trees. He unbuckles his seatbelt, allowing fuller access as he turns toward you, switching his hands with practiced ease—you couldn’t even open your eyes, face drawn up in pleasure. You knew the moment you looked at him you were done for.

“Look at me,” His voice echoes alongside the melodic tune of the song, his fingers matching the catchy beat—the damn music aficionado he was, toying with you, fingers strumming against your swollen clit like the strings of his guitar, “—I said, look at me.”

Your body works for you, eyes opening on instinct—his voice was rough, authoritative, leaving no room for argument.

“Good girl—It’s what you wanted, right?” He asks with a semblance of a smirk on his face, “It’s why you came tonight?”

You laugh weakly at his words, double entendre, unable to go unnoticed, “As far as I’m concerned, no one’s came tonight.”

His eyes darken, shifting toward your cunt, covered by your clothes, his wrist poking out above the thin material of your underwear.

“You can stop—stop acting like this is my fault,” You hiccup, gasping as he applies heavy pressure to your clit, rubbing steadily, hating how shameful it feels as your cunt clenches around nothing, wishing his fingers were still buried inside you. “Please—fuck, I just—“

All self restraint forgotten, you hand searches for his face, finding its way into his curls, pulling gently at the root, the softest hint of a grunt falling from his lips—the first noticeable sign all evening that he was even slightly affected by this—by you.

And maybe you’ve gone too far, the idea of touching him is where things go wrong, but you can’t be bothered to hold yourself together anymore.

“It’s okay,” He assures you, leaning over the middle console, hand working quickly against your cunt, moaning loudly into the confines of the car, ashamed at how wrecked you sound, “I like it.”

He must’ve noticed your expression, lingering on his face—you could do anything and he’d fall to his knees.

“It hurts—“ You plead, begging for release, “—please?”

It sounds too pretty coming from you, deciding that putting you out of your misery was easier than watching you suffer, on the verge of a mind-blowing orgasm, Eddie’s hands feeling so much better than your own, or anyone that’s touched you before.

Your mouth hangs open on a wordless gasp, eyes squeezing shut at the force at which your high hits you, his fingers gently coaxing you through the descending pulse of your orgasm, near the point of over stimulation.

“Okayokay—“ You ramble, fingers wrapping around the length of his wrist as you pulled him away, heart skipping in your chest at the sight of his fingers flexing against your stomach as he pulls away, fingers covered in your wetness as a result of what just happened.

Your head rests against the back of the seat, chest heaving rapidly as you try to catch your breath. “Not that I’m complaining—“ Eddie’s voice pulls you out of your hypnosis, “but you might wanna let go.”

“Shit—I’m sorry,” You apologize softly, letting go of his hair, looking at him sheepishly, hands returning to your lap to fix your pants.

The song had ended long ago, the gentle rumble of the engine filling the quiet like an ambiance, realization settling between you both.

Who speaks first?

He’s quiet, wiping his hands on a black handkerchief that he seemed to have pulled out of nowhere, before stuffing it into his back pocket—where it must’ve been all along.

“I’m—“

“Should I—“

The stare you hold is long and tense, brimming with even more sexual tension than before, searching for some way to cope with whatever just happened.

He glanced down at the hard bulge of his jeans, noticing the way your gaze catches. He shifts, pulling at the front of his jeans to adjust himself. “It’s fine.” He lies, not ready to allow this to go any further than it should have.

“I don’t mind,” You reply slowly, voice hesitant as you lean forward, “I want to.”

He feels himself flex at the thought, the idea of your mouth—or even your hand, wrapped around, he was ruined. But, he’s insistent.

“I need to get you back to campus, right?” He asks, though the answer is obvious. It was a grasping at straw attempt to change the subject. “Red’s probably worried about you.”

Not a fucking chance.

“Yeah—you’re right.” You answer, trying to hide dejection, wanting nothing more than to touch him, as intimately as he had you. “We should go.”

It’s like he’s turning on his classroom demeanor before your eyes—and frankly, it’s ridiculous. He’s regretting every choice he just made and you know it, watching as he flips the gear into place, back on the road with one swift twist of the steering wheel.

And it could’ve been the heat of the moment or the copious amount of drinks that Eddie had been offered that night, obscuring his rational thinking—but he didn’t reek of alcohol, not a single drop on his breath. So, if anything, it was regret, obvious and plastered over his entire face.

But to Eddie, it's shame.

Shame at the idea of breaking so many rules, risking his job at the hands of some young women—who he couldn’t help but be lured by, entranced at how much of an enigma you were. He couldn’t describe it, couldn’t even put it into words.

And even after he drops you off that night, he comes in his hand, against the soft expanse of his stomach, the image of your face in his mind as you come apart by the work of his own hand.

He knew there was no going back, allowing himself to fully succumb to the idea that if you were willing to let him have you like that, you’d let him do just about anything.

It was exactly what you wanted.

author's note: and an extra special thank you to @hellfirehoe for dealing with my nonstop horny thoughts about this and helping me proofread.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #my writing #1kfic #5kfic

9K notes · View notes

newsfromstolenland · 6 months

Note

The murder of 700+ Jewish people isn't something to be celebrated. I'm against Israeli government and what they've done to the people of Palestine. But there is nothing to encourage or support, this was a terrorist act. We haven't had this many people die in a single day since the Holocaust, and the attack happened on a Jewish holiday. Have some respect.

this isn't an antisemitic attack?? this is people who have been subjected to more than half a century of ethnic cleansing and colonization at the hands of Israeli settlers fighting back against their oppressors

you're ignoring the death toll of Palestinians over the years to make them out to be "terrorists" when all they're doing is fighting back in self defense. when colonists kill brown people it's a "complicated conflict with good people on both sides", but when those brown people fight back they're "terrorists". it's so fucking transparent.

the occupation of Palestine is brutal and genocidal, and you're comparing the people perpetrating said genocide to holocaust victims?? bullshit.

you say you support Palestinians, but what would you have them do? keep asking for help from countries that only end up arming the Israeli state? keep being killed in their homes and schools and hospitals and places of worship because fighting back makes them the bad guys? fuck you

this isn't Palestinians being antisemitic and attacking jewish people (not to mention that there are plenty of jewish Palestinians), this is about a colonized people fighting back against those who are colonizing them. it's about fighting an oppressive colonial state, not persecuting jewish people.

your rhetoric is the same as France's rhetoric when Algerians fought back against the french occupation, and as Britain's when Indians fought back against colonization. colonists slaughter at will but the colonized fighting back get called terrorists. you're on the wrong side of history, and I'd like to cordially invite you to go fuck yourself

#asks #anonymous #mine #un-fucking-believable #palestine #free palestine #israel #zionism #colonialism #genocide #ethnic cleansing #colonialism tw #genocide tw #ethnic cleansing tw

769 notes · View notes

fredwkong · 4 months

Text

Djinni's Gym: Hot Yoga

With a new gym opening in town, you had finally decided to get off your ass and try working out again. You had always been kind of shrimpy, and a few months of nonstop office work had added a bit of unwanted mass to your belly. A generous free trial of the new gym’s facilities was just the kick you needed to get back in shape.

Of course, you hadn’t counted on what seemed to be half the men in town taking the free trial as well. You shouldered through the crowd in the reception area, at least a dozen men filling out release of liability forms. “Look,” you said to the receptionist, a huge Black man, “can I at least go stretch and then come fill out the form when it’s not so busy?”

The guy looked you over and shrugged. “Sure, lil bro,” he rumbled. “The yoga studio is over there.” He lifted a massive arm and pointed across the weight room. As you nodded, you caught a whiff of the humid stench rising from his pit. As your eyes watered, you found yourself rock hard in your sweats.

“Th-thanks,” you stammered, and hurried through the turnstile, your cheeks burning. You had never reacted like that to another man. You looked around the weight room, trying to distract yourself.

The whole place was full of big weightlifters with a whole range of skin tones, all of them dressed in gym gear that left nothing to the imagination. You swallowed, your throat suddenly gone dry as a huge Indian bro grunted through a squat, sweat soaking the back of his tank top.

In a daze, you drifted across the weight room, your eyes drawn to every bouncing pec, rounded ass, and thick bulge you passed. A medley of scents flooded your nostrils, and your own cock started to leak pre into your briefs.

Finally, the door of the yoga studio closed behind you. Your head spun as you leaned against it, idly trailing one hand over your belly to cup your groin.

The yoga studio was dim, wood-panelled and, you quickly realised, heated. The thermostat on the wall read 38 Celsius. There was a single yoga mat set up in the middle of the room. To your overheated, lust-addled mind, some yoga seemed like a great idea. It didn’t occur to you that you hadn’t done a flow in years.

As you stepped out of your shoes and onto the yoga mat and stood in mountain pose, your feet tingled and expanded, darkening from toes to soles to ankles. Your joints flexed, supple and agile, as your feet began to emit a masculine scent that tickled your nose. Your cock jerked again, but you attempted to ignore the heat coiling in your belly.

You raised your arms and slipped into a forward fold, a little surprised when your hands easily touched the mat. You breathed into the gentle stretch in your hamstrings, unaware of your fingers stretching wider across the mat, their grip soft yet strong. An olive tone spread across your formerly pale hands as a sheen of sweat stood out among the thickening hairs near your wrist.

Stepping back into plank, you lowered yourself halfway and slipped smoothly into upward dog. You were surprised at how well your body recalled the sun salutation. After a few minutes in downward facing dog, you lowered yourself to your hands and knees in tabletop.

Dark skin rushed up your arms and legs. They got no longer or shorter, but tightened with lean, hairy muscle. Sweat poured off your body as you went through cat and cow repetitions, adding to the heady, musky humidity of the studio that was keeping you boned up.

You slipped seamlessly into a side split, your newly flexible hips bringing your cock and balls right down to the mat. You gasped, unable to contain yourself as your cock shuddered and grew against the rubber, thickening and darkening as a foreskin grew to cover the head. You felt an even larger spurt of precum gush into your sweats, which seemed to shrink and tighten, until you realised you were wearing stretchy yoga tights that left nothing to imagination. As you lifted out of the stretch, you left a visible pearly stain of precum on the mat, which added its own earthy musk to the air.

Finally, you lowered yourself from a plank onto your belly, resting one cheek on the mat as you breathed. Your shirt vanished into thin air, revealing your newly tight pecs, flat belly, and rippling back muscles. An olive tone swept up your neck, dusting your cheeks with stubble as your eyes darkened, hooded and lusty. You sighed in a deeper voice than you were accustomed to, relaxing into the yoga mat as your transformation ended.

The door of the studio opened behind you. “Hello?” rumbled the big receptionist.

His name suddenly leapt into your mind. “Hey Shaun,” you purred, a Hispanic accent creeping into your voice. “Want to help me stretch out?”

Shaun chuckled. “I’m on the clock, Jorge. I’ll take you in the showers after close.” He sniffed the air appreciatively. “You ready for your first class?”

Your cock flexed, trapped between your hip and the mat, at the thought of a couple dozen sexy men getting sweaty at your command. Only long practice at containing your lust until the right moment kept you under control. You couldn’t wait to lead them through a flow, get them hot and excited, and then help them release all their tension along with their sweat and, possibly, their jizz. You had become Jorge the Mexican yoga instructor, and you couldn’t imagine a better job than teaching classes at Djinni’s Gym.

#djinni's gym #genie #wish #musk tf #muscle tf #race change #latino tf #all fwkong

467 notes · View notes

ktempestbradford · 5 months

Text

From The Atlantic: Substack Has a Nazi Problem

[that link is to an archived version, so no paywall]

Bottom Line: the CEOs/leaders of Substack aren't just being laissez-faire about the fascists and open white supremacists on the platform, they actively boost them by having them on the company podcast, featuring them, mentioning them, and boosting them. Because the newsletters bring in LOADS of money and they love money. Even newsletters that repeatedly violate the basic, useless guidelines of Substack, they do not get punished.

This isn't a huge surprise for anyone who has been following the major issues with Substack that have come up in the past few years. There was the whole scandal where the public discovered that Substack had been paying people secretly to be on the service while advertising that anyone can make it on their own here! Plus, they were paying bigots directly to put their newsletters on the srvice.

Good breakdowns of that from Annalee Newitz and Grace Lavery.

Then there was the disasterous interview one of the CEOs (Chris Best) did with Nilay Patel of The Verge when Substack's Twitter clone launched. Nilay -- who is, if you hadn't guessed, of Indian descent -- asked him pointed questions about content moderation and... well...

[Nilay] I just want to be clear, if somebody shows up on Substack and says “all brown people are animals and they shouldn’t be allowed in America,” you’re going to censor that. That’s just flatly against your terms of service. [Best] So, we do have a terms of service that have narrowly prescribed things that are not allowed. That one I’m pretty sure is just flatly against your terms of service. You would not allow that one. That’s why I picked it. So there are extreme cases, and I’m not going to get into the– Wait. Hold on. In America in 2023, that is not so extreme, right? “We should not allow as many brown people in the country.” Not so extreme. Do you allow that on Substack? Would you allow that on Substack Notes? I think the way that we think about this is we want to put the writers and the readers in charge– No, I really want you to answer that question. Is that allowed on Substack Notes? “We should not allow brown people in the country.” I’m not going to get into gotcha content moderation. This is not a gotcha... I’m a brown person. Do you think people on Substack should say I should get kicked out of the country? I’m not going to engage in content moderation, “Would you or won’t you this or that?” That one is black and white, and I just want to be clear: I’ve talked to a lot of social network CEOs, and they would have no hesitation telling me that that was against their moderation rules. Yeah. We’re not going to get into specific “would you or won’t you” content moderation questions. Why? I don’t think it’s a useful way to talk about this stuff.

Best wasn't willing to get into these "gotchas" around their new social network, which is a pretty clear indication that they won't get into it around content moderation on the original platform. (Their statement after the fact did nothing to make things better.)

It's also really clear from the Atlantic article that the Substack CEOs/Owners are, at best, more interested in making money than in keeping white supremacists and Nazis (literal ones) off their platform. At worst, the Substack CEOs/Owners are supremacist/Nazi sympathizers. Either way:

Substack Directly Supports the Alt-Right, Nazis, and White Supremacists

Openly, brazenly, and without remorse.

#tw: nazis #nazis #fascisim #tw: fascists #tw: white supremacists #white supremacists #Substack #newsletters

482 notes · View notes

hindulivesmatter · 3 months

Text

Why Gandhi is a piece of shit and you should hate him.

Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi has been established in our history as a "Mahatma" which means "great soul"

This man is anything but that.

He is EVERYWHERE. He's on our currency, he's revered as a hero who saved India, and we have a mandatory holiday on October 2nd in honor of him.

If you didn't know, now you're going to get to know why he was a horrible human being. Let's begin.

This man managed to fool people Martin Luther King and Nelson Mandela (among many others) into thinking he was a good person.

Here is some of the shit he's done:

In 1903, when Gandhi was in South Africa, he wrote that white people there should be "the predominating race." He also said black people "are troublesome, very dirty, and live like animals."

Refused to have sex with his wife for the last 38 years of their marriage. He felt that in order to test his commitment to celibacy, he would have beautiful young women (including his own great niece) lie next to him naked through the night. His wife, whom he described as looking like a "meek cow" was no longer desirable enough to be a solid test.

Believed that Indian women who were raped lost their value as a human.

During Gandhi's time as a dissident in South Africa, he discovered a male youth had been harassing two of his female followers. Gandhi responded by personally cutting the girls' hair off, to ensure the "sinner's eye" was "sterilised". Gandhi boasted of the incident in his writings, pushing the message to all Indians that women should carry responsibility for sexual attacks upon them.

He argued that fathers could be justified in killing daughters who had been sexually assaulted for the sake of family and community honour.

Gandhi also waged a war against contraceptives, labelling Indian women who used them as whores.

He believed menstruation was a "manifestation of the distortion of a woman's soul by her sexuality".

On 6th April 1947, he gave a speech where he said, “ If the Muslims are out there slicing through Hindu masses to wipe out the Hindu race, the Hindus should say nothing and peacefully accept death”.

He hated the great Hindu rulers, especially Shivaji Maharaj. To please the Muslims, he banned the book named ShivBhaavani which correctly depicted Islam’s intolerance and fierce fundamentalism spread by it.

Refused his wife life-saving medication (for religious reasons), but those religious reasons all of a sudden no longer applied to him when he was in a similar position.

Started a fast unto death when Ambedkar asked for separate electorates for Dalits.

Gandhi left his ailing father on his deathbed, to sleep with his wife. The child born out of this copulation died in infancy. According to Gandhi, the death of this infant was the result of this evil karma.

Gandhi, even when he claimed to be the angel of non-violence, made no efforts to prevent the British from deploying Indian troops at various locations during World War II.

Kashmir was invaded by Pakistan in 1947, the brutal Pakistani army committed heinous crimes against Kashmiri Pandits including mass rape and mass killings consequently many Pandits were forced to flee to Delhi and other places. In one incident Pandits took refuge in an abandoned mosque in Delhi. Infuriated, Gandhi threatened to fast to death if the Pandits didn't leave. The Pandits were slaughtered in a communal riot as soon as they abandoned the mosques.

Criticized the Jews for defending themselves against the Holocaust because he insisted that they should have committed public mass suicide in order to "shame" the Germans instead of fighting back. His exact words were, "But the Jews should have offered themselves to the butcher's knife. They should have thrown themselves into the sea from the cliffs. As it is, they succumbed anyway in their millions."

And this is all from a simple Internet search compiled here. I wonder what else is hiding if I do a deep dive.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#hinduphobia #hindublr #desiblr #antisemitism #history #india #gandhi #can you guys tell i hate him #indian history #british empire #tw rape #tw assault

287 notes · View notes

wynnyfryd · 3 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU part 48

part 1 | part 47 | ao3

cw: mentions of smoking/sexual activity

Chapter 11

February

For two and a half months, Steve’s life goes perfectly. He didn’t realize how far into a pit he’d fallen until Eddie showed up to help Robin and the kids lift him out, but the difference is jarring. Golden hour sunlight after catching a matinée.

Steve spends two months blinking.

He sloughs off his sadness like a snake shedding skin; spends the winter getting back to being Steve, restocks his favorite hair products and restarts his fitness routines — morning runs through the woods, afternoon pick-up games with Lucas and some of his teammates when the weather doesn’t suck. Weightlifting in the evenings because Eddie says he likes how Steve’s arms look when they get a little big, says it’s more fun to pin him down when he knows it’s just for show.

And he tries new things, too, just because Eddie likes them or because the kids think they're cool. He reads a Vonnegut novel. He eats Indian curry. He even learns a song on guitar.

...Sort of.

Eventually.

(Actually, that whole thing goes pretty horribly and takes for-fucking-ever. Eddie spends an afternoon patiently encouraging him and doing his best not to tease while Steve clumsily moves through a beginner chord progression, and then breaks down wheezing when, after the sixth attempt with no improvement, Steve puts the guitar down in a huff and threatens to demote his pinky finger from his hand if it doesn't start cooperating. Eddie laughs so hard he tips face-first into Steve's crotch, and it takes them a sticky-spitty-sweaty half hour to get back to the lesson.)

Anyway, he likes the way their lives entangle. As easy as weaving his hands through Eddie’s hair.

He gets invited to band practice; he sits in on D&D. Sometimes he watches sports with Wayne when he's got a day off, then he heads out with Eddie for long joyrides through the countryside.

Eddie blasts his metal music when they get out to the backroads, and he talks too loudly over the bass and laughs even louder and rants about nothing and smokes cigarettes while he headbangs to his favorite guitar solos — almost lights his hair on fire on more than one occasion, fucking dumbass — and he does this silly, lewd shit that makes Steve's chest just ache. Makes it clench around the word that's been burning a hole in his tongue since New Year's Eve. Eddie wags his brows and palms himself through his jeans and asks if Steve wants to take another joyride when they get home, and Steve thinks:

God, I love you.

I love you.

How could I not love you?

And really, how could he not? And how much longer can he keep not telling him so? When it feels like the word is going to burst out of his chest Alien-style any second.

When it feels like Eddie's the reason he even has a home to get to.

Slowly — so slowly, hours spent thrifting and bartering and keeping an eye out for free stuff left out on the curb, even more hours sanding and painting and caulking and sweating to death between trips to the hardware store — they redo Steve's whole trailer. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall, they exorcise the haunted tin can. They make it his; they make it theirs.

Eddie injects life into every inch of the space, fills it with weird art and funky lamps and a big, comfy leather couch that he likes to bend Steve over. Comes inside him in every room when they get done working on it as a reward; gasps in Steve's ear about how he always wants to be inside him: in his home, in his body, nestled deep inside his heart. "Keep me right here, baby," he breathes as he fucks Steve against a wall, his left hand gripping Steve's chest while he fills him from behind.

It’s perfect.

It's perfect.

Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts unless Steve asks.

And then, because this godforsaken town and everyone in it are fucking cursed, one day it isn’t anymore.

—

part 49

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fic #oh giant joseph head we're really in it now

333 notes · View notes

skyeslittlecorner · 1 month

Note

As someone who's craving whb contents, i love ur scenarios so muchhhhhhh

I've seen the smol kings and it was so cute :33

Can i request the kings with smol mc, but maybe slight angsty because Mc lost their parents when they're young and stuff...

I'm so happy you find this entertaining, because I'm not going to stop lmao You're stuck with me. Poor things. Love you too

We've already had kings with a little shy MC, now it's time to see how they deal with a sad or crying one

We may say it's a little continuation of this request

Satan will let you cry if you want. Expressing emotions is healthy. He told himself that you can do whatever you want, even if it means yelling and snotting on his shirt. That doesn't mean he'll leave you alone; he'll hug you, and you can bury your face in his shoulder, covered with soft hair that smells like sunny cat fur. Safe and hidden from the whole world. If you're frustrated and want to beat him with your little fists, he's there for you, too. He understands your pain, as he also lost loved ones. Loses people every day in the war... he knows what it's like when your emotions control you more than you control them. Although you express it in a much less destructive way than he does. Maybe deep down, he envies you for being able to afford something like that.

Mammon will be very concerned. His little master is unhappy? Why, can he do something about it? Cuddled against a large chest and tucked into huge arms, you feel safe. But... unfortunately your pain doesn't come from outside, where Mammon can protect you, but from inside. He will rock you and try to gently distract you. He knows you very well. Whether it's a design show or just a playground, Mammon knows what you like and will take you there to cheer you up. And all his nobles will join him. You can count on hugs from Eligos and be carried in Valefor's arms, even Bimet will let you play and fly on his skulls.

Beelzebub, like Mammon, will try to comfort you, but in a less gentle way. Are you crying? These are definitely bad memories. He is also often tormented, and he has a way to deal with it. Break them down like soreness. You won't even have time to cry properly. Cuddled in his arms, you suddenly feel the strong smells of spices. Is this an Indian bazaar? Beel will grab vada pav for you and for himself, and while eating street food, you will watch how other snacks are prepared. A few moments later, you will find yourself in front of the coliseum, where you will watch an artist painting landscapes with sprays. (By the way, Italy, mafia, Beel feels at home here, don't let him into the fireworks stands.) Snowy Carpathians, mustangs on the prairies, atolls of coral reefs, when such a colorful kaleidoscope flashes before your eyes, you won't have time to cry. Beel will only breathe when you fall asleep in his arms. Even though he was entertaining and laughing with you the whole time, there was a boulder in his chest. Only passing tourists who see a handsome man with a child in his arms, sitting by the fireplace and staring into the flames, will be able to see that he is hunched over with worry.

Leviathan isn't the happiest when you're crying on his shoulder. You will see this, and you will want to run away from him, but he will grab you in his arms before you can. Who let you? It's better that no one sees you like this. Come. You will stay with him. He will wipe your tears with a tissue and tell you to blow your nose. Even if you are scared, over time, when you sit with him, you will realize that there is nothing to be afraid of. It's quiet and safe around. You won't even be warned for disturbing him at work. He will spend as much time with you as you need. But what will shock you the most... is his voice. He will walk with you in his arms and start humming softly. A voice more beautiful than an angel's, you will listen like a charm, although it is a purr quieter than a whisper. He simply did what he would like to receive if he were a crying child.

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb satan #whb beelzebub #whb leviathan #whb mammon #skye's little talk

182 notes · View notes

chaotic-iguana · 8 months

Note

how about a five where Javi rejects the reader, so the reader like gets really sad, but one day Javi hears she is going on a date (is not true, Murphy made it up) and he rushed to her apartment and confesses and reader is like ?? What are you talking about, super angsty but super fluffy? Pleaseeee

Out of time | javier peña x f! reader

summary: javi rejects reader. repents like the idiot he is. (i love him) he is a FOOL in love. fight me.

wordcount: 2.1k

warnings: rejection, angst and fluff, hurt and comfort basically, happy ending.

A/N: i got you, anon. this promt is the perfect apology for the last one. repentance fr. love u ALL. let me know what you think. also nothing against “hippies” just giving murphy pov. i do however as an indian have a bone to pick with fake white yoga gurus. it’s gotta be appropriation.

masterlist

Javi had never been heartless before. Never been cruel before. Now, as you pointedly hunched over your desk in an effort to ignore the chortles and cheap jokes that kept sounding from the men crowded around his desk as they all stood around a nameless note someone -you- had slipped onto his desk.

He laughed boisterously with them, before crumpling the paper in his fist and dropping it into the bin next to his chair. You refused to so much as raise your head and look his way, feeling the crushing wave of heartbreak sweeping through you. It wasn’t until you felt a tear on your cheek that you realised that you had started crying, and so you muttered an excuse about getting some coffee before rushing to the bathroom and sobbing in a closed stall. So much for Valentine’s day.

It wasn’t until the end of the day, when you saw him walking your way in the parking lot, that you met his eyes. And you could see, with the set of his jaw; the arch of his brows, that he knew. Before you could scramble into your car, he was yelling after you.

“Is your new hobby being extended to everyone or did I win the lucky draw? Cute note.”

Oh, that bastard.

You scoffed, looking him straight in the eye. “Call it a moment of weakness, Peña. Thought I felt something for you, and it was Valentine’s day. Pretty sure all I feel now is rage, you asshole.”

A laugh from him. “Don’t be like that, hermosa. Let me know if you feel something between your legs for me, alright?”

Scowling, you turned from him and got into your car. You could have sworn he looked like a kicked puppy as you pulled out of the parking. These past few weeks, you had caught him looking at you more often. Finding excuses to touch you more often, too. A hand on your back, fingers accidentally grazing yours, his knee pressed against your thigh in Murphy’s backseat. Fucking idiot. You didn’t even know if you were madder at him or yourself. You know him. All of fucking Bogota knows him. God knows how you were foolish enough to think he felt anything except for between his legs.

A few months go by, excruciatingly slowly. It’s as if time itself has decided to fuck with you. You miss his gaze on you, his hands, his smile, him. You’ve been avoiding him like the plague. Stopped looking at him even when he was in the same room, hardly spoke to him even if it was in the middle of a raid, declined Connie’s many many invitations to parties you knew he’d be at. It was just easier to pretend that February the 14th had been a completely normal day. You’re just tired of all of it. It would have been easier not to have said anything at all.

What you were completely unaware of, however, was that you had a sneaky little shit for a partner. The fact that he had clocked what was going on immediately was completely unbeknownst to you. Both of you pining silently with what Steve dubbed “moony heart eyes”, the radio silence, and the fact that you had stopped talking to Connie just so you didn’t have to show up to her parties? Something had gone wrong. Initially, Steve thought that maybe Javi had made an unwanted move on you - and had damn near scuffed him to death - until he saw Javi’s eyes the next day. Haunted. It seemed that you had managed to take more out of the man than Escobar had. But you weren’t faring much better, either. Irritated and tired and grumbly all the time, refusing to so much as look in Javi’s direction. But you both were pretty much just staying out of each other’s ways, not causing any trouble, so he let it go. For now.

But then Steve and Javi had to chase a lead down together, and Javi introduced him to an informant who - with a little imagination - looked like your spitting image. The same hair, terrifying similar voice, and a lopsided grin, just like yours. And it clicked. The day that had started it all, and the “anonymous” note Javi had gotten. The idiocy with which you both had handled the situation made him want to run unarmed into a sicario’s den, but he came up with another idea instead.

Just before a weekend he knew on good authority that you had no plans except for lounging in bed, he started nudging and hinting to Javi the randomest shit about you. Just to reignite the interest. Almost like, you know - bait.

“Man, her hair looks good. I wonder if she got it done?”

“Hey Peña, d’ya reckon that’s a new skirt? Connie’d kill me if I didn’t ask where from”

“Javi - look - she got her nails done. Before an op? Doesn’t that get a bit…impractical? Hey, I’m jus’ asking.”

Each time, Steve was met with an irritated eyeroll, scoff, or just flat-out ignored. But around midnight on Friday, he ‘bust out the big guns’, so to speak, making an offhanded comment while jutting his chin out in the direction of your chair.

“Good thing she left early. Never woulda made it to the date tomorrow mornin’ otherwise.”

Which, instead of being met with the usual options, was met with Javi’s brain almost short circuiting. The sight of his friend, gaping like a fish as his eyes practically bulged out of his head while he stammered out the easiest one-syllable word in the English language is one Steve can never forget. Or let Javi forget, either.

“W-wha-what?”

And so, like the most devious matchmaker on the planet, Steve proceeded to make up some utter bullshit about a boy he’d supposedly seen you around with, one that had apparently asked you out tonight to meet him for ‘brunch’ tomorrow. Just to fuck with Javi, he made the guy from LA, and a tourist. And white. And the kinda hippie who did yoga and spoke about his newly-discovered chakras all the time.

Javier could feel the blind panic clawing at his chest, his heart threatening to burst. He didn’t know exactly why, but he had hated every single second you hadn’t spoken to him. Laughed at his jokes. Flashed him your smile, even the sarcastic one. He missed your quips and the way you groaned and swore at him when he pissed you off. He’d convinced himself he could live with that. But this? A date with some idiot he knew wouldn’t treat you right? He couldn’t understand his own feelings compelling him to pack up in a frenzy, ignore Steve’s pointed laugh, scramble into his car and drive straight to your apartment. He didn’t even stop to smooth his hair back, or fix the wrinkles in his shirt from slumping in it all day. No, all that mattered to him in that moment was you. Who was he kidding? He knew exactly why he felt the way he did. He’d just been under the illusion that ignoring it would make it go away, but it hadn’t. He had to fix this now.

Standing on your doorstep, Javi blinked for a second while marveling at how fast that drive had been - he’d barely registered doing anything since he heard the word date come out of Steve’s mouth. Hesitation clamped a hand over his mouth, his body, and he stood frozen, unsure of whether to knock or just turn around. But if not now, never, right? And who knew how long he would live? Wasn’t this a time he should be getting what he wants, spending time with the people he…loves?

Before he could overthink himself out of doing it, Javi raised his fist and rapped it against your door, twice. And when you opened the door, rubbing your eyes and standing there in your sleep shorts and an oversized shirt, it took a second for his brain to catch up. It wasn’t until you were squinting at him, then stumbling over nothing as your eyes widened that he realised where he was. The hurt on your face in the split second before you moved to close the door had him jamming his foot in the doorframe.

“Just hear me out, hermosa. I promise if you want me to fuck off after that, I will.”

After waiting for you to nod and open your door wordlessly, he stalked after you, further into your apartment, stunned by how homely it was. The walls had pictures of you and other people laughing, of art and paintings and sketches that seemed to all have been done by the same person; the sofa was a rich brown leather and the fluffy throw on it just a shade lighter. Everything was carefully coordinated, in color and texture, and he couldn’t help but note the contrast. Some of his stuff was still in boxes. He’d been in Colombia for longer than you, and his stuff was still in boxes. The difference was laughable.

But when he heard a sniffle from ahead, he found himself walking faster - practically walking into you - before he was planting his hands on your shoulders to turn you around to him, and then gripping the sides of your arms as if they were his salvation. His eyes searched yours, and the heartbreak he found as you tried to look away threatened to make his knees buckle. So he hooked an index finger under your chin to tilt your head up to him, resting his forehead against yours. Moving his thumb to smooth out the furrow in your brow, he huffed at the stubborn frown that refused to budge.

“I am sorry. I truly am. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know how to react. I want you, and I did then, too. But I just…didn’t think it was real. I swear I thought you were joking at first. It’s why I let the guys see. Then I saw you in the parking lot, and you were actually sad, and I just panicked. I just don’t think I was ready back then. But I swear to God, I can’t bear another six months of the cold shoulder. I love you, you know. I’ve just been too much of an idiot to realise it.”

For a whole minute, you just stare at him unblinkingly. Then, suddenly, your face crumples, limbs slackening in his grip. He holds you through it, letting you sob into his chest as he coos reassurances and apologies to you until you pull back from his embrace to look at him questioningly once more.

“Why now?” Your words make Javi smile, and he cocks a brow at you.

“You really thought I’d let that idiot take you out before I told you how I feel?”

You look even more confused now, which is confusing him in turn.

“Wait, what idiot?” There’s no twinkle in your eye - no smirk tugging at your lips. Not a joke.

“The one who…asked you out?” Javi cocks his head at you, watching your frown deepen.

“Who?” The absolute befuddlement on your face is on the verge of making him snigger, and he feels his lips twitching already.

“The-does Murphy know? That you weren’t busy tonight?” His overworked mind supplies the answer to him, and he has never more in his life wanted to punch and hug his other partner simultaneously.

“Oh, yeah. He asked cause Connie wanted to know if she could come over? I guess she must have gotten caught- oh. Oh.” Javi gives you a moment to reach the same conclusion he did, and both of you end up bursting out in laughter at the same time.

But Steve was the one with the biggest grin when, come Monday morning, a bottle of premium whiskey and a brand new watch sat on his desk with a little note:

Well played, motherfucker.

What is it they say about couples adopting each other’s habits when they get into a relationship? Javi’d picked up your so-called hobbies within a weekend.

You ended up spending enough time with each other to pick up everything else, too. Call it cliché, but atleast you weren’t boring. Or, you know, going on dates with imaginary guys that existed only in Steve’s extremely limited imagination. Win-win.

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore,@millerscoffee, @ nostalxgic, @sscorpiiiio, @pedrosaidsheispunk dividers by @reveriesources

488 notes · View notes

cod-dump · 21 days

Note

This could very much be an odd idea but thoughts on Nik not trusting barbers to get his hair or beard right (the word "beard" is used loosely) so he just does it himself, straight razor and all. Eventually Price finds out about this and, being a man of duty, takes it upon himself to take care of his partner. This ends up with Price sitting on Nik's lap with all of Nik's shaving tools laid out and Price sternly telling him to "shut up and sit still" everytime he tries to make a joke about their proximity

Date Night

PriceNik

———

Nik won’t cut his hair or shave until he considers it bothersome. And when he does it’s all coming off. And Price hates it. Nik would just take it all off at once and Price wouldn’t even recognize him. They made their current arrangement years ago after Price finally had enough.

Now they had a system. Nik would tell Price when his hair and scruff would be bothering him and Price would quickly arrange a time they could sit down and he would take care of it. Nik liked to consider it date night for them because it was always so tender. The way Price would hold his face and get close? He looked forward to it ever since the first time.

He would get drinks for them (afterwards on Price’s insistence) and order in food. He would have some music lined up that would be soft, something Price liked and enjoys. Nik took date night seriously, especially since it was an opportunity to get Price to relax.

“What did you order this time? Smells amazing,” Food had gotten here sooner than expected, an error on Nik’s part. So now the delicious aroma was haunting them before Price had even started trimming his hair.

“Indian, your favorite.”

Nik made sure to go the extra mile to get food from Price’s favorite place, a whole country away. But nothing was too much for him to get something that’ll make Price’s night. Nik had one of his men go out and get it for him with the promise of giving him enough money to get himself something extra (be it food or something else entirely).

“We’re already married, you don’t have to keep trying to impressing me,” Price joked as he made sure he had everything he needed before he started on Nik’s hair.

“Nonsense, have to make sure you know you made the right choice.”

“Again with the charming.”

Price had turned away, confirming that Nik had him blushing. It was one of Nik’s favorite hobbies and one that he’s only allowed to do behind closed doors. He made Price blush once in front of the boys and that’s all they needed to torment the man for weeks on end. Price hasn’t forgiven him and sworn him from flirting in public. Nik had to play nice to get back the right to be affectionate in the common area again.

“Seeing some silver here.”

Nik almost melted when he felt his husband’s fingers touch his hair, his nails light scraping his scalp as he combed through with his fingers. Nik easily could fall asleep with Price petting his hair, but Price wasn’t allowing him and tugged a strand harshly.

“Sit up straight.”

“Bossy,” Nik teased which immediately earned him another tug. Nik sat up straight and allowed Price to comb through his hair before he started trimming.

Price was surprisingly very good with hair. Nik suspected he started when Ghost was brought home, very traumatized and unable to look himself in the mirror or go out in public. Price had taken it upon himself to help the man keep up with his appearance. Once Ghost gotten better, Price seemed to turn his new skill onto Nik.

“You would make a good living in a hair salon. Just need to get practice with color.”

Price hummed as he cut Nik’s hair, “You offering?”

“Hm, no. I might just keep the grey, remind myself how far I’ve survived.”

Price finished with his hair, now just under his ears. Price gently fluffed his hair, perhaps admiring his work or being affectionate.

“Could get some orange in there.”

Nik snorts, “Orange?”

“Maybe some purple, too.”

“I like Halloween but not that much,” Nik laughed, once again melting against Price’s touch. Price’s laugh was heavenly and Nik couldn’t stop grinning.

Price deemed Nik’s hair acceptable before he went to prepare to shave and trim the scruff on his face. Nik wasn’t as gifted in growing facial hair as Price but it still needed to be maintained to look presentable. Nik was just shaving it all off but Price had mentioned he liked it on him, so it stayed. And now Price tended to it, Nik happily letting him do whatever he wished.

Price used to stand over him to shave and trim the scruff, but they both found that the process was much easier and faster with Price on Nik’s lap.

“Keep your hands to yourself.”

Nik grinned at the warning, “I’m used to you not having so much clothing when you’re like this.”

Price smacked his head with a glare, Nik continuing to grin. Price being so close to his face, holding it and using sharp objects — It was safe to say that he was the only person Nik had ever let get this close. He was one of the only people Nik would ever trust to do this. Price knew that, Nik could tell with how he touched him. How his fingers stroked his cheek, how soft his eyes were.

Price knew how much Nik trusted him, how much he loved him. Moments like this meant so much to them. These moments allowed them to demonstrated how much they meant to the other, how much trust and love they had. Nik had closed his eyes, the ultimate sign of him allowing himself to be completely vulnerable and open to Price. It was a gift, something Price returns fully.

“There,” Price leaned back on Nik’s lap, hands on the man’s shoulders. The movement caused Nik to open his eyes, greeted by Price’s eyes which were full of love, “Much better.”

“Still has handsome as the day we met?” Nik asked, completely at Price’s mercy.

“No. Much more now than ever.”

Nik couldn’t help but laugh, quickly silenced by a kiss to his lips. The kiss was short, Price pulling away and pressing a kiss to his nose before moving up and kissing his forehead. The sweet, simple act made Nik shudder, he had never expected himself to fall so deep for someone.

“Я тебя люблю,” Nik said without thinking, a phrase he has said countless times in his life, and the majority of it was for the man currently on his lap and destroying every wall he has ever built.

“I love you, too.”

There was moment of silence, of them staring into each other’s eyes, before Price pulled away and got off Nik’s lap.

“Go clean up so we can eat. I’m starving.”

Nik laughed and did as he was told. As he strip himself of his clothes and went to shower, he couldn’t help but smile and think about how much he adores these moments.

#call of duty #modern warfare #cod nikolai #john price #ficlet #drabble #pricenik #ask #thanks for the ask <3

161 notes · View notes

topguncortez · 9 months

Text

Leave the Door open | Bradley Bradshaw x Female!Reader

Bradley Bradshaw Masterlist | Main Masterlist

synopsis: Bradley's world gets tilted off its axis when he meets a certain blonde haired, green eyed female. based off this request

word count: 2.6k

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, mentions of nudity, fear, cursing, mentions of abortion, happy ending:)

His mind was completely blank, and that never happened. Rooster’s mind was always busy, hearing, analyzing, and thinking of everything and anything around him. It took a lot for Rooster to be speechless, but hearing you cry over the phone, begging him to come over right this very moment, had him forgetting everything. The drive to your place, which usually brought a smile to Rooster’s face was filled with eerie silence and dread.

The two of you had been together for just over a year. Rooster could remember the moment he saw you, the girl sitting alone at the bar. The pink sundress you wore stood out against the sea of khaki and green-colored uniforms. Rooster had been eyeing you all night, mustering up the courage to go order you a drink. But all courage was lost when Hangman waltzed up to you and pulled you in for a tight hug. Of course, the pretty girl in the pretty sundress was waiting for the biggest douchebag that Rooster had ever met. And to make matters worse, Jake had sauntered over to the group, his arm around your shoulders and a bright smile on his face.

“Who’s the girl, Bagman?” Phoenix asked.

“This is my sister,” Jake smiled, “My baby sister, so no funny ideas. Even you, Trace.”

And just like that, the courage returned to Rooster’s body. From the moment he introduced himself to you, till Penny called last call, Rooster was by your side. The two of you had hit it off immediately, the sparks flying so bright, you could probably see them from outer space. Hangman tried to do the whole big brother protective bit, but it was no use. If there was one thing that brought him joy, other than flying, it was seeing his sister’s bright smile.

Rooster was so lucky to have you. You understood the world that he lived in. You knew how crazy and unpredictable his career could be. Some nights he’d fall asleep in bed beside you, and some nights he’d fall asleep in a bunk in the middle of the Indian Ocean. You got along with his friends, and could keep up with their ribbing and jokes. You also understood how important his career was to him. You weren’t too crazy about getting married and doing the whole kid thing. You just wanted to relax, see the world, and spend time with the love of your life.

Rooster had basically broken all traffic laws to get to your apartment as fast as he could. When you opened the door, his heart broke in half. Your face was puffy and red, tears still evident in your eyes. Rooster didn’t say anything but pulled you in for a hug. He could hardly make out the words you were saying but his ears caught the words ‘I’m so fucking sorry,’. It felt like hot lava was poured down his back as he stiffened, his mind now caught up with what was going on.

He’d seen this all before. The cryptic texts, the odd behavior, and now you were in front of him crying and apologizing over and over. He had just hoped that this time you hadn’t cheated on him with one of his wingmen.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Rooster asked, rubbing your back slowly. You pulled away wiping your eyes and shook your head, “Y/N, tell me what’s wrong?”

“I-I,” You tried to speak, but your words were falling short. You held your face in your hands as sobs racked your body. Rooster felt nothing but anger as he watched you cry in front of him. He hated when they would cry before breaking his heart. He always thought it was selfish.

“What did you do?” Rooster asked, crossing his arms across his chest. You just shook your head, gasping for air in between cries. Rooster huffed, growing frustrated, “What did you do, Y/N? Just fucking say it!”

“I’m pregnant!”

You could hear a pin drop as soon as you said it. Rooster took a step back from you and you felt like your whole world shattered. You shook your head and turned on your feet to rush down the hall, feeling that all too familiar feeling rises in your throat. You were surprised that you managed to push the nausea away for this long. Rooster was stuck in his spot as he tried to will his brain to function again.

How did this happen? We’ve always been careful. I don’t get it. When did this happen?

Rooster’s jaw dropped as he thought back to that one night six weeks ago, before his last mission. The two of you had been at Mav and Penny’s cookout for way longer than you wanted to be. But between the good conversation and the drinks, time had slipped by you. Rooster could remember stumbling through the front door, hands all over each other’s bodies, lips pressed together. He had taken you right up against the front door, both too eager to make it to the bedroom. The whole night you two spent tangled in between the sheets, both too lost in pleasure to think twice about putting a condom on.

“Rooster.”

He napped back to reality as the sound of his callsign fell from your lips. His honey-brown eyes looked around your living room with wide eyes, noticing the ripped-open box of pregnancy tests on the floor, along with the Target bag and receipts. He also noticed the empty water bottles around the couch and your shoes and coat kicked off haphazardly around the room. If there was one thing about you, you weren’t going to tell him unless you knew for sure, and it was clear what the answer was.

“Bradley,” You called his name again from your spot in the hallway. He lifted his head from the mess in the living room to your small frame. You felt exposed as he stared at you.

Rooster felt like he couldn’t breathe like the ceiling and walls were caving in. He felt sick to his stomach as you walked out of the bathroom, red tear stains on your cheeks. Your arms were crossed over your belly in a protective manner, as if you were protecting the precious life inside you.

The life he helped create.

“Bradley, can you-”

Rooster shook his head, taking a slow step back from you. Your eyebrows furrowed, and you felt your heartbeat in your ears as you watched the man who you swore wasn’t afraid of anything, turn on his heel and out the front door.

———————————

“What do you mean he just left?” Jake asked you over the phone. You had called him sobbing after Rooster had left, “Where did he go?”

“I don’t know, Jacob!” You cried as you paced in front of your fireplace. It had been a little over three hours since Bradley left your house without a word. You had followed him out the front door, but he moved as though someone lit a fire under his ass. You yelled his name as he backed the Bronco out of the driveway and took off faster than the speed limit. It took all your power to not collapse to your knees in the driveway, but the moment you made it back inside, you were on the ground in a pile of tears. You had tried calling Bradley’s phone for almost an hour, every single time getting his voicemail box before you gave up and called your brother.

Jake was the second person you had told about the pregnancy. You had been in a toss-up on who to tell first; Jake or Rooster. If you knew that Rooster was going to respond the way he did, you would’ve told Jake first, “He just left! I-I don’t know what to do! Jake, I can’t do this-”

“Okay, you need to take a deep breath,” Jake said, cutting you off. He knew you were scared, it was obvious by the sound of your voice. He knew that kids were never in your future plans, but he also knew the type of person you are. You’d handle this in stride, with or without Bradley. You were raised by a strong single mother. Both you and Jake knew you had the strength and integrity to be a mother. But Jake also knew you wouldn’t want to raise a child alone if you had the option not to do so.

“You’ll pass out from crying,” Jake said, as he drove up and down the streets. He knew there was probably one place that Rooster would always go, “I’m heading to a spot where I think he’ll be, but you need to calm down.”

“Okay,” You sniffled, sitting down on your couch.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Jake?”

“Breathe.” You smiled at his words, “It’ll be okay,”

“Thank you, Jake.”

“No problem. Just know I’m going to be the favorite uncle.” Jake smiled. You rolled your eyes and said goodbye to your brother, before hanging up. Jake was right about where he thought Rooster would be.

It was a park bench where his parents had gotten engaged years ago. The old wooden bench was tucked away by overgrown bushes and trees, but the look was still the same some 30 years later. Rooster had a picture, probably the last picture of all three of them, sitting on this exact bench, dated only a day before his father had died. The place had become Rooster’s escape, the quiet place he could go to clear his mind. He had taken you here once, creating a new memory and picture to last a lifetime. Rooster thought as he sat down on the old bench, about recreating that picture with his own child.

“You left my baby sister in tears and in a panic,” Jake said, walking up to his wingman. Jake sat down on the opposite end of the bench with a sigh. They both sat in silence for a moment, looking out at the dark ocean, hearing the waves crash against the white sand. The moon was high in the sky, illuminating the world.

“Thought you quit?”

“I did,” Rooster grumbled, taking a drag of the cigarette in his hand, “Only do it on occasion. Don’t tell her that though.”

Jake just shrugged his shoulders, “I think you smoking is the least of her worries right now.”

“She told you?”

“She told me,” Jake nodded, “She’s pregnant?”

“That’s what she said,” Rooster said, throwing his cigarette bud on the ground and stomping it out, “And I just fucking left! God, I did the thing I promised her I would never do!”

“And that is…”

“Walk out when things get hard,” Rooster said softly, “She said everyone walks out on her, and that’s why it took her so long to say ‘yes’ to dating me… she didn’t want me to be like everyone else, and I did exactly that.”

“The difference though, you have time to fix it,” Jake said, “She’s at home, scared, a mess, and worried about you. She even used the words ‘Jake, what if he wrapped his car around a pole?’ You need to go talk to her. You’re the only one who can make a decision in this scenario. You know what is right.”

Rooster nodded and pushed himself off the bench, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Jake said, “Go home and make things right. And don’t make me regret giving you this little pep talk.”

Rooster chuckled and patted Jake on the back before getting into his car. Rooster stopped at a flower shop to get a bouquet of your favorite flowers before heading back to your apartment. He shed off his jacket, hoping that would help with the smoke smell. He took a deep breath as he noticed the only light that was on was in your bathroom.

————————-

You lay motionless in the tub, your head resting on the side of it. You lit some small tea candles to give the bathroom a soft glow. Your body had started to hurt from crying and being sick. Your head was pounding and all you wanted to do was be surrounded by warmth. Usually, you had Rooster to do that, but you had no clue where he was.

Your head picked up slightly at the sound of the lock turning and the door opening. You sighed, hoping it wasn’t an intruder, but you knew it was more than likely Rooster, since he was the only one with a key to your apartment. Whoever the stranger was, knocked softly on the closed bathroom door.

“Baby? You in there?” Rooster’s voice sounded out. You stayed quiet, not feeling the strength to face him just yet, “Baby, please respond. Just let me know that you’re in there so I don’t have to go file a missing persons report.”

You huff and sit up a bit in the tub, “I’m in here.”

Rooster sighed and leaned his forehead against the door, “Please. . .” His voice sounded fragile and broken as if he had been crying, “Please, can you open the door?”

“It’s open,” You said softly.

Rooster pushed the door open, leading with the bouquet of flowers. You couldn’t help but chuckle as he walked in with his eye covered, trying to give you some privacy. The tub was large enough that you could have your modesty covered. He placed the flowers down on the counter and then sat by you on the ground outside of the bath. Rooster gently placed his hand on your cheek, and you nestled into the feeling.

“I am so sorry for walking out the door,” Rooster said, looking at your bloodshot eyes, “I don’t even know why I did that. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“It’s okay,” You said softly but Rooster shook his head.

“It’s not, and don’t say it is,” Rooster said, “I was there too, I partook in creating a baby, and I ran like a coward,” Rooster took a shaky breath, “I got scared, I still am scared. I mean, we aren’t married and we haven’t even thought about having kids… I’m terrified I am going to do the wrong thing. I’m absolutely shitting myself right now ‘cause I smell like cigarettes and I don’t want it to harm the baby.” You smiled at Rooster lovingly, “But I am here, for whatever you decided, I will be by your side.”

“You- you mean that?” You asked him honestly. You would be lying if the thought of exercising your right to choose didn’t cross your mind. You didn’t have a job currently, trying to finish your degree online. Rooster was busy with his new role at TopGun and taking every mission that came across his desk. You thought in the back of your mind, there was no way you could have a child right now.

“Yes,” Rooster said and you believed him. Rooster wasn’t going to force you to do something you didn’t want to do, “If having an abortion is what you choose, I will be right next to you holding your hands and fighting off those stupid fucking protestors with my bare hands. If you decide to go through with the pregnancy, I’ll let you curse me out while you’re in labor. I am right here, baby, you’d have to kill me to get rid of me.”

You smiled and leaned in to kiss Rooster. Rooster’s chapped lips met yours and placed a kiss full of love on your lips, “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you,” You spoke, leaning your forehead against his, and pushing a strand of brown hair behind his ear.

“I never, ever want you to know either. Baby, you’ll never be alone,” Rooster whispered, “I’m here.”

“We’re having a baby…”

“We’re having a fucking baby…”

taglist: @damrlova @shanimallina87 @phoenix1388 @desert-fern @mygyn @cherrycola27 @yanna-banana @seitmai @topgun-imagines @bradleybeachbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @xoxabs88xox @atarmychick007 @happypopcornprincess @sophiaslastbraincell @bradswolfe @fandom-princess-forevermore @thedroneranger @angelbabyange @lovelywiseprincess @milestellerlover @diorrfairy @krismdavis @eternallyvenus @pono-pura-vida @dakotakazansky @starberryhorse @daggersquadphantom @gspenc @toobouquet @avada-kedrava-bitch @kmc1989 @spencvrr @frazie99 @t0kyoreveng3rs @nyx2021 @els-marvelvsp @poppyalice2001

taglist form

note: i cleaned up my taglist. this is a reminder, if you’re a blank or ageless blog, you will not be tagged.

558 notes · View notes

rookthorne · 11 months

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐭

Playing innocent with Bucky never worked — it didn’t mean you wouldn’t try, not when the payoff was precisely what you craved.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✰ Biker!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✰ 1.7k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✰ Fluff, Possessive!Feral!Bucky and his absolutely fucking filthy mouth ჻჻჻ SMUT: Fingering (F receiving), innapropriate use of a motorcycle seat ჻჻჻ KINKS: Praise, ring

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ✰ Who knew I would ever type that warning, huh? ✰ I have missed my Biker!Bucky, so here he is, back with a vengeance.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ✰ Break My Baby by KALEO

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ✰ @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer ჻჻჻ Week 1 — "What should I wear?" — Masterlist

𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Wearing the coveted leather kutte that belonged to Bucky wasn’t something taboo, per se. Sure, you had made him wear it during certain moments, it was a weakness – you couldn’t help it; being the one to reap the rewards of Bucky being in control was something to sing to the heavens about.

But, wearing only his kutte, with his favourite burgundy Henley that rested and brushed against your thighs as you made morning coffee? You would get more than a reward that you were fucking sure of.

The quiet tink of the coffee mugs hitting the countertop echoed through the kitchen, and you started to hum quietly as you gathered ingredients for breakfast – pancakes and bacon, Bucky’s favourite.

“Well, well,” Bucky rasped, voice thick with sleep, and you jumped. The fridge door closed with a slam, and you stood facing Bucky – grey sweatpants low on his hips and arms crossed across his chest, all whilst leaning on the damn doorway. “What do we have here?”

“Nothing,” you blurted, the kutte on your back suddenly cumbersome and warm. “I’m making coffee. Do you want breakfast?”

Bucky shook his head, still staring you down – the heat in his gaze pinned you where you stood. “I was plannin’ on taking you out today, sweetheart,” he said, brows furrowing as if he was considering something. “But, I have one problem. D’you know what that is, baby?”

Slowly, you shook your head, biting your lip. The action didn’t go unnoticed, and Bucky just stared at your lips as you spoke, “No, what is it, babe?”

Darkened eyes met yours, and you suppressed a shiver. “My kutte,” Bucky began. Your heart stuttered as he stepped forward, gesturing at your clothed chest. “It’s currently on the sexiest woman walkin’ this fuckin’ earth, and she isn’t sittin’ on my bike. You see how that’s a problem now, sweetheart?”

Heaven above, help me, you prayed, looking down at your fidgeting hands. “N-No, I don’t see–”

“Oh, baby girl, don’t play dumb with me just yet,” Bucky purred. Heat pooled low in your stomach, and you took a slight step back, but he only neared closer, ignoring the way you shifted in place – you hated how he broke down your defences so fast. “Look me in the eye, sweetheart.”

You did, and you whimpered. The blazing stare turned your insides to lava, scorching and writhing. Helplessly, you stood rooted to the spot as Bucky grabbed your chin to tilt your face up. “Say it, go on. I’m waitin’.”

“I see the problem,” you mumbled, and Bucky smirked.

“And what is it, sweetheart?” Bucky cooed. “What is my problem?”

“I’m not sitting on your bike.”

Bucky’s bright grin blindsided you, and you shuffled your feet, only just keeping a whine in your throat. “Atta girl, and you know how we can fix that?” You shook your head in his grip. “Get your ass into that garage and stand next to my bike, baby. Do not take off my kutte.”

You scampered into the garage as Bucky moved to lean on the counter to watch you go. Breathe – in and out, in and out; you soothed yourself. The black and gold Indian loomed as you opened the door, and you padded over to it – only realising just now how big the seat was.

The door suddenly slammed, and you looked up. Bucky was stalking towards you with a wolfish grin. “Good girl.” The lack of keys in his hand made you nervous, you opened your mouth to speak, but Bucky cupped your face in his hands. “Don’t you worry ‘bout a damn thing, baby girl.” He pulled away and swung a leg over the frame, sitting comfortably astride his chariot; however, he was sitting further back than what he would do if he were to ride.

Confused, you furrowed your brows. “Wha-”

“No,” Bucky interrupted, pointing at the space between his thighs. “Sit down.”

You blanched. There would be just enough room for you to fit, and your bare thighs would sit just as Bucky’s did when sitting properly in his seat. “But-”

“Do as you’re told, sweetheart,” Bucky growled, patting the seat. “Sit the fuck down.”

You hastened to lift your leg up and over, and Bucky smiled softly, guiding you to sit comfortably and resting his hands on your waist to settle you in place – bare and on the leather seat of his Indian. The thought alone made you quietly keen. “Was that so hard, baby?”

“No,” you mumbled, and Bucky hummed, running his hands up and down your sides over the leather of his kutte. “What’re you doi-”

“Shh,” Bucky hushed. The cool metal of his rings against your hip startled you. “Just listen to me, alright?” You nodded. Thoughts had started to turn into molasses – Bucky had hardly done anything, and you were pliant, just how he liked it.

“‘M gonna need you to hold the handlebars, sweetheart,” Bucky mumbled, his breath hot on your neck before he trailed open mouthed kisses from your shoulder to your ear. “Go on, baby.”

“Bucky, please, I- I need-” You tried, fumbling to grab hold of the handlebars when Bucky’s hand cupped your breast over his Henley.

“I know what you need, baby girl,” Bucky breathed, “c’mon, do as you’re told.”

“Oh,” you moaned as Bucky’s hand squeezed, the other trailing to your lower stomach. The handlebars were cold in your grip, starkly contrasting with the fire consuming you. “Please.”

“I like hearing you beg for me, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured. The cold bite of his rings against your inner thigh made you whimper. “But ‘m feelin’ generous today, you see? I wake up to seein’ my everythin’ paradin’ around the kitchen in nothin’ but my Henley and my kutte. Do you know what that did to me, baby girl?”

You trembled in his hold and squeaked when his palm resting on your stomach pulled you closer, and you felt his hard cock against your lower back. “That’s what you do, baby.”

“Please,” you breathed. The ache had settled between your thighs, and you glanced down at the seat to find a small patch of slick. Bucky clicked his tongue.

“Can’t have my girl hurtin’, can I?” Bucky mused. The pressure on your hips increased, and you sighed; the feel of Bucky’s fingers circling towards your cunt made you shiver. “Remember,” he warned, voice low in your ear, “you let go of those handlebars, I stop–you don’t want that, do you, sweetheart?”

“No, I don’t- Just, please, touch me, Bucky!”

“So sweet,” Bucky purred, tucking his face into your neck. “Hold on now, baby girl.”

The first graze of Bucky’s fingers on your clit made you cry out, you tried to move back against him, but he held you fast – the heat seeping from his chest and through the leather of his kutte to your back became suffocating. “Fuck, Bucky- ohmygod,” you gasped as he applied more pressure.

“So wet for me, sweetheart, fuck,” Bucky mumbled. His grip around your middle tightened, and you heaved for breath. “Stay still for me, baby; I know you can. Lemme just,” he continued, his movements practised and thorough in their exploration. His fingers pushed achingly slow into your cunt, and you moaned aloud, only to keen loudly when he curled them. “There we go, good girl.”

Unbeknownst to you – unable to think nor feel anything but the incessant touch of Bucky’s fingers, your fingers started slipping from the handlebars while you squirmed. The abrupt stop in his movements pulled a whine from your lips. “Ah, ah, you know the rules, baby,” Bucky scolded, pressing into your back and pushing you closer to the damn handlebars.

You cried and groped for the now hot rubber of the accelerator and brake. “That’s it, sweetheart,” Bucky soothed. “Here we go.”

The litany of cries pulled from your lips as Bucky started his rhythm in earnest would have embarrassed you. Still, here you were, trapped against his chest while wearing his kutte, and making a mess of his seat.

“You look so beautiful, baby girl,” Bucky breathed, moving his arm to tilt your head back with his hand. You felt so enclosed in his grip, and you moaned in response, at a loss of words with his fingers pumping in and out of your cunt. “I think I can get you to cum a lot faster than this, don’t you think?”

“Oh, god- Yes, I need more-” You babbled, and Bucky chuckled darkly.

“I know you do, sweetheart.” Time froze when Bucky moved his wrist and angled his hand, the change of pressure making you gasp. “You don’t hold back on me, baby; I want you to fuckin’ soak my bike.”

Bucky’s ringed and tattooed fingers pumped so fast in and out of your cunt that the sounds echoed off the garage walls. “Fuck!” You cried, trying to twist away from the onslaught, the pressure becoming unbearable. “Bucky!”

“Handlebars,” Bucky snapped, and you sobbed, gripping them for dear life again. “You wanna cum, baby? You close for me?” Your fervent nod only served to make Bucky growl, a low rumble in his chest. “You don’t know how fuckin’ hard you make me wearing my kutte, fuck, baby girl, cum for me; I need you to fuckin’ cum.”

“Bucky! Don’t stop, oh fuck- Ah!” You could have sworn Bucky went faster, his grip only becoming tighter and forcing you to sit still. “Don’t stop! I’m-”

Bucky groaned, moving his thighs to cradle yours. “Be a good girl; give it to me, c’mon.”

The tension snapped – violent in its waves, and you screamed, writhing in Bucky’s grip while he continued to pump his fingers in and out, curling them to ride out your release. “Tha’s it, sweetheart, god fucking damn, fuck, baby girl,” he rambled, his voice barely audible over the roar of blood in your ears. “S’good for me, perfect.”

Shudders gripped your body while you came down, quiet whimpers and heavy pants for breath, second most to the coos of praise from Bucky behind you, his hand now splayed on your stomach over his Henley, the other holding you close to his chest. “Oh my god,” you huffed.

Bucky laughed. “You alright?”

“Y-Yeah, what the fuck possessed you?” You asked, resting back in a slump, letting him take your weight.

“I told you,” Bucky murmured, kissing the side of your head. “You look fuckin’ sexy in my kutte–next time, I want you in nothin’ but my kutte.”

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #hotbuckysummer2023 #rookthorne's works #Chariot

658 notes · View notes

bless-my-demons · 6 months

Text

Redamancy: Chapter Twenty-One

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: More angst, but of the wolfy-variety!

Notes: I know I said two chapters before Jasper, but I had to fit this one in which is why I’m posting out of my normal window. Trust the process when it comes to why I did what I did this chapter lol and if you don’t spot it, everything will be fine (famous last words). Honestly I think I’m just healing inner me with how I wish conversations should’ve happened in the movie lol

Word Count: 2401

Series Masterlist

• March 8th, 2006 • Home •

Reader

Time starts to pass by a little easier with Quil, the quiet isn’t as deafening even when there’s a comfortable silence. I think the same could be said for Quil, since all of his Rez friends have gone AWOL.

Our days are usually spent under blankets on my couch, watching movies and just being present for each other. Plus, there’s not much to do in this tiny ass town anyways.

“Heard anything?” I ask him tentatively, hopefully.

He shakes his head solemnly in response, eyes never leaving the tv. The fact that he doesn’t even want to talk about Jake or Embry twists a new little knife in my gut.

“I’m okay, Y/n/n.” The grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes and I hate it.

“It’s okay to miss them, I know it’s hard to be stuck with just me now-”

“Don’t.” He reaches over to grab my ankle since I’m facing him on the couch and drags it to his lap, “You’re here and they’re not. I was friends with them longer and they ditched me for other dudes. I’m where I want to be.”

“You don’t have to hold it all in, I’m familiar with that feeling.” I nudge his hand with my socked foot to get him to look at me. “What good am I if I don’t therapize you too?”

“That would insinuate I do anything for you, you won’t talk about him.” His gaze levels on me and I’m caught red handed.

“There’s not much to it, I-I loved him and he’s gone. End of story.” I pick at the loose strings on my blanket, the topic hard for me to meet his eyes.

“There’s everything to it.” He squeezes my foot, “Not end of story, you deserve to vent just as much as I do. You don’t need to feel guilty for grieving him, heartache is a real bitch.”

“Heartache is a bitch, huh?” I huff a laugh as I try to breathe through the tears that want to spring up.

“Y/n, I’m the loneliest guy on the planet. In the male friends department and the girlfriend department, don’t make fun of me.” His lighthearted tone trying and failing to make light of his situation.

“We’re just fucked, aren’t we?” His brown eyes meet mine as we commiserate in our collective sadness.

His head drops back against the back of the couch, “Beyond comprehension, my dear Y/n/n.”

• March 11th, 2006 • Home •

Reader

My finger hovers over a text to Quil, asking him to come over, when I get a call from my other best friend.

“Bells, hey-”

“I need backup.” Her request draws me up short. “I’m going to the Rez-I need to see Jacob.”

“Bella, he’s with Sam now-”

“I don’t care anymore, you in?” She presses.

“I was in the second you called, I’ll be waiting outside.”

“Good, because I’m almost there.” Hanging up the phone, I grab a jacket and my shoes.

So much for the first day of Spring Break, might as well start it off with a bang.

•March 11th, 2006 • Quileute Indian Reservation•

Reader

Bella slid to a stop in Jacob’s driveway and both of us hopped out, memories of bike-building settling like a weight in my stomach. It wasn’t even that long ago and I miss it, I miss Jacob.

Bella knocks on the glass pane of his front door and Billy Black answers, “Bella?”

“I need to see him.”

“He-,” glancing between us briefly, “he’s not in.” The lie blatantly obvious.

“I’m sorry,” Bella pushes past his wheelchair and inside the house, “I really need to see him.”

I remain awkwardly on the front porch, torn between not wanting to intrude or following my friend.

“Bella!” Billy’s warning is ineffective as she storms to Jacob’s room.

Just when the situation couldn’t possibly get worse, I spot four shirtless figures emerging from the forest by the house, Sam’s group.

I hear the back door open and shut and I just know it’s Bella.

I sprint around the house to catch up to her, “Bella!” But my warning falls on deaf ears, she’s on a warpath for the boys. “Shit.” I mutter under my breath.

Stomping up to the tallest - Sam, “What did you do?” She pushes his chest, hard. “What did you do, huh? What did you do to him?!”

“Hey - watch it!” The other two guys plus Embry shout as they step up around their leader.

“Easy.” The word is more of a growl than anything and it causes the hair on the back of my neck to rise.

If this comes to a fight, we’re fucked.

“He didn’t want this!” Her desperation pulls at my heart.

“What did we do? What did he do? What did he tell you?” The questions from the guy to Sam’s right are rapid-fire, his anger clearly volatile.

“He tells me nothing, because he’s scared of you!”

The same guy barks out a laugh, clearly he finds her concern for Jacob silly.

“Bella, let’s go home-” but my plead immediately goes unheard because she throws a fucking right hook for the guys face, son of a bitch.

“Too late now.” Another guy jokes, clearly enjoying the situation.

“Bella, get back!” Sam orders, trying to diffuse the situation as this guy begins to shake.

I grab her arm and we slowly start to retreat for her truck, too scared to turn and take our eyes off of the angry male.

“Bella…” I whisper, unsure of what to do.

“Paul! Calm down now.” The authority in Sam’s voice rings through the backyard, but it’s too late somehow.

The shaking and heavy breathing from Paul leads to a transformation that snatches my breath from my body - a wolf. And not just any wolf, a wolf from the fucking meadow. A wolf that saved us from Laraunt, now standing before us where Paul was.

Where Paul was.

Paul is a wolf. A really big one at that - a really big angry one.

Anger directed at Bella and by association, me. The death grip I have on her fucking arm has to be painful, but the menacing look in his eyes shocks me to my bones.

Bella moves before I do, using my tight grip on her to yank me into action with her as she makes for Jacob’s house.

“Bella! Y/n!” Jake yells, clearing the back porch railing in one leap, sprinting for us.

“Run! Jake, run!” Bella screams back at him, but he charges towards us anyways.

He jumps last minute before he reaches us and I trip trying to follow his path with my eyes before-

Before he turns into a fucking wolf too.

Jacob Black, our best friend, is a wolf? I mean, vampires are definitely a thing, but wolves?

Squaring off with Paul, both the russet-colored wolf and the silver-grey wolf launch for each other. Snapping and snarling as they roll into the woods, my heart painfully thumps in my chest, Jacob.

“Hey, take the girls back to Emily’s place.” Sam orders Embry and the last remaining male, both of them jogging over to us.

“I guess the wolf’s out of the bag.” They joke, ushering us up and towards Bella’s truck.

They’re wolves, Sam’s gaggle of Rez boys are fucking wolves. Jacob is one of them and so is Embry, what about Quil? Is this why they’ve ditched him, ditched us? Wolves can’t be friends with humans? What do I even tell him, or should I tell him anything?

My mind is racing a million miles an hour in the span of seconds with questions I desperately need answers to.

Embry holds open the passenger side door to Bella’s truck with a smile and I walk right past his invitation to climb in the bed with the newly acquainted Jared.

“Y/n, that’s not safe-”

“I’ll be fine.” I don’t even spare a glance at him with my monotone answer, I’m mad at him for how he’s treating Quil.

Jared raises his eyebrows and quirks a grin. “Feisty, I like it.”

Embry huffs as he shuts the door behind Bella and rounds the truck for the driver’s side, “Don’t encourage her, man.”

• March 11th, 2006 • Uley Residence •

Reader

“Hey I think we should go back and see if Jacob’s okay.” Bella rolls down her window as the rest of us hop out of her truck.

“I hope Paul sinks some teeth in him, serves him right.” Jared quips to Embry.

“No way! Jacob’s a natural, you see him phase on the fly? I got five that says Paul doesn’t even touch him.” Embry argues, “C’mon in Bella! We won’t bite.”

“Speak for yourself.” Jared jokes and I shove him as we turn to walk inside.

“Oh hey, about Emily - Sam’s fiancé? Don’t stare, it bugs Sam.” Embry warns both of us before following Jared.

“Why would we stare?” Bella asks and I shrug, just as confused.

“You guys hungry? Like I have to ask.” The female in the kitchen asks the boys, laughing at what must be an inside joke. “Who’s this?” She asks after turning around, glancing between us.

“Bella Swan and Y/n Y/l/n.” Jared answers her.

“Hmm… So, you’re the vampire girl-well, girls.” I instantly admire her easy-going vibe, diving straight in to acknowledge the elephant in the room to get it over with.

“So you’re the wolf girl?” Bella asks in return, accepting her olive branch.

“Guess so,” smiling to herself, she picks up the largest platter I’ve ever seen of muffins, “Well, I’m engaged to one.” Snatching both Embry and Jared’s hands as they reach- “Save some for your brothers! And ladies first, muffin?” It’s comical, the way she mothers them.

“Thank you, Emily.” I smile at her and sit across from Jared, the muffin still warm from the oven.

“Leave it to Jacob to find a way around Sam’s gag order.” Emily scoffs, not surprised.

“Umm, he didn’t… Say anything to us.” Glancing at me, Bella explains.

“That’s a wolf thing, alpha’s orders get obeyed whether we want ‘em to or not. Oh and check it out - we can hear each other’s thoughts.” Embry brags and I gape, this is all fucking wild.

“Would you shut up! These are trade secrets - damnit, these chicks run with vampires!” Jared’s frustration is lighthearted as he admonishes Embry for giving away some of their abilities.

“Can’t really run with vampires,” Emily and I chuckle at the boys not quite catching on, “Because they’re fast.”

“Yeah? Well we’re faster. Freaked out yet?”

“You’re not the first monsters we’ve met.”

“Jake’s right, you’re good with weird.” Sam nods at us, beelining for Emily as soon as he steps in the door. He presses kisses to her lips and then all over her face, causing her to giggle. The obvious display of affection carving out my heart just a little bit more - looking away I set my muffin down, no longer hungry.

Pushing and shoving each other, Paul and Jacob finally show - unhurt and brotherly even. They just beat the shit out of each other and they’re tighter than ever? Boys.

“Sorry.” Paul apologizes and flashes what has to be his signature smile at both of us.

I catch Jacob jerking his head towards the door and Bella follows, probably off to explain this whole entire shit show. I turn my gaze to Embry and level a glare on my former friend, waiting for him to say something.

“You going to let me explain? Or are you going to look at me like you’d like to castrate me until Bella gets back?” Embry stares right back, munching on another muffin.

“Jared?” I look at him sweetly and he grins, “take me home?”

Embry stands so quick and his chair teeters dangerously on two legs for a moment. “Y/n.” His tone is hard, done with this game.

“Embry.” I match him back.

He walks out the front door and it drags me from my own chair, this blowout long overdue.

“You know now and you’re still fucking mad at me?” He turns, leaning against Bella’s truck and folding his arms.

“I don’t even know where to start, Embry!” I yell at him exasperated. “You ditched us, you ditched your longest running best friend-”

“I had no choice!”

“He’s struggling-”

“I’m struggling!” His eyes are wild and his hands have a slight shake, “Cutting everyone out has been the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done! I can’t tell anyone, can’t see anyone, can’t do what I want to do anymore! I belong to this Reservation, to this pack, to Sam now. He says jump, I ask how high. He says keep your mouth shut, I cut everyone out. It’s how it has to be.”

“Embry, that’s no way to live.” My heart breaks for his situation.

“It’s in my blood and not something I can opt out of, Y/n/n. Besides, they’re my brothers now and they need me as much as I need them.”

I surge forward to hug him, “I’m still mad at you for Quil.”

“I missed you too.” I hear his grin as I hug him tight. “You can’t tell him though.”

Immediately I retreat, “What?”

“It’s a tribe secret, the pack is sacred and must be protected.”

“He wouldn’t done anything to endanger-”

“It doesn’t matter, anyone on the outside has to stay on the outside. It’s not like I don’t want to, he’s my best fucking friend. But he doesn’t have a need-to-know.”

“Embry-”

“I can’t argue with you about this, please drop it.” His wide eyes plead with me and I surrender.

“Okay, okay. Consider it dropped.” I mime like I’m locking my lips closed and I toss the invisible key over my shoulder.

“Good,” throwing an arm over my shoulder, he leads me back inside, “Now you can hang with the big dogs.”

“Okay I’m going to need you to not make stupid jokes about this situation.” But I laugh anyways, I miss this - him.

I smile to myself, happy to finally have people back in my life that I thought were gone for good. I still feel the massive hole in my chest, but the pain is on the back burner for now.

At least until I’m alone again.

Taglist Part 1:

@aoi-targaryen @Min-jianhyung @pbbsl @timelordhunterandmysterysolver @sheerangermany @clearwater-hoe @Blackbluerose666 @ivy-plays @random-human02 @delightfulbluebirdstarlight @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @gaymazinglula @l3ejm @angelfuzzy2 @losa12308 @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @flyawayprincess @ropickle @catbusloki @deviat3dsn0wf0x @lovesanimals0000 @unrevived @h-naec @cutesnakemum @zudooms @itsmytimetoodream @stinkii-boii @acoolnight @anothercoffeeblogx @irishblend10 @from-now-on-im-switzerland @kyraslife2 @naolvshan @kiiwiigii @rosedpetal @kiaraandrea @foolsgoldxo @heartfilia01 @azuredgalaxies @geekysimmerthings @graciereads @ramen-girl-2424 @0hmydekiru @creeqvealley @cherriebat @whichwitchisthebitch @dragon-rider-with-a-book @secretfairytailpetscookie @psychobitchsthings

#redamancy series #bless-my-demons #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale fanfiction #jasper hale x female!reader #twilight fanfiction #jasper whitlock hale #twilight #jasper hale #female reader insert

217 notes · View notes