#there's WAY more you could go into with his sexism but I wanted to focus on him yelling at Anzu for now

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Seven: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

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

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

Diary Entry: July 14th

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

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

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

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

Honestly I’m alittle jealous.

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

Did you really believe it was all a dream?

Do you remember it today?

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

Did you know it was me?

Date

July 14th

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t hurt you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conveniently over looked the obvious hickey on your left breast.

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

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

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

Some guy dressed as Ghostface was not in your bedroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You quickly snatched it up and unfolded it.

‘Sleep well?’

——————————————————————————

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

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

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

“M’sorry I didn’t mean to-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” You sniffled. “Will you?”

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

Anakin grabbed a thick Sherpa blanket…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? Why?” You asked.

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

“Were you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Little girly hands? Little girly hands?

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

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

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

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

“No problem princess.” He said softly.

Diary Entry: July 14th

God I feel so… conflicted.

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

I love you. So much baby.

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

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

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

It’s just… you’re so tempting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s a shame. It really is.

But you might share that side of yourself with Ghostface.

I know you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can have us both.

We can have the fawn and doe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sound familiar?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Ghostface is.

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

Date

July 19th

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Red bad, blood red, scary.

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

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

——————————————————————————

Your Diary Entry: Answer Me

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

We’ve met.

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

Just call me Ghost.

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

Clever girl.

What do you look like?

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

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

Funny, huh?

Why me?

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

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

How did we meet?

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

:)

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

Will you come back?

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

The afterlife is just a step behind the living.

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

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

I know. I saw you both.

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

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

How long have you been watching me?

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

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

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

Hello again, let’s continue shall we?

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

I walk you to and from work nearly everyday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your favorite cereal never runs out either.

You’re adorable, so clueless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Valid question.

Am I being watched ALL the time?

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

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

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

No. It’s not. At least not for me.

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

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

(Not creepy shit though I promise.)

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

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

Maybe.

Are there cameras here?

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

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

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

Will you ever tell me who you are?

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

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

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

What do you think? :)

There. Questions answered.

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

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

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

Not even Lukey or Anakin okay?

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

Date

July 28th

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With him around you never had to lift a finger.

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

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

Part Eight

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

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @slut4starwarssmut t @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes-blog @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @doblasftcisco o @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @lunalitva @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141 @rorysbrainrot @hopesworlld @lonaah @guiltycherries @syralix

THE TAGS LIST IS FULL! But if you want to be tagged I will comment ur username for you. Love you all so many.

[brainddeadd]

The Interview

warnings: sexism

Jack Hughes x fem!reader, Nico Hischier x fem!reader, Luke Hughes x fem!reader, Trevor Zegras x fem!reader, Matt Rempe x fem!reader, Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

The bright lights of the interview room felt almost blinding as Y/N sat between Jack Hughes and Nico Hischier, with Luke Hughes beside them. They were fresh off a big win, and the excitement in the air was palpable. Jack was animated, cracking jokes and making faces to keep Y/N laughing, but the moment the interviewer walked in, the tone shifted.

“Alright, everyone,” the interviewer said with a confident smile. “Let’s talk to the young star here. Y/N, how does it feel to be the youngest player on a team full of experienced guys? Must be tough keeping up, huh?”

Y/N forced a smile, her heart racing. “I just focus on my game and work hard like everyone else.”

The interviewer smirked, leaning forward as if he had a juicy tidbit to uncover. “Sure, but let’s be honest. Do you think you’d be here without some... connections? There are rumors you might have, well, charmed your way onto the team.”

The air in the room thickened. Jack’s expression darkened immediately, and Nico's jaw clenched. Luke’s protective instincts flared as he shot a glance at Y/N, who remained composed. “I’ve earned my spot through hard work and dedication,” she said firmly, though she felt the sting of the insinuation.

The interviewer continued, undeterred. “Come on, it’s a competitive sport. Some might say a pretty face can go a long way in the locker room.”

Jack’s eyes flared with anger. “That’s not how it works. Y/N is here because she deserves to be, not because of anything else,” he snapped, his voice rising.

“Yeah, let’s keep it professional,” Nico added, glaring at the interviewer. “Y/N has shown more talent and determination than many on this team.”

But the interviewer only laughed dismissively. “Right, right. But it’s an interesting angle, don’t you think? I’m just trying to get the real story.”

The tension hung heavy as Y/N forced herself to smile, even as her heart sank. “I’m just grateful to be part of the team,” she said, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions within her.

The interview wrapped up, and Y/N felt the weight of their protectiveness beside her. Yet, as soon as she stepped away, the façade began to crumble. In the safety of her room, the tears she had held back flooded out, muffling her cries with a pillow.

~~

A knock sounded through the room and Y/N wiped her tears hastily before opening the door, revealing Luke, Jack, and Nico standing there with concern etched across their faces.

“Hey, Y/N,” Luke said softly, stepping inside. “We wanted to see how you’re holding up.”

Jack and Nico followed closely, and the moment they were in, the tension in the room shifted. Jack leaned against the wall, arms crossed, while Nico took a seat at the edge of her bed, his expression serious.

“That guy had no right to say what he did,” Nico said, his voice steady. “I don’t care how big the network is; no one gets to treat you like that.”

Y/N felt warmth in her chest at their concern, but the hurt lingered. “I tried to stay strong during the interview. I didn’t want to show that it affected me.”

“You shouldn’t have to pretend with us,” Jack said, his tone softening. “You’re part of this family, and we’re here to support you.”

Before Y/N could respond, her phone buzzed with messages from Matt, Trevor, and Quinn checking in.

Matt: Hey, just heard about the interview. You good?

Trevor: That interviewer was out of line. You’re way too talented to let anyone bring you down like that.

Quinn: Just wanted to check in. You can always talk to us, ok?

Feeling a rush of emotion, Y/N responded quickly, trying to reassure them. Y/N: Thanks, guys! I’m okay, really. Just a bit tired.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Y/N opened it to find Matt standing there, a concerned expression on his face, holding a bag of snacks.

“Hey, I came as soon as I heard,” he said, stepping inside. “I thought you might want some company.”

“Matt, you didn’t have to—” she started, but he waved her off.

“Of course I did. You’re one of us, and I couldn’t just sit back and let you deal with this alone.” He looked at her, his eyes warm and reassuring. “How are you really feeling?”

Y/N sighed, rubbing her eyes. “I just didn’t expect to be affected by that interview. I thought I was tougher than that.”

“You are tough,” Matt insisted, his voice steady. “But it’s okay to feel hurt. What that guy said was completely out of line. You work hard and deserve to be treated with respect.”

“Yeah, but I tried to act like it didn’t bother me,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to show weakness in front of anyone, especially the boys.”

“Showing emotion isn’t weakness,” Jack chimed in, stepping closer. “We’re all here for you, no matter what. You don’t have to hide anything from us.”

“You know we’ve got your back,” Luke added, leaning against the desk. “You’re family, Y/N.”

As if on cue, Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “I just feel like I have to prove myself all the time.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” Matt said firmly. “You’re already proving it on the ice. We all see how hard you work, and you’ve earned your spot. Don’t let someone’s ignorance change how you see yourself.”

Y/N took a deep breath, letting his words sink in. “Thanks, Matt. It really helps to hear that.”

Matt grinned and reached into the bag. “Let’s do something fun to take your mind off it. I brought snacks, and we can watch a movie or play a game—whatever you want.”

“Movie sounds good,” Y/N said, feeling grateful for the distraction.

As they settled in, Jack pulled out his phone, scrolling through social media. “I can’t believe people would say things like that. It’s ridiculous.”

“Seriously,” Nico said, shaking his head. “We know how hard you work. Don’t let some clueless interviewer make you doubt yourself.”

Matt, who was setting up the snacks, added, “Exactly. We’re all proud of you. If that guy thinks he can take you down, he’s got another thing coming.”

Y/N felt a swell of gratitude for her friends. “I really appreciate this. I didn’t expect to feel so… hurt after it all.”

“You should never feel alone in this,” Luke said softly. “We’re always here for you.”

As they started the movie, Y/N felt the overwhelming love from her teammates lift some of the weight off her shoulders. Surrounded by their laughter and camaraderie, she realized that no matter the challenges she faced, she had a family who would always stand by her side.

[evilkitten3]

ok so like i know the reason is just. sexism but one thing that really irks me about how the post-timeskip naruto manga handled which characters became medic nin bc it makes absolutely no sense to me

sakura's decision to train under tsunade makes sense, and i love that she got a super strength power up, so no notes there, but the other teams.... yeesh

so first off, team ten. we're told that ino decided to follow sakura into mednin land to keep being rivals with her... despite that at no point factoring into their rivalry at all beforehand. ino never showed any interest in that, nor was the yamanaka clan ever mentioned to have anything to do with healing as far as i can remember. it's like going to art school to stay with your bestie when your goal is to become a dentist. why are you there. find other ways to spend time together. it also kinda goes against her family's whole thing as. the guys who do the torture stuff. and it's barely ever relevant anyway

for team ten, i think the team medic should've been shikamaru, and i think this not just bc i think it makes more sense skill-wise (something about the way the nara clan's various shadow jutsu work just screams "you need good chakra control for this" to me), but also bc i think it would make asuma's death a thousand times more painful. bc shikamaru is a slacker. he's not learning medical ninjutsu bc he wants to, he's learning it bc someone on the team has to in order to stick together. they're all chuunin now; one of them has to be a medic. them's the rules. but he doesn't really care that much, even when he is trying to learn, and he's so used to being smart enough to not have to pay attention in lessons anyway that he's not prepared for classes that require his full focus. and then asuma dies and shikamaru is doomed to spend the rest of his fucking life wondering if he could've saved him by paying just a little more attention to those medical ninjutsu lessons (he could not have (but he'll never know for sure))

team eight makes some sense, since giving the girl who struggles with fighting the healing job isn't exactly out of nowhere, but i do feel it was the lazy choice. kiba already had a sister involved in the medical business, even if she deals more with animals, so he could've started learning from her and found that he liked it. plus kiba's goal is to be hokage, and the current hokage is a mednin, so it's not like it wouldn't support his goal. or shino could do it; would add another layer to his character. hinata works fine but. it's just not a very interesting development imo

but what really gets me is team gai. good freaking grief. out of every single team, team gai was the one with the most obvious choice. bc there was only one choice. lee can't do any kind of ninjutsu, and tenten's only real backstory is that her chakra control isn't good enough for her to be a medic nin. so it had to be neji. canon establishes that every team has to have a medic; this is a policy tsunade got passed even before she became hokage, so no way in hell is she going back on it now.

moreover, neji becoming a medical ninja - especially if hiashi encouraged it - would show some development for the hyuuga clan maybe starting to suck a bit less. bc as a medic, neji would be bound by oath to stay alive for as long as possible. imagine a world in which hizashi came back and hiashi was able to tell his brother that not only was their family starting to change, but his son had chosen a path that would prevent him from ever following in his father's footsteps. it would be the first step (of many) to show that the hyuuga clan was freeing itself from its own bullshit.

also it would've made sakura catching the zetsu pretending to be neji a thousand times funnier. like that's her coworker. they've shared shifts at the hospital together. she's seen neji drink vodka straight from a bottle and then crash on her couch after they got out of a twelve-hour surgery on the fucking dumbass chuunin who managed to step on his own boobytrap. she knows him.

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Abu Dhabi GP

Masterlist

Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming

The paddock in Abu Dhabi was alive with speculation, buzzing with fans, journalists, and team members all eager for a hint about my future. The grand finale of the season always carried a mix of excitement and melancholy, but this year, there was an extra layer of uncertainty surrounding me.

The whispers had been growing louder ever since Lance’s recovery updates started trickling out. Aston Martin had been clear—Lance Stroll was close to returning, his seat waiting for him. And while I had known from the beginning that my position was temporary, the thought of leaving the grid now, after everything, was a weight I couldn’t fully ignore.

Walking through the paddock, I could feel the questions hanging in the air, the lingering glances from reporters and fans. Even the drivers seemed more cautious, their words carefully chosen whenever the topic of next season arose.

Max was one of the first to address it directly. During a quick chat before FP1, he leaned against the Red Bull garage, arms crossed. “So,” he started casually, though his tone betrayed genuine concern, “are you staying quiet on purpose, or do you not know what’s happening yet?”

I gave him a small, tight smile. “A little bit of both,” I admitted. “Nothing’s finalized, and I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up—including my own.”

His brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded. “You deserve a seat. Everyone knows it.”

The sentiment was echoed throughout the weekend. Charles stopped me in the paddock later that day, his usual friendly grin replaced with a more serious expression. “Whatever happens, you’ve proven you belong here,” he said firmly. “No one can take that away from you.”

But the most touching moment came from the fans. During the driver parade, the cheers for me were louder than I’d ever heard. Banners with my name and messages of support filled the grandstands, and one sign in particular caught my eye: “Wherever you go, we follow.”

It was overwhelming, the love and support from people who had seen me at my lowest and celebrated my highest moments.

Back in the Aston Martin motorhome, I sat with my PR team, discussing how to handle the inevitable questions during media duties. They suggested vague answers, emphasizing that nothing was confirmed yet. I nodded along, but deep down, I hated the ambiguity.

When I stepped into my first interview of the day, the question came up almost immediately.

“So, with Lance on the mend, fans are wondering—will we see you on the grid next season?” the journalist asked, their tone curious but careful.

I hesitated, choosing my words cautiously. “Right now, my focus is on finishing this season as strong as I can,” I said. “Beyond that, we’ll see what opportunities come my way. I’ve loved every moment of being part of this incredible sport, and I hope to continue being involved in some capacity.”

It wasn’t the answer they—or I—wanted, but it was the truth.

Later that evening, as I scrolled through social media, I saw countless posts speculating about my future. But among them were messages of hope, support, and belief in me. Fans declaring their unwavering loyalty, drivers posting subtle hints of solidarity.

One post from the official F1 account stood out: a photo of me with the caption, “No matter what the future holds, this season will never forget her name.”

As the weekend in Abu Dhabi carried on, I couldn’t help but feel a quiet excitement bubbling under the surface. After Thursday Media Duties, The contract had finally been signed. While the paddock was busy speculating about my future, the truth was something I was holding close to my chest, savoring the satisfaction of knowing that I would still be on the grid in some capacity next year.

My vague comments during interviews only fueled the rumors. I’d hinted at signing a contract once but kept the details shrouded in mystery. The fans and journalists seemed convinced that I had secured a seat with a different team for 2025. Theories ranged from Williams to Sauber, and I even overheard someone mention Haas. It was almost amusing to watch the speculation spread like wildfire.

After the final practice session, I found myself in a quiet corner of the paddock, scrolling through social media while sipping a bottle of water. The hashtags #WhereWillSheGo and #GridQueen were trending, alongside countless fan theories dissecting every interview I’d given that weekend.

“Are you enjoying the chaos you’re causing?” Lando teased, walking over with his trademark smirk.

I laughed, shaking my head. “I didn’t mean to cause chaos,” I said. “I just... I’m not ready to tell anyone yet.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “So you do have something lined up.”

I gave him a pointed look, a playful smile tugging at my lips. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Fine, keep your secrets,” he said with a chuckle, walking away.

What no one knew was that I had signed a unique deal. Starting in 2026, I would be joining Cadillac when they entered the grid as a new team. It was a dream opportunity, one that aligned with everything I wanted for my career. But instead of taking a year off before their debut, They’d struck an agreement to have me race the 2025 season on loan with VCARB.

The deal was a win-win. VCARB needed a driver who could perform well and help mentor their reserve driver, Isack Hadjar, a young talent brimming with potential. Isack had initially been slated to step in as the team’s driver for 2025, but VCARB wanted him to be fully prepared for the demands of the sport. Their solution? Pair him with someone experienced who could help him grow both on and off the track. And that someone was me. They also really liked the idea that Isack wouldn’t have to join F1 only for major changes to take place the following season, forcing him to relearn everything just as he might have found his style. 

I had to admit, I liked the idea. Isack was promising, and mentoring him while continuing to race felt like the perfect way to stay sharp for 2026. It also meant I wouldn’t have to endure the uncertainty of sitting out an entire year, watching from the sidelines as the grid moved on without me.

By Sunday evening, the whispers had reached their peak. Reporters and fans alike were waiting for an announcement, but I kept my lips sealed. Even my closest friends on the grid were left in the dark. The only person who seemed to suspect anything was Fernando, who had an uncanny ability to read people.

“You’re too calm,” he remarked as we walked through the paddock. “Whatever happens next year, you already know where you’re going, don’t you?”

I smiled, shrugging. “Maybe.”

He gave me a knowing look but didn’t press further.

Free Practice 2 was supposed to be just another session to shake down the car and refine strategy, but this sport has a way of throwing curveballs when you least expect them. The sun blazed down on the Yas Marina Circuit, and I was just starting to settle into a rhythm, my mind locked on squeezing out every ounce of performance. My engineer, Landon, chimed in on the radio.

"Car looks good. Let’s get a couple of consistent laps here," he said, his voice calm.

I responded with a crisp, “Copy,” and pushed forward, picking up speed as I approached the next lap. The track felt alive beneath me, the vibrations of the car reverberating through my body. But everything changed in a split second.

Ahead, Jack Doohan misjudged the timing of an overtake attempt. I caught the movement in my mirrors as his front tire caught the rear of my car. It was like watching a nightmare unfold in slow motion. My car snapped out of control, the rear spinning violently to the left. An immense sense of deja vu washed over me at this moment. Before I could react further, Jack’s car slammed into my side, t-boning me with a force that jarred every bone in my body.

The impact left no time to breathe or recalibrate. The world spun again, and just as I began to process the collision, Alex Albon’s car collided with my rear. The second hit sent a thunderous jolt through me, and all three of us careened off the track. The barriers loomed closer at a terrifying speed until we slammed into them with a sickening crunch of carbon fiber and metal.

I felt the breath leave my lungs on impact. Pain radiated through my chest and arm, sharp and unforgiving. My ribs protested violently with every gasp of air, and my left arm throbbed with an intensity that made me want to scream. But I didn’t. I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand—getting out.

The cockpit felt like a trap. Jack’s car was wedged into my side, and Alex’s car was pressed against my rear, pinning me in. I tried to move my arm to unclip my harness, but a wave of pain stopped me. I froze, forcing myself to push through it.

Through the haze of pain, I noticed Jack already climbing out of his car. He was moving fast, a look of panic etched on his face as he scrambled toward me. Moments later, Alex was there too, sprinting to help.

“You okay?!” Jack shouted, his voice laced with urgency.

I nodded weakly, though every inch of me screamed in protest. “Yeah... I’m fine,” I croaked, though the lie felt bitter on my tongue.

Alex and Jack worked together to help me climb out. Jack supported my right side as Alex steadied me, their hands firm but careful. I winced as my ribs protested the movement, but I kept quiet, refusing to let them see how much pain I was in.

Once I was clear of the wreckage, I leaned against the barrier for support, taking shallow breaths to avoid aggravating my chest. My vision blurred slightly, but I forced myself to stay upright, to project strength. The medics arrived within moments, but I waved them off.

“I’m okay,” I insisted, brushing off their concerns. “Just a bit shaken.”

Jack’s brows furrowed, and Alex crossed his arms, both clearly unconvinced. “You don’t look okay,” Alex said, his tone skeptical.

“I’ll be fine,” I replied, mustering a weak smile. “Just need a minute.”

They didn’t push further, though their worried glances lingered. The adrenaline coursing through my veins dulled the worst of the pain, and for now, I convinced myself it was nothing more than bruising.

Back in the paddock, I avoided the medical center, slipping away before anyone could insist on a check-up. My tolerance for pain had skyrocketed since the crash in Vegas, and I told myself this was no different. A few bruises, maybe a sore arm—nothing I couldn’t handle.

As I sat in the team’s garage, replaying the incident in my mind, a fresh wave of frustration washed over me. The crash hadn’t just shaken me physically—it felt like a cruel reminder of how fragile everything could be. But I couldn’t dwell on it. For now, I swallowed the pain and prepared to face the rest of the weekend, unaware that the fractures in my ribs and arm were more than just a passing ache.

The team worked tirelessly overnight to get the car back in shape. By the time FP3 rolled around, Jack Doohan and Alex Albon’s cars were repaired and ready to hit the track, but mine wasn’t as lucky. The damage to the chassis and rear suspension from the crash was just a bit too extensive to make it back in time. I’d have to sit this one out and wait for qualifying.

Standing on the pit wall, I clutched my notebook, trying to keep the frustration at bay. FP3 wasn’t a wasted opportunity if I could still learn something. My eyes stayed glued to the screens, watching the other drivers navigate the circuit. Every turn, every braking point, every attempt at a daring overtake—it was all data for me.

"Look at Turn 9," Landon pointed out as he leaned over my shoulder. "That’s where a lot of people are losing time. You might be able to gain a few tenths there if you nail the exit."

I nodded, jotting it down in my notes. My mind was already running through scenarios, imagining different approaches I could take. The crash had shaken me, sure, but it hadn’t robbed me of my drive. If anything, it only fueled my determination.

As FP3 wrapped up, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. I wouldn’t let the crash or the whispers of doubt in my mind hold me back. 

Qualifying was a whole new beast. As I climbed back into the cockpit for the first time since the crash, I took a deep breath, trying to block out the lingering aches in my ribs and arm. The adrenaline helped dull the pain, and once the engine roared to life, it was easy to push everything else aside.

Q1 and Q2 were grueling, as I fought to get back into my rhythm. Each lap felt like a battle—not just against the clock but against my own doubts. Landon’s voice over the radio kept me grounded, reminding me of the areas I had identified during FP3.

“Turn 9 looking better,” he said after one lap. “Let’s carry that into the next sector.”

By the time Q3 rolled around, I was in the zone. The car felt like an extension of myself as I pushed it to its limits. I knew the competition was fierce, but I wasn’t about to back down. On my final flying lap, I found that sweet spot—every corner flowing into the next, every braking point executed perfectly.

When I crossed the line, I glanced at the screen. P4. Relief and pride washed over me. After everything, I had clawed my way back to the upper half of the grid.

“P4, solid effort,” Landon said over the radio, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

I allowed myself a small smile, but it didn’t last long. The reminder of the 5-place grid penalty quickly tempered my excitement. The component replacement from the crash had come with a cost, and now I’d be starting P9.

Back in the garage, the team was quick to offer words of encouragement. “You’ll make it up in the race,” one of the mechanics said.

I nodded, masking my frustration. Deep down, I knew they were right. I’d been in worse positions before and clawed my way forward. But this time, it felt personal. P9 wasn’t where I wanted to be, but it wasn’t the end of the world either.

As I reviewed the data from qualifying, my focus shifted back to the task ahead. Tomorrow was a new day, a chance to prove myself all over again. P9 was just a starting point, and I was determined to turn it into something more.

The annual Abu Dhabi drivers' dinner had always been a bittersweet event. It marked the end of the season and carried with it a mix of nostalgia and anticipation. This year, it felt different. I wasn’t just there to celebrate the season but also to say goodbye to this chapter of my career, even if it was temporary.

I arrived fashionably late—not intentionally, but traffic near the circuit had been a nightmare. As I walked into the private dining space, the air buzzed with laughter and the clinking of glasses. The drivers were spread across several tables, some already deep into conversations, others casually lounging and sipping their drinks.

“Over here!” Lando’s voice cut through the chatter, his arm raised in an exaggerated wave. He had saved me a spot, right between himself and Franco.

Sliding into the seat, I was met with Franco’s soft smile on one side and Lando’s mischievous grin on the other. The two had become constants in my life recently, both in their own ways offering me the support I didn’t realize I needed.

“You’re late,” Lando teased, nudging my arm.

“Blame the traffic,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “Or maybe I just wanted to make an entrance.”

“Mission accomplished,” Franco said with a chuckle. “You turned a few heads walking in.”

I glanced around the room, noticing a few curious looks from the other drivers. It wasn’t malicious—more like a mix of admiration and curiosity about what my next steps might be.

Conversation at the table flowed easily, with Lando cracking jokes that had everyone laughing and Franco chiming in with his own dry humor. At one point, the topic turned to the upcoming season.

“So,” George said from across the table, leaning forward with a sly grin, “are you going to tell us where you’re driving next year, or are we supposed to keep guessing?”

A chorus of “Yeah!” and “Come on, spill it!” erupted from the others.

I smirked, swirling the drink in my glass. “You’ll find out soon enough,” I said cryptically. “Let’s just say I’ll be racing.”

“In Formula 1?” Lando raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

“You’ll see,” I replied, keeping the mystery alive.

As the night went on, the atmosphere grew more relaxed. Drivers wandered between tables, catching up with each other, but Franco and Lando stayed firmly by my side. It was a comfort I didn’t take for granted.

At one point, Franco leaned over, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “You okay?”

I nodded, meeting his gaze. “Yeah. Just taking it all in. It’s weird, knowing this is the last race of the season.”

“You’ll still be part of the family,” he said, his tone reassuring. “No matter where you go, you’ll always have us.”

Lando, catching the tail end of the conversation, chimed in. “Yeah, don’t think you’re getting rid of us that easily. We’ll be keeping tabs on you—and if you’re not performing, we’ll roast you on Twitter.”

I laughed, the sound genuine and light. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

3rd person POV

The lively hum of the drivers' dinner enveloped the private dining room, with conversations weaving between racing stories, friendly banter, and speculation about next season. At one of the more crowded tables, tucked subtly in the middle of it all, an unspoken dynamic was on full display, catching the attention of several drivers who couldn’t help but notice.

Franco and Lando sat on either side of her, their proximity anything but accidental. It was subtle at first—Lando sliding an untouched piece of bruschetta onto her plate under the guise of rearranging his silverware, Franco subtly nudging one of his appetizers closer to her side without drawing attention.

Max Verstappen, seated a few spots away, observed quietly, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly as the scene unfolded. He’d noticed this shift for weeks now. The way Franco’s posture softened when she spoke, his usual aloof demeanor melting into something gentler. Or how Lando, typically quick to dominate a conversation with jokes and playful remarks, fell unusually quiet whenever she shared a thought, his attention focused entirely on her words.

“She hasn’t touched her drink yet,” Max muttered to Lewis, who was seated beside him.

Lewis followed Max’s gaze, his brow lifting slightly as he caught Franco leaning closer to quietly offer her a sip of water instead. Lando, on the other hand, was halfway through one of his animated stories but cut himself off mid-sentence when she turned to him with a question.

“They’re obvious, aren’t they?” Lewis mused, a knowing smile tugging at his lips as he watched the younger men.

Max exhaled, his protective streak showing as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s not a bad thing, but... she’s been through enough. If they’re going to step up like that, they better mean it.”

Lewis chuckled softly. “You sound like a father sending his daughter off to prom.”

Max shot him a glare but didn’t deny it. His protectiveness wasn’t something he could help, not after seeing her pull herself back together after everything Henry had taken from her.

Meanwhile, Lewis’s perspective was a bit more nuanced. He saw what Max did—the way Franco and Lando lit up whenever she smiled at them—but he also saw how her confidence was slowly rebuilding, brick by brick. The attention and care the two drivers showed her weren’t one-sided. She seemed more at ease with them by her side, her guarded demeanor softening into something more open, more trusting.

“You think she notices?” Max asked quietly.

Lewis shook his head. “Maybe not yet. She’s got too much on her mind. But when she’s ready, she’ll see it.”

Their conversation paused as the table erupted into laughter, her voice cutting through the noise as she quipped back at something Lando had said. Both younger men grinned, but it was the subtle shift in their body language that caught Max and Lewis’s attention again. Franco leaned just a little closer, his arm resting on the back of her chair protectively. Lando, ever the jokester, seemed ready to defend her against even the most harmless jabs.

“You know,” Lewis said after a beat, his tone quieter now, “it’s not just about them. It’s about her realizing that she’s loved—that no matter what, there are people here for her. Whether it’s them, you, or me.”

Max glanced over, his expression softening just slightly. “She doesn’t have to do this alone. That’s what matters.”

“And she won’t,” Lewis replied firmly. “She just needs to know it.”

As the night wore on, Max and Lewis continued to watch, their silent observations only confirming what they already suspected. Franco and Lando were falling for her—hard. And while Max’s instinct was to shield her from anything that could hurt her further, Lewis’s approach was more grounded.

At one point, Lewis caught her glancing over, her expression a mix of gratitude and confusion as she seemed to pick up on the subtle gestures from the two drivers flanking her. He gave her a small, reassuring nod, silently promising her that she’d figure it out in her own time.

By the end of the evening, as the drivers began to disperse, Max caught her on her way out. “Hey,” he said, stopping her with a hand on her shoulder. His voice was steady, the kind of unwavering tone that made you listen. “You know I’m always here, right? You don’t even have to ask.”

She smiled softly, nodding. “Thanks, Max.”

Lewis, standing nearby, added with a gentle smile, “And if you ever need to talk, really talk, I’m here too. No pressure, no judgment. Just me.”

Her smile widened slightly as she looked between the two of them. “I know. And I appreciate it—both of you.”

As she walked away, flanked once again by Franco and Lando, Lewis glanced at Max. “She’s going to be okay,” he said confidently.

Max nodded, his gaze fixed on her retreating figure. “Yeah, she will. And if she’s not, we’ll make sure she gets there.”

[lostyesterday]

I’ve seen a lot of joke posts about how Kira is a lesbian because she has short hair but, like, Kira’s appearance is the last reason why I generally read her as a lesbian. DS9 clearly intends to show that Kira is attracted to men, but I have always found this attraction to feel forced and artificial.

As one example, when Kira gets together with Shakaar in Crossfire or Odo in His Way, both episodes focus solely on Odo’s and Shakaar’s feelings toward Kira. Their perspectives are explored extensively, and their romantic feelings toward Kira are very explicitly depicted. Neither episode does anything whatsoever to explore Kira’s perspective on either of them. In fact, before Shakaar and Odo confess their love to Kira, there is absolutely no indication whatsoever that Kira has romantic feelings for either of them. Obviously there are Doylist explanations for this (namely, sexism), but what comes across from a narrative perspective is the implication that Kira suddenly and spontaneously developed feelings for both men after they said they were in love with her. Which is obviously possible – I know some people do experience attraction this way. But it also could read as extremely lesbian. I did the same thing several times when I was younger and thought I was straight. If someone tells you they have romantic feelings for you, and you genuinely like them and enjoy their company, it can be very easy to convince yourself that what you feel is romantic love. And you want to convince yourself, because you want deeply to be connected to other people.

When Kira breaks up with Shakaar because the Prophets let her know they weren’t meant to be together, part of me can’t help but imagine that she might feel relieved deep down. There’s no need, now, to wonder if she truly feels the same way toward him that he feels toward her. There’s an excuse, now, to go back to the way it was before when she didn’t have to interrogate all of her emotions in search of the ones she was supposed to feel.

When Kira tells Odo she loves him enough to let him go in Chimera, and when she truly lets him go in the finale, I imagine what part of her she feels she is losing. Odo is one of her closest friends – one that survived one war and then the next and in the end she lost him anyway. And she has lost so much, and so there can be no relief in this, but maybe in some small way it is still easier to pretend you loved someone the way they loved you once you’ve lost them.

And I compare Kira’s interactions with these men the show describes her as being in love with to her interactions with Jadzia or Keiko or Cretak, and I just find her chemistry with women so much more convincing. There’s no effort behind it – just connection. I don’t think what I’m saying here is the “correct” way of interpreting Kira as a character – it is simply my own interpretation based partially on my personal experiences. But I do think that it is a valid interpretation.

[blue-and-grey-army]

- - C A R A M E L - - 7

7. Cotton candy

Genre: BTS, Idol AU, poly au, BTS x reader, OT7, OT7 x reader, Idol BTS, Dom BTS, sub reader, angst, fluff, eventual smut

Warnings: BTS x reader, very subby reader, innocent reader, power play, eventual smut, sexual and non sexual domination, a lot of skinship (but like lots) excessive pet names, sexism, anxiety, insecurities, possessive behavior, maybe BTS x BTS etc..

“Y/NNNNN! What a delightful surprise, hmm” Hoseok smiled at you happily, getting up from the dance studio floor and getting closer to you. You couldn’t help to breath in as you took in his sweaty look, low hanging pants and his cheeky yet kind smile. You shake your head slightly, making an effort to get yourself back together, but of course Hoseok noticed, and his smile widened. “What brings you here, cutie?”

You smile softly, playing with the hem of your shirt before answering to him.

“None of the boys have required my assistance with…well, nothing, so I don’t have anything to do right now” you admit shyly, your lips frowned in a small pout that he wants to kiss.

“Hmm, I see…As much as I would love to keep you here all to myself…” you chuckled at his antics, not taking him seriously (Hoseok promises himself that you would be writhing to him one day) “I have to finish this choreo, and with you here I won’t focus…I heard Namjoon is in the Gym though, go check him out! I’m sure he’ll be happy with your visit”

You nod fervently, waving goodbye at the boy as he does the same, sharing his joy with you. You walk out bouncing on the balls of your feet slightly, going to the elevator so you could reach the gym in one of the top floors. You were happy that day, wearing your comfort socks and having your hair done on a small braid. You were proud of yourself from how pretty it had turned out, subconsciously wanting the boys to see it and praise you for it.

You hum to yourself softly as you recall hearing people, passing by through Hybe’s building, talking about how Namjoon was really devote to his workout routines and how consistent he had been lately. If you said you hadn’t notice, you would be lying. The way he had gotten so much buffer was clear to everyone, and even more to you, with whom he shared his space almost everyday.

Even so, you hadn’t had much interactions with Namjoon. Well, nor with Jimin, Taehyung or Jin. Hobi, Yoongi and Jungkook seemed to be much confident when it came to approaching you freely, maybe because you had already started to break some barriers with them, but they were still keeping some distance.

You didn’t know it was because they were trying to leave some of you for the other members, though.

You stepped out of the elevator once you reached the right floor, and started looking for the gym, when your phone dinged. It was a notification from twitter. You would never admit it, but before getting this job you weren’t really a fan of BTS. Of course you knew who they were, and had heard some songs, but you never really took the time to get involved with their fandom or content. It was an accident, you swear it, but you clicked on a YouTube video about a compilation of ‘Funny Taehyung moments’ and you had to watch it.

And that’s how you got absorbed into army.

It’s not your fault, ok? How could you have known?! It was just so easy to jump from one video to another, and before you realized you were doing one of those tests of ‘guess the BTS member by the picture of his nose’. But who could blame you? You were sharing almost everyday with them, how could you not get into the fandom and all the content? It was amazing being able to watch all their content and videos and also experience their company in real life. It was only normal for you to get obsessed.

And, it was also kinda nice knowing they had something for you, whatever it was. You may be naive, a little hazy and absent, and a complete expert in hyper focusing in unimportant things, but you would have to be a complete half wit to not notice. Yeah, you were coming to terms with that.

When you finally found the gym in that bloody huge floor, you just entered and scanned the place looking for Namjoon. You didn’t really think things through, that if he was working out he wouldn’t probably need you to do anything for him, but just following Hoseok’s orders felt too tight to do anything else. When you finally found the leader in the treadmill, you mouth hanged open.

Oh. My. God.

He wasn’t shirtless. He definitely wasn’t. But he could very well be with the way his tank top was sticking to his skin thanks to the sweat. His back was turned to you, an gosh what a blessed sight. You had noticed in the past the way his arms had gained lot of muscle and filled his shirts nicely, but his back…that was on a whole other level. Wide, muscly, sweaty shoulders that went down to a nicely defined back, a small waist and a nice, very nice butt. You were so focused on him, that you weren’t even embarrassed about ogling him that way.

Until…

“Y/N…Y/N, hey?” His voice got you out of your trance from looking at his ass…ARMS! Looking at his arms, just to find him standing right in front of you with a smirk. Of course had caught you drinking him up, ever since the moment you entered the room. The wall was made of a mirror, after all. Your cheeks heated up and you tried to babble an excuse.

“I was…I-I just…I…you…well…” he had the audacity to laugh and lean over so his face was closer to yours and touching the end of your braid.

“Hmm, I like this one” he tugged at it very softly and you bit your tongue from the satisfying pull. “It suits you…but I don’t think there is something that doesn’t” he admites with a breathy chuckle. “But enlighten me, what brings you here, doll?” His fingers get closer to your chin and he wipes it affectionately with his thumb. You tongue feels tied and your mouth filled with cotton. But a very soft and fluffy one…like cotton candy taking its time, sweetening your words even before they went out. “Hmm, there is something that does not suit you indeed…” he keeps quiet for a bit, but before you can even process it, he gets an inch closer “Disobedience”

“I-I’m sorry…” you admit, having to turn your head up a tad to be able to look at him comfortably, even when he was bending over “I…I didn’t have anything to do, and Hobi told me you were here so I wondered…I thougt…maybe you would need me” your voice was meek, but in a good way.

He couldn’t help the smile that came to his face when he noticed you were barely stammering with your words.

“That’s better, little one” you almost hiccup with his words, clenching your thighs subconsciously. “But there is no need for you to wonder”

You eyes widened slightly at his crude words as your lower lip came a little out in a pout. You were so stupid…getting all confident that they wanted to be with you. You had forgotten your place, and how important and busy people they were. Of course they would treat you nicely, you are their personas assistant…or whatever name your position had. You were their employee, with whom they spent lots of time with and of course they wouldn’t want you messing up.

Your own head started to play against you until Namjoon’s chuckle filled the air.

“There is no need for you to wonder, pup” his voice enveloped you as softly as if it were velvet. “I always need you”

You thought he was joking, so you chuckled slightly at his antics. To your bad, or good luck, he wasn’t as patient as Hoseok when it came to his approaches and words for you. Specially these ones, where he had meant each and every word.

Your breathing hitched softly as he put his hand on your nape, reminding you of the first time you met. Your body felt hot all over, and you felt yourself getting agitated and tense, but not in a bad way. He started playing gently with the hairs on your nape, pulling at them very softly and enjoying the goosebumps that would break all over your soft skin.

“Yeah, isn’t that better?” Your eyes lowered instinctively, but a stronger pull on your hair brought it your head back into place “You do remember what I told you when we first met, right doll?”

You go back into your own memory, getting swayed over the memory of his hand pulling way firmer on the hair form the back of your head, making sure you were looking into his eyes when your shyness prevented you from doing it. Oh, of course, that’s it. You nod softly, looking into his eyes and you are rewarded with the sight of his beautiful dimples and a wide smile.

“Hmm, someone likes my smile?” Your cheeks heat up again at being caught and he laughs wholeheartedly “In that case, I’ll make sure to save this specific one just for you.”

“I don’t think Army would be very appreciative of that” you say boldly, with a soft and genuine smile grazes your face. And he wants to see more of this comfy and confident side of you. He wants to earn it and to have you keep it just for him…and the other members.

“Then, let it be our little secret, right, Y/Nie? His voice was filled with an airy laugh as he squeezed your nape firmly and pulled you closer, getting you to rest your hand on his hard chest from how close you were. “Can I make a confession to you, cutie?”

You nodded your head fervently, licking your lips as you felt all fuzzy again, with the same cotton candy getting over your mouth and throat. So, so sweet you felt as if you were having a sugar rush.

“I’ve never been one to believe in sin…”he started, rubbing his nose against yours, as light as a feather. The hand that was resting on your chin lowered to your waist, his pinky finger inching a little to down for it to remain proper, but if you were bothered by it, you were too distracted to notice. “Until I met you…tempting me…each second, each minute, each hour of every day”

You couldn’t say anything, and it’s not like you wanted to.

“You have no idea what yo do to me, to the others, do you?”

Your lips felt dry, unlike every other part of your body. You swallowed nervously and gave him a flash of your tongue when you swiped it through your lower lip. You felt a deep growl bloom and rumble under your hands, getting over his chest as your eyes met his once again. You swore you felt the thread snap, as his head went down and his lips rested the tiniest of inches away from your lips, less bold than Yoongi had been. While he was still there, he mumbled some last words against your skin, caressing it both with his breath and his own plushy skin.

“You, my dear, are walking sin”

——————

I know I said night but…ITS ALREADY NIGHT WHERE I AM HAHAHA enjoy your treat :D

@thebisexualonesworld @openup-yourmind @jewishmommy @sld88 @djodjom1 @whipwhoops @take-u-2-anOther-wOr1d @singukieee @promiseokza @passionandsuga a @channiespup @bangtan4everr @kissme-ornot @sophiaj650 @delightfulmoonbanana a @serendididy @queenofdragons12 @effielumiere @juju-227592 @mocha000 @taegiblr @lovely247 @rorythme @kyrah-williams @blueberysoda @junisage @m4gg13-g @princess-sunshyn @justaweird0 @peachescream1723 @thatonepansexual2000 @msrmimi @kpoplover-19 @

[dollypopup]

We need to talk about misogyny in the lukola fandom, and how it originated in the rampant misogyny in the Polin fandom and just continued to grow, because unfortunately, the two deeply intersect, and there's been such a lack of nuance in so many discussions

interestingly enough, this is actually being exhibited in a lot of Luke Newton discourse. Not toward him necessarily, but to the women around him, in comparison to him, for better or worse, including Nicola. There's been a lot of discourse especially around Luke being 'jobless' in contrast to Nicola being 'booked and busy'. and even in rejection of that discussion, the defense becomes that she is an exception, because she is exceptional, and that of course others look less ambitious in comparison. And at first, I'm sure this LOOKS like it's praising a woman for her hard work and dunking on a man for what we imagine isn't.

but has anyone ever asked why Nicola is booked and busy, especially? does she want to be? or does she *have* to be?

I want you to think about just how many women over the age of 40 are getting major roles. How many love scenes you've seen that feature more mature women. How in Queen Charlotte, the focus was on a younger actress, how Violet's and Danbury's and Portia's and QCs actresses don't even have a kiss scripted.

How much of that is by design in the entertainment industry

Nicola, in many ways, is creating a recipe for burn out, but she works alongside wonderful actresses who are incredibly talented- and do not get the opportunities they SHOULD. Roles in the entertainment industry are largely written for young women in their 20s, young, conventional women. And Nicola KNOWS this. She's a businesswoman, and her craft IS her business. The clock is, unfortunately, ticking. This is a very insidious aspect of the misogynistic entertainment machine. Yes, Nicola is booked and busy right now- she's building her brand and trying to break out of the awful cycle of female actors getting a few big roles, and then get relegated to side characters or mum number 3. Should the entertainment industry write more roles for women over 40? YES!!! They should be major roles with poignant narratives!! But it isn't the reality we live in. She is actively fighting against the sexism of the industry she is living in, she cannot take a vacation.

Luke Newton, however, *can*. He has privilege as a man to take his time. Whilst Nicola's career is in danger of a downswing, Luke's is, by most statistics? Just beginning. Men continue to get major roles deep into their 30s, 40s, 50s. In fact, I think MOST male actors only build notoriety as they age. So Luke Newton has the privilege of TIME.

And let me very clear: I'm happy he can. And I wish Nicola could, too. Grinding ourselves to dust in the pursuit of the perfect capitalistic darling is only going to breed misery. The fandom is SO caught up in saying 'oh, look at how great it is that xyz has this role!' and 'booo he's unemployed and jobless etc. etc.' that we don't take the time to ask. . .why is it NECESSARY and in fact praise worthy to lick clean the boot of grind culture? Are we not all tired? Do we not all want downtime? Holiday? Vacation?

Luke Newton is doing what is healthy: he's pushing away from Social Media, didn't spend too much time promoting, disengaged from the fandom in online spaces but is still generous with his time in person, poured himself into his craft, did a hell of a promotion tour, and in the time between fitting and costumes and learning lines for Bridgerton Season 4? He's resting.

As. He. Should.

As *Nicola* should. Because she also pushed to continue engaging with a fanbase who she hopes will act as security for her as she ages out of the roles writers are pushing into the world. Nicola SHOULD BE ALLOWED HER REST!!! She should NOT be booked and busy!! She should NOT be grinding herself to dust for the sake of keeping herself in good light to become one of the few women who continue to be big names beyond her 40s.

She, however, can't. Not because of anything Luke Newton has done, he is not, as many people want to believe, a problem. He benefits from the system ALL his male coworkers do, and does his best to uplift the women around him, likely understanding the struggles of such having been raised surrounded by so many women, but he is not perpetuating the system or creating it. Instead of directing our criticism on Luke Newton, we SHOULD be directing it to the entertainment industry. So Luke Newton is on a break from a serial successful production he has a guaranteed role for: so what? He is afforded that privilege. Having downtime is not the death knell of his career as doomsayers are insisting.

The average age of an Academy Award Winner who is an actor is almost 50. The average age of an Academy Award Winner who is an actress is 37. (source)

Should we be mad? Yes.

Is this something to be mad at Luke Newton for specifically? NO. Many male actors take breaks and time in their career trajectory, because they know they have longevity. The discussion in this fandom is misplaced, and the root of that misplacement is twofold: sexism and capitalist worship. It isn't that Luke Newton lacks ambition and should be working harder- I argue he's doing what is best for him and most people in the long term. This is self care, and it's important.

No, the discussion is that Nicola is forced to work in a pressure pot because of the industry, and the fandom continues to praise her for it, all whilst turning noses up at those who don't or do not have to, and continuing to uphold the narrative that women must be a beacon of exceptionalism in order to curry respect. They continue to uphold her grind as a virtue- look how great it is that she's constantly posting, constantly engaging with the fandom, always auditioning, booked and busy- have you not asked if she would LIKE a vacation? she deserves one, same as Luke Newton.

What you're mad at is NOT Luke himself- but the patriarchy. What you're mad at is that women must be held to standards of near unreachable excellence. But instead of working together as women and having any actual discussion about it that's meaningful, it turns into a crock of shit that then shoves everyone in the backspray, especially other women.

The slutshaming misogyny that has been directed at Luke Newton's girlfriend- *yikes*.

Oh, A is a hanger on. She's 'poptart', she's portrayed with an ant emoji, she's 'toilet twerker', she's 'controlling him' or HE should control HER, she 'should be reigned in', she's jobless, she's an infant who needs her big strong boyfriend to take her social media away, she's not been 'claimed' (like luggage, like a THING), look at him, he doesn't feel ANYTHING toward her- not like Nicola.

Our good, darling Nicola versus that awful whore Antonia/Jade/Any Woman in Luke Newton's Circle.

This sexism is deep and pervasive- being angry he's dating her 'because she's thin'. Insisting she's a villain and everything she does is to 'rile up the fandom' or 'stir up trouble' or that she 'hates Nicola'.

You all do NOT know this woman. And I don't either!!! Maybe she IS a shit stirrer, maybe she is thriving in the drama.

But aren't most of y'all, too?

Polin fandom built so much off of putting down other women to uphold Penelope: Marina is a bitch who was TRICKING Colin and Penelope was just doing what she had to do!!! Of course she kept her secret from him, she was SCARED!!! Eloise is a privileged brat breaking the rules and putting herself in danger but Penelope is a rebel who is building her own success off of taking necessary risks!!!

Our good, Darling Penelope versus that evil whore Marina/Eloise/Cressida/Any Other Woman.

This fandom is predominately female. Most of us identify as women. And a lot of us are *mean* to other women. We uphold sexism in our fandoms, uncontested, as often as we please. But we frame it in criticism of a man and so that's okay- as if that in and of itself is somehow uplifting women, being tied to a feminist cause- but putting down other women in conspiracy theories and bullying them, as occurred to Jade, under the guise of 'oh I'm just criticizing Luke!' is disingenuous. It's an excuse. 'I'm mad at him for-' not being your fantasy.

And Nicola isn't, either.

The truth is, the people in this fandom don't have respect for EITHER of them, just in different ways. A pedestal is a pedestal is a pedestal, and no matter what, any human being will fall from it eventually. And this fandom has proven that when that happens, it will NOT be met with empathy.

Now think about who that will actually hurt in the long term.

A lot of people in this fandom have soul searching to do.

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

Okay now that Anissa is in the show, I have to talk about THAT storyline. There's not much particularly new I can say that hasn't already been discussed but I need to gather my thoughts on what the show has to do to be successful in this regard. With that being said,

Spoilers for things the show has not covered yet

And massive Trigger Warning for discussions of sexual assault and post-assault trauma.

So first things out of the way, I do not believe they should cut it. The changes the show has made are ultimately pretty minor. A character change, order of events swapped. With them sticking as close as they are to the comic, I think it would be a massive problem to skip over it from a story telling standpoint.

From a real world standpoint, it's even more important. Male sexual assault is something that rarely gets depicted properly. It's usually a joke or a moment of triumph and that very much has had an effect on the way we look at it in the real world. And since Invincible is now a show pretty much everybody has their eyes on, choosing not to talk about it would be missing an opportunity to have a very real, very important conversation that very well could educate men on how to navigate and survive what they are going through.

I'm also worried that they'll be too afraid to actually say the word "rape". Lots of modern adaptations delete important discussions like Sokka's sexism or the gender discussions from Cowboy Bebop in order to avoid properly handling them and usually replace them with something worse in a sort of "all bark and no bite" liberalism. Directly saying it as it is is incredibly important to showing that talking about it is not only NOT shameful, but also necessary in getting the help you need and the healing that is necessary to survive.

And from a storytelling standpoint, saying it is important too. The moment where Mark tells Eve what happened is not only great in showing that telling someone is important but is also the moment where Mark is forced to admit the truth to himself. "She raped me." Those three words are a massive turning point for the whole story. Character dynamics change, this becomes a focus for most of Mark's loved ones, and it fundamentally changes his life.

Markus. This is a piece of the puzzle I don't see many talk about. While the rest is a showcase of what to do, Markus as a character is a showcase of what not to. It is so, so rare that a child conceived of a rape is properly depicted, nevermind discussed. From Mark's POV, he holds no ill will towards his son. He simply wants him to live a life on Earth with his family like he did and just can't be with him because he is needed in space. But to Markus, his dad hates him. He thinks his father keeps him on Earth so that he doesn't have to think about him. And this idea of his father's disgust contorts his image of himself. He begins to feel self-hatred, hatred towards his mother for making him this way, and hatred towards his father for abandoning him and leaving him to despise what he sees in the mirror. "You made Terra with love. I was made with hate."

Whether Mark meant it or not, his neglect of Markus ruined his early life. No matter how many friends he made, what groups he joined, they could never fill that hole. He idolized his father. I mean, how could he not? His father was, IS a great hero. A man who was out at that very moment leading the movement for universal peace. But because Mark barely visited him, he only had an idea of what his father was like. A man who sacrificed so much to help the world, who fought in space and yet still managed to save the Earth dozens of times. A man who had the time to help everyone and yet couldn't make time for him.

(Important edit: in no way do I mean to say Mark is obligated to be a part of his son's life, I meant that Mark chooses to be there but ultimately fails to do so and that causes issues)

And don't get me wrong, this story has some pretty glaring flaws. For example I think they tried a little too hard to teach Mark that the person who hurt him is human too and has positively affected the lives of many. Like absolutely there is a conversation to be had there but because they had to move on with the plot they kinda just went "HEY MARK DON'T BE SAD SHE'S COOL NOW AND ALSO SHE'S DEAD SO THERE'S NO POINT IN LINGERING OKAY BYYEEEEE". But I think instead of these flaws scaring the show away they should invite the show forward. It's an opportunity to improve on the story and discussions rather than shy away from it.

Oh and also harking back to my previous point in paragraph 2, there's another aspect that makes it stand out in an important discussion. If I'm remembering correctly, the comic makes it pretty clear that Mark could have overpowered Anissa but didn't for a couple of reasons, namely not wanting to hurt her. And that is SO important and SO rare. A discussion surrounding an assault victim who could have fought back but didn't where the victim is NOT portrayed as in the wrong and in fact just as worthy to be traumatized as any other victim is SO DAMN IMPORTANT and could legit change a lot in the way we look at these topics.

So yeah, I think the series should adapt it. Also I think it would be great if they brought on actual victims and experts and whatnot so their depiction could be just that much more focused around what needs to be said. Sorry if all this read as klunky, I have a lot of thoughts bouncing around up here that I kinda just spewed onto the page with no particular order. I'm also obviously not the most educated on the topic. My personal experiences with this were relatively minor and not something I've ever felt comfortable addressing. And yeah I know it's important no matter how "small" or "minor" it seems and I'm not trying to downplay any of that but I just don't really have the words to phrase that differently. Which is exactly why I think we NEED education and discussions about this stuff so that we DO know the words to navigate the topic.

[abigailnussbaum]

Lower Decks, "Fissure Quest": Scattered Thoughts

As someone who has had a complicated relationship with Lower Decks precisely because of how rooted it is in references, fanservice, and callbacks, you'd think this episode would be my Kryptonite. But you know what, I'm going to let them have it. One episode from the (thoroughly unjustified; this show could have run another five years, easy) end, I don't think it's fair to complain about Lower Decks being Lower Decks. And while I didn't unreservedly love this story (more on that below) I actually found the complete immersion in references (while leaving "our" main characters offscreen) more tolerable than a lot of episodes that center around how these new Star Trek characters just happen to be Star Trek fans.

(Also, I'm holding out hope that, having gotten the fanservice component of the show out of their system in the first half of the two-parter, the Lower Decks writers will end their show by telling a Lower Decks story, about the Lower Decks characters being heroes in their own right. We shall see.)

Obviously the fandom focus is going to be on canon(-ish) Garak/Bashir (and it is rather clever how the episode manages to have its cake and eat it on this front, distancing these versions of the characters enough from the originals that if this ship isn't your cup of tea it doesn't have to color the baseline story). But to me the most important choice in the episode is T'Pol. I was talking just recently about how screwed-over this character was - not just by the Enterprise writers' sexism, but by a backlash against Vulcans that spread through DS9, Voyager, and Enterprise in the late 90s/early 00s, and which Lower Decks has been at the forefront of addressing (Discovery and SNW have, in comparison, been rather wobbly on this front). T'Pol, and Jolene Blalock, have for a long time deserved the kind of redemption Seven of Nine has gotten, and hopefully "Fissure Quest" isn't the full extent of it.

(One complicating factor is that Blalock has left acting - she apparently goes by her married name these days, and is credited only as "Jolene" in the episode credits. This might complicate a potential guest appearance on SNW, for example.)

Another thing I liked is that this episode functions as a redemption for William Boimler without going too hard on this point. He's still fundamentally different from our Boimler in not-terribly-likable ways, but he gets to save the day and to behave like a real officer and captain, without becoming just another copy of OG Boimler. I also appreciated that all this is achieved while keeping the Section 31 of it all to a minimum. Boimler is still working for them, as evidenced by his badge (can we pause for a moment to contemplate how nonsensical the idea that Section 31 have their own uniforms and badge design is?), but their name isn't even mentioned, which I am taking as an indication that the Lower Decks writers agree with me about the misguidedness of this whole concept.

(Also good: a sciency, risk-averse Mariner who nevertheless rises to the occasion and saves the day.)

And having said all that, here comes the complaint: I am largely on W. Boimler's side on the whole matter of the multiverse, and when he went into his rant about how it's all just eye-catching variations on familiar things without any substance to back them up, I wanted to stand up and cheer. Until, that is, I remembered that this opinion was being voiced by a character who is a) a villain, and b) in the grips of depression. The fact that the opposing view is expressed by Lily motherfucking Sloane is, I think, a pretty solid indication of what side the episode wants us to come down on, but I remain unconvinced. It would be nice if multiverse stories were about exploring endless possibility and, through that exploration, learning more about where you started from. But most of them are just about putting a new hat on a familiar character and getting excited over the hat.

Which I think the episode itself mostly bears out. Boimler's crew are all fun and cute, but none of them go very deep into the characters or stories they're riffing off. Garak and Bashir are together simply so fans can have the visual or them as a cute married couple, not as a result of any attempt to grapple with how these two complicated, flawed characters might actually end up in a romantic relationship (or, for that matter, with the fact that Garak ends DS9 in a quasi-suicidal state). T'Pol deserves her more generous, more serious story, but it's telling that this story (she's best friends with Curzon Dax!) feels almost random, a reminder that what Enterprise did with her - stripping her naked, insulting her Vulcanness, and killing her loved ones - doesn't lend itself to a continuation that is worth following. And the Harry Kim gag does nothing to address, and in fact tries to make a virtue out of, the stasis that character was held in for seven seasons of Voyager. I don't want to ding the episode too hard, because I did end up enjoying it. But the conclusion I take away from it is that if you want to really explore a character, especially one who has been overlooked, you're much better off doing what Picard did with Seven of Nine, moving forward from where they left off while giving them more serious consideration, rather than just cycling through a bunch of different variations on them.

Finally, does anyone else think that Curzon Dax was originally meant to be Jadzia Dax, and things just didn't work out with Terry Farrell? Given how every other crewmember is someone who was screwed over by the narrative or the writers, or just something the fans have long wanted to see, the choice of Curzon seems to stick out. A Jadzia Dax who wasn't killed by Dukat (and an opportunity for Farrell to come back to Star Trek after the bad blood of her departure from DS9) feels much closer to the "fan wish fulfillment" ethos that seems to have been this episode's brief.

[princess-of-the-corner]

I keep thinking of mistaken spirit. Specifically how weird and respectful Enji treats the Gaang. He sees them as children yet doesn't shy away from involving them in battle plans. He's said the doesn't want them on the battlefield but "I know I can't stop you from fighting, the most I can do is supervise." Where most adults have actively disregarded Sokka's plans, Enji takes every word he says seriously. Katara thought he was going to be like Pakku at first, but was swiftly proven wrong by Enji asking Katara to spar with him. "This could be a good opportunity to learn how to fight a firebender without the fear of death." Toph thinks he found a way around her truth detection, but no he genuinely sees them as worthy fighters. Aang knows he's not a spirit but appreciates his advice when he asked how to handle Ozai. He's scared of Suki, she knows Enji is smart because he knows who to fear. And yes out of everyone he's mostly scared of Ty Lee and Suki. No I refuse to elaborate.

YES.

Like.

He knows what teenagers are capable of. Even before the whole series' canon, he'd worked with a lot of interns/work study students that have been hella good, even if they're rough around the edges.

He also knows like. After Toya, he sees it in these kids. A determined Heroic Spirit that won't quit no matter how he tries to keep them out. And he's learned from how he handled Toya that if he bans them entirely, they'll go behind his back anyway. He'd much rather do what he can to make sure to mitigate the damage.

I think-

Okay so like. I think in terms of sparring matches, Enji would focus on both Katara and Toph. Katara notices this, and as she's used to sexism she assumes it's because they're girls and all.

Eventually this causes a fight but he does handle it well in the 'hold on i'm not good at picking up on anger/frustration and bad at explaining' thing. But he does explain that his reason for focusing on them is that they have zero backup options. Like. All the non-benders have both weapons and hand--to-hand combat skills. Zuko and Azula have both bending and combat(Zuko has swords, Azula knows more hand-to-hand). Aang is a touch lacking in combat, but he's got access to four elements so finding a way to nerf him is hard.

Katara and Toph, on the other hand, only have their Bending. And he's focusing on them because he's learned that there's various ways to negate Bending (Spirit Nonsense™, Chi Blocking, environmental factors, etc.). If something happens, they have no backup.

Re: Aang: I think that some of the changes may change this scenario? Like uh. In Canon part of the reason Aang had to take down Ozai was because the Avatar taking down the Fire Lord meant something. (Even Iroh kinda points this out of he'd have no issue killing Ozai at this point, but the world would see it as a power struggle between royals rather than the end of the war). With this AU, Enji kinda.... fixed that problem. Because 'The Fire Spirit' showed up and called Ozai a bitch ass fraud and not the rightful heir to the throne. So anyone can kill Ozai now.

Being scared of Suki is entirely reasonable actually. She can wreck you.

Being scared of Ty Lee is similar but different because of the Chi Blocking. Because it works on his Quirk and that freaks him the hell out.

[stupidrant]

Thank you for tackling another facet of fandom's misogyny which is justifying the hatred for and dismissal of story important female characters and their no less important relationships with male leads by means of invented (and often completely ridiculous) M/M ships. Hei**tre*s is a perfect example of that as it's preferred over a canon romantic storyline for Atreus (which is Atreus/Angrboda). Whereas Heimdall is worshiped and prioritized over Angrboda despite the fact that he is a textbook filler character and a stereotypical two dimensional secondary antagonist "who dies first".

Yet Angrboda whose every single scene brings something new to the story or moves the plot and whose interactions with Atreus are so vital to said plot you cannot omit a single one of them without the game becoming completely different and Atreus's arc crumbling and losing logic, cohesion and sense is dismissed as "boring".

This is that "woke misogyny" that we discussed before (and proves yet again how gamebros and "progressives" are in fact the two sides of the same bigoted coin, just like Alphas and Nice Guys).

Furthermore, this "progressive misogyny" pattern often includes those people making up "arguments" as to why male lead's relationship with a multi-faceted female character is supposedly "unhealthy" or "forced" (which is laughable given their own fanon ships have zero basis in canon). But their imagined M/M ship is somehow "complex and inspiring" because they want a male character they (often undeservedly) put on a pedestal (in this case Heimdall) to get a trophy in the form of another character (Atreus). Whom they - and that's the most absurd part - often also hate as much as they do his canon female love interest. But deem this "worthless and annoying fun-sponge" to be good enough to be a prize for their favourite man.

It's the same toxic thinking that, within the non-romantic realm, reduced Atreus to Kratos's prize and then concluded he wasn't worth becoming one. However, trolls decided that Atreus still might fulfill their fantasy of Thrud/Atreus or Heimdall/Atreus and become a prize for one of them. That's why their favourite moments in their interactions is when Thrud or Heimdall exert physical violence against Atreus and "put that runt in place".

Meanwhile, Angrboda is also seen as an "unworthy" prize, just for Atreus. It all boils down to dehumanization and treating one character as an accessory for another (and shoes how sexism affects characters regardless of gender, just in a different way). That's why canon Atreboda makes trolls so angry as it's an equal and supportive relationship for both of them.

You are also correct in seeing the potential in Skjoldr, sadly, likely becoming that glorified secondary male character whom trolls might use as a perfect cover for their misogyny. So they could continue dismissing or putting down Angrboda to prop up Atreus's interactions with Skjoldr and Thrud. Another scenario that isn't out of the realm of possibility is, as you noted, Atreus forming a trio with Skjoldr and Thrud, with Angrboda being pushed to sidelines.

Now, obviously, canonically neither Skjoldr nor Thrud would ever become Atreus's love interests and are most likely going to have a romantic arc of their own, with one another. But before it happens or in the process of it happening the writers/developers might opt for the "bros over romance" route in regards to A/T/S trio vs Atreboda relationship. It's all the more plausible if the other, grim scenario I suggested before comes to pass and Skjoldr is ultimately sacrificed for Thrud's angst (and, in this case, Atreus's as well, in a platonic sense).

With the criticism she gets, i think they will go against the “bros over atreboda” thing. I think atreboda will be a bigger focus and understandably so (or at least im hoping they will. as i said before, they continued with atreus despite trolls. Im expecting them to do the same with angrboda) I’ve noticed most main (or only) love interests get treated like this. And its usually the female ones in particular. i dont understand why so many people hate on them all the time? Its not like theyre always the same yet there is smth “unappealing” to so many people about said love interests all the time. I wonder if it has to do with the “not like other girls” sort of thing..

[super-paper]

I think I knew from the moment or AFO’s mom being confirmed a prostitute that people certainly would have Opinions on that. But in terms of sexism or misogyny, I will be frank here in that I don’t really see it. This is of course a personal opinion that I’m not trying to impose or anything, but we always knew that the AFO’s backstory was gonna be some fucked up shit and that whoever was part of that backstory was simply gonna serve as a tool to further the horrible psyche of All for One, so when people get upset on how they think the story became too dark or how it’s sexist the way the mom has been written, I think I just don’t really get it? In terms of the story, I think it really solidified how while AFO was sort of a bad kid since the day he was born while also humanizing him.

However, it might also be foolish of me to divorce the idea of misogyny from his backstory, so ultimately I just wanted to hear your thoughts on what you think about it.

Mm, I don't really think I'm eloquent enough to really give a thorough/informed response, but...

Like, I sort of?? get what Horikoshi was going for, but I also think the overall depiction of AFO's mother could have been handled better.

Sex workers are often extremely vulnerable and frequent targets of violence/abuse-- which isn't to say that manga aimed at teens should just pretend sex work doesn't exist, but in this case, I do believe that the depiction of AFO and Yoichi's mother was handled somewhat callously compared to what we’ve gotten for the other parents. My own concerns have more to do with how she is depicted by the art/paneling/narration-- like, my read is that her death was intended to be sad, but the execution was still dehumanizing (like so far, she gets no real focus on her face or features, dies in an absolutely horrific fashion, and ultimately has her body desecrated/devoured-- compare this with the brief glimpse we get of Toshi's mother, who is extremely idealized in comparison but is depicted as a more "complete" person despite only appearing in one panel-- OFAFOmama gets more panels in comparison, but they're mainly focused on her corpse/suffering and fragments of her body, and again, none of these panels give us a clear image of her face). Again, I understand what Horikoshi was going for, but I think people do have a right to feel uncomfortable and criticize this.

We can argue that the chapter was narrated from AFO's perspective (or at least, it's heavily implied to have been influenced/skewed by AFO-- the narrator referring to quirks as "meta abilities" multiple times feels like it's supposed to tip us off that this is not Izuku or someone from the current generation narrating anymore, and both AFO and Yoichi get referred to as "things" by the narration which is probably the biggest tip off that our mysterious narrator isn't entirely trustworthy/unbiased and that what they say should be taken with a grain of salt and skepticism imho)-- if AFO is the narrator, then a lot of the dehumanization of like, everyone BUT Yoichi, can be read as a side effect of that. But, I do think the criticisms still stand.

As for what Horikoshi was going for.... AFO being born from someone that society completely and utterly failed to help and whose suffering was ignored even before the advent of quirks feels like its supposed to be the main takeaway, execution aside. AFO’s own beliefs about how "it's simply human nature to reject what is different/what they don't understand + everyone just pretends not to see suffering” aren't beliefs that were born in a vacuum, they started snowballing from the moment of his conception— and even though AFO tries to paint himself as being born evil, it's obvious that he was affected by it. His mother was homeless and ill, but there's a crowd of people in the background going about their own lives and paying absolutely no attention to her. She dies in horrible pain and all alone. AFO and Yoichi are born alone and spend their entire childhoods alone because no one would help them, either-- they were viewed as “diseased” and people deliberately avoided them/refused to help them for that reason (it's also heavily implied that they probably were attacked by both anti-meta groups AND meta groups despite them both being children-- though since it's a flashback that's presumably being skewed by AFO, he instead frames himself as the aggressor in both situations because the alternative means acknowledging that he was also one of society's victims). From AFO's perspective, human nature + society's nature hasn't changed in the slightest even with the advent of quirks and the mass influx of "heroes."

Bodily horror and bodily violation (and bodily consumption!) is also the bread and butter of the AFOFA plot, and this isn't something restricted to gender.

In terms of the story, I think it really solidified how while AFO was sort of a bad kid since the day he was born while also humanizing him.

Yeah, the nature of this origin has shed some light on a lot of things about AFO's character-- esp. when you compare the imagery of this chapter to certain statements he's made in previous chapters. I don't subscribe to the idea that he was born evil (everything about AFO up to the point where he and Yoichi discover books reads as him acting purely on instinct + being stuck in survival mode since birth gave him literally no room to develop critical social skills), but I definitely agree with you that the chapter succeeded in humanizing him, bc so much about his behavior has just sort of clicked in place after this chapter.

It's just a shame that a lot of people are taking the chapter at face value-- I've seen about fifty different "Thank god, finally a villain who was born evil and doesn't have any trauma!" takes on twitter so far and it's like????? 😭😭 Like, I was hoping that more people would look at the chapter and say "wow, that was fucked up and no child deserves to go through that even if they have bad vibes," but alas.

[eggcompany]

Sappy Freak Part 1

Stiles would have never expected to land in the bed of one of the hottest men she's ever seen. And she would have never bet he was the gentle, playful kind. Like a devout dog, caring and careful. Plus he's got a great ass.

Stiles kept trying to chat up the bartender but the bar was busy today. So she wrote in her notebook taking down details, trying to at least get the fluff out of the way of the actual story. Underage drinking in local bars. Boring. But at least she wasn’t sitting in the studio writing about sexism or the sexual assaults on campus. 

At least she got to chat up the nice bartender who kept her lemonades coming and the music was easy to focus on. 

She was sitting in the side of the bar where the light was better. The lights were brighter behind the bar so she could see a bit better if she sat in the corner. She was focused on writing down gaps and details when a wave of heat hit her side. 

It was warm and radiating, she felt her skin pick up at the feeling. She finished writing the last sentence before glancing over. 

She gasped a bit when she looked up. 

He was hot . All sharp edges and dark scruff, darker hair and those eyes. She watched his lips move but didn’t hear a word he said. He was… Wow. Broad shoulders, biceps that bulged under his green t-shirt, and, god, those eyes were fucking stunning under thick eyelashes. She felt a little stupid but he was sitting right next to her. Giving her his full attention. 

“Huh?” She asked dumbly, finally getting her ears to work again. He laughed and looked down, glancing back up at her through those dark eyelashes. It was unfair, the low laughing that flashed his sharp pearly teeth. 

“I asked what you’re working on. It’s kind of a shitty place to study.” He said again his voice was low and smooth, making her lean in, taking way too long to respond. It was like each word had to be spelled out in her head. There were just more important things for her to focus on, his warmth, his smell , musky yet clean, his hand on the bartop, strong and perfect. 

“I’m trying to work on a column for the college newspaper and the website. I'm Stiles, I’ve been on the paper for a while.” She said and put her hand out, offering it for a shake. The man shook it once before holding her hand looking at the pen marks on the back of her hand. She was almost embarrassed at the blue and black smears, faint lettering lingering from resting against wet ink. 

“I’m Derek. You’ve got really nice hands. Must be pretty smart if you write for the paper.” Derek complimented and looked back up at Stiles, eyes meeting. Stiles blushed and shrugged, not knowing what to say back. She wasn’t accustomed to being approached, to being complimented out of the blue or with such sincerity. She swallowed and gave him a smile. 

“Thanks. It’s nice to meet you um… do you come here often?” She asked and felt so embarrassed. She felt so weird trying to make small talk. She sucked at small talk with normal looking people. He wasn’t normal looking at all. 

He was so hot. Those broad shoulders, that chest, those arms, and she looked down, those thighs that were wrapped in denim that hugged him perfectly. She knew she was ogling him, eyes combing from his uplifted hair down to his black sneakers. 

“You’re so pretty. Can I kiss you?” Derek asked and Stiles felt a little shocked. She stared at him for a second seeing if he was really serious. She couldn’t help but look at his lips, the slight stubble that shadowed his cheeks and jaw, it looked rough. Scratchy. She wondered how it would feel. 

“You’re just beautiful, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. If you don’t want to just tell me. I don’t mind just chatting if that’s what you wanna do. I just…” Derek said his voice relaxed, he trailed off eyes landing on Stiles’s own glossed lips. 

She blinked, a rush going to her head. She was horny, but when was she not. And yeah sure she would actually bend over the bar for this stunning man but… she didn’t have a lot of hookups. Especially not sober ones and her lemonade was sitting on the bar. 

She leaned back, putting some space between them, and swallowed. 

“I don’t even know you.” She said and looked away, tearing her eyes from his. She glanced back at him, catching the glint in his eyes, the amusement. Cat and mouse. 

“Get to know me.” Derek answered, grinning at her. Dog and cat more like. Stiles tried to suppress her own grin but failed. She loved a man who could play along. 

“What do you do for work?” She asked and Derek smiled and finished his drink before answering. Turning in his chair to face her completely, she copied him. The air between them warmed, electricity flowing. 

“Mechanics shop, the Hale Garage. My family owns it. I’m Derek Hale.” He answered easily, she nodded and was about to ask another when he bounced the question back. 

“Other than the newspaper, what do you do?” He asked. 

“Office assistant for the sheriff's department and the newspaper only pays a little bit. But I’m trying to focus on keeping my grades up. How old are you?” She asked and he smiled, it was cute. She smiled back, unable to keep the grin from her lips. 

“26, you?” Derek answered, looking over her. She started to feel a bit warm. His attention was honest, as if he was really interested. She just wasn’t used to it. And he was so hot. 

“22. Where do you live?” She asked, hoping it wasn’t on campus. She didn’t like hooking up in the dorms or in the frat houses. The dorms meant the worst walk of shame and frat houses gave her the skeeves. 

“The Hale apartments on Walnut, I get the penthouse because I'm the landlord and I’m restoring it.” Derek answered and Stiles had to think about it for a minute. The old neighborhood, historic mostly. The apartments were nice, she’d seen all the construction going on and assumed it was getting gentrified. It was on the rich side. Nice. Stiles thought and nodded. 

“I still live on campus.” Stiles said and leaned forward, elbow against the bar as it held up her face. She could catch his smell again, it was getting warm between them

“What’re you studying?” He asked, quieter this time, and leaned towards her. Fuck he smelled good. Like a man. But not smelly, like a clean lightly perfumed man. She loved it. 

“Physics.” She breathed out, they were so close. He was warm and she loved it, he paid attention to her and listened. Derek pushed her hair behind her ear, the shoulder length hair moving out of the way. His fingers were rough and calloused where they rubbed across her ear. 

“Smart and stunning. You’re the whole package, Stiles.” Derek said, tongue poking out to wet his lips. Stiles felt a throb roll through her. She felt her heart racing in her chest, her face was warm with blush, and her mind was quieted down to focus on him. 

“One kiss and I’ll decide if I want more.” Stiles finally agreed and swallowed her nerves. He cradled her jaw, his rough palms on her sharp jaw. His thumb rubbed across her cheek, his eyes going to her moles. He turned her head to the side, moving slowly as he leaned in the last few inches disappearing. He pressed their lips together for a smooth long closed mouth kiss. 

When they pulled back she felt dizzy. That was the best kiss of her life and Derek looked like a puppy with a stupid little grin on his face. And she was stone cold sober. She could feel the prickle of his stubble, the whiskey on his lips, the calculated gentleness in his hands. She took it all in, details coming to light like they never had before. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and Derek pulled away completely, hand leaving her face, leaning back in his chair. 

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Derek asked, hope steady in his voice. Stiles looked down thinking for a second before standing. She just needed to get her head straight. Sure he was hot but she still had to be safe. 

“I have to go to the restroom for a second but um… yeah after that.” Stiles answered and rushed to the bathroom with her phone out. 

Facebook. Of course he had a Facebook. And he was so fucking hot. Going to races with his family, hiking shirtless, happy birthday to his uncle, swimming at the lake, it was all so hot. He was so genuine. Pictures of the apartments, him in a hardhat, restoring brass and peeling up carpet. He was so… Everything. 

There was even a picture of him standing outside the apartments captioned ‘new landlord in town. Restorations underway’ and he had a big smile on his face. She didn’t press a hand to herself through her jeans at the photo of him leaning against a black camaro in a pair of painted on jeans and a leather jacket. 

“Fuck” Stiles said as she tried to straighten her clothes. She just had on a tshirt and her flannel and a pair of jeans. She didn’t understand why that caught Derek’s attention but… well she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She shot off a text to her best friend and turned on her location before silencing her phone and shoving it in her pocket. 

Derek smiled at her when she returned. Standing, he was tall, broad, gorgeous. She was tall enough to come to his chin, in her heels they could be the same height. 

“I paid the tabs. Do you wanna come to my place?” Derek offered, walking them towards the door. She followed, smiling when he held the door open for her. 

“Um yeah. Yeah. I haven’t drank anything so I’ll drive. I know where to go.” Stiles said and Derek cocked an eyebrow at her but nodded. They were soon in her jeep. He was easy with the doors and didn’t comment on the rough start up of the vehicle, which she appreciated. 

“I don’t usually do this.” Stiles said nervously as she turned to go to the apartments. Derek looked at her like she was crazy. 

“You don’t drive?” He asked and Stiles shook her head, eyes rolling. Her hands gripped and loosened on the steering wheel a few times, nerves making her fidget. 

“I don’t take, I don't um… I don’t go home with people often.” She finally said and turned onto the road of the apartments. The street lights were new and bright, lighting the sidewalks and roads. She caught Derek looking out the window, hands rubbing up and down his own thighs. 

“Neither do I. I just can’t stop looking at you though.” Derek confessed quietly as they parked in front of the building. Stiles blushed and turned the car off. 

Derek hurried to get out and rush to the driver’s door, opening it for Stiles. She smiled and locked the doors as Derek grabbed her hand, guiding them both towards the front doors. 

They were standing in the elevator, the calm silence starting to buzz with excitement.

“Do you take a lot of girls here?” Stiles asked as the elevator started up to the top floor, the penthouse. Derek grinned and shook his head, his cheeks turning red. His hand clenched around hers. 

“I don’t take a lot of anyone here. It’s usually just me and the pigeons.” Derek said, his voice getting edged with embarrassment. Stiles found it cute. It made her nerves simmer down. 

“I like pigeons.” Stiles said quietly, voice quiet. Derek looked at her, eyes big. 

Then the elevator doors opened and she was being pulled into the hall. She almost felt giddy, a laugh bubbling up in her throat, Derek looked back at her with a smile.

Derek unlocked the door, keys clanking. Stiles’s eyes widened at the space. It was nice . Big open space, full bookcases, big windows. Derek made his way over to the kitchen, pouring two glasses of some premixed drinks from his fridge. 

Stiles sat down on one of the couches that made a semi circle in front of a large tv that was centered between bookcases. 

She was handed a drink and watched Derek drink his. Their eyes lingered on each other, both moving towards each other. The man’s hand landed on her thigh, burning through the fabric to sear her skin. She sipped her drink and reached to set it on the coffee table, he kept her eyes as he copied her, leaving nothing between them. 

She felt the room warm, shifting. She felt the pull, magnetic and unrelenting. She couldn’t help the way her heart hammered against her ribs, the way she couldn’t tear her eyes from his face, the heat that washed in her hips. 

Derek leaned in, hand reaching up for her face. She leaned into it, enjoying the heavy warmth of it against her cheek. Her eyes slipped shut, waiting as his warmth reached her, creeping into her skin. 

Their lips met, slow and cautious. It was a push and pull that had her sighing, it was hypnotic. They pulled away for a minute, eyes blinking open. 

She gasped a little, his eyes up close… dark and dilated and full of something that she felt boiling inside of her. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, lips meeting again, open and hungrier. It didn’t take long for his hands to move to grab her, one landing on her thigh and the other on the back of her neck. Their tongues mingled together, hers bitter with lemonade and his with the bite of whiskey. 

“Please” Stiles breathed out when they pulled back lips wet and tingling. Derek smiled and pulled her into his lap by her hips. He was solid under her, thick thighs making her own spread. 

“So pretty” Derek breathed as their lips sealed back together. Tongues and teeth clasing, both of them getting more and more ramped up. She let her hands wander down his chest, feeling the strength that was obvious in the heft of his pecs, the hard angles of his abs. He was hot, warm and solid, and she felt drunk on it. 

“You’re buff” She said dumbly when they pulled away for a breath. She let her nails catch on his shirt as she ran them back up to his neck. He nodded and grabbed the bottom of his thin shirt, pulling it up and off smoothly. 

If she hadn’t been so turned on she would have been embarrassed by the gasp that left her at the sight of his bare torso. 

“Hairy” Was all she could muster as she finally saw what had been hidden. Her hands gravitated towards the thick black hair that spread across his chest and down to trail below his waistband. She buried her hands in it, it was strangely soft, coarse and thick but not scratchy or rough. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from her own hands as they trailed over his chest down his stomach. 

She leaned back in, hands laying over his stomach, feeling him twitch under her ever cold hands. 

“Can I take yours off now?” Derek finally asked, fingers working under the fabric of her t-shirt from where they laid on her hips. She took a breath, just looking at his face. His stupid handsome face and stupid big beautiful eyes and soft gentle lips and big perfect body. 

“Sure” Stiles said and pulled back, swallowing her nerves as she shouldered off her flannel, letting it drop to the floor. Derek kissed up her neck, her hands going to his hair, moaning lightly as he nipped at the sensitive skin. 

His hands ran up her sides, sliding under her shirt, lifting as he went. He skimmed over the bands of her bra and pulled away from mouthing at her throat to pull the shirt off completely. She crossed her arms over herself, bare down to her pink polka dot bra and jeans. She wasn’t the most… endowed woman. Her bra barely supplied even the idea of a chest. The cups were nearly flat, her chest filling them evenly. 

She felt a bit embarrassed, her mind supplying her with the thought of ‘ Even he has bigger tits than you’ which only made her wanna cry. 

Derek moved her arms away from her own body, running his own hands over her ribs to her back. He pulled her, not only closer but up so she was kneeling high. He kissed at her collarbones, paying attention to the few moles he could reach, his hands running over the bottom band of her bra to flick at the clasps at the back. 

She held his head, moaning as his lips and teeth scattered marks where they could reach. It felt nice, taking things slow. She could feel everything and it was good . 

“Can I take this off? I wanna get to what’s underneath.” Derek said lowly and nuzzled into her sternum, nose right at the small bow that sat between the cups of her bra. His hot breath rolled across her sternum and belly.

“Not much there” Stiles said, swallowing thickly as she looked down at Derek’s face. He gave her a wolfy smile, teeth pearly in the low light. His eyes seemed to glow, something flashing over them that had Stiles feeling breathless.  

“I don’t mind” Derek said, fingers easily pinching and unhooking her bra, guiding it down and off her arms. He let it fall to the floor with her flannel. 

He looked starved as his eyes looked over her bare chest. Stiles was about to cover herself again, hands raising up but Derek was quick to pull her back down, sealing their lips back together. She groaned, his hands were pulling them together, chests rubbing together in a way that made her grind down onto his lap. 

The coarse hair that covered him rubbing against her own soft skin was a sensation she didn’t know she loved. She ground down, craving some fiction, as their jeans rubbed together.  

“You’re so fucking pretty.” Derek growled and Stiles could feel the words where their bodies were pressed together, each rumbling word shook right through her. 

She couldn’t hold back the moan that broke from her throat as he kissed her breathless, hands splaying on her chest, thumbs running over her sensitive nipples. 

Her hips ground down onto his lap, the hard line of his cock becoming obvious the more she squirmed in his lap. She grabbed onto his shoulders, nails digging into the plush flesh as a throb wracked through her. 

“Please Derek, I’m… please” Stiles begged, pulling away so they were face to face. Derek looked… unfair. His hair pulled in all directions, lips glistening, a blush rolling down his chest. 

“Bed?” He asked, hands going to her ass as she nodded. He stood up, not giving her a moment to stand, lifting her easily. He was so strong, holding her up under her ass as she wrapped her legs around his hips, arms around his neck, face hiding away in his neck. 

He didn’t toss her down onto the bed, he knelt down on the mattress, laying her down before standing up to strip down. 

Stiles got a bit nervous as she kicked off her sneakers and socks, making sure they didn’t get on the soft bed. She watched Derek push off his jeans and kick away his own shoes and socks. Nerves spiking, pushing down on her chest as he took off his black boxer briefs. 

He was big. Not exactly huge but much larger than her dildo at home. Thick but not ridiculously so, and she was sure he only seemed longer because his pubes were trimmed short around the base. His tip was a dark color that she found to be actually pretty… it would make a great nail color, she thought, which made her a little less nervous. 

He let her look, watching her as she took stock. It was only when she looked back at his face that he came back to the bed, leaning over her to reach for the buttons on her jeans. He looked up at her, hands waiting an inch away. 

“Alright?” He asked quietly and she nodded. She swallowed and reached down to help work her skinny jeans off. She laid there in a pair of blue panties, they had lacey windows on the hips, showing the skin underneath and a small bow in the front. They were some of her favorites, they weren’t the cheap cotton things she usually wore. They were Victoria’s Secret. Confidence boosters. 

And the starved look on Derek’s face when he looked her over made them worth it. 

“Fuck” Derek said under his breath as he crawled onto the bed, heat radiating off his body. She tensed for a minute when he stopped, face near the wet spot she knew had formed on the blue fabric of her underwear. She could feel his hot breath through the thin fabric, sending a wave down her spine. 

He bent down, kissing across the soft of her stomach, his tongue like a brand as it ran up her sternum. She reached out, hands finding a place in his hair as he licked and kissed up towards her chest. She gasped when he nuzzled the below her nipple, gripping his hair tightly. She could feel his smile against her skin as he moved on to kiss over her heart. 

She looked down trying to take in the moment but Derek looked up to her, those eyes staring right at her as he kissed his way to her left nipple, taking it into his mouth. He sucked gently, tongue laving over the bud. 

She cried out, it felt fucking good. And a little overwhelming. She couldn’t help as her hips bucked up, trying to rub on something. Derek’s body weight held her down, flat on the bed. He hummed, the vibrations causing Stiles to moan, writhing against the bed unable to get any friction where she needed it. She wrapped her legs around him, kicking her foot back to heel him in the ass. 

“Please Derek, fuck, come on” Stiles begged as Derek’s teeth scrapped across the softness of her breast, nipping lightly at her nipple. Derek pulled back, sucking as he did, pulling, and Stiles moaned, unable to stop the way her hands ripped at Derek’s hair. 

“Fu-uck” She sobbed out and scowled as Derek fucking chuckled. His low breathy laugh made her wanna smack him and kiss him. It was stupid and hot and she threw her head back against the bed as he moved to give the other side of her chest the same treatment. 

Stiles was left there moaning and shifting against Derek’s own body as she throbbed uselessly in her panties. She nearly screamed when Derek shifted, his hard cock skimming her thigh. 

When Derek did finally pull back, Stiles had tears in her eyes. She wanted so much and she was not getting it. But it was also so amazing, the best sex she’d ever had and she wasn’t even naked. 

She looked down at herself, the marks that spattered her chest, the way her nipples were puffy and swollen. She’d complain tomorrow. But in the moment she was so turned on she thought her eyes would cross. 

“Fuck, I left my condom in my jeans. Hold on.” Derek cursed and stood up, grabbing his jeans as Stiles took a few calming breaths. She tried to calm her heart, glancing over at Derek who was bent over facing away from the bed, hairy ass on display. 

“Nice ass” She said and Derek straightened back up, cheeks pink up to his ears. 

Stiles giggled as she sat up, waiting. She slipped her underwear down and off. She felt a bit self conscious so she didn’t lie back down but sat with her knees drawn up to her chest watching as Derek looked through his jeans. She wrapped her arms around her legs and watched him. The air lost the fevered heat that they had created but rather a slower lasting heat stayed in the air. Anxiety crested again and Stiles felt nervous again. 

“Found it. Sorry, I know, unsexy” Derek finally said and knelt back on the bed, the purple wrapped condom between his fingers. Stiles smiled and reached out to take the condom. She looked it over. Trojan, nice. 

“I think safe sex is very sexy, thank you very much. I just um… god, I never do this. I’ve never even had sex sober before.” She confessed and hid her face in her knees. It was mortifying.

Derek sat down at the head of the bed against the pillows, his erection hard and perfect against his abdomen. He looked gorgeous, carved and beautiful. 

“If you wanna stop, that's okay. We could watch a movie or something instead” Derek offered and Stiles smiled and moved to crawl into his lap. She put her face in his neck, taking in the warm man smell of him. She wished she could have a candle scented that. She nosed up to his ear, biting it playfully before looking back at his face. 

“Stop being so fucking hot, this is supposed to be a hookup.” Stiles said as she sat down on his thighs, her own legs spread wide over them. His cock was inches from where she wanted it. She looked down between them and swallowed, actually seeing how deep his cock would be inside of her made her feel a bit… terrified. 

He looked down too, eyes catching the sight of the hair between her legs. He leaned down to nuzzle at the side of her head, nosing at her ear.  

“Doesn’t have to be. We could do whatever you wanna do. What? What do you wanna do? I have Mario kart, I have puzzles, we could do a puzzle in our underwear if you want. What do you wanna do?” Derek teased, hands on her hips as he shoved his face against her head and neck, shoving at her playfully. She laughed and shoved at him. Like a dog, she thought with a grin. She felt her anxiety wash away. 

“Stop it” Stiles laughed out and caught Derek’s face in her hands. He looked at her like she hung the moon, face squished between her palms. She breathed for a second and leaned in to kiss him, hands going to his neck. It wasn’t starved like before but it was hungry. It was slower, pushing against each other, Derek’s hands coasting up and down her back. 

The warmth grew hotter once more, anxiety simmered away, need growing bolder. 

“Just… go slow. Please” Stiles finally said when they pulled back, hands rolling down his hair chest until it wrapped around his thick cock. He kissed her once more, moaning as she lightly stroked him. 

His hands slid down her back, fingers moved slowly over her ass giving it a little squeeze, the soft fat there giving way and he groaned. He moved to rub up and down her thighs before his fingers moved between them. 

“So wet” He said lowly as his fingers ran over her entirely. She whined and shoved her face into his neck, rocking against his thick fingers where they laid against her slit. Her hand froze on his cock, loosely wrapped around it. 

Derek hummed as two of his fingers parted her lips, rubbing from her soaked opening up to her clit, easily finding the small bud. She jerked when his fingers ran over it. Guys usually didn’t find it at all, let alone on the first try. 

“Oh fuck” She gasped as his fingers went back to her hole, pressing against it without slipping in. Derek smiled and kissed her shoulder. She nodded, mouth hanging open, eyes sliding shut.

He let two of his fingers finally slip in, eased by the slick that was practically dripped out of her. She clenched up, gasping and then winced. Derek’s hand that was still on her hip rubbed over her back calmingly, gentle as he shushed her. 

“Calm down, I’m not in a hurry, Stiles. You’re so wet. Just take it easy.” Derek said, his voice deeper, more gravelly. Stiles took a deep breath and calmed down as much as she could, forcing herself to relax around his fingers. It was easy. They felt really good, rocking and and forth inside of her, the rough pads catching a good spot every time he pulled back, making her sigh. It had been a while since she’d put anything inside of herself let alone had someone else finger her. 

It wasn’t till his thumb finally curved up to rub against her clit that she got really worked up. She barely noticed when the third finger slipped inside of her. She was moaning, eyes closed and mouth hanging open. 

Her hands on his shoulders, balancing her as she worked her hips around those fingers, chasing the buzz she got each time his thumb caught her clit in the perfect way. She could feel his eyes on her, his own erection put to the side in favor of making her feel good. 

“So pretty. You’re so pretty. Can I put it in? Please?” Derek asked, begging lightly as he stared at her face. He felt drunk high on Stiles’s body and her deep moans. He was dripping, struggling not to cum just from fingering her. He pulled his hand away and she whined, opening her eyes. It took her a minute to process what had been said to her. 

“Fuck, yeah yeah okay, hold on.” Stiles said, hands shaking as she found the condom in the wrinkled blanket. She ripped it open and unrolled it over his cock. 

He was burning hot under her hands, groaning as she situated the condom over him. His hands grabbed onto her hips, rougher than he’d been. He took in a forced breath, trying to calm himself. She kissed him, licking across his clenched teeth as she rose up on her knees, scooching over him. 

“God, that’s a view” he breathed out when her chest was in his face. He licked across her soft skin. She shivered and let herself down a bit to make sure she was forward enough. 

“Okay. Okay I’m ready” Stiles said and pulled his hair to get him off her chest. It was rough but he let his head fall back easily. 

He looked up at her arms wrapped around her, hands on her shoulder blades. His eyes were big and round. Fucking adorable, she thought as she reached down to guide his cock to her slit. 

Derek nuzzled into her chest, not pushing her down but letting her slowly sink down till they were face to face again. She felt like she was gonna tear apart. He was just big. She knew the tears running down her face carried the mascara she had on. Derek looked at the streaks and kissed her. 

“My mascara,” Stiles said and reached up, touching the dark lines. Derek took her wrist kissing it. 

“Looks good on you. Looks really fucking good on you” He panted out, pressing open mouth kisses or her lips, jaw, neck, anywhere he could reached without jostling her. His hands wrapped around her back, holding their bodies close. 

“Okay” she breathed against his lips and sat up. She rose up on her knees, listing up off his cock just a few inches. The drag was incredible, snagging all the best places inside of her. She fell back down, letting her weight drop onto him. 

They both groaned, it was enough. The few inches she lifted herself was enough. She rocked with it, lifting up and forward before shoving herself back down. She moaned, hands grabbing at his shoulders and neck. 

Derek groaned, hands grabbing her hips and bucking up into her. Each time she came down, he pushed up into her. 

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck, more” Stiles moaned as his position changed, fucking into her at the right angle. He was groaning, deep sounds rumbling from his chest. She couldn’t even feel as one of his hands left the death grip he had on her hip to find her clit. He used two fingers, rubbing circles over it, pressure a little rough but it was enough to have her crying out in pleasure. 

It was more than she’d ever felt before, overwhelming but so good. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t try to keep rhythm. She was crying, grinding around on his cock as he fucked into her, quick thrusts chasing after a finish line. 

“I’m not gonna last.” Derek whimpered, moving to look at Stiles. He was trying not to cum but was starting to fucking hurt. She looked at him, fuzzy eyed, lost to her pleasure, and slammed their mouths together, hands grabbing the sides of his head. She cried out as he pressed harder against her clit. 

She was hit by her orgasm, it was rushing and making her shake, hands clenching tightly against Derek’s hair. It rolled through her like a tsunami, so much more powerful than any organs she’d ever had drunk. It made her feel like she was breaking past her limit. And it felt fucking incredible. Earth shattering and electrifying. 

When she finally came back to her head, feeling as if she’d been asleep for hours, she was being cuddled closely. She was engulfed by big heavy arms, a head resting on her shoulder, a thigh throw over her own legs. A blanket was cast over them both, her head positioned on the pillow. It was cozy. Comfortable. 

She hummed and her hand found Derek’s hair, damp and disastrous. She took a minute to take stock. She was in a pair of underwear. Not her underwear but some underwear. Boxers. And a shirt was pulled over her head. She blinked her eyes open and looked at Derek. 

He was shirtless but a pair of joggers were covering his legs. Warm expanse of his furry chest pressed against her side and arm. He moved, groaning as he blinked and looked up at her, squinting. 

“Hi” Stiles said and he groaned, nuzzling into her shoulder, arms wrapping around her tighter. 

“Sleep. It’s too early.” Derek said, voice gravelly and deep. Stiles just looked over at the small digital clock on the side table 3:53 a.m. She huffed and bent her neck to kiss his forehead before settling back to sleep till morning. 

The morning was warm, the apartment was lit by the big windows and the light in the kitchen. Stiles woke up to her clothes folded at the end of the bed, but she didn’t have time to even get to them before Derek was checking on her, noticing she was awake. He stepped carefully, making sure to walk quietly. It was almost funny to Stiles, watching his mountainous man tip-toe. 

“You don’t have to get dressed yet if you want. I… I made you breakfast.” Derek said from the doorframe as Stiles sat there wiping the crud from her eyes. She stopped and looked at her hands, her eyes didn’t itch like they usually did when she slept in her makeup. She looked over at him, squinting her eyes at him, not considering how ridiculous it would look with her disaster hair. She looked down at herself, the clothes that smelled amazing and hung off her body. A Yellowstone National park shirt and a pair of plaid boxer briefs that were loose on her. 

“You dress me last night?” She asked, knowing the answer obviously, but the pink that rose to his cheeks was worth sounding dumb. 

“I was gonna put your underwear back on you but they were um…” Derek said and looked away blush turning dark. Stiles tried not to laugh. It was cute. 

“Soaking wet and kinda slimy?” She added and Derek nodded, eyes keeping away from her. 

“Yes. So I put some of mine on you but your um… your bra. I didn’t think it was comfy to sleep in and you can’t be shirtless so I… yeah. I didn’t wanna leave you naked when I put pants on.” Derek said and finally looked up at her again, shy. Stiles smiled and felt a bit of warmth go to her cheeks as her heart did a strangle flop in her chest. 

“That’s so stupidly sweet. Did you take my makeup off too? If I knew I was getting spa treatment I would have woken up to enjoy it.” Stiles said and reached back up to her face. She looked at her clean fingers, free from any residue. 

“I was cleaning you up but your face was covered in your eye stuff so I cleaned you up a bit more.” Derek explained, blushing a dark color as Stiles stood up, enjoying the ache between her thighs. She reached him, hand landing softly on his chest before sliding around to hug him, head resting against his shoulder. He hugged her back, arms lazily draped around her. 

“How bad’s my hair?” She asked, not moving from their comfortable embrace. Derek hugged her and kissed her forehead, lips warm and soft against her skin. 

“It’s a fucking wreck” Derek said sweetly and she broke out laughing. They both stood in the doorway laughing, easily flowing around them in the open apartment. Derek pulled her by the hand to the kitchen counter, setting her in a stool there. 

They ate breakfast together, chatting about themselves before Stiles went to the bathroom. She showered and used the man’s rather nice shampoo and conditioner, using a bit of his mouthwash to get the sleep taste that lingered in her mouth out. She felt fresh and nice, wrapped in a scratchy black towel. 

She returned to find Derek standing nervously outside his own bedroom. It was cute, the way he fiddled with his hands waiting for her. 

“Can I have your number?” He asked, holding his battered black phone in his hands. She smiled and held the towel up under her arms. 

“Sure. Can I have a date with you tomorrow night? Dressed, of course.” Stiles asked nad typed into the phone, sending herself a quick text labeling her number as <3 Stiles <3 . 

Derek blushed and nodded, turning away for her to get dressed. 

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Brazilian GP

Masterlist

Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming

Arriving at the Brazilian paddock, the humid air immediately wrapped around me, thick and heavy with the promise of rain. I walked side by side with my race engineer, Landon, who was reading off his tablet as we made our way toward the team building.

“So, just a heads-up,” he started, glancing over at me, “the forecast isn’t looking great for the weekend. Heavy rain is expected during potentially during qualifying and also the race. The race might dry out, but it’s gonna be close.”

I grinned, feeling a little spark of excitement light up in my chest. “Rain, huh? Sounds like it’s gonna be fun.”

Landon raised an eyebrow at me, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “You’re the only driver on the grid who calls rain fun.”

“Hey, can’t help it,” I shrugged. “Wet races are my thing. Blame teenage me for that.”

He smirked, clearly intrigued. “Teenage you, huh? What’d she do, enroll in rain driving school or something?”

“Not exactly,” I replied, the memory drawing a small laugh from me. “Off-season boredom was my teacher. Back when I didn’t have much to do, I’d find empty roads or parking lots when it rained, crank the wheel, and let the car drift. It was the perfect way to burn off energy and practice handling low traction.”

Landon gave me a mock look of disapproval. “And this is the kind of behavior we’re supposed to encourage in kids these days?”

“Absolutely not,” I said, deadpan, then grinned. “But you can’t blame me. Adrenaline deprivation is a serious condition for a teenager in the off-season.”

He let out a laugh. “I’ll give you that. Guess it worked out in the end. Your wet-weather skills are basically legendary at this point.”

“Let’s hope they hold up,” I said, my tone turning a little more serious. “If I can keep the car on the track and avoid anyone spinning out too close to me, I should be fine.”

“You’ll do more than fine,” Landon said confidently. “But just to be safe, let’s go over the setup for wet conditions later. I want to make sure you’ve got everything you need to stay ahead.”

“Sounds good,” I said, nodding.

As we approached the team building, the faint rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, a reminder of what the weekend had in store. While some drivers dreaded wet weekends, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of anticipation. Rain had a way of leveling the playing field and letting skill shine through. This was my chance to show everyone—again—why I deserved to be here.

And, as I reminded myself, it was a distraction. The rain would demand my full focus, leaving little room for the creeping thoughts of Henry or the weight of everything else going on.

The moment I stepped into the garage, I could already feel the weight of the dreaded engineering pre-weekend meeting with Henry looming over me. The hustle and noise of the team getting everything prepped for the weekend provided little comfort when I spotted him standing near the back, holding his ever-present clipboard. He was scanning the space until his eyes landed on me, a too-familiar smug grin spreading across his face.

“Ah, there she is,” he called out, closing the distance between us far too quickly. Before I could react, his arm draped across my shoulder. I stiffened instinctively, but he didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care.

“Let’s get started, yeah?” he said, steering me toward a small side room tucked away from the rest of the garage. “Got us a nice little space where we won’t be disturbed. Just the two of us.”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay calm. I didn’t respond, just nodded stiffly as he guided me into the room. It was cramped, with a single table and two chairs, and the sound of the bustling garage was muted by the closed door.

As I sat down across from him, I reached into my pocket, pretending to adjust my phone, and quickly set it to record. I placed it face down on the table next to my water bottle, angling it just enough to capture the interaction.

At first, things seemed relatively normal—or as normal as they could be with Henry. He reviewed some data from the previous race, pointing out areas where the car could be improved for wet conditions. I nodded along, taking notes and asking a few questions when necessary, trying to keep the conversation strictly professional.

But it didn’t take long for the shift to happen. It never did.

“You know,” Henry said, leaning back in his chair with a grin, “I’ve always been impressed by how you handle wet races. It’s like you and the car just… click. It’s kind of sexy, really.”

I froze for a split second before forcing myself to brush it off. “Thanks,” I said flatly, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “So about the tire strategy—”

He cut me off, leaning forward slightly. “You know, I’ve been thinking. We spend so much time working together, maybe we should, I don’t know, get to know each other better. Outside of the garage.”

I stiffened, my hands tightening into fists under the table. “I don’t think that’s appropriate,” I said carefully, my voice steady but firm. “We’re colleagues, Henry. Let’s keep it professional.”

But my words barely registered. He smirked, pushing his chair back and standing up. My heart sank as he walked around the table, closing the distance between us. I leaned back instinctively, my chair scraping slightly against the floor.

“Oh, come on,” he said, his tone low and dripping with fake charm. “Don’t be so uptight. You’re amazing, you know that? Gorgeous, talented, a total package. It’s no wonder the team’s been doing better with you around.”

I stood abruptly, creating as much space between us as the tiny room would allow. “Henry,” I said, my voice sharper now, “I’ve told you before—I don’t like this. Stop.”

He chuckled, stepping closer. “Relax, I’m just trying to pay you a compliment. You should really learn how to take one.”

I felt a cold wave of disgust wash over me, but I forced myself to remain calm. Every part of me wanted to shove him away, but I knew I needed to stay composed—for now. “I’m not interested,” I said firmly. “And this conversation is over.”

Henry’s grin faltered for a moment, his expression shifting to something darker, more frustrated. But before he could say anything else, I grabbed my water bottle and phone, ending the recording as discreetly as I could.

“I’ll see you on the pit wall,” I said, pushing past him and out the door. My heart was pounding, my skin crawling, but I kept my head high as I walked back into the bustling garage.

I was going to make it through this. I had to. And soon, I’d have the proof I needed to make sure Henry would never pull this kind of crap again.

I practically sprinted to my driver’s room after leaving that suffocating meeting, shutting the door behind me with a force that rattled the frame. The sound of the lock clicking into place was the only thing grounding me in that moment, a small barrier between me and the world. My breathing was uneven, and as much as I wanted to hold it in, the tears welled up faster than I could stop them.

I sat down heavily on the small couch, burying my face in my hands. It wasn’t just what had just happened—it was the realization of how deep this went. Henry wasn’t just some creep I could report and be done with. He’d been with the team for years, a trusted member of the garage. I was the outsider, the new driver. No matter how good my results were, no matter how much respect I earned on track, it was my word against his.

And it was going to get worse before it got better.

The weight of that truth pressed down on me like a boulder, and for a moment, I let myself feel it. The frustration, the helplessness, the anger. My hands clenched into fists against my knees as a few more tears slipped free. I hated feeling this way—weak, powerless. But I wasn’t powerless, not entirely. I still had the recordings I’d started collecting, and I was going to keep at it. I’d do whatever it took to make sure Henry couldn’t keep getting away with this.

Sniffling, I wiped my face with the sleeve of my hoodie and forced myself to take a deep breath. One thing at a time. First, I had a job to do—a race to prepare for. And for as long as I was in that car, none of this mattered. It was just me, the machine, and the track.

Standing up, I grabbed my racing suit from where it hung neatly in the corner of the room. I changed quickly, letting the routine of suiting up calm my nerves. Each step—pulling on the fireproof base layer, zipping up the suit, lacing up my boots—was a reminder of why I was here. I wasn’t just some newbie. I was a driver, one who’d clawed her way into this seat.

By the time I pulled on my gloves, I’d forced the tears back and replaced them with a mask of focus. The weight in my chest was still there, but I shoved it to the back of my mind. I couldn’t afford to let it distract me now.

Heading back to the garage, I was greeted by the usual buzz of activity. Mechanics darted around, checking every inch of the car, while engineers monitored data on screens. I nodded to a few of them as I made my way over to my car, setting my helmet and gloves on the workbench beside it.

Landon approached with a tablet in hand, his expression professional but warm. “We’ve got a few adjustments based on the data from last weekend,” he said, walking me through the setup changes. “It should help with stability in the rain, but let us know how it feels during the session.”

“Got it,” I replied, keeping my tone steady as I reviewed the notes with him.

I went through the routine checks with the team, nodding and responding where necessary but staying mostly quiet. The focus I’d forced myself into earlier had settled in, giving me the clarity I needed. This was my space—the car, the garage, the track. And for now, nothing else existed outside of it.

Sliding into the cockpit, I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as the mechanics strapped me in and adjusted the belts. The engine roared to life, and all the noise of the world faded away, replaced by the hum of power beneath me.

Free Practice 1 had gone smoother than I could have hoped for. The car felt balanced, the adjustments the team made held up well, and my lap times were competitive. By the end of the session, the data showed I was on track for a promising position for sprint qualifying. The rain everyone had been bracing for still hadn’t arrived, but the sky was a heavy gray, the forecast ominously predicting that race day was going to be a drenched battle.

After parking the car and climbing out, I took a moment to savor the positive outcome. Landon handed me a water bottle as he went over the session’s feedback, and I nodded along, already mentally preparing for what was to come. “Looks solid,” he said, giving me an encouraging smile. “If we can hold this pace, you’ll be in a great spot for tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” I replied, taking a long sip of water. I hung around the garage for a bit, leaning against the workbench while the mechanics checked over the car. It was a rare moment of peace—one I knew wouldn’t last long. I caught sight of Henry lingering on the other side of the garage, his eyes scanning for me like a predator seeking its prey. The sight sent a chill down my spine, and I quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the data screen in front of me.

Eventually, it was time to head out for the sprint qualifying session. I slipped back into the car, grateful for the excuse to leave the garage and Henry behind. As I made my way onto the track, the sky remained stubbornly dry, but the tension in the air was palpable. Everyone knew the rain was coming, and it was only a matter of time.

The sprint qualifying session was intense. The track was crowded, every driver pushing their car to its absolute limit. My focus narrowed to the black asphalt ahead, my mind in full race mode. The car felt incredible beneath me, the adjustments giving me the confidence to brake later, turn sharper, and accelerate harder. I fought tooth and nail to put in fast lap times, battling traffic and finding every ounce of grip on the circuit.

By the time the checkered flag waved, I’d done it—P3. Only Oscar and Lando had managed to edge me out. Pulling back into the garage, I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. It was a hard-earned result, and I was proud of it.

But my relief was short-lived.

The second I climbed out of the car, I spotted Henry approaching, his smug expression already making my stomach churn. I could see the congratulatory words forming on his lips, but I wasn’t about to stick around to hear whatever inappropriate twist he’d add to them.

Grabbing my helmet and gloves, I shot a quick glance at Landon, who gave me a subtle nod of understanding. “Gotta head to media,” I said quickly, not giving Henry a chance to corner me.

With practiced speed, I made my way out of the garage, weaving through the crowd as I headed toward the media zone. My heart raced—not from the qualifying session, but from the near escape. I knew I couldn’t avoid Henry forever, but every second I stayed out of his grasp felt like a small victory.

Once I reached the media area, I took a deep breath, letting the adrenaline from the session replace the lingering discomfort. Cameras flashed, microphones were thrust in my direction, and questions flew at me from all angles. I smiled, answered politely, and kept the focus on the track. For now, the spotlight was on my performance, and I was determined to keep it that way.

P3. A great result to start the sprint weekend. And with any luck, I’d make it count on race day—rain or shine.

The media duties were draining, as always, but I’d kept my composure, deflecting any tricky questions and keeping the focus on the race. By the time it was over, my cheeks ached from smiling and my voice was hoarse from repeating variations of the same answers. Heading back to my driver’s room felt like walking toward a safe haven.

Once inside, I shut the door and leaned against it for a moment, exhaling deeply. The silence was comforting. I peeled off my race suit, hanging it neatly in the small wardrobe before slipping into comfortable joggers and a hoodie. As much as I wanted to crash right there, the promise of my hotel room, a shower, and a good night’s sleep was too tempting. Grabbing my bag, I slung it over my shoulder and exited the room.

I didn’t get far.

Henry was there, lurking just outside my door like a shadow I couldn’t shake. My heart sank at the sight of him. His predatory grin made my skin crawl. “You’re really something, you know that?” he started, stepping into my path.

I froze, trying to keep my expression neutral. “I need to get to the hotel, Henry,” I said flatly, hoping he’d take the hint and move.

Instead, he leaned in closer, his eyes raking over me in a way that made my stomach churn. “Relax,” he drawled, his voice low and insidious. “No need to be so uptight. You’ve had a good day. I’m just here to congratulate you… personally.”

I tried to sidestep him, but he blocked my way, his smirk widening. “You really don’t get it, do you?” he said, his tone turning darker. “All this talent, all this potential... but you still need someone to guide you. Someone who knows what’s best for you.”

“Henry, I’m tired. Please move,” I said, my voice sharper now, though my hands were trembling.

He didn’t budge. Instead, he reached out, his hands clamping around my waist with a grip so tight it made me wince. “You’ll see reason one day,” he whispered, his voice cold and deliberate. “I’ll make sure of that.”

The words sent a chill down my spine, and before I could respond, he finally stepped aside, releasing me abruptly. I stumbled back, my pulse pounding in my ears as I watched him walk away, his confidence unshaken.

For a moment, I just stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to move. Fear and disgust churned in my stomach, and my mind raced with the implications of what had just happened. His words played on a loop in my head, each repetition tightening the knot of anxiety in my chest.

When I finally forced my legs to move, my steps were shaky, my breathing uneven. I hugged my bag closer to me as I made my way through the paddock, feeling smaller and more exposed with each passing second. The bustling atmosphere of the paddock, usually so energizing, now felt overwhelming, the noise pressing in on me from all sides.

As I passed by other teams and drivers, I kept my head down, unwilling to make eye contact. I didn’t want anyone to see the fear etched across my face, the way my hands were trembling, or the tears threatening to spill over. I had to keep it together, at least until I reached the safety of my hotel room.

But no matter how hard I tried to steady myself, Henry’s words lingered in my mind, a sinister reminder of just how far he was willing to go—and how alone I truly felt in this fight.

I was so deep in my own thoughts, replaying Henry’s words over and over, that I didn’t even notice someone approaching me. When a hand landed gently on my shoulder, I stiffened instantly, my entire body locking up as a gasp escaped my lips. Without thinking, I shoved the hand away, spinning around with wide, panicked eyes.

“Hey, hey!” a familiar voice called out, concern lacing every syllable.

I blinked rapidly, my vision clearing to reveal Charles standing there, his brow furrowed deeply. Beside him, Carlos looked equally concerned, his hands raised in a placating gesture.

“Cariño, what’s wrong?” Carlos asked, stepping closer but keeping his movements slow, cautious. “You never react like that. Are you okay?”

My pulse was still racing, and I struggled to breathe evenly as I realized how I must have looked. Panicked. Vulnerable. I couldn’t let them see that. Swallowing hard, I forced a smile onto my face, though it felt like a fragile mask threatening to crack.

“I’m fine,” I lied, trying to sound casual. “Just... startled, that’s all. Long day.”

Charles didn’t look convinced. His sharp eyes scanned my face as if searching for the real reason behind my reaction. “You sure? You seem... different tonight,” he said softly, his tone gentle but probing.

“I’m fine,” I repeated, more firmly this time, though my voice still wavered slightly. “Just tired. Really, don’t worry about it.”

Carlos exchanged a glance with Charles, doubt flickering between them, but neither pushed further. I couldn’t bear to stay there any longer, their concern feeling like a spotlight on everything I was trying to hide. Clutching my bag tighter, I stepped back. “I need to get to the hotel. I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” I said quickly before turning on my heel and walking away, my pace brisk as I left them behind.

In the quiet of the paddock, after she disappeared around the corner, Carlos crossed his arms over his chest and let out a heavy sigh. “That wasn’t normal,” he said, his voice low but firm.

Charles nodded, his expression troubled. “No, it wasn’t. Did you see how scared she looked? Like she thought someone was going to hurt her.”

“Exactly,” Carlos agreed. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling to the surface. “And the way she just brushed us off... She never does that. Even if she’s tired, she usually talks to us for a bit.”

Charles frowned, leaning against the wall as he replayed the scene in his mind. “Something’s going on,” he said quietly. “Something she doesn’t want us—or anyone else—to know.”

Carlos looked at him, his jaw tightening. “Do you think it’s... exactly as Max said?” he asked hesitantly. “Or maybe they’re just putting too much pressure on her?”

Charles considered this, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Maybe. But that reaction... It felt like more than just stress. It felt personal.”

Carlos let out another sigh, shaking his head. “Whatever it is, it’s not good. We can’t just ignore this, Charles. She’s our friend.”

“I know,” Charles said, his tone resolute. “But we can’t force her to talk, either. She’s too proud—too stubborn. If we push too hard, she’ll just shut us out completely.”

Carlos nodded reluctantly. “So what do we do? Just... wait until she’s ready to tell us?”

“Not exactly,” Charles replied. His gaze hardened with determination. “For now, we keep an eye on her. Pay attention. And if we see anything—anything—that looks off, we step in. Whether she wants us to or not.”

Carlos’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded. “Agreed. She might not think she needs help, but we’re not going to let her deal with this alone.”

With that, the two drivers fell into a heavy silence, their shared worry for their friend weighing on them as they stood there in the fading light of the paddock.

[digitalbath1988]

Save A Horse, Ride Soldier Boy/Chapter 3

TW: Dubious Consent, Blackmail, Manipulation, Period Typical Sexism, Humiliation, Dom Soldier Boy/F Original Character

Other chapters will be linked in comments!

April 1954

Soldier Boy had shown up at the office again a few weeks later. He seemed more- determined this time.

“When are you going to let me take you out?”

Esther laughed, thankful that everyone else had left the conference room. “I guess the time for that was a while ago. Before-“

“It’s not too late.” His smile made her want to forget how they’d met. The only question that kept her mind from melting away like an M&M was why.

“You really hurt me.”

Esther was surprised to see his eyes widen in surprise at that comment. Then narrow in derision. “I was just giving you what you secretly wanted, I saw the way you looked at me..”

She wanted to stomp her foot, but she kept a cool head. Escalating tensions with him seemed unwise. Especially given what he’d already done to her.

“I was content to let it be a fantasy. You forced me to bring it to life. Now.. I don’t even want..” anyone else, but she didn’t say that part. Dating seemed pointless after being married to the love of her life, his death, and now having Solider Boy fuck her, against her will, in the way she’d always secretly desired. She felt destroyed and like nothing else could ever seem less than absolutely mundane.

She pursed her lips and stopped talking. He had to stop her at the door.

“Give me a second chance.”

—-

She hadn’t meant to give him another chance, but before she knew it, she’d left the kids with her neighbor and was on his arm, dancing at some Vought gala she’d never normally be invited to.

It felt magical, the more she spun the stranger she felt, and he dipped her and kissed her. Was it the alcohol or him? She didn’t know. Everything seemed so perfect now in the bright lights, like he was the only one in focus.

“Fuck, Esther,” he said as he tore off the nice dress she’d bought for the occasion, something she’d justified only because she’d keep the nice piece forever. He didn’t even seem to realize what he’d done, and he ripped her strapless bustier off too, tossing it next to the remains of the dress. She tried not to focus on that. “You’re not running around with other guys, right?”

“No, sir.” Hypocrite.

The rest of her clothes came next. “You’re all mine tonight.”

“I’ve only got a babysitter til ten.”

“Damn. Ok, you’re all mine for thirty minutes.”

She let things take their course, she let him lead her over to the bed and make love to her. Could it be called making love if you’re not in love? He certainly acted like he cared about her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear like he wasn’t trying to fuck all sense out of her body. She was merely a vessel for his pleasure and feelings, and worst of all? She enjoyed it. Enjoyed every toe curling stroke, the way he looked at her when he was inside, how he kissed her as if he was her lover. How he brutally and tenderly held her all at once.

There was more than one bouquet this time. The secretary looked vaguely horrified when she came to collect them. Giving Esther an up and down look that made her feel all too visible.

“Mrs. Smith,” commented her manager with a gaping mouth as she placed the red roses in the corner of the room, before resuming typing as if nothing had happened.

The card said “three bouquets for a third chance? See you next month.”

May 1954

“Sir, respectfully, I’m not doing it.”

The man from HR looked at Esther, cigarette still burning in his hand. He crumpled it into the ashtray. Used and insignificant.

Just like how she felt.

“It’s Mrs. Smith, right?” He held the Mrs. out with a bit of a sneer, as if taunting her with some sort of imagined slight towards her virtue. Esther closed her eyes and counted to ten backwards.

“I’m a good woman.”

The creep put his hand on her shoulder as he walked from the other side of the desk. “Of course you are Mrs. Smith. However, I’m afraid you misunderstand this situation.”

A photo was procured of her with Soldier Boy against the glass wall of the conference room. “Would be a shame if this was distributed to your church. I mean, synagogue.” He clucked.

Esther’s blood ran cold. But she pulled herself together. “I can get another job.”

The man chuckled lightly. “Not after this gets around, I mean, unless you are considering the oldest profession in the world. Which at that point, why pretend you’re too good to be his secretary?”

Once she’d realized she was caught in Vought’s trap, she was surprised by the condolences offered. Her salary was increased, her apartment rent would be paid by Vought while she was traveling, and her kids would be looked after by a nanny. It pained her to leave them for so long, but she had no choice. They couldn’t afford a move elsewhere.

Tearful goodbyes were exchanged with her children, promises to write and call all the time, and of course her Mother In Law was so proud of her for securing such a good promotion. It hurt so much to know how disappointed she’d be if she knew. Esther set off early, trying to get that nagging feeling and their sad faces out of her mind.

Why does Vought want me to do this? Nagged in the back of her mind as she set up at her destination, some nothing town where they were filming a movie about Soldier Boy. The Vought HR representative hadn’t been forthcoming.

She knocked at his trailer. He was supposed to be on set now, but she didn’t feel quite right about barging in.

After a minute, she opened the door. The reason for why Vought had asked her to be his personal secretary was immediately obvious. The floor had a few empty prescription pill bottles and liquor bottles littering it. Also, a pair of purple satin panties that could have only come off a stripper or sex worker. Esther frowned as she started putting the trailer to rights.

Still, anyone could do this. Why me?

The dirty laundry piled up on the couch MOVED. Esther stood perfectly still. Soldier Boy sat up and grinned widely at her. His voice was heavily slurred.

Also, he was only wearing some sort of… exotic robe.

“Esther- I’m so glad you came, sweetheart.” He stood up, and she had no idea how he was even capable considering his state.

“You’re supposed to be on set.”

“And you’re not supposed to be here yet.” He pulled her forward and kissed her lips. That smell was boozy but still pleasant, she couldn’t help but smile to herself as she leaned against his strong chest. NO. You shouldn’t be feeling this way!

“Let’s get you cleaned up and over to set..”

“No.” He had the nerve to pour himself another drink, and on second thought poured her one too. “You need to loosen up, missy.”

“Don’t they have schedules, budgets..” Esther had seen some notes from these things and been shocked by the amount it cost per day to make a movie. It disgusted her a bit to see someone be so cavalier about wasting resources. Not when she had a family to feed in a tenement in the slums.

“Trust me, they’ll just shoot something else. Background or something. They’re fine. I just didn’t feel like it today.”

Well, not like I can force you to go. She wondered how much Vought expected her to do with this, should she nag and yell at him? They weren’t close enough for that. She settled for a bit of a judgemental look.

He handed her the drink with an expectant look in return.

Esther choked it down. Her body recoiled as her lips touched the alcohol and she spit a bit on reflex. It was practically just hard liquor with a tiny bit of some sort of mixer.

Her face turned crimson. “Sorry, that’s just really strong.”

“I’ll keep it in mind that you’re a lightweight. See that less and less in women these days. Keep drinking that.” He bodily picked her up and placed her on the counter. Esther had to repress a not very ladylike screech of shock.

“Sorry, pretty limited in terms of seating area in here at the moment.” She was short enough that her legs dangled from the counter.

If it was even possible, he was getting even more drunk, but he seemed to have enough of a tolerance not to throw up or feel very ill. “I know you don’t want to be here. But it means so much to me that you came.”

She wanted to roll her eyes at the same time she desperately hoped it was true. God, it had been a long time since someone had cared about her in that way. God, he was beautiful. But she remembered all the things he’d done to her when they’d met, threats and blackmail and sex that she’d very reluctantly agreed to, and she wanted to cry.

He pressed in closer to her, cradling her jaw in his hand. “They think I’m a train wreck. That you’ll help clean me up and get me out to sets on time. Less uh, hungover.” He smirked at her quietly. “I don’t know if anyone can do that.”

He doesn’t even think about everything I’ve sacrificed to get here. How I probably don’t even want to. He just thinks about himself. Esther held in that sigh and pressed herself against his hand, looking up. Use him. Use him to get what you need. That’s how you win. She put her arms around his shoulders. “Why not send- anyone else? Your folks? A girlfriend?”

“Nah, family and I had a falling out. Dad’s a real piece of work. Girlfriends- I don’t think you could call any of the girls I’ve been with ‘girlfriends’. One night friends.”

Her throat tightened, imagining how lonely his life must be despite the swarms of ardent admirers. No family or friends. No wonder he acted out and drank too much. No. He’s using this to manipulate you. Don’t let him. In fact, manipulate him before he can something else over on you.

“I will do my best. Sir.” She brought him closer, eased by his current state of intoxication, their hips now almost touching. Her bare hand wrapped inside of his robe, gripping vascular thigh. He almost faltered.

“I don’t know why they sent you either- I’m never going to show up to set with you looking this good.” He pushed her skirt up and pulled her panties to the side, thumb touching her expertly as he watched her face for a reaction. She wanted to stay, she wanted to run to the car and drive back home. She wanted his lips on her cunt more than anything.

Soldier Boy obliged, boozy warm tongue feeling like it might melt her. He held her legs firmly to the table, eliminating any possibility of escape, and made out with her pussy like it was a mouth. She shook the table despite herself as he licked her clit, humping his beautiful face against her. Under the influence of the drink she’d managed to finish, Esther closed her eyes and allowed pure bliss to rule, driving her to a peak that resulted in an embarrassing conclusion. He didn’t seem very surprised. On the contrary. He seemed almost smug, and like he’d expected this result.

He righted her outfit by smoothing her panties back over her mound with the flat of his hand. She wanted more than that. She put her hands under the robe again, now touching his ass and brushing lightly against a cock that didn’t seem to have any issues with whiskey dick.

He panted slightly as she wetted her palm and jerked him off gently, looking in his pretty green eyes with every stroke. “Take me to bed.”

They made up for time and distance with their intimacy now, under the makeshift covers, scented with hard liquor seeping through their pores.

—

[pharrell-the-formation]

Let me be clear: I love Emma Hazer with a tender love, but not exactly for who she is, but for who she could be.

I kind of wish to rewrite her and my solution is surprisingly simple: remove her “easy accessibility” as a woman and focus on something else. Hazer is a single mother, taking care of two boys, whose existence is hidden due to a directive prohibiting mothers of many children from working, after losing her husband at the front. The only other relative she has is her mother, who isn’t really emotionally supportive (this is information from the game, I’ll dance from it from now on). She loves her children with all her heart and wants to provide them with a good life and therefore makes workaholism a priority in her life - after all, more work, more money and authority, right? For the same reason, she is applying for a promotion and is one of the three competitors for the protagonist on the first floor. However, even so, she understands that it is hard for her and she is suffering from the stress. This leads the woman to find another goal for herself - to find a spouse who could help her and her family survive in their debt-ridden society. Fortunately, she is pretty, but right there also lies the problem - in her beauty and desperate desire to find a young man, people see a lady of the evening so to speak. Hazer is disgusted by this and most likely the topic of sexual relations kind of repulses her now, because it reminds her that she is perceived as an object. She can be a living demonstration of the destructive influence of the State’s sexism and stereotypes on a person, while still being the chatty lady, who loves to discuss TV series and claims to have a good intuition.

The scene where she and Evan are having fun in the back room can happen provided that the recently met Redgrave pulls her leg for some time, talking about love, deep feelings and lies to her about being single, so that the truth for Emma is revealed later. Most likely, after this story, you won’t be able to build a normal friendship with the character, because choices should have consequences.

There is no quest where she hands over her children to an orphanage, because that would completely go against her character.

She does not call Ferguson the ideal man in the dialogue. Just shows her respect for him and that she thinks good of him.

The "big joke" could still happen, but it has an even darker context, as Evan's only methods of persuading Emma to help them would be to commit blackmail, in that way or the other. After what happened, she deeply regrets what she did, and when the next day Peter does the unspeakable she probably blames herself.

As for her story with Peter Dong.. mm, I suppoooose we as players should consider their relationship as a kind of “endgame”, and Dong as a man actually suitable for her, whom she simply has not yet seen, so I guess I would probably try to make their connection more genuine, if that’s the case. Peter’s love is built not only on his colleague’s appearance, but also on some of her qualities. Let’s say he saw and appreciated how hard she worked, or one of the few noticed how sad she’s been looked recently. Let’s say that when they start dating, Emma doesn’t limit herself to “I hope everything works out for us” in the dialogue, she probably also says something about how she didn’t think that Peter would be such a sweetheart, she is surprised how she wasn’t noticing him before. This, as a bare minimum.

It seems that these are all the changes that I would like to see, maybe if I remember something else I’ll add.

Bonus headcanon for those who read to the end: Emma was the best informant on the floor before Evan came into the game, it’s not for nothing that she hangs around that office phone so often.