#i already can't shut up about the next chapter and it's not even out yet

[jamiesfootball]

22 and 23 for the 2023 writer asks!

22. Share an excerpt from your favorite scene

23. Share the final version of a sentence or paragraph you struggled with. What about it was challenging? Are you happy with how it turned out?

Gonna be a little unorthodox and answer both in one go. But also since I know you have been a busy little bee, I will put it below the line for spoilers, in case you would like to read it later.

I'm talking about one of the twists! The moment somebody in the comments coined as 'the Sisyphus pull'

First, the excerpt:

The tension snapped. He shoved at Roy's shoulders, eyes bright with fury. Roy pushed him back. Hard. Between one second and the next they fell into grappling, shoving and pulling as they tried to knock each other down, the world slipping out from awareness— —and Roy was prepared for the pain he had coming to him— —he knew what he'd done to earn it, better to earn it now before it could circle back down the road ten times worse— —wasn't like he hadn't had his arse handed to him more times than he could count— —seventeen, minutes after his debut when running his mouth he learned the hard way how to write a cheque his bones couldn't cash— —eighteen, in physio, with the growing weight that he'd fucked up— —retired, in physio, pain and him on friendly terms— —his heartbeat pounded in his ears, lighting up his nerves and leaving a tang of iron in his mouth, and he hadn't asked for the itch under his skin, but it threatened to eat him alive if he didn't find a way to get it out of his system— He got in a lucky shove. Jamie tripped. One of his rings caught against Roy's shirt and a loud tear ripped through the air, deafening against the blood pulsing in his ears. Without thinking, Roy caught him by the elbow, steadying him before he could fall—only to realize what he was doing and shove him away. Jamie's arm pulled back, and with blood banging like a war drum in his ears, Roy did what instinct and years of training demanded and headbutted his opponent square in the fucking face. Something crunched. "Fuck!" Jamie swore. A poorly formed fist glanced off Roy's forehead, the sharp sting catching him off guard. Roy stumbled back into the lamppost, Jamie hit the ground, and that was it. That was the whole fight. Less than ten seconds, if he had to guess. Jamie's eyes gleamed up at him from the pavement. Blood dripped through his cupped hand and onto his new jacket, black in the dark like ink on a blot test. Weeks too late, the Red Bull commercial finally slapped him in the face. Sisyphus; that was the name. The guy on the hill, the one that didn't have any wings. The one who was doomed to keep doing the same thing over and over again.

The commentary

There are two things I want to talk about here: the fight itself and the Sisyphus of it all.

The fight:

This entire scene was difficult in many ways, many of them starting with the fact that I did not care for the fight scene in the finale. It didn't feel earned, it came out of nowhere, and it felt like a disservice to two characters who - yeah, have fought before - but not like this. They've never drawn blood. It's always just been pushing and shoving and getting in each other's face. So there's regression, and then there's hitting some level we've never seen them at.

But the whole point of this fic isn't to rewrite things to be different and better - it's to work around what canon gave us so that I could somehow make canon like. Work. At all. On a fundamental level that works in the narrative.

The actual craft of the fight I drafted out in very broad strokes. I had the beginning part of the scene very clearly, but then getting them to a point where something like trading blows could happen? Very difficult. 'Boys will be boys' / 'lol men are dumb' / etc got bandied about a lot after the finale, and even disregarding my innate hatred at those phrases, using pithy sayings to bandage narrative failings will never not appear to me like the laziest of writing decisions.

So it was important to me that the first half of the chapter really be leading to This Point, and equally important that when we got to this point that we would have a full grasp of how the fight wasn't just a one-off problem. It was a sign that something deeper had gone wrong. It was a gradual implosion - the building up of many highly emotional beats that Roy, at the end of the day, just didn't have the tools to process.

The parts that are in flashback, I wanted to use those to highlight the cyclical nature of pain-anger-violence in Roy's life. How it's taken over as the only thing he does understand how to process - the when 'you have a hammer, every problem looks like a nail' of it all. He wants to fix things with Jamie, and in a fucked up way this is supposed to fix things, but it's not even inflicting pain on Jamie that he's thinking of here - it's the pain he's expecting to be inflicted on himself.

The other priority here with the fight was that while it's not good, it's not okay by any means, it actually never crosses much further into violence than we've seen from them before. We've seen them shove each other. We've seen Jamie, cornered, throw a punch. We've seen Roy headbutt. It's not that the actions themselves are worse, it's that the circumstances surrounding them are so fucked. It's supposed to hurt.

And then it does hurt. Roy lands a hit that does actual damage to Jamie, and that's what finally snaps him out of it. Or rather, that's what finally wakes him up, because....

The Sisyphus of it all:

I mentioned before in another post how Roy confusing Icarus and Sisyphus originally started as a joke (it's an old commercial, after all). The joke then became more serious the longer I thought about it - it made sense to me that Roy, with all his pushing Jamie to be better and seeing Jamie fall to pieces during Mom City, would worry that he'd made an Icarus out of him.

But then the Sisyphus thing was right there, and I thought that would serve as an excellent metaphor for Roy and how he feels about his life right now.

The other thing I'm proud of - the thing I really wanted to accomplish and based on feedback I DID accomplish - was the 'pull' aspect of it. That it was something off to the side, just out of notice of both Roy and the audience, and that bringing it back into the narrative at just the right point would have a whiplash effect.

THAT is the bit I struggled with. I knew I had to work it in gradually. I knew I had to bring it up in a way that the audience would go on this Icarus journey with Roy, while at the same time having the same lingering feeling that something wasn't quite right. Getting the narrative to reflect the repetitive pattern of the Sisyphus struggle without putting it together themselves that that's the conclusion that was waiting at the end of the line.

I now feel like I rambled a bit without answering your question straight on, but the short of it all is that writing this fight was a STRUGGLE and YES I'M PROUD OF IT. I think it paid off. I hope anyone who reads it feels like it did too.

[theagstd]

One Night Stand ; 39

➥ rundown ; as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

→ genre ; enemies to lovers | CEO au | pregnancy trope | slowburn

→ Jungkook x y/n

→ contains smut, fluff and angst

→ Chapter thirty nine ; wc | 5.8 k

primarily on Wattpad

index ⇢ next chapter

Jungkook watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, adored by the peaceful look on your sleeping face. He's seen you asleep countless times, yet this morning feels different—

you're glowing more than ever. He likes to think it's because of him, that he's responsible for both the afterglow and the glow of pregnancy. He's lost track of time, aware only that he's been lying here well past his work hours.

With the tension from your recent fight, he's missed Saturday at the office and hasn't checked his emails, too stressed to focus. He knows he should get up and work, but how can he pull himself away when you're so beautifully asleep on his chest?

his eyes move around your face, taking in your features. the length of your eyelashes, your perfectly sculpted nose and your pouty lips that part just slightly with each quiet breath. your hand rests on his naked chest under your cheek he knows will leave red imprints on your pale skin.

his fingertips reach to tuck the baby hair behind your ears, and slowly he allows himself to do this action. you hum at the contact of his warm skin on your cold face as you push yourself closer and deeper into him, even though that's impossible when you're already so close to him.

he smiles at that, it makes you look like a baby laying on him. he doesn't want to wake you up but his duties call for him, although he doesn't really give a damn about it since he's so caught up in this beautiful dream with you, he must go. "baby.." He whispers, hoping to wake you up nice and easy.

You hum a little, shifting around, your hand searching for something he can't quite figure out. He looks at you, a bit confused, as your fingers keep roaming across his chest. Gently, he rests his hand on your arm, and you grab it, tucking it under your neck like it's the most natural thing.

Jungkook can't help but laugh, totally charmed by how cute you are. "Baby....i've got to go." he murmurs and you whine like a child. "I don't want to leave you too but.. i have to." "stay.." you mumble and he pouts. he wishes he could, he wants to, so badly.

"I'll be back soon, I promise." he drapes his arm around you and caresses your naked back. your skin so smooth and soft, he loves touching you, he could do it all day. "promise?" you ask. you're still half asleep, you have no idea what you're mumbling but you know you're being a whiny mess. "I promise, darling."

he places a kiss on your temple, his nose touching yours, and he lets himself stay like that for some time. "when you get back..." " mm?" "can you get me some strawberry tanghulu?" you ask and he frowns as he detaches his face from yours to look at you. "tanghulu?" "mm hmm, I saw them in my dream."

"them?" "them...they were dancing tanghulu's- before you laugh at my face! I don't know why it came to life."  you say, your tone growing sharper, almost defensive. But that only makes Jungkook laugh harder, especially since your voice went up an octave as you tried to sound serious even though you're sleepy.

"alright, i'll get them for you." your eyes flutter slowly as you open them wide to look at him. his galaxy orbs stare at you while he bites on the inside of his cheek, making that dimple you love more visible. you lift your head to see him, a small smile plays on your lips as your eyes slowly drift shut, the exhaustion pulling you back under.

You can barely fight it, wishing you could fast-forward to nightfall and sink into sleep all over again. "you're tired, sleep. I'll be back soon. you won't even feel it." "but i will. you're so warm-" you hug him tighter as you press your head inside his neck.

"and it will be so cold when you leave." you continue. you're being extra clingy and it's something he hasn't really seen. you're fond of touch and being around him but, this clingy? he thinks he's unlocked a different side of you and he loves it so much more. "i know baby. wait for me okay."

you nod as he places a kiss on your forehead and runs his fingers in your hair. "i think it's because i haven't slept well the past two days." he hums and says 'me too.' Jungkook forces himself to get off the bed, he's fully aware that if he spends another minute with you he's not gonna be able to pull away.

he takes a warm shower after he chooses his suit for the day. he walks out of the washroom with a towel draped around him and then puts on his shirt and trousers. you've wrapped your hands around his pillow still dozing off. he oils his hair then proceeds to button up his shirt and do his tie.

He can't take his eyes off you, wondering why he hadn't done this sooner—why he hadn't let you sleep next to him in his bed, in his room. You just look so right here, like you belong. He swears he's never seen anyone look so beautiful. It's like you're the light his darkroom was missing, like you complete it in a way he didn't even know he needed.

he walks over to you while he fastens the buttons on his wrist as he leans closer to your face. "i'm leaving baby. take care okay." "mm hmm." "have your meds and text me if you need anything." "okay.." he places a peck on your nose and smiles as he grabs his coat and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.

This morning, Jungkook feels like an entirely new person, and it's all because of you. Arguing with you had drained the life out of him, and only now does he realize how weak he'd been over the past two days. The workload he's facing is intense, he should be feeling stressed and anxious.

Yet, as he sits in the back seat with his driver taking him to the office, he has a foolish grin on his face, replaying memories of last night and how beautiful you look today. he sighs as he leans his head back on the seat and he prepares himself to face the work that waits for him.

He also recalls the visit to your parent's place and makes a mental note to book the tickets this week.

;

You're woken by the restless, uncomfortable movements of your baby, who refuses to let you sleep on your left side. Turning to the right is a struggle too, with the weight of your belly, so you decide to get up. The pillows still carry Jungkook's scent, and for some reason, it makes you giggle like a lovesick girl.

Now and then, you take a small sniff, smiling as you relax. Maybe starting today, you'll see him try to love this baby as much as you do. You really hope he does. you pull yourself out of his soft bed and walk back to your room. you're greeted by Bam who sleeps on the bed, he lifts his head up when he senses you entering and immediately runs over to you.

"ohhh Bammie! i've missed you." you speak to the Doberman who twirls around your feet as if he's meeting you after weeks. "i'll be right back okay." he barks at you and you give him a little pat before you grab your outfit and walk into the washroom.

you freshen up and relax on your couch as Bam sits beside you waiting for his pets. Maya knocks on your door and you give her your brightest smile. "good morning y/n.." "morning Maya!" She walks over and gives you a quick pat on the head, taking a moment to notice the charming changes in your features.

Your smile is wider, your eyes are bright and full of excitement, and your voice is lively and high-pitched. the old woman knows everything has been settled and she couldn't have been happier about it. "I'm starving... could you maybe get me something sweet for breakfast?" you ask, and she clasps her hands together in delight.

"Absolutely! I'll be right back with something freshly made." Maya's over the moon that you've asked her for something sweet—her specialty. It's been a while since anyone has requested this; her children live far away, and she hasn't seen her grandchildren in a long time.

Living alone, she's thrilled to have someone to cook for again. Feeding people is her passion, and having the chance to prepare a meal for a pregnant woman feels like a true blessing. It's not like Maya hasn't been cooking for you, she makes something for you every day. But it's always savory, a wrap or a sandwich, never anything sweet.

You're finishing up a book, but after so much reading and TV, you're starting to feel restless. You want something fun to do, but you're also too tired to move around much. Your gaze drifts over to the baby clothes still in their plastic bag. You've only bought a few things so far; there's so much more to get, and the thought of going baby shopping again excites you.

Maybe this time Jungkook could come along? Although Hoseok was amazing, too. he was not only curious but also wildly enthusiastic. You realize you haven't texted him since last evening, so you check your phone. Sure enough, he's left you a bunch of messages, mostly asking you about how you're feeling.

he's a good friend, he checks up on you and the baby and always leaves you smiling. Hoseok's a true friend, and you know you should keep him forever. While replying to his texts, your mom's call comes through, so you answer. "Y/N! How are you, darling?"

she greets you warmly. "I'm feeling the best! How are you and Dad?" you reply. "Oh, we're doing well! I was thinking, when are you coming to visit us? You always say 'soon,' but you never tell us when." You hum, then answer, "Probably next week? I want to see you too."

She immediately responds, "Come, then! Oh, and I have something to tell you." You sense she's going to bring up someone. "What now, Mom?" "Jessica, your dad's cousin's daughter—remember her?" You can barely recall, but you go along.

"Yeah, what about her?" "She dropped by with gifts to celebrate her twins! She looks so beautiful in her pregnancy; she's glowing!" You stiffen, rolling your eyes at the thought of what they might say about you. "Wow... I'm so happy for her,"

you respond as she continues to talk about them and how your relatives are doing although you don't really bother about them at all. your responses go as a hum or a yeah or wow without indulging too much with it. you look over at Bam and he tilts his head with his round eyes and you copy him and mouth blah blah blah while patting the dog's body.

Maya walks in with a warm smile, carrying a plate decorated with something so delicious and beautifully presented. "Mom, I'll talk to you later—uh, I've got to catch up on something," you say, waiting until she declines the call.

You sit up, folding your feet underneath you, eagerly waiting for Maya to place the plate on the coffee table. "I hope you enjoy a well-done French toast and berry compote," she says. Your mouth parts in awe as you look at how elegantly she's decorated the plate—almost like a dish for MasterChef. "This looks so stunning! It's too perfect to eat!" you exclaim, marveling at the effort she put into the details.

"This makes me feel like it's Christmas!" you add, pouting in delight. Maya is thrilled by your reaction, thinking the time she spent on this dish was more than worth it. "Enjoy, dear!" she says happily. "Thanks, Maya, you remind me of my late grandmother..."

you whisper the last few words, but the old woman catches on. "She must've loved you so much," she says softly. You sigh, leaning back, memories of your beloved grandmother flooding your mind. She used to make her famous apple cinnamon rolls just for you, even though your mother would scold her for spoiling your teeth.

But you both would do it secretly when your parents were out at work, and it was just the two of you. Maya realizes that you share a special bond with your grandmother and expresses her hope of creating a meaningful connection with you as well.

She knows how deeply Jungkook loves you—she can feel it, understanding how hard it has been for him to open up and love again after years of guarding his heart. But with you, it's different. She can see the love you both share, and she eagerly awaits the day those feelings are fully confessed, believing that when that happens, the house will be filled with joy, warmth, and laughter.

"Oh darling, I'm honored that I remind you of your grandmother," Maya says softly. "Maybe you could tell me more about her and the food she used to make for you. I'm a grandmother too, you know. I love my grandkids, but they live so far away...." You find it sad that many grandchildren don't get to spend time with their grandparents. It feels like an essential part of growing up—the love, care, and cultural heritage that only grandparents can pass on.

It makes you reflect on your own family, realizing with a pang of sadness that your children might miss out on those special experiences once your parents are no longer around since you're settled in Korea and them in Canada. "Maybe I could share those experiences with you," Maya offers gently.

"You're like a child to me, too." Looking at her, you notice how beautiful she is, her gentle features and the way her sagging skin crinkles into a heartwarming smile. Her warmth and the kindness in her voice feel so grandmotherly, exactly what you need in this moment. "Thank you, Maya,"

you respond with a smile. "I'd love that!" she leaves after a moment of silence. You quickly grab your phone to snap a picture of the beautiful dish and the moment, adding a little heart to the image before posting it on Instagram. You smile at how adorable it looks. Then, you take a bite of the thick brioche French toast—nothing like the typical, thin slices.

The warm berry compote, creamy whipped cream, and delicate dusting of icing sugar send you straight to heaven. The softness of the toast, the perfect balance of sweetness and tartness from the compote, and the airy cream combine in a way that's even better than you expected. It's so delicious,

you know it's something you'll be craving again soon. Jungkook replies to your story and that's something that happened for the first time because you haven't posted anything for a long time.

Jungkook replied to your story ; you're eating all that without me?

you giggle at his reply. Somehow everything feels different today, you know why yet you like to keep it a mystery.

; you left me so you don't get any.

J ; i didn't leave you hun, i was forced to!

; anyway... you did so :(

J ; i like it when you're whiny

; i think i'm coming out of my character, i should go back to being annoying

J ; omfg NO.

he's so cute that he leaves you all giddy. you can't wait for him to come home, you miss him so much that it hurts. Jungkook, on the other hand, has been having a rough day and even weird that his staff gave him a look whenever he made eye contact with them, but every text you send him brings him a sense of calm.

You're his safe haven, the missing piece he didn't know he needed, and he feels it deeply. Work has been a struggle lately, adding to his stress. So, when he hears a knock on his door, he calls out, "Come in," without thinking. His eyes land on the man standing before him, and after a double take, he lets out an angry sigh. "What are you doing he—" "What are these pictures?"

the orange-haired man cuts Jungkook off, tossing an envelope of photos onto his desk. Jungkook grabs it, irritated, and opens it. As he pulls out the pictures, he realizes they're of moments he never knew were captured.

His eyes widen at the photos of him holding you at the picnic, kissing you, and even some from your trip to Paris—the greasy pizza he warned you not to eat, and shots from the business party he attended in France. "You're doing the exact same thing Taehyung was doing, and now it's fine with you?"

Yoongi questions, leaning against the table. Jungkook stares at the photos, alarmed and confused. Who could have taken these secret pictures of you both? Jungkook hadn't fully registered Yoongi's words, but when they finally sank in, his eyes snapped up, seething. "Say that again," he demanded.

Yoongi took a breath and repeated himself. With that, Jungkook rose from his seat, his glare icy. "Don't you dare compare me to that bastard!" "Kook, if you're doing the same thing, what difference is there between you two?" "I don't take advantage of women! You know me! How could you even—"

"How could you think so low of me?" he asked quietly, disappointment thick in his tone. Yoongi smiled bitterly, looking down. "You think I haven't heard the rumors? Don't you think I read the magazines? Think I don't read the magazines or keep up with what you do?" He took in the success surrounding him as he stepped closer to Jungkook.

"If you knew so much about me, why would you hide?" Jungkook shot back. "That's not the point, Jungkook! What matters is what you do now—" "I don't sleep around anymore!" Jungkook yelled, closing the distance between them until they were almost chest-to-chest. Yoongi held his ground, determined not to let this turn into a physical fight.

He knew Jungkook's strength and his temper; so he kept his voice steady, refusing to escalate things. "that's not what the pictures say? i can't believe you got some women pregnant when you were so against t-"

"It's my wife!" Jungkook snapped, the words cutting through the room.

Yoongi's frown deepened, studying Jungkook's expression, searching for any sign of truth in his words. Jungkook exhaled sharply, finally stepping back from Yoongi and sinking into his chair. He rested his elbows on the table, hiding his face in his hands. He hadn't meant to reveal it like this;

he knew he had to say something, but he hadn't expected it to come out in such a raw, exposed way. the older's lips part as he tries to take it in but he can't. he thinks he may have misheard it. "what?!" he asks and hears jungkook whine. "she's...not my wife but she's my- everything." Jungkook mutters under his breath, never expecting to admit this out loud, especially not to someone he'd looked up to for so long.

Yoongi takes a closer look at the pictures. He can't make out the woman's face clearly, but he notices how her bump grows in each photo. "When... when did this happen? How did you—" "It's... different now. I haven't been with anyone else since," Jungkook says quietly. Yoongi can hardly believe it.

After years of Jungkook being caught up in one scandal after another, he hadn't even realized that phase had come to an end. Spending time away, he'd only seen pictures of Jungkook and some pregnant woman circulating online, and he was worried Jungkook might've been making another mistake. He didn't want to see him go down that road.

"Kook..." Yoongi says softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. When he looks at Jungkook's face, he sees tears brimming in his eyes. "I was... worried when I saw these in the media." Yoongi turns back to the photos, feeling a bit relieved. Your face isn't visible in any of them—hidden by a kiss here, taken from behind there, or perfectly covered by a pizza slice.

Jungkook nods at the older words as he makes a mental note to check social media when he's free. Jungkook hadn't noticed anything was off, even though people in the building had given him strange looks as he walked to his office. "So... how is she?"

Yoongi asks, curious. Jungkook rarely talks about his relationships, so Yoongi wants to know if this is really something serious. Jungkook's face softens, and a faint smile appears as his eyes light up just thinking about you. "She's..." he trails off, mumbling, then gets quiet. Yoongi holds back a smile. "She's the one,"

Jungkook finally says, his voice low but certain. Yoongi takes a seat across from him, waiting for Jungkook to say more, but he doesn't. After a beat, he asks gently, "And... the pregnancy?" Jungkook shifts uncomfortably. The way he met you, and how things unfolded—it wasn't exactly a fairy tale.

"i met her at a club..."  Yoongi senses he's touching on a sensitive topic when he notices Jungkook's hesitation, so he keeps his tone light. "How many months along is she?" Jungkook's pulse quickens, panic bubbling up—he doesn't actually know. He has no real details about his child, and that realization brings a wave of anger and sadness.

Yoongi frowns, noticing Jungkook gulp and crack his knuckles. "She's about... six months along," he answers quickly, making it clear he doesn't want more questions, and Yoongi catches the hint. "Great, I'm happy for you both," Yoongi nods, giving Jungkook a steady look before getting to his feet.

"I'll head out, then..." Jungkook nods, and as Yoongi heads to the door, he pauses. "I hope we can catch up again sometime. Start fresh, if you're open to it... things have changed. Maybe we can all be better, too."

He offers a tight smile, then steps out of the room. Jungkook lets out a deep breath, sinking into his chair as he covers his face with his hands. No matter what Yoongi says, he knows he could never go back to them. Things may have changed, but the past is still there, unerasable—and he isn't ready to let it go.

Yoongi's presence stirs up his frustrations, yet there's a part of him that misses seeing him, the familiarity of having him around, even with all the weight of old memories. he may have changed in some ways, but he still wears the same comfortable sweaters and shirts, and he still speaks with his usual wisdom.

Outwardly, nothing seems different, except for the relationship that no longer exists between them. He pauses to breathe, feeling the stress build as worries about his image and the latest rumors churn in his mind. He's especially concerned about what people might be saying about you.

When he picks up his phone and checks Twitter, he sees the same photos Yoongi had left on his desk now posted online, along with captions like:

"Is the CEO of Jeon Industries going to be a father?"

"Is CEO Jeon Jungkook involved in another affair?"

He tosses his phone aside and gulps, his heart sinking. Rumors are one thing, but rumors involving you? That's something he can't stand. He needs to protect you.

;

Your next appointment is in two weeks, marking your eighth month of pregnancy—so close to labor now. You still don't know the baby's gender, but you aren't too curious; whether it's a boy or a girl doesn't really matter to you. All you want is a healthy baby, and you feel confident that will be the case.

As you watch the clock tick, you browse baby clothing websites, filling your cart with favorite outfits to choose from later. You're pretty sure you've added over 250 items by now, but who can resist when everything is so cute? Regardless of gender, you don't plan to stick to traditional colors ;

blue isn't just for boys, and pink isn't only for girls. After all, color doesn't define gender. Bam has been in a playful mood ever since he laid eyes on you. He jumps around, circles you, and constantly licks you, overflowing with affection. Your love for this dog is indescribable, and you can't wait to see the bond that will form between him and your baby.

After Jungkook shared his fears and expressed his desire to try, you're convinced that this has a real chance. You're not alone in this, and neither is your child. If Jungkook wants to make this a family, you're ready to embrace it with open arms, it's what you want, too. So, when you come across videos of dogs bonding with babies, you watch in awe, dreaming of that special connection for your own child and Bam. "aren't you a good boy Bammie?"

The Doberman gets so excited when you call him by the nickname you chose that he practically demands your attention, even while you're already petting him and talking to him. "Oh, you're such a good boy!" you coo, "and me?" just then, you hear Jungkook's voice as he approaches, setting his bag down by the couch.

After shrugging off his coat and washing up, he heads toward you, a warm grin on his face. "What about you?" you tease, noticing how his presence sparks a surge of energy within you. He's home, and he's getting closer, his eyes fixed on you with that look you love. He glances at you sitting comfortably in a fitted vest, your chest and baby bump so prominent, it's a sight he can't get enough of.

He gives Bam a gentle pat, motioning for the dog to move, then settles beside you. "Am I a good boy?" he asks, dimples showing as he bites his lip, watching you with those soft, round eyes. After a long, stressful day, being here with you fills him with the peace he's been craving. "Hmm," you murmur, moving your face closer to his, studying his tired features;

his slightly droopy eyes show his fatigue, yet the way he looks at you and smiles reveals he's still present. "You're okay. Not amazing, but not terrible," you say, tracing his jawline with your fingers. His eyes stay locked on your lips as you speak. After last night, Jungkook senses that there's more between you both. "Is that so?" he whispers, leaning in. "Yes..."

you hum, surprised when he softly kisses your lips. The touch relaxes you, like you've waited for it for days, not hours. "I missed you," he murmurs, nudging his nose against yours. "Mm-hmm, me too..." you respond, fingers tapping on his smooth skin as you admire him. He gazes at you a moment, then clicks his tongue and looks away, asking,

"Which city do your parents live in?" "Toronto." "Thought so. I'll book the tickets then." You smile and nod, feeling slightly anxious. "For when?" "This Friday sound good?" he asks. "Yes." Jungkook picks up his phone, texting someone as he talks to you. "Let your parents know, then." "Okay..."

Your voice drops, and he notices, turning off his phone to look at you. "Nervous? Not sure what to expect?" he asks softly. You nod, eyes fixed on your bump, fingers tracing patterns on the couch fabric. "Hey..." he places a comforting hand over yours. "It'll be alright." You give him a tight smile and nod. "By the way... how far along is she?" he asks suddenly, surprising you.

"She's seven months now—almost eight in two weeks." Jungkook's eyes widen; it hits him just how close you are to the due date. "Wow..." he chuckles, realizing he'd guessed wrong when talking to Yoongi. Curious, you ask, "Why a 'she' now? Last night you called the baby a 'he.' What do you think the gender is?"

Instinctively, you feel it's a girl, but you want to know his thoughts. He hums, thinking aloud as he glances down at your bump, trying to decide. "I think... boy. But—" "But?" you prompt as he hesitates, his hand trembling as he reaches to place it on your bump, only to pull back and place it on your palm instead.

You guide his hand to rest over your bump, holding it there. He hesitates but eventually relaxes into the touch. "But...?" you ask again, watching him. He looks down, then smiles softly. "I want her." You blush at his words, the pink in your cheeks spreading across your face, making him smile.

He loves seeing you like this, and now that he's working on himself and the bond the three of you share, he realizes he's becoming a little obsessed with making you happy. "I want her too..." you murmur. "Looks like we're both on team girl, huh?" he replies, rubbing your bump and lingering, secretly hoping he'll feel a little kick. His gaze stays fixed on your belly, and you sense his wish, so you gently guide his hand lower.

"She's here. Just wait for her," you whisper, and he patiently focuses, waiting to feel something—anything at all. His brow furrows with concentration, but after a while, neither of you feel any movement. "Guess she's not in the mood for a kick," you say softly. He nods, smiling tightly as he pulls his hand away. "Maybe... she's just not ready for me either,"

he murmurs, his voice trailing off as he stands. Feeling a twinge of sadness, you stand as well, grabbing his coat while he picks up his bag, and the two of you head upstairs in silence. He takes a cold shower, then slips on his sweatpants and a black t-shirt before stepping out of the bathroom, and using a towel to dry his damp hair. You're sitting on the couch, watching him.

"What?" he asks, catching your gaze before turning to the mirror to apply his skincare. You walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. The bump presses into his back before the rest of you can it's a little awkward, but it works. You look up at him, meeting his eyes in the mirror's reflection.

"What's wrong?" you ask softly. He sighs, resting his hand over yours on his waist.  "just had a bad day.." he murmurs. "you can tell me about it, if you want to." Jungkook's heart clenches at how soft you sound like you do not want to intrude but you also want him to know that you're always there for him. he loves the feeling of being cared for and you give him, so much that he feels so lucky. "work is getting stressful."

he says leaving out the rumors and the whole Yoongi mess from you because he does not want to worry you. "it will be fine. work is not work if it isn't stressful." You say this, and he chuckles, nodding.

Your hand rubs his stomach to comfort him, sending a flutter through him. He loves how gently you treat him, like he's someone precious, making him feel like a child in the best way. "Hey, you come here!" he says, grabbing your hand and turning you to face him, his tone playful. You can't help but smile as he relaxes. "I think you're forgetting something..."

he teases, watching you frown in thought. He bites his inner cheek, waiting for you to remember that silly dream you had. "What did I forget?" you ask, a bit lost. He groans, laughing. "Your dancing tanghulu dream!" "Ohhh!" you start to laugh, trying to hold it in, but it escapes, and he chuckles along with you.

"I got them for you," he says. "You did?!" you exclaim, eyes lighting up. He nods, leading you downstairs, where a brown paper bag sits on the counter. You open it to find a box with strawberries, grapes, and tomatoes coated in a glistening sugar syrup, skewered on sticks. your eyes sparkle at the fruits in front of you as you grab one and poke it into your mouth.

"careful bear, the edge might hurt you." He leans back against the counter, watching as you savor a mouthful of the crisp, sugar-coated fruits. A soft moan escapes you as you close your eyes, head tilted back in bliss. "My cravings are finally satisfied!" you declare. "Is that so?" he teases. "Mm-hmm, try one!"

You bring a piece to his lips, but he shakes his head, smiling. "Have one!" you insist, nudging him. He wraps his arms around your hips, opening his mouth as you press a strawberry to his lips. He bites into it, and your palm hovers beneath his chin to catch any sugar bits that fall, which you quickly pop into your mouth, licking your fingers. "Good, right?" you ask.

"Mm-hmm," he hums, satisfied. As you reach for a grape skewer, he gestures for you to stand between his legs, so you press your back to his chest, leaning into him as you munch on the rest of the fruit. Occasionally, you offer him a bite, though you end up eating most of it yourself. "Happy?"

he asks, and you nod eagerly. His heart swells as he watches you, delighted just to see you smile. Gently, he brushes his fingertips along your lips, collecting the little sugar crystals, then pops them into his mouth. When he reaches to get the last bit, you stick out your tongue, licking his finger clean.

His eyes darken slightly, watching you with a smirk. "You're quite the tease." you slowly nod with your lips still wrapping around his finger, your tongue rolling. "you taste good." you say after you let go of his finger with a pop sound. "you know what else tastes good..."

his voice raspy as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. "what is?" you whisper innocently, like have no idea what he's gonna say next when you very well know what it is. "my dick, baby." your fingertip traces his chest and abs, you feel his nipple harden at your touch, he bites back a moan. "that i know."

you whisper as you lean closer to him, pressing your lips on his neck. "y/n.." he groans and grips your hips tighter. "yes babe..." the butterflies that he felt when you call him that. "call me that again."

you press your lips to his ear and suck on it as you whisper. "babe.."

"fuck"

"you like that?" you ask as you palm his bulge.

"fucking love it."

next chapter ⇢

[bettyfrommars]

Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

Part 1: Big Girls Don't Cry

Eddie x fem!Reader

MASTERLIST PLAYLIST

It's 1987, the same year the movie Dirty Dancing was originally released. 21-year-old reader is spending the summer with her dad and aunt at an all-inclusive resort in Indiana while she figures out what she wants to do with her life. After that summer, nothing will never be the same. Eddie is in his late 20’s and works as maintenance staff, he is also the frontman for the house band, begrudgingly delivering top 40 hits for the guests, and a secret third thing. When work is over, there is a completely different scene happening at a place the employees call The Hideout. Wayne is the head maintenance man, Chrissy is a metalhead, and a few other surprises. Bonus: Steve as a sexy, tattooed musician because I can't help myself.

my blog is always 18+only, MDNI please. The only warnings for the first chapter have to do with mention of a death of a parent, mention of grief, allusions to depression, a tiny bit of aggression, and alcohol consumption. But please read chapter warnings as the story progresses, because there will be angst, hurt/comfort, violence (fighting), and smut. Reader is called Bird as a nickname.

A/N: this is a rewrite of an OC fic I wrote over a year ago, and damn, I really needed to change a lot because my writing has evolved so much. I know I posted a snippet last week, but it's all been changed. Thank you to those who have been excited about this, I know Dirty Dancing is a cherished film, so I am treating this retelling with reverence, while adding some creative spins, and I truly hope you enjoy. The ST characters in this fic do not know each other in the same way they did in the show. For instance, Eddie, Steve, and Chrissy all grew up together, but I do my best to stick with their original character traits. This first part lines up very close with the film, but after that, it diverges and becomes a bit different. Same story line, but also not.

Part 1: Big Girls Don't Cry

word count: 6.3k

The soft murmur of a talk radio station hummed in the cement gray Mercedes-Benz 560, with your dad behind the wheel and his sister, your aunt Kim, in the passenger seat.  From the backseat, you stared out the window with your headphones on, wishing for rain.  The scenery was what you would expect from a place on earth that everyone considered idyllic, but you’d been exposed to so much lush greenery with that bright blue, theater backdrop of a sky for the last hour that you were starting to get a headache. 

You pushed your wayfarer sunglasses up to rub the bridge of  your nose, and then flipped the tape over in your Walkman before clicking it shut to press play.  You were listening to a mixtape you’d made especially for the trip, the spine even said “road trip from hell”, but the first one on side b was Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac, and you closed your eyes for the next several songs.  You were doing your best not to think about how you’d be trapped in BFE Indiana for a whole month.

You were also doing your best not to think about how your mother would not be home when you got back, or worse yet, the fact that you would never see her again.  Never feel her generous hugs in those Laura Ashley dresses, smelling of Shalimar; never hear her voice at the other end of the line reminding you to eat something.  

Your aunt said your name and your eyes snapped open.  It was perfect timing because tears were beginning to form at your lash line. She had turned around in her seat and was trying to get your attention.

You pulled your headphones down around your neck.  “Sorry?”

“The lake,” the expression on her face harbored more excitement than you’d ever felt in your entire life.  “Isn’t it gorgeous? We’re going to get pedicures at the spa tomorrow, I already booked it.”

You glanced at your father’s stoic profile and then back to Kim. You felt bad for your aunt, getting stuck on a trip with two sad, mopey fucks who were too depressed to get excited about the things that thrilled normal people.  You were the walking wounded.

“Pedicures, great,” your smile did not reach your eyes, but she didn’t seem to notice, as her enthusiasm doggedly refused to wane.  

It had been almost four months since you lost her, and the world was still too…bright.  Everyone was so talkative and alive and you couldn’t relate. 

You looked out over the smooth expanse of lake that was nestled perfectly in the trees like you were in some type of miniature scale model rebuild of a town.  Your aunt asked your dad, Owen, if he was still listening to the news, and when he shook his head, she changed the radio station to a golden oldies station and was satisfied with the tune Big Girls Don’t Cry by Frankie Vallie.

“You’ll love this cabin, Bird,” your dad said to you as the Mercedes crested the hill and began to maneuver down to your destination on a narrow, two-lane highway flanked with towering trees.  A big green and white sign welcomed them to Hawkins Landing.  “There’s a whole top floor where you can set up for your lessons.”

You turned away, back to the window, hiding the way your nose wrinkled.  You thought maybe a perk of this getaway would be to have a break from practicing the cello you’d been tied to for over a decade, but no luck.  He’d been forced to give up his dream of being a musician, and now you were expected to carry the torch for him.  

You tried to come up with one thing you did in life that was not to please someone else, or boost some idea they had about you, and couldn’t come up with squat.

Besides reading.  And taking long walks with music to clear your head.  Those two were yours, and they could only be taken from your cold, dead, hands.

From the Hawkins Landing brochure your aunt had given you, it was clear that the property was enormous.  Some 30 or 40 guest cabins scattered around, a main house that functioned as a hotel but also housed two different restaurants.  A golf course, boat rentals, tennis courts, an outdoor theater, and a third restaurant situated on the water.  Along with the full service spa, there were indoor and outdoor swimming pools, plus any class you could imagine wanting to take, from salsa dancing and water skiing, to chess and crochet. 

Hawkins Landing was like a camp for adults who enjoyed alcoholic beverages.

There was a security checkpoint at the main entrance with two guards inside.  The taller one with the neatly trimmed red beard recognized your father from the jacket cover on one of his many books.  Thrillers mostly, horror if you squint.  He nervously asked for an autograph, but Owen was very polite, adjusting his tortoise shell glass as he took the black marker that the guard was offering him.  

After the checkpoint, it wasn’t long before the road opened into an expansive rose garden with a large fountain dead center, and the big main house with its wrap-around porch just to the right.  You pushed your sunglasses up to get a look at the people mingling around, getting the idea that the median age there was 45, and it was mostly families.  

The guards had given your dad a foldout map of the property and told him to check in at the main house to get the keys to the cabin they were staying in. The car moved at a crawl at the roundabout, and then came to park where a sign announced new guest check-ins.  

Your dad told you to sit tight while he went in to grab the keys, and your attention trailed off to a black golf cart with a white awning that wheeled in like a racecar and took position in front of the Mercedes.  It sat there close to the curb, idling.  You could see there was a woman behind the wheel, and she was looking straight ahead, giving you her profile.  Chin length, dark gold hair, just long enough for a ponytail, and the words “Hawkins Landing Staff” written in yellow cursive on the back of her navy blue jacket.  Where her sleeve was pushed up at her elbow, you noticed some type of tattooed lettering there, and her fingernails were painted black.  

Up ahead, you caught sight of someone strolling down the sidewalk toward the car with a hand in his pocket. It was a guy with honey tipped chocolate hair styled in a pompadour with a curl that bounced at his forehead, wearing tan chinos and a maroon, button down short sleeve with the square bulge of a pack of smokes in his front pocket. A tattoo peeked out from the V of his shirt, and there was another design on his bicep. He wore a pinky ring on one hand and rolled a toothpick around in his mouth as he sidled up to the golf cart to say something to the woman driving it.  They bumped knuckles and talked for a bit like they were very familiar, him with one foot up on the running board of the cart.

“Steve, there you are,” from the open window, your attention bounced to a short, dark haired woman who’d just come out of the building and stood alongside your dad on the sidewalk.  A closer look told you that her name tag said Joyce.  

The guy with the toothpick in his mouth straightened, smoothing the front of his shirt with his hand.  “Hey Joyce, I was just—”

Apparently uninterested in what he was about to say, she took him by the crook of the arm.  She introduced you all by your family name, and let him know that you were “her special guests”, and you assumed that had to do with your dad being a famous author, or maybe she said that about every new family.  While you chose to not do much else than offer a small wave from the back seat like you had no autonomy, Kim got out to greet them properly.

“This is Steve,” Joyce gestured to him with a Vanna White hand. “If you ever want to take guitar lessons this summer, he’s one of our best.”

“Or, if you just want to have some fun,” Steve’s eyes seemed to be searching Kim’s face, and then he shrugged. “I mean, I run the boats on the dock too, so if you want to ski or—”

Kim got flustered and tried to find her words, fussing with the lapel of her corduroy jacket in a way you’d never witnessed before. “I’m…I mean, sure, who wouldn’t want to be on the lake at a place like this?”

Kim hated boats and got seasick very easily, so you found her new interest amusing.   

Joyce politely waved Steve off and he went, albeit reluctantly, backing up with slow steps to wave farewell.  The smile stretching across his face grew wider the longer Kim couldn’t take her eyes off of him. When he was finally jogging up the sidewalk to get to where he needed to be, Joyce continued to try and sell Kim and your dad on the resort, even though you were already booked for the month. 

“Sunday night is Bingo night. There’s karaoke in The Antler Room on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and you need to check out our house band if you can.  They’re playing tonight on the back patio, and the rhythm guitar is sensational.  She used to perform with Vixen and Lita Ford,” she handed over the necessary keys and pointed the way to get to the cabin on the map.  

“Just follow us,” Joyce said, hopping into the golf cart next to the girl with the forearm tattoo.  

They led the way down a long, winding stretch with lush lawn and manicured hedges on either side, littered with people coming up from the pool in their bathing suits.  There appeared to be a Tai Chi lesson happening on the lawn near the rose garden, and some type of painting class going on just above them on a balcony.  

Made you wonder why summer people always had to stay so busy.

The cabin you’d be staying in was down a side road, tucked at the end of a private driveway with a view of the lake. It had five bedrooms, which was more than enough, but one of them would immediately turn into Owen’s writing room so that he could work on his latest novel.  

You were careful to tuck your Walkman into your bag as the Mercedes coasted into its parking spot.  Squinting up at the place, you were somewhat distracted by how much you liked the creepy, old feel of the whitewashed cabin, and you underestimated how far from the curb you were when you stepped out, stumbling to the side.  

The girl with the forearm tattoo caught you in both arms, preventing you from putting all of your weight on your twisted ankle.

“Whoa,” she moved her supportive grip from your waist to your elbow as you righted yourself.  “You okay?”

Your heart shot into your throat, and then you coughed a laugh, covering your face. “What a way to start the summer.”

She said her name was Robin, and there was a polite handshake exchange. She tripped over her words a bit.  “It’s not every day that someone falls for me.”

“Well, I’m pretty clumsy, you might need to stay close,” and the two of you shared a self-conscious laugh as you led the way to the trunk full of baggage.  

When you reached in to grab your suitcase, Robin teased, “hey, that’s my job,” before leaning further in to take the oddly shaped black hard case, the satin of her jacket skimming your arm. She struggled with it at first, but then held it up by the handle and gave you a sideways look.

“This yours?” She asked, cocking one eyebrow up. “You’re a musician?”

“No, well, yes I am but no I, I play the cello,” you stammered, not sure why it was hard to get the words out. “But here, I can carry that. It’s big and heavy and—”

Robin winked.  “I got it,” and then she snatched another suitcase with the other hand and shuffled by you to make her way up to the porch.  

Once you were all settled inside and Joyce had explained all of the amenities, you and Kim pushed back the curtains and watched the two go from the living room window. Just before they took off in the cart, Robin sent you a wave.

“She looks like a nice girl,” Kim had her arms folded over her chest. “Maybe the two of you could—”

“I know you’re worried about me, okay, but I don’t need to make any friends this summer,” you were holding the case for your cello in front of you with both hands, using it as a metaphorical barrier. “I like being alone.”

By the time you put your stuff away in the bedroom you’d be staying in, your dad was already typing away in his writing room, you could hear the keys of his Selectric click-clacking.  

“I’ll be back in a bit,” you called across the rustic but spacious cabin living room.  “I’m going to look around the main house.”

Kim barely caught your words as she was struggling with her glasses to read an ingredient label as she put some dry goods away in the kitchen.  “Mhmm sounds good, have fun. Be back in time for dinner, we have reservations at…whatever that place is called. Your dad knows.”

You tapped the Swatch on your wrist and gave an absent wave over your shoulder.

With your headphones on, you made your way down to the main sidewalk that split off in two directions, bordering either side of the swimming pool and tennis courts.  You found the bike path that wound down along the lake to the boat dock, and then up into a lush pocket of dense forest.  Two teenage girls on rollerblades almost crashed into you as they bolted around the bend, giggling.  Trying to decide if you wanted to go toward the water or into the woods, you watched a staff member veer off onto an uneven stone pathway and your curiosity was piqued.

Creeping along in their wake, you marched up a hill for what felt like forever, with Bring on the Dancing Horses by Echo and the Bunnymen playing in your ears, until you realized with a start that you’d already arrived at the main building.  It loomed up ahead like a mansion from some old gothic romance novel. 

You continued to plod your way along the trunks of trees, until you spotted a group having a chat on the wide porch, and took a few steps back.

They were all leaning against the railing in a semicircle, facing each other,  so that you could see the Hawkins Landing Staff on the back of a few of their navy jackets.  

One of them was Steve from earlier, next to him was a girl with a blonde ponytail, and then two others.  

“I met that author guy today,” Steve took a drag and then blew the smoke up in the air, away from everyone’s face.  “The one who wrote Darkness on the Hill, that one they made into a movie.”

You realized that it was your dad he was talking about. 

Not looking where you were stepping, you caught your toe on a tree root and your arms windmilled before you were able to find your balance, floundering to duck behind another tree.  Your mouth opened in a silent scream, trying not to gasp at the pain in your foot.  Grimacing, you turned the volume down on the headphones that were around your neck to better hear what they were saying.

“That actor from that one show about law and order is staying in cabin 8,” the girl with the ponytail said.  “Housekeeping says he finishes a bottle of whiskey a night.”

But then, there was another voice. “Now that sounds like a great fucking vacation to me,” followed by the heavy footfalls of boots on wood as a new person approached the group.

The sight of the new arrival made you feel like your brain was wiped clean—-the whole world came to a screeching halt.

Swallowing hard, all of your attention tunneled on him; his long dark hair with bangs that crowded his eyes, a thin but muscular build, tattoos scattered over his exposed arms, and a leather jacket hooked over his shoulder with one finger. He combed a hand through his hair as he walked, chunky metal rings catching the light, and headed over to the blonde girl.  You took note of every movement as she passed him her half-smoked cig and he gave her a quick kiss on the temple.  

Was that his girlfriend?

He stepped back to introduce the younger guy he had with him.  “This Jamie, my new maintenance trainee,” he used the hand holding his smoke to point to each one on the balcony individually.  You really didn’t pay attention until he got to the blonde one.  “...that one there is the lovely Chrissy, and the moody one with the hairy chest is Steve.  They’re the other musicians I told you about.”

Jamie had short black, curly hair and a hoop piercing in one ear.  He lit his own smoke while the metalhead started in with a story about a pump exploding at the pool house, complete with wild hand gestures.  

“Hey, there the fuck you are.  I’ve been looking everywhere for you losers.”

Another voice, another person making their way down the long stretch of squeaky wood planks from the front of the building.  You stepped closer, snapping a twig under your foot, eliciting a worried lip bite.

Everyone stayed right where they were, but for Eddie who moved in front of Jamie in a protective way.  The guy approaching at a stroll had very nondescript good looks with his wheat blonde hair in a tight cut that looked freshly trimmed.  While the others were dressed more casually, this one wore a white dress shirt and tie with black trousers, as if he had some fancy place to be.

“You talking to me?” The metalhead flicked his cigarette ash and stepped forward to meet the new guy before he could come any closer to the group. “Cause, if so, you might want to change your tone, precious.”

“Eddie, don’t,” Chrissy said, and then she stood up, addressing the guy in the suit.  “Jason, what the fuck do you want?”

Eddie, you moved your lips, whispering the name to yourself.  His name was Eddie.  

Jason put his hands up in mock surrender.  “Why so hostile?” He turned to Eddie. “Joyce has been trying to find you for an hour.  There’s a toilet backed up in one of the cabins, and trash that needs to go to the dump. Sounds to me like you’re having a hard time doing your job, Munson.”

You scuttled like a crab, moving to a spot where you could see their faces instead of the backs of their heads.

So that you could see Eddie’s face. 

Steve checked his watch and pushed off of the railing to snub his cig out on the bottom of his shoe.  “I gotta run.  See you bastards at the show tonight,” he said in passing, shoving both hands into his trouser pockets.  He walked right into Jason, shoulder checking him, before casually going on his way.  Jason shot him an evil look.

“Well,” Eddie took a deep breath. “Tell Joyce I got the message,” and then he motioned for Jamie to follow him.

“Too bad we can’t take you out with the rest of the trash, freak,” Jason mumbled, loud enough for you to hear every word, and a tension crackled in the air.

The metalhead stopped dead in his tracks and drew his shoulders back.  

When he finally turned on his heel, he wore a satisfied smirk, inclining his head, as if he’d been waiting for Jason to say something all along. 

Chrissy moved as if she were about to go over and break up whatever was about to happen, but one of the others put a handout and stopped her.  

“Just keep sending your laundry home to mommy, baby boy, and leave the real work to me,” Eddie said, and then he flicked the butt of his cigarette at Jason’s face. 

Jason moved his head just in time so that the hot cherry missed his cheek by a hair and bounced off the wall behind him, spraying sparks.  Chrissy and the others snickered at how beet red Jason’s face got, but he didn’t say another word, he just waited for Eddie and Jamie to be far enough away before he went back around to the front entrance.

When the coast was clear, you stood and made your way to the path again.  With a curse you realized you were going to be late for that dinner reservation, and picked up speed to a slow, sad jog. 

You found yourself thinking that maybe being trapped at Hawkins Landing for the summer wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

—----

Your aunt Kim gave you an exasperated look when you all finally sat down for dinner, being that you’d made everyone 20 minutes late for the reservation.  There didn’t appear to be a single open table when you arrived, but Joyce had made sure to keep the one by the window facing the gardens open for your party.  She came around to introduce the guy who was to be your waiter, and you sat up a little straighter in your seat when you realized it was Jason from earlier.  The way he’d been dressed out on the porch made sense now, as his uniform was the same as all of the other waitstaff.  

Near the end of the meal, Joyce returned to the table in her black pencil skirt and fitted jacket, but this time, she was with a guy who you could tell wanted to look like Don Johnson in Miami Vice, but it came off more as Gary from Weird Science.  

“I'd like you to meet Troy, he’s the son of Mr. Brenner, the owner of the resort,” there was a reluctance about her, as if she’d been forced at gunpoint to introduce him.  

Troy stared at you with an uncomfortable intensity, making your attention fall to your plate.  

“I’m in charge when my father isn’t around,” Troy said with a smug grin, putting his hands in his white trouser pockets, and you spotted some type of metal retainer on his teeth.  

Joyce cleared her throat, annoyed that his statement was far from true.  But she recognized that it was part of her job to indulge the little shit.  

“I just graduated with a business degree from Georgetown,” he gloated, giving you a wink.  “This place will all be mine one day.”

Your father exchanged a look with your aunt over his chocolate mousse.  

“Well, it’s nice to know someone else your age here, isn’t it, Bird? Maybe you two kids should go have some fun tonight,” Kim chirped.  

If your aunt wasn’t so far away, you would’ve kicked her under the table. 

Troy bent at the waist so that his face wasn’t far from yours.  “I’d love to show you around after dinner, if you’re interested in a tour?”

Before you could issue a vague excuse like, “sorry I can’t, I have a headache,” Kim spoke for you again.

“I think that’s a great idea,” she even clapped her hands, applauding it. 

In the end, you went with him to make Kim happy, to get her off your back, hopefully for the rest of the trip.  

An hour or two with a pretentious prick wouldn’t hurt you.

—-------

Troy wasn’t bad company, but he was quite full of himself.  He had interesting stories about his extensive travels, but then he also told awkward stories that were possibly fibs about how many models he’d dated, and expanded on how he wanted to be married with two kids by the time he was 30.   

You, on the other hand, couldn’t imagine thinking that far ahead, and he wouldn’t let you get a word in edgewise.  

You followed close behind through the huge, busy kitchen of the restaurant you’d just dined in, and he tried to hold your hand when he introduced you to the head chef, but you were sly, and pulled it away to cross your arms over your chest.  He gave you a tour of the ballroom and took a stroll through the other restaurant on the opposite end of the building that had a much more relaxed feel, low lighting, red carpet, and a bar at the center.  

You went down to the boat docks and walked along the pier. The stars were breathtaking, but Troy didn’t notice, he was too busy trying to convince you to go out on his boat with him.  You declined, taking a page from Kim’s book to mention a freshly born curse of violent seasickness.  

You had your elbows on the railing at the pier, enjoying the velvet reflection of the crescent moon in the lake, and you could feel your jaw grow tense under the weight of Troy’s stare. 

On the verge of telling him you were ready to head back to your cabin, the sound of music drifted down from somewhere on the property. 

Yes, no mistaking, it was Take Me Home Tonight by Eddie Money, but it was being executed with someone else’s voice, and whoever that person was had some serious pipes.

And then there was the distinct sound of a feminine voice chiming in with the parts from the song Be My Baby Now by the Ronettes in the chorus.

"Is that a live band?" You turned away from him to try and find the source of the music.  It wasn’t coming from the restaurant on the water or any of the cabins to your right.  

"There's a cover band every Friday out behind the main house. You want to check it out?" He held the crook of his arm out to you and hesitated before you took it.  His ego sufficiently stroked now that you wanted to spend more time with him.

Around the side of the building, overlooking the golf course, was a huge, fenced in back patio garden area with a private hot tub and pool for hotel guests.  Troy led you through a white arbor wound with ivy to find that there were plenty of people mingling, drinking, and dancing.  The area was mostly manicured lawn, with stone pathways meandering around from a concrete floor that was right in front of the small riser that was meant to be a stage. You imagined that a million weddings had taken place there. 

At the door was a bar, and Troy got you a flute of champagne, which you downed with abandon and asked for another.  While he was getting your second glass, you made your way along under several boughs of white string lights to get a view of the stage and who was performing the top tier Eddie Money cover.

Just as you stepped into the crowd of people shuffling to the beat, you stopped dead in your tracks.

There he was at the mic: Eddie the metalhead.

Guitar slug low at his hips, wearing a tuxedo with light blue cummerbund and bow tie, his hair neatly combed back and fixed into a knot at the back of his head so that you could really see the curves of his face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was performing the song against his will.

The rest of the band were dressed similarly, and you instantly knew the one strumming the bass guitar as Steve, and the woman on backup vocals rocking on the rhythm was Chrissy, who wore a conservative skirt and flats. There was also a keyboardist and a drummer, both of whom you did not recognize.

“What’s your major?” Troy asked, breaking your reverie to pass you the glass of champagne. “In college?”

You were confused for a second but then, “oh, I took the year off to…figure some things out.” The full truth of it was that you had dropped out completely and had no intention of going back.  

“I spent a summer in Greece my freshman year,” he offered, unprovoked. “The women there are, wow, so smoking hot.”

The song finished and Eddie took his tuxedo jacket off, rolling up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, exposing the scattered tattoos you’d noticed earlier.  He leaned over to whisper something to Chrissy, motioned at the drummer, and then stepped back into place, brushing a loose wisp of hair off his cheek.

“Find someone special for this next one,” he told the crowd, and was answered with a rush of murmurs.

The first notes to In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel, a slow song, lit up the space, and your stomach tightened, fearing that Troy would ask you to dance. As he escorted you to the floor, you tried to keep your head down and stay to the back of the crowd, but Troy kept maneuvering you closer to the stage. 

I get so lost, sometimes

Days pass and this emptiness fills my heart

When I want to run away

I drive off in my car

But whichever way I go

I come back to the place you are

You watched the performance from over Troy’s shoulder and followed his lead, shifting from foot to foot.  You were mesmerized by the muscles in Eddie’s hands as he played each note, and the way Chrissy came in like an angel on the chorus.  

He’d captured the attention of everyone in the garden at that moment, and there was a group of women watching him from the sidelines, whispering to each other, possibly about how they wanted to eat him alive.

They were all thinking the same thing you were: Eddie was magic.  

He liked to close his eyes when he sang, so you weren’t expecting him to be staring right at you when he opened them again.  

All my instincts, they return

And the grand facade, so soon will burn

Without a noise, without my pride

I reach out from the inside

He wouldn’t break eye contact, so you eventually had to; the intensity of it was giving you butterflies.

Troy stepped back and tried to get your attention.  “Did you hear anything I just said?”

You nodded, but your gaze only drifted back to Eddie.  Troy followed your line of sight and then dropped both of his hands with a frustrated cluck of his tongue.

"What the hell is he doing up there?" He hissed to himself when it dawned on him that Eddie had been behind the mic that whole time. "That's our goddamn maintenance guy. He shouldn't be up there."

In a huff, Troy pushed through the crowd and headed over to one of the other staff members against the fence. Bird could see him shouting and pointing over at the stage. Whatever the staff guy said did not seem to cheer him up a bit, and he came back to your side, shrugging his shoulders.

"I guess our normal front man Drew has the flu," he reported back. "It's just so hard to find reliable help these days."

Eddie was making the song his own, and that was what you liked about it.

“Let’s get out of here,” Troy put his hand on your lower back to escort you out. “The music sucks.”

—--

It was 9:30 when you made it back to the main foyer, standing in the middle of the lobby next to an obnoxious floral arrangement, when Troy tried to get you to go back to his cabin and watch a movie, only to get respectfully declined.

“Don’t worry about your parents,” Troy said, brushing his finger over your chin. “They know you’re with me, so they’re probably the happiest parents at Hawkins Landing.”

The guy had quite an ego on him, you had to give him that. It was unsurpassed by most. 

In the end, you got away, and as soon as your Mary Jane’s hit the cobblestones outside the front door, you could feel yourself trotting at a quicker pace, eager to put some distance between you and Troy and everyone else, for that matter.  You didn’t stop until you were far enough away from the main hotel to be able to check over your shoulder and not see it through the trees.

It was then that you realized that you had a free chunk of time, and you could do with it whatever you wished.  Your dad would think you were still with Troy, and as long as you made it back to the cabin before midnight, they wouldn’t worry.  

As much as it was the dead of summer, Indiana by the water had very cool nights, and you buttoned up the jean jacket you were wearing just as you noticed a yellow sign on a lamppost to the right that said: Staff Quarters, No Guests Allowed Beyond This Point

And that made you want to venture in even more.

You checked around to make sure there was no one there to notice that you blatantly ignored the sign, and just kept going.  The path at your feet changed from stone to a well-worn dirt path through the grass, and it wasn’t long before you could hear the sound of music erupting in the distance.  

You passed by staff quarters, a few weathered red cabins with white trim, lined close together, and there were some people hanging out on their porches who gave you curious looks, but didn’t seem too concerned with your presence. 

Following the source of the music, you descended down into unknown, poorly lit territory that no longer looked like it was part of the Hawkins Landing property.  

(song playing in the distance is Dangerous Meeting by Mercyful Fate)

It was then that you noticed a pale yellow light coming from the windows of a building up ahead.  Just as the dirt path turned to gravel, you identified the music you were hearing as heavy metal, and it was bolstered by distinct shouts and cheers, even a high-pitched scream or two.  

“Hey,” a voice startled you from out of the dark and you jumped. “What are you going out here?”

Heart racing, you spun around to find out it was Robin.  

She was struggling to carry several things in her arms as she walked and you rushed over to her.

“Where did you come from?” You asked, grinning ear to ear at how glad you were to see someone familiar.

“My cabin is right over there,” she bucked her chin in a direction behind you.

She had a crossbody bag over her shoulder, an amp in one hand, and she was juggling two guitar cases, one of which she fumbled, and you managed to catch it before it hit the ground.  You wrapped your arms around the hard case with the Scorpions sticker on it, silently offering to carry it the rest of the way.

“You don’t have to—” Robin started, adjusting the bag over her shoulder.

“I want to,” you looked back up at the house where the music was coming from, assuming that was where she was headed.  “I carry that big cello around all the time, remember? I’m used to it.”

Robin moved her jaw from side to side and she looked conflicted.  “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Your eyes were still locked on the house hidden in the trees.  “What is that place?”

“Listen,” she gave you an imploring look. “I will get in so much trouble if they find out you came out here. Your dad won’t want you here, trust me.”

Her warning did nothing to squelch your curiosity. “I’m a big girl, I go wherever I want. Plus, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Besides,” she gave you a knowing look, raising her eyebrow. “If your boyfriend Troy finds out you were here, Brenner will fire all of us.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you snapped.  But then, softer, you added, “I barely just met him tonight.”

Robin wasn’t in the mood to try and rip the guitar out of your hands, and so, with a heavy sigh, she caved.

“Fine,” she sighed. “But stay close to me, okay? You’re not at the resort anymore, sweetheart.”

You nodded, waiting for her to lead the way.

She took a step forward and then stopped and turned on her heel to point at the instrument in your arms. 

“Be extra careful with that, it’s Eddie’s baby. He’ll grow horns if anything happens to it.”

----

Hi! If you are familiar with the movie Dirty Dancing, you have an idea about what scene is coming up next. I've really enjoyed lining up certain events with the movie, but things will obviously be different in this because I want it to have some surprises in store for you.

Every chapter from here on out will start with a list of the songs, ones that will give hints for what to expect. I wanted to make music a big part of this fic, because it was a huge deal in the movie, and the original soundtrack is still dear to me.

as always, thank you so much for reading and interacting with this story! Comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated. or send me an ask and let me know what you think ❤️

------

taglist: @tlclick73 @micheledawn1975 @kurdtbean @katethetank @elvendria @spookysqaush86 @somethingvicked @stylesxmunson @laurenlokirby @sapphire4082

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR NINE

when you and eddie can't sleep, he has a bright idea. but only after he's lit a fire in your mind through a bathroom door. also, steve finally finds out what he said that night.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, allusions to male masturbation, minors dni

→ wc: 6.9k+

→ a/n: oops my bad. this chapter is dedicated to @jo-harrington i know it's not exactly what you'd joked about but... i did it. solo eddie for the win.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

9:00 ─────ㅇ──────────── 24:00

DINGUS received a message from BIRDIE. 

BIRDIE: i found out what you said. 

-

HOUR NINE - 12:00 AM

When Eddie gets out of the bed, it wakes you up. 

In all fairness, you were sleeping lightly to begin with. It had only been about twenty minutes since his quiet confession, an apology that hovered in the air between you two, lingering and plastering itself to the ceiling. He was sorry for everything. And the optimist in you couldn’t help but count what exactly everything entailed rather than sheeps. You were certain it included the events of the night so far, but did it include Steve’s party? Did it include the cruelty exchanged the night this bet was made? Did it encompass the passing in time in which he’d tucked himself away from you after first meetings, letting a sheet of ice separate you? 

You’d fallen asleep halfway through the swirlings of ‘Did it…?’s, hardly realizing you’d left Eddie hanging after he’d whispered goodnight to you. You both knew you’d be waking up soon enough to send updates, or possibly receive a call from one of your friends. You both needed to utilize the time for rest – you were utilizing this time to rest. 

Until Eddie got up. Until you realized Eddie wasn’t sleeping, and now suddenly, you couldn’t even keep your eyes closed for more than ten seconds at a time. 

You listened to his footsteps as he left the room, as he crossed the hall and he shut the bathroom door behind him. When you did open your eyes, you focused intensely on the light pouring out beneath the small crack at the bottom of the door, waiting with bated breath for any sign of a shadow without luck. 

Five minutes. You’re awake enough to count the five minutes without any further noise or sign of him returning to the bed. 

You really shouldn’t be so nosey. He’s just using the bathroom in his own apartment. He’s probably just taking a piss, or more, and you hold no right to time him. But without him in the bed, there’s a cold you hadn’t expected. You hadn’t even been pressed up against him, the pillow wall still intact, and yet, his warmth had clearly reached you and kept you comfortable.

Maybe it wasn’t just his warmth. Maybe it was just his presence that made the room light up, swirling with something to wrap yourself up in rather than the chill of loneliness. 

The decision is made by your body first, brain second. By the time your thoughts have caught up to the choice that yes, you need to check on Eddie, your bare feet are already meeting his carpet. It takes mere seconds for you to cross the room, cross the hall. You raise your fist to knock and then– 

You stop. 

A sound completely stops you, freezes you mid-action. 

A whimper. 

Your stomach clenches. It wasn’t a whimper of pain. 

You’ve managed to cross countless lines with Eddie, both tonight and the entirety of knowing each other. You’d blatantly ignored boundaries he set in stone just as he did to you. The two of you had never functioned off of respect. 

It’s what you remind yourself when you take a step closer to the door, when you lean to press your ear against the wood. 

You nearly jump back when you catch onto the sounds coming from within the bathroom. 

Oh, yeah. He’s fucking jacking off. 

You’re familiar with that sound, hearing it both mocked in school and in pornos. The unmistakable sound of a fist gliding over flesh. Just as suspected, the whimper Eddie had let out on the other side of the door was by no means a sign of pain or distress – it was out of pleasure. 

You tell yourself that you’re only keeping your ear pressed to the door to fully load yourself with artillery to tease him with once the time comes. You tell yourself it’s a necessary evil, that you don’t enjoy it. You completely ignore the way your own thighs are beginning to press together when the sound speeds up. 

“Oh my- fuckin’ Jesus Chri- my God.”

Let it be known that you’ve never tried to picture what Eddie’s voice sounds like during sex. You’ve never fantasized about how many octaves his tone might drop, how breathy he might get from desperation, how his words might curl upwards with whines on the tailends. No, you’ve never thought about those things late at night. when you’re alone and have a hand between your thighs. You don’t have those thoughts about the guy you claim to hate. You don’t have the best goddamn orgasms of your life by picturing your hand replaced with his, the way the metal of his rings would nudge against your entrance. 

You don’t. You don’t. 

But something about the way he’s stuttering, sounding like a stereotypical porno in the way his voice is breaking, clearly close to finishing, has you pressing your thighs together tightly. It has your necks and cheeks flushing brilliant red as your chest heaves, recklessly trying to expand against the door you have pressed yourself against entirely now. 

“Fuck.” 

It’s muffled, led into by a heavy panting you can hear, even through the door, before being broken off by a long moan.  

Maybe you would give yourself the best goddamn orgasm you’d ever had again once this was over. And maybe that would be the soundtrack. 

You have to stumble back from the door, your entire body tight with frustration now as you back up away from the invasion of privacy you had taken part in. You don’t even have a chance to tell yourself it’s fine, because somewhere in your fumble to get away, your knuckles meet the door in an eerie resemblance of a knock, on accident. 

You can’t play it off. If you heard it, he heard it. 

“Uh, Eddie?” you nervously call out, cursing the way the words came out more like squeaks than tired syllables, “Everything okay in there?” 

You can hear his panic, between sudden shuffling, the slamming of the faucet turning on, the curses beneath his breath before he suddenly calls out, “Y-Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine! Just stubbed my toe!” 

“Okay…” you trail off, still breathing heavily, trying to return your heart rate to normal, “I, uh- okay. Just checking. Sorry.” 

You scurry, quite literally scurry, back into his bedroom. 

You shouldn’t have listened. You shouldn’t have eavesdropped, because now, this was all so, so much worse. Every fleeting detail of his living space passed by you, and all you could hear was a repeat of his harsh fuck he’d clearly let out on accident. When you’d found his playboys, it was all fun and games. He was a guy, and you knew what he did with those magazines, but you’d never been a door away from him doing that. 

You’re not a very imaginative person, but you’re still trying to picture how his hand wrapped around his dick might look, what his dick in general looks like, when he exits the bathroom and finds you sitting there. 

He looks even more embarrassed than you.

Your apology is on the tip of your tongue, an impulsive I’m sorry is stuck between your teeth. But saying those words is admitting to knowing he didn’t really stub his toe. It would be admitting to eavesdropping. 

You’d be taking this night to the grave to you. 

“How’s your toe?” you question instead, curling your hands into fists and forcing a weak smile. 

You’re a shit pretender. 

“Fine,” he breathes out, the edges of his bangs wet, probably with sweat, and his eyes wide in fear, “It’s, uh, fine. Sore.” 

It’s okay, though, because he’s a shit pretender, too. 

He makes no move to sit down, and you almost laugh at the palpable tension and awkwardness in the room. Both of your chests are still heaving, both of your cheeks are still burning, and both of you are flooded with distrust by your words. 

“I can’t sleep,” you break the silence with the worst possible conversation starter. If the roles were reversed, if Eddie said this to you, you’d just shrug in response.

Eddie isn’t you, though, thankfully, “You just were.” 

“And now I’m not.” 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t.” 

Some habits die hard. Even in the new waves of Eddie’s apology, even as you two entered uncharted territory of unspoken civility, there was still bickering to be had. 

“This argument is just waking me up more,” you sigh, leaning back on your palms behind you, “I’m definitely not getting any more rest.” 

Eddie’s eyes trail over you, head to toe, and your breathing stops completely, “Well, yeah, not wearing jeans. Did you bring anything comfortable to wear?” 

Did he just check me out? 

That starts a fire within your brain. The blush isn’t even a product of him making you flustered anymore, it’s the physical billboard to alert everyone of the flames that will surely consume you within the hour. A warning to Eddie, that if he doesn’t stop, you’ll be nothing more than a pile of ash caught between his carpet’s fibers. 

You’ve gotten lost in your thoughts until he’s snapping his fingers in front of your face, not too close but near enough to get your attention. 

Which hand did he use? 

You choke at the smokey thought, making him worry before you cough out a, “Sorry?” 

“Clothes. Did you bring any?” he questions as he looks down at you in concern, “Maybe some pajamas, or just something comfortable?” 

You don’t understand how it got to this point. How you’re the one so flustered, so embarrassed, when he was the one touching himself in the bathroom. Why are you the one with a fire blazing behind your skull, and why are you the one having to admit that no, you didn’t bring any clothes? 

Your silence is all he needs before he turns to walk to his dresser.

“Eddie, wait, no-” you start to protest but he’s already holding out a black pair of sweats, a similar style to the ones he’s wearing. 

“Here. I don’t know how well they’ll fit but…” he shrugs, almost shyly, before thrusting the clothing towards you with more intense purpose, “They’ve gotta be more comfortable than jeans.” 

“I-I-” I can’t. I can’t wear your clothes because I’m already thinking about your dick, and which hand you masturbate with, and how you’d sound hovering over me as you grind your hips into mine, and- “Thank you.” 

You take the damn pair of sweatpants, you swallow your pride, you continue to wade in his ocean. Maybe it’s all a game to him and he’s trying to break you (it’s working).

He continues to stand there awkwardly until you finally narrow your eyes, and take a single finger, waving it in circles to motion for him to turn around.

“What?” he asks, looking at your finger with wide eyes, still watching the circles it draws in the air. 

“Turn around, idiot,” you try to laugh lightheartedly, but it comes out strained.

You’re still thinking about him inappropriately. You’re still intoxicated by the idea of the sounds you can pull from him with the right moves, the right kisses. But you can’t, you know you can’t. 

You know he doesn’t think of you in that way. This feeling, unfortunately, is not mutual. 

He’s clumsy in the way he turns, even covering his eyes with his wide palm despite it being unnecessary. You notice the way he almost raises his left hand before he hesitates and chooses the right one instead. 

And now you’re convinced you have an answer to one of your burning questions. He uses his left hand, and instead of putting out some of the damaging flames within your mind, it fans them. You’ll definitely be nothing but a charred mess by the end of this night. 

You try not to take long, quickly yanking off your jeans and tossing them beside you before you work the sweats on quickly. Eddie has them a few sizes too big for himself, and it works out in your favor. 

You hate to admit it, but he was right – they’re comfier than your jeans by far. 

“Okay, you can look again,” you mumble as you bend down to grab your discarded jeans, working on turning them back outside right and folding them neatly. 

The turn to face you once more is even clumsier than his turn away from you, his hand dropping and slapping his thigh unceremoniously as he takes you in, “They… You… They, uh, fit. Good.” 

What was once cute tension and easily dismissed uneasiness is becoming too much. He’s still nervous, you’re still burning, and the room is too stifling when filled with both awkward emotions and swirling wisps of smoke that are thickening. 

So you do something about it. You choose to be the brave one and say something, “You’re being awkward.” 

He immediately scoffs, still stiff in his actions, “Excuse me?”

“You’re. Being. Awkward,” you enunciate each word with heavy emphasis, keeping up a faux mask of indifference as you turn for the bed, setting your jeans down on the floor by the nightstand before you climb back into the side you’d previously occupied. 

“I’m being awkward?” he’s following, taking the path from the end of the bed as he already has several times, leaving the wall of pillows intact, “You’re being awkward.” 

“That is such a childish response,” you tease him as you see him begin to warm up once again. The bathroom incident is forgotten, stomachs unclenched and jaws slacking as the two of you rearrange beneath the comforter. Both of you are careful not to disturb the pillows that weigh down the center of it. You convince yourself for a second his returning warmth comes from being closer to you, from being close enough to feel the heat of your flames. Or perhaps he has a forest fire of his own transcending his own neurons, and maybe the feeling is more mutual than you’d believed. 

If you never mention it out loud, he can never deny it, and you can continue to live in this newfound delusion and comforting fantasy.

You both still lie on your backs, mirroring each other with hands folded politely atop your stomachs and eyes glued to the popcorn pattern of his ceiling. It’s quiet. It’s nice. The only thing you can hear is his crashing waves and your crackling frames. You’re wading with your head above water still, not quite fully submerging yet, terrified that once you take the final plunge into him, the flames will be drowned out. Once he drags you under, he’ll settle the heat and the fever that has begun to haunt you, and you don’t know if what will be left in its place will be better or worse. You don’t know if you’re equipped to handle that unknown yet. 

“You remember how you asked about my motorcycle earlier?” 

His soft tone cuts through the white noise of it all. Every wave, every flame, every metaphor falls quiet for him. It’s suddenly just you, and just him. 

“Yeah?” you roll your head to the side, daring to look at him. He’s already staring at you. 

In the dark, you can make out a ghost of a smile as he says, “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I like to take it out for drives.” 

“Oh?” You’re tempted to twist your body to fully face him, to prop yourself up on your elbow and give him your undivided attention. You don’t. 

“Yeah. I guess it’s why I prefer it over a normal car, or even a van like I had in high school,” his eyes are clouding over with thoughtfulness, with nostalgia. You can picture it fairly clearly; he seems like the type that would drive around an ominous van just to scare a town shitless. “It’s a pain in the ass because now I can’t lug around my own equipment for gigs, but there’s this parking garage that the bike can fit through the closed gates of-”

“Hold on, I’m sorry – gigs?” you take an extra second to process it, but you’re sure he just insinuated he’s in a band. 

He’s giddy, those eyes lighting up in the darkness. You can see the dimples, you can see constellations exposing themself amongst his pupils, “Oh, yeah. I’m… I’m in a band.” 

“How did I never know this?” 

You both know the answer. Because before tonight, there was a clear division between you and Eddie for your friends. Before tonight, you two had never really gotten to know each other, save for the first night. You don’t know if your supposed enemy is in a band. 

He doesn’t say that, though. And neither do you. Instead, he just whispers, “I don’t know.” 

You can’t let the obvious go unsaid. You’d defeated the awkwardness, and you could handle your own brain being on fire from his match strikes, but this? 

You couldn’t handle the heaviness of the past year in the room with you two. 

“I’m sorry, too, by the way,” you should look away, look to the ceiling as he had when he said those words to you, but you don’t. You finally do as you wanted; you turn onto your side, fully facing him, bringing your hands to be folding between the pillow and your cheek, “I’m sorry for… everything.” 

Everything. You wonder if it punches a hole in his chest, too. You wonder if you move like an ocean in his eyes, if your waves are beckoning him within those four syllables. 

Now that the constellations in his eyes have been exposed, they refuse to vanish from your sight. He mimics your position, his hand tucked beneath his pillow. 

When he doesn’t say anything, you have to fill the silence, just as you always do, “It doesn’t mean we have to be, like, friends or anything. I just… We were both jerks in the past. And you said sorry first, but- I’m not just saying it because you said it! I swear. You just deserve to hear that I’m sorry too. I regret it all, too.” 

He nods subtly, licking his lips, “I mean, I don’t regret it all.” 

Oh God, is he about to fuck it all up again?

“What do you mean?” your voice is impossibly small, a phantom of a whisper, clutched in fear and anticipation. 

Please don’t fuck it all up again. I don’t think I can handle losing you twice. 

“I mean… I… It was fun sometimes, wasn’t it?” he looks nervous now, blinking rapidly as if he’s fighting looking away from you, “You’re the only person who’s ever really given me a taste of my own medicine. Everyone else teases me, yeah, maybe banters from time to time, but you? I like the ‘no-bullshit’ policy you apply to me. Keeps me in line.” 

A sigh of relief. A weight off both your shoulders, a heaviness that vacates the room. 

“Fun?” your tone is confident, teasing even, once more, “What about me throwing a glass at your head was fun?” 

“I said sometimes, not all the time,” he laughs, as if the memory of one of the worst nights between the two of you was just a fond tale between friends. Maybe that’s what you two were becoming – friends. 

A brain on fire. Two lungs twisted in vines rejuvenating. He’s beginning to consume all of you, effortlessly, and you question if that’s what friendship is. 

His laughter dies down, and you sigh, breathing despite the greenery and the smoke, “I get what you mean. There was a month there that just sort of felt like it was our thing. Just banter, or whatever.” 

“Is it not our thing, still?” he raises an eyebrow, “I mean, clearly, we still argue. I think the day you don’t argue with me will be the day pigs fuckin’ fly, or whatever they say.” 

“Whatever you say,” you banter back with ease, putting on a face of complete agreement. “Do you need me to check the news for you? See if little Porky grew wings?” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

You’re both cackling as he reaches down to the wall of pillows, grabbing one at random, leaving a gap as he flings it softly in your direction. It hits your chest and you fall dramatically onto your back, wrapping your arms around the fluff of it while still giggling. 

The giggles linger as you pinch the corner of the pillow between your fingertips, rubbing as you glance down at the gap now in the wall. 

You can see his torso now. The sliver of skin that is his exposed hips, the waistband of his boxers. 

“You know, I’ve never met a guy with this many pillows,” you murmur, trying to steer your mind of his hips, his boxers, what’s beneath his boxers-

“I used to only have two. Then one time I brought a girl home, and she left because I only had two pillows.” 

You can’t help but let out a snort of your own this time, “What? A one night stand left you high and dry because you didn’t have enough pillows for her fancy?” 

“Yep. That’s exactly what happened,” he’s chuckling along with you at the ridiculousness of it all, “The next day I went to the store and bought all of these out of spite. Never saw the girl again, though. I like to think she’d be impressed.” 

“Oh,” you’re still laughing, with your entire chest as you subconsciously crush the pillow tighter to your body, “So impressed. You know you’re going to have to tell me all about it now, right? You can’t leave me hanging like that.” 

“I’ll tell you another time,” 

Another time. It almost goes over your head – the first time either of you have even entertained the thought of hanging out after the twenty four hours have ended. You don’t show him that you notice, and just continue on laughing. 

Somewhere amongst your delight, your head falls to the side and catches Eddie in the act. 

An act of total, utter softness. His features are melted butter as he stares down at you, seemingly entranced by your laughter and joy in his tale of a failed one night stand. It’s not the kind of look produced from forest fires, or turbulent oceans, or a garden of vines. It’s the kind of look that is a natural disaster all on its own. It’s devastating – something in the two of you immediately breaks, quietly, desperately. There’s no repairing the damage being done; there’s no want for reparations. 

The first bloom after a long winter finally sprouts on your vines. It’s bright and brilliant red – like scarlet blood, like hot and flickering flames. It’s watered by salt water, slow and warm and enticing. 

You start to believe that even if you plunge beneath his waves, the fire Eddie has lit within you will always remain. 

“We should go to sleep,” you whisper, eyes never leaving his. Trying to find the deep blue hidden within honey brown, to find seafoam green amidst wide, black pupils. 

“We should,” he agrees. 

“Goodnight, Eddie.” 

“Goodnight,” he pauses, and then he adds your name, as if he’s testing the taste on his tongue, as if he’s saying it for the first time.

It feels like he’s saying it for the first time. 

You look back up at the ceiling but still feel his eyes on you. A couple minutes pass, and neither of your eyes close. Just because you should go to sleep doesn’t mean you will. 

“You’re not even trying to sleep, are you?” 

You only hum in response, still clutching that pillow, still counting cracks in the ceiling. 

“Alright, fuck it.” 

Your eyes break to him as he suddenly is leaping off the bed, void of grace as he finally settles on his feet and races to his dresser. 

“Um, Eddie?” 

He doesn’t look up as he digs into a drawer, pulling out a long sleeved shirt, “Yes, sweetheart?” 

Sweetheart. A nickname that once filled you with venom now makes your insides twist in the agony of want. You want him to say it again. 

“What are you doing?” 

The long sleeved shirt flies your way, and he’s walking to grab a set of keys off the top of his dresser, “Getting you something warmer to wear.” 

“And… why…” you’re still lost, looking down at the shirt in confusion. It’s black and fairly thick, the neck hole stretched and a haunting white font sketching out the words Corroded Coffin, “Why do I need something warmer to wear? Your apartment isn’t that cold.” 

“Because it’s barely March, and it’s cold outside still,” he pauses and grins childishly, practically beaming at you as you continue to wearily eye the article of clothing. Once he realizes you’re still not getting it, he sighs dramatically and makes his way to your side of the bed, holding a hand out to you, “Neither of us can sleep. Let’s go for a drive.” 

His palm stares you in the face, an offer of something that should be considered a plain bad idea. There’s a million and one reasons to not go for a drive. And so you tell him exactly that, ready to list them off in rapid fire.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Perfect. Means no one else is on the street.” 

“We have to send a photo to the group soon.” 

“The place is five minutes away. We can take a photo when we get there.”

“Place? Oh my God, are you actually going to murder me? You’re taking me to a secondary location and that is in stranger danger 101-” 

Eddie stresses each syllable of your name as he says it, waving his hand that’s still stuck out for you to grab, “C’mon. There’s always a hundred reasons to not do something. Just… live a little. I promise it’s better than laying in my gross ass bed.” 

You narrow his eyes and challenge him, remembering his words about the way you two still argue. He was right – there may never come a day you don’t feel compelled to go toe to toe with him, whether it’s of ill-intent or not, “Why is your bed gross? Jesus Christ, Eddie-”

He moves suddenly. One moment, he’s just standing there, charming as ever with a daring palm that calls to you like his ocean. The next, he’s impossibly close, placing a hand on either side of you as he leans in dangerously close. 

“Change your shirt and meet me in the kitchen in the next five minutes, or I’ll come back in here and take your shirt off myself.” 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

If he had said those words to you nine hours ago, you would have castrated him. But the low tone of his voice, the brush of his breath over your cheeks, against your ears – you’re putty in his hands now as you nod dumbly. 

When he leans back, he even looks shocked in his actions and words. But then he catches that look on your face – the blank stare and wide eyes, the rapid rise and fall of your chest – and a shimmer of cockiness returns.

“Five minutes,” he reminds you, tilting his head as he takes slow steps back and exits the room. 

It takes you less than one. 

The moment the shirt is on you, you’re encased with a new Eddie smell. The scents of the bed, of the apartment, of him still cling to the fabric, but it now mixes with something of fresh linen, lemon and clean laundry. 

As promised, he’s in the kitchen, leather jacket on as he grabs his phone off a charger plugged in at the end of the breakfast bar lined with stools. 

“You charge your phone outside of your room?” you ask as you carefully pad in, immediately heading to grab your shoes and slip them on. He’s already got his boots on, laced tightly. They should look comical against the grey sweatpants, but he’s making the entire look work. 

“Saw some science magazine say it would help me sleep better,” he mutters as he flips the phone open, probably checking for missed calls or texts. 

“That really only applies to smartphones. When did you even plug it in?” 

You’re bursting with questions, nervous and eager to avoid what’s to come. 

Being on Eddie’s motorcycle. With Eddie. Probably pressed up against Eddie’s back. Probably wrapping your arms around Eddie’s waist. 

“When I came to wake you up on the couch,” he nods towards where you’re sitting, snapping the phone shut and shoving it into his pocket, “You ready?” 

You wonder for a moment how he’d respond to you snapping back something bratty. How far would you have to push him for him to threaten you like he did in the bedroom again? 

You’re not quite recovered enough from the first time, so you don’t press your luck, nodding in response to him. 

—

Apparently, by the time you two reach his motorcycle parked on the street, you have recovered enough to press your luck. 

He’d grabbed a helmet on the way out the door, and you’d just assumed it was for him. It made sense, considering the one time you’d seen him ride, he’d worn it. 

But then, he was suddenly thrusting it in your hand. And the argument ensued. 

“I’m not wearing this,” you try to shove it back into his hands, “You’re driving, you wear it.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve taken a dozen hits to the head in my lifetime. I can handle being banged up if something happens, but I’m not risking it with you. Put it the fuck on.” 

You almost spit for him to not call you sweetheart, but it soothes something in you. Something made of your flames, something drowning in his ocean. A conundrum, whatever it is, because he’s just irritating you now. 

“You could not survive a motorcycle crash without a helmet,” you snap. 

“And neither could you.” 

“Why don’t you have two helmets then?” you nearly toss the damn thing to the ground and declare that neither of you will wear a helmet. 

He finally breaks and takes the helmet back roughly, “Because I don’t normally have a passenger,” he’s rotating the bulky, black shell in his hand, the glass visor for the eyes shining under the street lamps, “Consider yourself lucky. Most aren’t tall enough for this ride.” 

You’re about to make an immature sex joke when he takes you off guard, smoothly bringing the helmet up over your head, not even giving you a chance to protest or fight him. 

“I hate you.” 

The words come out muffled to him, crystal clear to you in the helmet. But he still grins, and you can see it through the tinted glass. 

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to miss another appearance of those fucking dimples for the rest of your days. 

“Good. Glad to hear nothing’s changed,” he playfully jokes, rounding the motorcycle before he swings a leg over the seat and straddles it. You try not to watch and check your phone instead.

You’re getting kind of sick of imagining Eddie Munson naked. Something you’d never thought you’d have to think about. 

12:35 AM. Your phone clearly displays the time, just as a text comes in from Argyle. 

ARGYLE 😎: picture time, my dudes! say cheese (and send it our way) 📸

“Argyle just texted the chat, asking very politely for the photo,” you announce to Eddie, already holding your phone out so he could read the screen.

He’s kicked up the stand on the bike, balancing it with both feet on the ground, the entire thing leaning with him when he gets closer to read the text before simply saying, “Okay.” 

“Okay? We have to take a photo-” 

He snatches the phone from you, a terrible habit you needed to start scolding him for. “Well? Don’t just stand there, sweetheart. Get on the bike and smile pretty for the camera.” 

It’s impressive how quickly the man who still has a flip phone has learned to navigate your smartphone. He’s already got the camera open, flipped to be front-facing as he waits for you to climb on behind him. But you haven’t moved.

He turns and looks at you over his shoulder, “Something wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you squeak from beneath the helmet. 

Just the thought of being pressed up against you after I’ve suddenly started fantasizing about you without shame is madly overwhelming. And if I have to wrap my arms around your waist, I might burst into flames outwardly. 

“Okay,” he draws out, twisting further to watch you, “Need help, then?”

You don’t honor him with an answer, instead roughly grabbing his shoulders as you swing your own leg over the bike. You try to sit with distance between the two of you, but the curve of the seat won’t allow it, sliding you down until your hips are flush against Eddie. 

It’s at this moment it dawns on you that if you are fantasizing about him, if you are indulging in the memory of the bathroom incident, he’ll feel it. You can hide or brush off a blush, you can avert gazes, you can pine just about every way physically without him knowing – you can’t stop him from feeling the heat between your legs as it’s digging into his lower back. 

You swallow hard, and you pray that Eddie isn’t in a teasing mood. 

“Good?” he asks when you don’t remove your hands from his shoulders. 

Even through the fucking helmet you smell his cologne. If you had your phone, you’d be googling images of grandmas like a teenage boy, warding off your unsavory thoughts about the man in front of you. 

“Good.” 

You have to tilt to the side before you both come into view of the camera. Eddie realizes at the last moment that they can’t see it’s you, and he doesn’t even react as he casually reaches up to flip the window visor up, exposing your wide eyes and rosy cheeks. The photo is taken, your blush evident and his smirk not even close to being hidden. 

He doesn’t even consult you before he sends it and passes your phone back, taking to tying back his hair as you fumble to secure the device in your pocket. 

You still haven’t dared to wrap your arms around him as you know is proper protocol as a motorcycle passenger. Instead, one hand is still shoved in your pocket, and the other continues to rest on his shoulders.

“Alright,” he says, producing his eyes and putting them in the engine, not yet turning it, “Just put your feet up here,” he takes a hand to each of your calves and lifts, situating your feet on the small pedals designated for a passenger. Your skin burns through the layer of sweats – the flames aren’t just in your head. They’re everywhere now, licking and nipping and leaving your breathless. “And then hold onto me.”

You return your hand to his other shoulder, giving a squeeze on each for emphasis to say you’re ready. He makes no move to start the bike. 

“What?” you complain, “I’m holding onto you!” 

“If we hit a bump, you’ll go flying.” 

When you don’t comply, he’s rolling his shoulders, shrugging off your touch before both hands fly back behind his back and capture your hands on their fall to your lap. His fingers are tight, warm, secure around your wrists as he pulls your arms to wrap around him in the exact way you’ve been avoiding. 

It pulls you impossibly close to him. If it weren’t for the helmet, your cheek and nose would be painfully smashed into his shoulder. The heat of him radiates off his back, seeping through the sweatshirt he’d given you. 

“There. Now is that really so bad?” His tone is cocky and confident, getting under your skin in a new tactic neither of you had ever broached. 

Flirting. He’s flirting. He can feel the tremble in your palms, and he has the nerve to fucking flirt with you. 

“Awful,” you quip, having to focus an insane amount to not allow your voice to shake, “I might vomit, it’s so bad.” 

“Aw,” he tuts mockingly, hands finally letting go of your arms, clearly pleased when they stay in place as he turns his face to look you in your eyes, “Just aim for the street and not me, okay?” 

Fire and flames dance in his eyes, easily reflected from the flush of your cheeks and the falsification of your glare. He’s going to be the death of you. 

“I’ll try,” your voice does shake this time. You’re not as brave when he’s making eye contact. 

The two of you are playing a dangerous game now. The venom of hatred has leaked out of your words, and what’s replacing it has the capability of breaking both of you far easier. This is no longer a game of who can make the other bleed – it’s no longer a game of you versus him. It’s a game of the two of you versus fate. The world’s worst game of chicken to date. 

A natural disaster. A forest fire that eviscerates all common sense. A rowdy ocean that drowns every version of every possibility ever known. Nature taking back what was once hers, an abandoned haunt of a chest that is now back in full bloom against better judgment. 

You, him, and fate. You always knew he would be your inevitable downfall. You’d always just assumed it would be a lot more screaming, a lot more fighting, and a lot less fantasizing what his lips would feel like against yours. 

He reaches out, and you think for a second, his knuckle will brush your cheek and he’ll whisper that it’s okay for you to just give in, to let Fate have her way. 

He doesn’t. He flips down the visor over your eyes, he twists the keys in the ignition, and he calls out loudly over the roar of the engine, “Hold tight, baby!” 

Your arms tighten around his waist and you hope the flames that encase you char him all the same. 

—

DINGUS: what did i say? 

BIRDIE: it’s not bad.

BIRDIE: i promise.

BIRDIE: it’s just not great either. 

DINGUS: robin. tell me what i said before i come across the hall to your room and break every the smiths record you own. 

BIRDIE: jesus okay! hop off the violent train. 

BIRDIE: i’m going to call you and explain because… context. just trust me and answer, okay? 

DINGUS: jesus christ. okay.

—

The moment the girls have all left for the bathroom, each guy exchanges a look. Argyle nudges Jonthan, who then kicks Steve under the table, who takes his turn in facing his entire body in Eddie’s direction before tapping the boy on his shoulder.

He looks up immediately, only to be caught in the spotlight of his friends, “Uh… yeah? What’s up?”

“You like her,” Steve deadpans. 

“You like her, my dude,” Argyle sing-songs from across the table, “I’m about to start planning a bitching wedding, I swear.”

Eddie freezes up, face scrunching up before he shakes his head violently, “What? No, I just met her-”

“Subtlety isn’t your specialty, Munson,” Jonathan adds in his two cents, “Lost puppy dog eyes are, though. Which you’ve been making at her all night.”

“I have not-”

“You guys think they’re more of a summer wedding couple, or fall? No, no, actually, scratch that – they’re clearly a winter wedding couple, man,” Argyle is teasing, but the warmth of his personality is genuine as he wiggles his brows at Eddie.

A smile finally cracks on the boy’s face. 

Fine, maybe he did like her. Maybe he had been plotting subtle ways to get her number before the night ended. Maybe he had already been trying to silently catch Robin’s eyes to get her blessing without words. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve suddenly interrupts, “Tone down the teasing, alright, fellas?” 

Eddie curiously turns his head to him, hiding a smirk behind the lip of his glass, “Why? You’ve already got eyes on her, Harrington?” 

It was a joke. A stupid, stupid joke. A joke that never should have been made, because Steve was drunk and wasn’t in the business of using a filter once he was this many shots deep. 

Eddie knows deep down he didn’t mean harm by the words. He knows that they were the words of a drunk man. But don’t all drunk thoughts have truth to them? 

“What? Nah, man. Not anymore, at least. She was never interested. And I just don’t want us getting ahead of ourselves, because if she wouldn’t go for me, why would she go for you? I think we just-”

Eddie stops listening. Steve continues a drunken rant, and if Eddie had been listening closer, he’d hear about Steve’s grand plan to better feel out how she felt about him. He’d hear about how Steve would get Robin involved, maybe Nancy, how they could talk to her. 

He’d hear that Steve meant more than those awful words that immediately take up residency in Eddie’s mind. But the damage is done. And just like that, a fate between Eddie and this new girl has been decided. There will be no asking for her number. There will be no giddy late night phone calls or terrible nerves when planning a first date. There won’t be anything – Fate clicks with reluctance as Eddie Munson begrudgingly closes the gates to his heart once more. 

“If she wouldn’t go for me, why would she go for you?” 

Steve was right. Eddie shouldn’t have gotten ahead of himself. 

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[vivwritesfics]

Fake It Till You Make It

Chapter Eight - What About The Party Princess?

The Princess of Monaco is wild and out of control. She needs to stop being in the tabloids for all the wrong reasons. Charles Leclerc has had a spot of bad press since his very public break up. He needs some good PR. What better way to fix their problems than to pair them up?

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The final chapter has arrived!! I can't believe we turned this from a long oneshot into a whole ass series

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There was a knock at her door.

The Princess of Monaco stood from her sofa (which, like the rest of her apartment, had been tidy two days ago. But she'd fallen apart all over again after that) and strode towards it. She didn't check through the peep hole as she pulled open the door.

Immediately she shut it in his face.

He knocked again. "Come on, Princess! Open up!"

But she returned to her sofa and turned up the volume on her television. Tucking her legs beneath her, she ignored it as he continued to knock.

But Charles wouldn't stop. "What the fuck have I done?" He shouted as his fist kept pounding away.

Her building had security. She could have called the security guard to have him taken from the building, but she didn't. He could knock all he wanted, but she wasn't going to answer

It hadn't even been a fight, had it? You can't have a lovers quarrel when you're not lovers.

Had they really been dating, they probably would have made up. She would have let Charles into her apartment had he would have given her flowers. Still, she would have pouted at him as he took her into his arms, apologising as he kissed all over her face.

But they weren't really dating.

As far as Charles was aware, she had disappeared, hidden herself away from him. There were no new news articles on her or what she was doing. She'd dropped off the face of the earth.

The news, of course, was based on the king. Staff gave updates when they could, but there wasn't a lot that they could say. He was dying, that much was clear, and nothing could fix it.

The Princess of Monaco hadn't visited her father yet. She was aware of his health condition, but she couldn't bring herself to see him in that condition. No matter what Henri tried to get her to come to the palace, she wouldn't, couldn't.

She'd stopped answering her phone. Between Henri and Charles, it was constantly going off. So, she switched it off, placed it in the drawers beside her bed, and forgot about it.

And then the black car came to pick it up. She knew the black car with the royal crest on it, had been picked up several times in it from strangers houses. When it came, she had no choice but to climb into the back, sitting silently as they drover her to the place she had grown up.

Henri greeted her at the door. "Took you long enough," he said with something like a kind smile.

One she didn't return. The fact that she was there, that somebody had come to get her from her apartment, it had to mean something. Had to mean he was at the end of his life.

"How is he?" She asked, but she knew the answer already.

Henri had his hand on her shoulder as he guided her towards their fathers room. "Before we go in there, I need you to ready yourself," he said. "It's not a pretty sight, but he wanted to see you before he died."

She swallowed and nodded her head. She was ready.

He was small and frail, a shell of the man he once was. Seeing him hooked up to so many machines, she wasn't sure if she could do this. Before he could open his eyes, she turned on her heel to walk out of the room.

"There you are," her father said through a cough.

Sucking in a breath she turned back towards him and took a seat in the chair next to his bed. "Hey, dad," she said.

He reached for her hand and she took his. "Your brother tells me you're getting married," he said and turned away to cough into his other hand. "I'm glad. You've always worried me and I'm glad you're finally settling down with that driver."

Her face fell. Charles. He was talking about Charles. Suddenly she felt sick to her stomach. But she sucked in a breath. If this was what her father needed to her before he died, she would tell him.

"Yeah, dad," she said, voice squeaking a little. "Yeah, I'm marrying him."

A sad smile passed over her fathers face. "Your brother is going to make a wonderful king," he said, eyes shutting. "I never wanted that burden for you, but Henri can handle it. He was born for this."

She squeezed his hand, but he didn't squeeze back. "What was I born for, papa?"

His hand was shaking as he raised it to her cheek. "To be my perfect little girl."

She couldn't stop herself from crying as she stood from the chair and ran out of the room. As soon as she was out in the hall, Henri had a hold of her, pulling her into his chest. "Why did you tell him about Charles?" She sobbed against his shoulder.

Henri shushed her, his fingers moving through her hair. "He needed to hear it," he said softly as he pulled her towards his office.

"No," she said as she got to the doors. "No, Henri, I don't want one of your fucking meetings," she cried and went to storm away.

Henri let her go.

She hadn't expected to go to her own room. But there she sat, on her bed, stuffed toys on the end of it facing her.

Why did her dad have to mention Charles? She had loved him. Even if she was bad at showing it, she had fallen for him. And now he wasn't even in her life. She hadn't thought about marrying him. No, it had been too early for that. They weren't even together, so how was she supposed to marry him?

Maybe that was why she searching up his name.

The Monaco Press was the first thing to show up on her phone. She should have known better than to click on anything written by The Monaco Press but the headline caught her attention.

What About The Party Princess?

Formula One driver Charles Leclerc hasn't exactly been shy about showing off his relationship with the party princess. Expensive dinners where they book out entire restaurants, taking her across the world and back with him, having her attend races.

It seemed as though the world was happy for them. Princess Y/N was finally thriving.

At least, according to what the couple let us see.

It had been a while since anybody saw Monaco's couple out and about together. This didn't seem like too big of a deal. They were busy people with their own lives still. We at The Monaco Press didn't think much of it.

Which is why we were all shock and a little heartbroken to see Charles Leclerc out to dinner with...

There was a knock at the door, pulling her attention away from her old laptop. Henri leaned against the door frame, eyes red with unshed tears. "Uh, the doctor said it should only be a matter of days," he said and wiped at his eyes. "I think you should stay here until he... goes."

"Hen-"

"Please," he begging, joining her on the bed. "For me."

Those few days at the palace were the worst of her life. Just waiting for death to come for her father. And it did. Three days after she'd told him she was marrying Charles Leclerc, he passed away.

His family had been gathered by his bedside. His wife was crying, his son crying with her. But not his daughter. She stared down at him as he took his final breath, hands shoved into her pockets.

A bitter and twisted feeling filled her. She'd lied to him. The last thing she'd said to her father was a lie, and she'd never get a chance to fix it. He'd been so proud when he thought she was going to marry Charles, but it hadn't been real. Pride born of a lie isn't really pride at all.

She went back to her apartment that night and cried. How could she be in the palace when her fathers body was there, when the staff was rushing around to make a statement and funeral arrangements?

She cried so hard that she threw up.

And, when she was finished, she pulled her phone out of the drawer and looked at her messages.

Only the ones from Charles, she couldn't looking at what Henri had sent to her before their father died.

Charles had sent her so many messages, given her so many chances. And she'd ignored all of them. But that final message. Oh, she was going to be sick all over again.

I can't do this when I love you, princess

All of this over something so fucking stupid. If she'd just let him in that night, she'd have him here now, comforting her as she cried. She'd be able to kiss him when she wanted, wouldn't have to read articles about him on dates with other girls.

Desperately she typed, sending several messages all at once, begging him for something. Forgiveness. Another chance. Something.

All of them were left undelivered.

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[la-petite-lapin]

Double the Love | Part Two

Double the Love masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x female civilian!OC Word Count: 2.9k Series warnings (may change between chapters): 18+, Minors DNI, angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of poor mental health, injury description, eventual explicit sexual content, polyamory, M/M/F, FMC is bad at feelings

They finally meet

One year later...

The message comes out of the blue. The first time I've heard from John Price in a whole month, and it's a fucking text message.

I'm watching TV, curled up in a ball on the sofa next to my best friend and flatmate Winslow "Winnie" Sloane, when my phone pings. I think about ignoring it until I catch a glimpse of his name. It's an unspoken rule between the two of us - we never knowingly ignore one another. Obviously, he can't reply to my messages when he's on ops, but that's different - that's not wilful.

I pick it up without hesitation and take a look.

JOHN PRICE: Tali, I need a favour. It's urgent.

My heart drops.

TALIA KELLER: What's happened? JOHN PRICE: Call me. I'll explain.

So, I do. I tap Winnie on the shoulder and rise up to my feet, shuffling off to my bedroom so I don't disturb her episode of Slow Horses. When I'm safely shut behind my bedroom door, I tap on the call button, dreading what's awaiting me on the other end of the line.

"John?" my voice is full of nerves as the call connects, echoing slightly around the room.

"God am I glad to hear your voice, Tali." He sounds haggard, his own voice tired and hollow. It's not hard to tell that he's fresh off an op. I can already imagine how drained he looks; can picture the dark circles shading his eyes and his scruffy too-long beard.

Sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly brave, I try to talk him into leaving the service. I think about Alex and his death, and I hate that John still knowingly puts himself in harm's way day and night. He's the only serving soldier I know now - I never met any of the other members of their unit - and I desperately wish that he'll retire soon.

"How are you?" he follows up, voice puncturing through my thoughts.

"I'm okay. At home with Winnie. How's Marcella?"

A soft sigh leaves him at the mention of his long-suffering wife. I wonder if he's even had a chance to see her yet. "Last we spoke, she was perfectly fine. Misses you though. You need to come over for dinner soon."

An easy laugh leaves me. Winnie and John aren't the only ones who've been supporting me since Alex died. John's wife Marcie has been there every step of the way too, helping me through rough patches whenever John is away on deployments. And Winnie's never been anything but kind and understanding - it's not in her nature to be anything but.

"Soon," I mumble in agreement. There's a sound on the other end of the line in the background, a murmured snippet of conversation and a drawn-out groan followed by a soft shut up. "Not alone?"

"Got some company," John admits. "Speaking of... does Winslow still have that big trip coming up?"

My palms slick with sweat. Yes. Yes, she does.

Ever since her big promotion six months ago, Winnie's job now involves a lot more travelling than it used to. And - because of that - in three days' time, she'll be in France, starting a month-long assignment helping a struggling marketing firm in Paris.

And I'll be alone.

It doesn't bother me as much as it used to, but I've always had this thing about being alone. It's part of the reason why I live with Winnie; why I've been seeing a therapist since I was sixteen; why I struggle to have normalcy. My current therapist thinks that it's a form of abandonment issues from being orphaned at a young age, which has led to my inability to maintain stable relationships. The therapist before that thought it was something completely different; that I seek to form attachments but wilfully don't, self-sabotaging and creating my own permanent sense of loneliness. But, my point is, I don't react anywhere near as badly to it as I did when I was a kid.

I still remember when I was fifteen and Alex left for his first deployment. I was still living with our maternal grandmother at the time, and I completely shut down. I holed up in my room for almost a whole month, refusing to speak and barely eating or sleeping. I could hardly function for worrying about him...

"Tali?"

I snap out of it. "Sorry. Yes."

"Could you... could I possibly bring some of my guys to your apartment? Just while Winslow is away. Our safehouse in the area has been taken out of action and we need somewhere to lay low for a little while."

My guys. The unit.

"What about your place?" My brow furrows. Surely Marcella wouldn't mind a few guests. She's calm and motherly and takes great pride in hosting. I'm sure she'd be in the element with them.

John clears his throat awkwardly. "Not an option. They don't know."

Ah. The brave, almighty Captain John Price still hasn't told his team that he's married. Typical.

I roll my eyes. "Okay. I hope you know that we're coming back to that later." A beat of silence passes. "How many people are we talking, John? Because it's a two-bedroom flat in London. It's spacious but it's hardly the Tardis."

He snorts out a dry laugh. "Only two. One of the lads is local so he's got family around here he can stay with. And there's some stuff I've got to get done, so I'll be hopping from base to base."

"Where are they going to sleep? Are they going to mind sharing a bed? Because the sofa is comfortable, but I know how you army guys are built..."

There's an awkward silence on Price's end as I hear him shifting around. It takes me a second to realise that he's covering his mouth against his phone's microphone. "Yeah... that's, um- that won't be an issue for them."

Oh.

Oh.

"Okay. Cool. I'll take them."

I wince. Why the fuck did I say cool? Of all the ways that I could respond and I choose that. Way to go, Tali.

"Are you sure that you're okay with this, Tali?" Price asks, his voice soft and encouraging. "If you aren’t, we can find something else-"

"Price, I'll take them in. Winnie leaves on Tuesday morning, so just have them swing by around then, okay?"

Favour asked and questions answered, we say our goodbyes and hang up. It takes me a second to gather my thoughts before padding back into the living room. The moment I step through the hallway, Winslow pauses the TV, angling her head up to look at me. A cloud of black curly hair frames her beautiful face, dark eyes wide and expectant. "Is John back home?"

I wince, getting ready to launch into an explanation. "Not quite."

Tuesday morning rolls around all too soon. By 9 a.m. I'm sitting cross-legged on the foot of Winnie's bed as she packs up her stuff. I can't help but feel a pang of anxiety strike deep in my chest.

"Are you sure that you're gonna be okay?" Winnie asks, almost like she can read my mind.

I meet her dark, knowing gaze and offer her a smile. "Winnie, I'll be fine. You don't need to worry about me. If I need anything, I can call Marcella."

She smiles, running a hand through her freshly braided hair. The pearls attached to some strands clink together softly. "Okay. Good. But you've got to call me once a week at least, okay?" Before I can reassure her that I will, she adds, "And you've got to text me every day."

"Winslow, I will. Stop stressing, please."

A moment of easy silence passes before the laughter starts. Both of us crack up, her eyes finding mine and holding my gaze.

Once we've both calmed down, I take a closer look at her cases. She's packing almost everything she owns. It's a sight that worries me, so I look away, deciding to look out of the window instead.

A loud, firm knock on the front door saves me just as Winnie is packing up her last suitcase. We exchange a look before I'm up on my feet, scrambling to answer it. I can't lie, I'm curious to meet John's friends. But I'm also sad. Because there's a strong possibility that they knew Alex too. That they were with him when he died.

When I open the door, there's two men standing in the hallway, just like John said there would be. The first has short brown hair styled into a mohawk, the sides cropped close to his scalp but the top and back left longer. He's broad-chested, muscular too; built like a grizzly bear. And, even though his complexion has a slightly pallid hue under the overhead lights, it's not hard to imagine that he's usually quite tan.

And then there's his friend. Standing next to the grizzly bear and at least half-a-foot taller than him, he has the expression of a man who wants to break me apart with his bare hands just to see what's inside. I fight to meet his intense gaze, taking catalogue of the features visible under the dark hood of his black sweatshirt. His eyes are hazel - I think - skin tanned from what I'd assume are long hours spent out in the sun, and I can't quite make out his hair colour. He's equally if not more muscular than his friendlier-looking counterpart. My eyes trail down to his mouth, drawn to the scar bisecting his bottom lip. It doesn't draw away from his attractiveness though; just adds to the sense of rugged charm that I'm getting from him.

Not that it should matter. It doesn't. They're here because they need help; not because they want to be ogled by a complete stranger.

"Are you John's friends?" I ask stupidly, as if they could be anyone else.

The grizzly bear nods. "Aye. And you are?"

Scottish. Nice. I've always loved the accent, but his is even better. There's a humour there; something uniquely his. It makes me want to keep him talking just so I can hear it more.

"Tali." I step back so that they can come inside. They hesitate for a second before following me into the living room, the tall, silent one closing the door behind him with a soft click. "Also John's friend."

The grizzly bear plops straight down onto the couch, stretching out with no hesitation and making himself at home. His arms drape over the backrest, a lazy grin forming on his lips as he watches me take a seat on my armchair. The tall one gives him a reprimanding look, hovering beside the window behind him. His light eyes are always alert; darting around the room like something's going to jump out at any second.

"You army?" he asks, expression wary. His voice is all gravel with a Manchester accent.

I offer him a small smile. "Nope." I don't think anyone could mistake me for a soldier. I'm small - short and slender - and skittish at the best of times. "So... what should I call you?"

Hazel eyes narrow at me. "Ghost."

The grizzly bear rolls his eyes dramatically, offering me a wide, disarming grin. It's blatantly obvious that he's overcompensating for him. "Callsign is Soap, but a pretty lass like you can call me Johnny."

My heart flutters.

It takes a second to remember what John had said on the phone. Sharing a bed won't be an issue for them. The awkward, implying tone he'd said it in. In other words, neither of them are meant for me.

Ghost eases away from the window to stand just behind the sofa, drawing closer to Johnny. Johnny, on the other hand, moves so that he's leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees as he cocks his head at me. "A friend of Captain Price, are ye?"

I nod softly. "Yes."

"Funny that," Ghost barks, tilting his head to one side. "He's never mentioned you." Thinly veiled suspicion drifts off of him in waves, and it makes me feel endlessly uncomfortable. His harsh gaze melts through my skin and bones, boring deep into my soul.

I shift in my seat. "He never mentioned either of you to me, so I don't think that counts for much."

Johnny lets out a loud laugh. "I think I'm gonna like ye, Tali. Not many people talk back to 'im."

It's in that moment - as I'm silently praying for the floor to open up and swallow me whole - that Winnie steps out of her room, suitcases in tow. She walks into the living room, depositing them by the front door before coming over to introduce herself, a sceptical look on her face.

She levels Ghost with an icy glare, not looking away from him as she asks me, "Everything all okay here, Tali?"

"Yeah, it's alright Winnie." I gesture to each of John's friends in turn. "Winnie, this is Johnny." He raises his hand and waves, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "And that is Ghost." I point to looming, ominous figure behind him.

"Ghost?" she repeats slowly. I nod. "Okay, well I'm leaving now. Tali, I love you and I'll miss you. Remember to call me." She bends at the waist to hug me, wrapping me up in her warm, vanilla-scented embrace. As she straightens, she glares at each of the men in turn. "And you two - don't give her any shit. If I find out you've made her feel uncomfortable even once, not even John will be able to save you. Got it?"

Johnny stares up at my friend, mystified. His blue eyes are bright as he nods. "Don't worry. We won't be any trouble."

Winnie turns back to face me. "Right, I've got to go or I'll miss my ride to the airport. I'll be back before you even know I'm gone, okay?"

"I know," I say, my voice soft. "I love you. Be safe and text me when you land."

With a nod, Winnie presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head then gets her last few bits together. And then she leaves. Leaving me alone with two complete strangers. Yay.

"So," I grumble, struggling against the urge to shy away from their intense gazes in the safety of my room, "do you want to see where you'll be staying?"

Later that night, the three of us gather in the living room to watch TV.

The guys didn't have much to unpack. They travelled light so I'm going to have to go shopping sometime soon to buy them some essentials; more clothes and toiletries. Definitely food too. If dinner tonight was any indication, they eat a lot.

I'm curled up in my armchair again, watching something that Johnny chose on Netflix. Every once and a while, I glance across at them. Ghost is sitting upright, legs stretched out in front of him. His legs are so long that his feet are tucked under the coffee table. And then there's Johnny. He's laying on his side on the sofa, his head resting on Ghost's muscular thighs. Every now and then, Ghost's hand runs down the length of Johnny's side, stroking him in soothing, rhythmic motions.

Looking at them, I can't help but feel a sense of longing. Jealousy that they're together and obviously quite happy. That they're comfortable enough around one another for these subconscious displays of affection.

I'll never have that. It's something that I've come to accept. I'm twenty-five now and I've never had a serious relationship. I don't even think I want one. For a period of time in my late teens, I thought that I might be aro-ace, but over time I've gathered that I do feel romantic and sexual attraction. It's just different.

The sad truth is that I don't trust anyone enough to believe that they'd stay with me. Love me. Make me feel safe enough for displays of casual affection. There would always be that looming sense of dread that they'd leave me sooner or later.

In my head, I've justified it. If I don't get into relationships, no one can leave me. Alex's death all but solidified that for me.

The rom-com Johnny picked out gets to a comedic scene - a naked beach fight - and he starts to chuckle. I join him and I swear even Ghost lets out a little snort. We're all laughing until...

"Fuck. Johnny, you're bleeding."

My heart crawls up into my throat. My eyes snap across to them, blatantly looking now. The white t-shirt Johnny is wearing is plastered to his side, a red patch seeping through the fabric, spreading across his ribs.

He sits upright, holding it with one large hand. "Ah fuck. Didn't get any on the sofa, did ah'?"

"Fuck the sofa," I splutter out in a panic. "Are you okay? Why are you bleeding? Should I call an ambulance?"

Johnny looks back at me with a quizzical expression while Ghost just sighs, standing up. He walks towards the bedrooms at an unhurried pace, stopping along the way to press a chaste kiss to Johnny's forehead, placing a loving hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, darling, I'll get the bag." Hazel eyes swing towards me, where I'm still panicking in my armchair. "His dressing just needs changing, and I'll check his stitches. He's fine, love."

I ease back into my seat, heat rushing to my cheeks. "Oh."

Ghost leaves the room, heading into my bedroom to get the aforementioned bag. I've decided to give them my room for the duration of their stay because it has an en-suite. It eliminates the risk of me accidentally stumbling in on them in the shared bathroom that doesn't have a working lock. Overall, it's safer for everyone that I'm staying in Winnie's room.

Feeling more than a little foolish for my outburst, I offer Johnny a weak smile. "I'm going to go to bed now. Goodnight, Johnny."

"Ye sure?" he asks, blue eyes tinted with a hint of... something. Maybe disappointment? I don't know. "The movie isn't over yet. You seemed like ye were enjoying it." His brow furrows. "We could watch something else."

"I'm sure. It's fine; I'm just tired. We can watch another movie tomorrow night if you want."

His eyes light up at that. "Yeah, sounds perfect."

I'm back in Winnie's room by the time Ghost leaves mine. I can hear his footsteps padding down the hallway. Hear their muffled conversation and muted laughter.

As I fall asleep, I can't help but feel a different kind of loneliness. And, as I drift off, my heart aches for what Ghost and Johnny have.

a/n: guess who's back! so Tali has finally met the boys :) sorry if this part is a little short, just wanted to get something out in time for christmas for you guys - merry christmas and take care of yourselves, lapetitelapin

[hwaslayer]

project: make you love me (jyh) | eight.

♣︎ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: yunho can’t stand how you’re so wrapped up in the notorious campus fuckboy, park seonghwa. he would gladly love you the way you deserve, despite being shy, awkward and the complete opposite of seonghwa. thus, when he finds himself spending more time with you over literature reviews and random study sessions, he decides to take on the challenge to win you over.

—pairing: jeong yunho x f. reader x park seonghwa

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers/friends to lovers, college au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 3.2k

—chapter content/warnings: scary movie night with friends!!, flashback scene with seonghwa 😅, snuggles, holding hands, yunho is the sweetest and super gentle with oc 🥺, a kiss on the cheek hehe, the next two updates will also be very crucial for these lovebirds!! 🖤

"What else should we buy in this aisle?" Chaery slowly pushes the cart down the chip aisle.

"Dude? We already have so much chips." Seungmin points at the popcorn boxes, nachos and other chips already sitting in the cart. "We haven't even gone to the desserts yet."

"Kim Seungmin, we are hosting a scary movie night. Back to back scary movies." She pauses to glare at him. "Of course people are going to look for food. We need to over-compensate than under-compensate." She continues to lecture him.

"She's kinda right." Soobin shrugs. "Gotta be good hosts." He shows the big pack of sour worms in his hand. "Sour worms?"

"Yes, but for decoration!" She grabs the bag and tosses it into the cart.

"Decoration?"

"Yeah, I'm going to put it into a fancy jar and organize it all cutely." Chaery giggles, making you shake your head as you trail behind with Soobin. 

"Can we please just eat these normally?" Seungmin continues to bicker with Chaery as they finally lead the way out of the aisle and onto the baked goods/dessert section. Soobin tucks his hands in his pockets, looking down at you with a smirk. You furrow a brow, confused as to what he's smiling like that for.

"What? Weirdo." He laughs and shakes his head.

"Oh, nothing." You playfully hit him on the bicep. "Ouch!"

"You can't just look at me then say that."

"Nah. It's nothing serious. But, Yunho is still coming right?"

"Yes." You squint your eyes at him.

"Goodluck making sure Chaery stays quiet."

"Oh hush, she'll be fine."

"Mhm." He wiggles his eyebrows.

"Just friends, remember?"

"Hm." Soobin hums. "We'll see about that tonight."

"Choi Soobin, what is that supposed to mean?"

"Scary movies are the best environment for PDA."

"Or, scary movies are just a good environment for friends in general."

"Mm, no." Soobin shuts you down, making you scoff. "But, we can say that if it makes you feel better."

"It does." You continue to squint at him. "You guys are such instigators."

"Sorry." He smirks. "Just know I think it's adorable." You make a face and roll your eyes. "On a more serious note, have you heard from Seonghwa?" You shake your head.

"Not really. Not after I told him we should end things." You shrug. "He can be mad all he wants, but I'm done with it. He doesn't realize he's wrong."

"Good." Soobin scratches at his temple. "What if he ends up running back to you, though?"

"No, I highly doubt that." You say lowly. "Why?"

"Just wondering. I, um, was just reminded of when Seonghwa never wanted to join in on movie nights or our kick-its. I know it's a small thing but it meant a lot to you. It's nice knowing Yunho is making the effort, even as your friend."

"Mm, yeah." You look at your feet as you continue to walk alongside of him.

♣︎ FLASHBACK

"Hwa." You gently nudge him while lifting your head from his chest to look at him directly in the eye.

"Hm?" He hums, eyes still glued onto his tv screen in front of him. The both of you lay in his bed, his apartment awfully quiet after San and Mingi left for a late night fast food run. Seonghwa's fingers gently trace circles on the edge of your shoulder, his expression flat as he continues to watch the show that's on.

"We're having a movie night at the apartment in a few days. You should come." He lets out a small, pathetic chuckle before shaking his head.

"I don't know."

"Why not? You never come even though it's just my roommates and a few of our friends."

"Exactly. I don't know your friends like that, so why would I go?" You furrow your brows and lift your head from his chest.

"So wouldn't you take that as an opportunity to get to know them?"

"What makes you think your friends are interested in getting to know me? I know they don't like me." Seonghwa has a small smirk forming at the corner of his lips.

"Because they're my friends at the end of the day. They'll still try because they know it matters to me. Just like me asking you to do the same with them."

"It's just weird. I don't wanna be around people who don't like me. On top of that, I know they're your friends, but I'm sure they truly care less." He sighs. "Sorry, I just don't see myself doing it."

"Not even for me?"

"Why do you have to form it that way? You're trapping me into the situation." You roll your eyes, throwing your leg over him to start getting dressed again. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"I'm being honest, Y/N. I don't see the point of this." He sighs and tries to grab at your wrist. "You don't have to act like that. If it really makes you feel better, I'll do the next one. Okay?" He says just to give you what you wanna hear, though he doesn't mean it and he'll find another way to get out of it.

"Nevermind. Just forget it."

♣︎ END

"My point is.. people always realize after they lose something good. I just don't wanna see you get hurt by Seonghwa again, is all." Soobin chimes in again.

"Thanks." You give him a small smile. But, it immediately fades when you both hear Seungmin and Chaery bickering over the types of dessert they should buy, and whether or not Chaery should arrange a small charcuterie board last minute. Soobin cuts in and tells Chaery not to, while grabbing a pack of freshly baked cookies for dessert. He takes the cart from them and heads towards the self-checkout, making you laugh at how frustrated he's gotten in the past few minutes. When you and your roommates finally get home, you all get washed up and clean the apartment to start setting up the food at the table.

You're excited to see Yunho tonight, especially since you both haven't seen each other over the weeks due to tremendous amounts of tests, papers and projects. But, he still checked on you through random texts and calls, keeping it short for the sake of deadlines and letting you get rest. But, you missed Yunho, his company. You missed the random walks. You missed the McDonald's runs. You missed seeing him in the library— which, you haven't really gone to just because you've been spending more nights studying with your roommates comfortably in your apartment.

You remember asking him if he was still down to come tonight, reassuring him that he wasn't obligated and that you'd completely understand if he had other things to do. To be honest, you were ready for it. You were ready for Yunho to tell you he indeed did have other [better] things to work on.

'Nope. I'm gonna be there.' 

Is what he surprisingly comes back with when you tell him. When you heard his response on the other line, you felt your palms get a little sweaty, nerves starting to get to the best of you. How could you keep him entertained? Did he feel pressured? Did he even want to go? What was he going to think of you with your friends?

He is going because he is genuinely interested in going, right?

You couldn't help but overthink.

"Hey, what're you thinking about?" Chaery looks at you before unloading the chips into a big bowl.

"I hope Yunho didn't feel pressured or obligated to come."

"Are you kidding?! Absolutely not!" She sets the empty bag aside. "If he didn't want to come, I am certain Yunho respects you enough to be honest about it. But, I genuinely think he wants to come and just hang out with you." Chaery brushes your hair back. "Don't think that way, babe. If I were him, I'd love to spend time with you, too." You chuckle and roll your eyes.

"Please. We are just friends."

"For now." She winks with a playful pinch to the arm. "Promise he will enjoy himself."

"Thank you." You poke out your bottom lip. "So, how can I make myself useful?" She laughs.

"You are always useful. But, a bit of help with organizing the snacks would be great! People are gonna be here soon." You chuckle and help her set up the rest of the snacks, spreading the decorations across the table shortly afterwards. 

Just as she had mentioned, your friends started arriving quickly— all falling into your apartment one by one. You start to worry a bit when Yunho hasn't arrived, anxiously fiddling with your fingers and checking your phone. You head into the bathroom to relieve yourself and take a moment to calm down.

If he didn't want to be here, he would just say so.

You let out a breath and swing the door open, eyes landing on the front door ahead.

"There you are! She's finally done doing her business—" Your eyes widen when you see Yunho standing next to Seungmin, furrowing your brows at your roommate for having no filter most of the time.

"Seungmin." You say with clenched teeth, making him laugh.

"Kidding! Jeez." He gently taps Yunho on the arm with the back of his hand. "Anyway, I'm gonna help Chaery with the rest of this stuff in the kitchen. Feel free to grab whatever you need and get comfortable." Seungmin jogs over to the kitchen, leaving you and Yunho alone.

"I honestly thought you were gonna back out last minute." Yunho raises a brow before laughing a bit.

"Is that what you think of me?" You shake your head. "I told you I wanted to come."

"I'm glad you didn't change your mind." You smile up at him. "Hungry?"

"A bit?" You laugh and show him to the food, letting him greet your friends and roommates on the way. Yunho helps himself to a slice of pizza, while you take two— getting a bowl of chips and popcorn to share before you plop onto the couch and set your things down on the coffee table. Everyone is pretty much situated at this point, all sprawled throughout your living room while waiting for the first movie to play.

"Okay! Is everyone ready?!" Chaery asks, making sure everyone has their food before beginning.

"Let's go! Play it!" Hyunjin responds excitedly from the floor. And with that, the first movie begins: The Devil Inside.

Of course, with any scary movie, things can start off slow. It gives the illusion that it may not be as bad as you think— when indeed, it eventually does get to that point. Yunho sits next to you on the couch, hugging close to the arm rest to give you space in case you needed it. But, he feels your leg brush against his and he feels himself loosen up. He doesn't feel so tense when you set your plate back onto the coffee table and give him a few gentle taps on the thigh, asking him if he needs anything with that pretty smile of yours. He almost gets lost in the way your eyes twinkle when you look at him, the way your smile feels so genuine.

You are warm.

You are safe.

"I'm okay." Yunho responds to your question with a low whisper. You give him a small nod before proceeding to eat your food while watching the movie.

As the movie progresses, there are a few moments when you've already had to sit back and cover your eyes, the scenes too intense for your liking. Yunho actually hates these movies, truly. He can't stand them because he hates the visuals, the sounds. He doesn't really know where he lies about all this stuff, he truthfully wouldn't know how to explain it. But, he just doesn't like it. It's unsettling, and it's not his cup of tea. Of course, probably stating the obvious for most people.

The point here is that even if you had told him about the movie choice beforehand, he'd still show up. Because he genuinely wants to be here with you. He'll take any time he gets outside of school purposes.

"Oh shit!" You jump from the loud sound, instantly covering your face and digging it against Yunho's shoulder. He laughs at you, before wrapping his arm around your waist— pulling you closer to his body. 

"It's okay, it's over." He chuckles, looking at you while you continue to hide behind your hands.

"Don't lie to me!"

"I would never. I promise." 

"Ugh." You whine. "I'm sorry, I'm gonna hide from time to time."

"It's fine, I don't mind." 

"Really?" You look up at him as you find your body comfortably resting against his, Yunho's arm still wrapped around you to keep you there. He simply nods with a small smile, subtly biting onto his bottom lip when he feels you adjust in your position and scoot even closer. Yunho is trying his best not to be stiff, awkward; but in all honesty, he likes having you close and he just wants you comfortable. 

"Really." He whispers as the intensity in the movie climbs again. You smile at him before returning your attention to the tv, Yunho's hand gently resting on your thigh. 

"Dude." Seungmin whispers over to Chaery and subtly nods in your direction. "Cute."

"Stop." She harshly whispers back with a playful tap to the chest. "Leave them!"

"Says you." Seungmin bites back sarcastically before earning another hit on the bicep. 

You continue to let Yunho hold you, hand gently resting against your thigh as you keep close to him. He draws tiny circles on the surface of your leggings, making you silently giggle to yourself from the ticklish feeling due to his gentle touch. At some point, your hand lingers near his, but you're too afraid to make the first move [if any]. So, you don't. You can barely focus on the movie because you're too busy deciding if you should just say fuck it or not.

The movie says otherwise, though. Especially when a loud jump scare happens yet again.

"Oh my god, can they stop doing that!" You jump, hands coming up to cover your face.

"Y/N, watch the movie." Yunho teases, trying to pry your hands away from your face.

"Only if they promise to stop the bullshit." You joke.

"Okay, I'll call them and discuss." Yunho successfully pries your hands off after that statement, eyes peering into yours to check if you're okay. He doesn't necessarily let go of your right hand, letting you lace your fingers with his. 

"You're funny." You giggle. 

"At least you're laughing, though." He smiles. "Promise the rest of the movie won't be that bad. I got you, okay?"

"Okay." You nod, sinking back into your position against Yunho, hands still laced together. 

"Comfortable?" You smile at him.

"Mhm. If you are."

"Don't worry about me. As long as you don't feel threatened by the movie." You let out a small laugh.

As the movie continues, your position shifts in a way where you're almost laying onto Yunho, while he continues to have an arm wrapped around you and his hand locked with yours. Being with Yunho makes you feel comfortable, and the movies seem less threatening with him here. You can handle scary movies for the most part, but having him feels like a warm blanket on a cold, snowy day; having Yunho feels like the one sunshine ray poking through the clouds.

Yunho is safe.

The rest of the movie goes on, with Yunho being there to soften the blows of the remaining jumpscares. Before the next movie, you run to grab a few more snacks, with Yunho still welcoming you in his arms just like before. When the second movie gets rolling, things continue in the same manner with him. No one is really batting an eye, but everyone is also aware that you and Yunho have gotten closer lately. They try to mind their own business, except they all can agree on one thing: You deserve better than Park Seonghwa. You have been happier without him.

That's all that matters.

During the second movie, Yunho continues his subtle acts of affection— little pinches on your thigh, squeezing your hand, caressing the surface of your hand with his thumb as his way to console you, teasing you whenever you hide;

Nothing more, nothing less.

And it brings you so, so many butterflies. Yet, you're still not really sure of what you feel for Yunho. Maybe you're scared, maybe you're overthinking? Maybe Seonghwa was partially to blame since you're afraid of getting hurt. But, what you do know is that you hate when the movie marathon comes to an end because this means your friends go home, Yunho goes home. 

Everyone does their role in helping you and your roommates clean up, even though you've reassured them that they didn't need to. With that, the house is clean under half an hour, friends bidding their farewells shortly after. Yunho sticks around to make sure nothing else is needed, giving you leverage to join him outside once your roommates thank him for his help.

"What a night." Yunho laughs at your statement just as he slips back into his shoes, throwing his hood over his head. 

"Exhausting?"

"A bit." You giggle. "I can walk you to your apartment—" Yunho shakes his head.

"No, then who is gonna walk you back?" He smirks. "We'll go back and forth." You snort.

"Fine." You cross your arms and look up at him. "Did you have fun, though?"

"I did have fun watching you cover your eyes and accidentally hit me from time to time." You laugh.

"Hey!"

"Kidding. I did." He chuckles and gently taps you on the tip of your nose. "I'll be okay on the walk over."

"Okay." You smile. "Thank you for coming, and for being my shield?" You say in a questioning tone and Yunho smiles.

"Of course." You walk closer and open your arms for a hug, immediately wrapping them around his waist when he pulls you in. You hold your position against him for a bit, taking in his scent while he continues to hold you. 

Yunho is warm.

Yunho is safe.

When you finally pull back and look up at him, you hesitate with your next move. But, with the way Yunho continues keep his gaze on you, you almost feel like he's expecting your next move. Maybe he'd like it? You can't exactly help yourself, either. He was so sweet and gentle with you earlier, and he didn't have to come tonight. He didn't have to, especially not knowing anybody besides your roommates. Yet, he did. And he was there by your side the entire time.

You can't exactly help yourself.

So, you toss the overthinking out the window, tippy-toe and give Yunho a chaste kiss to the cheek. He smiles a bit, ears instantly hot and red.

"Seriously, thank you."

"You don't need to thank me, Y/N. I like your company." He digs his hands into his pockets. "Get some rest."

"Okay. I will. Goodnight, Yunho."

"Goodnight." He bites onto his bottom lip before turning on his heel for the lonely walk back to his apartment. It's a little past midnight and Yunho really does feel the loneliness the farther he gets from your apartment. When he steps into his own, he kicks his shoes off and gets ready for bed. As soon as he slips into his covers and his head hits the pillow, he can't help but think of you.

You.

Tonight, Yunho doesn't think sleep will find him. But he's okay with it for once. Because it's you— you're the reason why sleep won't find him. You're the reason why he's been happier.

You.

And he hopes you feel the same way, too.

♣︎ taglist: @s-nsanshine @soupbinlily @tyongff-ff @jiminiscricket @g1g1l @staytinyinmybpack @woomyteez @gfksz @bitchwhytho @savluvsmingi @thisisntmyrightera @hyukssunflower @miriamxsworld @tmtxtf @kuromibabe04 @lmnhead @carrietwrites @tournesol155 @persphonesorchid @txt-yaomi @marsattacks @mxnsxngie @h-nji @mundayoonimnida @jalapeno-princess @nakiiko @asjkdk @kunikku @idkwgoh @kyeos4ng @agust-d2 @araknoid @bintific @primoppang @betray-the-light

[writerslittlelibrary]

I'm your mother now, chapter 5

masterlist series masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8

summary: you start to grow a little closer to Natasha, and you start realising that having Yelena around can be extremely beneficial…

pairing: Dark!Natasha x teen reader, Yelena x niece reader

warnings: yelling, a lot of swearing, dark themes, kinda evil Natasha, translated Russian

genre: angst, fluffy auntie Yelena

words: 2094

a/n: it took a little while, but chapter 5 is finally here 🙌 (not proofread yet)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

These past few days, while Yelena was around, you noticed Natasha's temper wasn't nearly as bad as it had been since your stay with her. She was less aggressive, she got mad at you way less and when she did, Yelena would be there to scold her, which is usually how you didn't end up with a red handprint on your cheek.

Yelena was still upstairs, and while you and Natasha were casually eating breakfast, you accidentally spilled the glass of juice you were supposed to drink.

You immediately tensed up, scared of the way Natasha would react, especially without Yelena here. However, Natasha seemed rather calm, which was something that freaked you out even more. She calmly stood up and made her way towards you, casually slapping you across the face. 

Your eyes were already filling with tears, but Natasha simply walked back to her seat and sat down, continuing to eat. 

“Well?” Natasha motioned towards the mess you made. “Clean it up.”

You stood up with tears in your eyes, grabbing a cloth to clean up the mess you made, when you heard an angry ‘Suka’ come from your side. 

You turned to your side and saw Yelena standing there, hands on her hips and an upset expression on her face. “Was that really necessary?” she scolded Natasha in an angry tone, yet Natasha just shrugged.

“You can't just keep hitting her and then expect love in return, Natasha. That is not how it works,” Yelena exclaimed angrily, yet Natasha remained unbothered.

“I am her mother and therefore I must discipline her when she does something wrong-”

“You're not my mother,” you said quietly as you worked up the courage to look at her. “What did you just say?” Natasha asked as she stood up and glared at you. You were almost going to keep your mouth shut, but you felt safer expressing your opinion with Yelena in the room.

“You're not my fucking mother!” 

“Mind your language young lady I am-” 

“No you're not! You don't hurt someone you love! A real mother would never hurt her child!” you yelled at her, and both Natasha and Yelena seemed to be a little taken back by your sudden outburst of anger. 

There was a short silence. Natasha took a deep breath, probably calculating what she was about to say. You looked over at Yelena, who just stood there with a proud smirk on her face.

Your eyes were filled with fear, yet Yelena stood rather relaxed. 

“She's right,” she told Natasha, who then looked at her with betrayal in her eyes. 

“What? You go hit me too?” Yelena asked Natasha, noticing the look in her eyes. “Whose side are you on, sestra?” Natasha then asked Yelena, to which Yelena merely shrugged. 

“On the side of whoever I think is right, and you are wrong,” she then said, coming to stand next to you. She laid her hand on your shoulder, and you flinched slightly. “You see?” Yelena asked Natasha after she felt you flinch. “She flinches even at a loving touch. Hurting her does more harm than good,” she then explained to Natasha, turning to look at you.

“Go upstairs and draw for a bit,” Yelena started, before she leaned a little closer to you so she could whisper in your ear. “I have something for you later.”

You gave Yelena a small smile, before glancing at Natasha with worry and making your way to the stairs, quickly climbing them and walking towards your room. When you walked into your room, you immediately shut your door, slightly frustrated at the lack of a lock.

You felt you were safer with Yelena in the house, but you didn't feel very safe anyway. What if Natasha kicked Yelena out? What if Yelena was simply performing an act? It was still Natasha’s house, and as far as you knew, she got the last say in the matter.

You let yourself fall onto your bed, staring at the ceiling as you heard yelling coming from downstairs.

It was mainly Natasha you heard, and you figured Yelena managed to stay fairly calm even though Natasha was so enraged. You sighed as you sat back up, deciding to follow Yelena's order and draw for a bit. 

After about an hour, you heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and you immediately tensed up.

They didn't sound like angry footsteps, so you figured it must be Yelena that was making her way upstairs. When you heard a knock on your door, you knew for a fact it was Yelena trying to make her way towards you.

You told her she could enter, and only after you gave permission she came in. “You make lovely drawings, malen’kiy pauk,” (little spider) she told you as she sat down on your bed after glancing at your drawing. You closed your sketchbook and turned your desk chair around so you could face her. 

Yelena smiled at you, while you just looked down and picked at the skin around your nails.

Yelena noticed your actions, and stood up quickly, stopping in front of you and grabbing your hands, pulling you to your feet. 

“We go on a surprise now,” she said as you looked at her in surprise, before giving her a smile.

“What kind of surprise?” you asked her, but Yelena just shook her head and gave a snort of amusement. “If I tell you, it would not be a surprise now would it.” You smiled at her, and Yelena grasped your hand and turned to the door, dragging you with her.

She walked down the stairs, dragging you with her. You saw Natasha sitting at the kitchen counter with her head in her hands, but Yelena was quick to drag you past it and to the front door.

You stopped moving when you saw Yelena open the front door. She turned around when she noticed you stopped moving, and you just shook your head.

“I'm not allowed outside…” you told her softly, yet Yelena just smiled.

“I am going with you, so you are allowed,” Yelena told you, giving your hand a gentle pull as she walked out the door. You hadn’t gone through the front door yet, and you allowed yourself to take a deep breath the moment you stepped outside.

You had obviously been outside before, but falling from a window was a little different than being allowed to go outside through the front door.

Yelena walked to her car, blindly trusting that you would follow her. You did, and as she got in the driver's seat you got in the passenger's seat.  Yelena started the car, putting on some music and driving away.

“Won't Natasha be mad?” you asked while looking outside, admiring the thick layers of soft, fluffy snow that laid on the forest floor. 

“Natasha will get over it,” Yelena replied, not taking her eyes off the road.

You absentmindedly nodded your head, continuing to look outside while you hummed along to the songs on the radio. 

-------------------------------------------------------------

After driving for about two hours, you noticed a little town which Yelena drove into, parking her car and getting out. 

You looked towards her confused, but she couldn't see you as she stood outside. You didn't dare move. You were afraid to get out of the car, fearful that the situation might be a test. After about 5 minutes, Yelena opened your door, looking inside the car with a smile on her face. 

“Are you going to sit there all day?”  

You looked at her surprised, before you got out of the car and took Yelena's hand. “Are you sure Natasha is okay with this?” you asked Yelena as you walked, yet she just shrugged.

“Natasha will get over it. Now, what should we do first?” Yelena asked as she led you towards a small mall, walking inside.

“I saw you liked stuffed animals,” Yelena stated as she started walking a certain direction, dragging you along with her. “You will like build-a-bear. lt is new in this area,” Yelena said as she walked into the store, letting go of your hand so you could look around.

You smiled as you looked at the different stuffed animal, stopping as you picked up a light brown bunny. “You like that one?” you heard Yelena ask, who was now standing behind you.

You nodded your head, and before you could do anything else, Yelena took your hand and dragged you towards an employee to get your bunny filled. 

When the bunny was filled with the stuffing to your liking, Yelena insisted you pick out an outfit for the bunny to wear. Once the entire experience was completed, you walked out of the store. Yelena holding your left hand, while your right one carried your new bunny. 

You thanked Yelena at least 10 times, and she just kept saying it was her pleasure.

After she treated you to some ice-cream, she told you you had to get a few things for movie night, and she dragged you into the nearest grocery store.

The store wasn't very large, but it had everything you'd need. Yelena grabbed a few things she needed, while she told you to find the candy aisle and pick out 3 bags of sweets. 

You happily found the candy aisle, looking at the different kinds of candy before picking out your favorite ones. A lot of the candies you didn't recognise, and of course you were unable to read the packaging. When you were about to go and find Yelena again, you were stopped by a woman.

“Ty propavshaya devushka?” (are you the missing girl?) she asked you, but you just looked at her confused

“You missing girl?” the woman repeated in the best English she could. Your eyes widened in alarm, and you didn't know what to do.

When you didn't respond, the woman looked worried and reached for her phone. She typed in 112, which you figured was the emergency number in this country.

Before she called it, she showed you the phone, nodding at you. You lightly shook your head. Your eyes were wide with shock and fear. What would Natasha do to you if she found out someone called the emergency number for  you?

The woman looked at you with concern, and you let out a small gasp of surprise when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Chto-to zdes’ ne tak?” (is there something wrong here?) you heard Yelena ask the woman in Russian, and the woman looked at her suspiciously. You lowered your gaze as Yelena had a stare down with the woman.

The woman looked at you with concern, before she decided it would be best to walk away. 

The moment she was out of sight, you turned around to face Yelena, starting to apologize for everything you might've done wrong.

Yelena just shushed you, grabbing your face in between her hands as she told you it was okay. She grabbed the bags of candy from you and put them in her cart, turning back to you and giving you a hug. “It's okay, you did nothing wrong.”

You didn't even realize you were crying until Yelena wiped the tears away and smiled softly at you. 

“Let's go home, yeah?” 

Yelena paid for the groceries and you walked back to the car. It was already late, and the sun was starting to set. Yelena got you situated in the passenger seat, giving you a blanket she kept in the back while you hugged your new bunny close.

-------------------------------------------------------------

When the car came to a stop again, you were already fast asleep, snoring slightly while you kept the bunny clutched to your chest.

Yelena couldn't help but coo at how cute you looked. She saw Natasha standing in the doorway. She figured Natasha opened the door when she heard the car come back.

Yelena got out of the car, walking to Natasha and giving her a hug. “She's okay, sestra. She'll love you easier now,” Yelena said as Natasha walked to the car, opening your door. She leaned forwards and gently picked you up. You stirred a little before you settled into her arms, snuggling closer to her chest. 

Natasha smiled at your actions, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before she walked into the house, walking upstairs and placing you in your bed.

She gave you another kiss on your forehead, tugging you in. “Goodnight my precious princess,” she said before she walked to the door, leaving your room. 

Maybe Natasha really wasn't that bad…

chapter 6

tag list: @natsbraids @carol-romanoff @natsxwife @simp-erformarvelwomen @clintsbigtoe @olsenmyolsen @leenasayeed @naslt @dvrkhcld @daddyshuri @wandanatsbaby @alphalesbianwolffoxdragontribrid @cherlenovix @mrsromanovaa @wandanatsgirl

[lvlyghost]

In the Midst of War: IV

PAIRINGS: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Shadow!Reader

SUMMARY: Home is no longer where it used to be. Left with no one else you wonder who your friends and foes are.

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

TW: poorly written action lol. Fluff, hurt with so much comfort 🤭. Suggestive but no smut yet🌝. Mind the english!🐸 lmk if i missed any.

A/N: okay so this was supposed to be longer but decided to split the last part for chapter v 🐣 it'll be worth it i promise. next part is coming up sooner! as you know i do a lot of double shifts at work and December is the busiest season for me at work lol, just bear with me💖 comments, likes and reblogs are highly appreciated 🩵

Masterlist✨

"𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒕𝒐𝒍���� 𝒎𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒅."

It's a cold night by the time you get to the safe house in a secluded street somewhere outside Kaindorf. Ghost grunts standing next to you, one of his arms draped over your shoulders to help him keep steady or at least as much as you can help with someone his size. The mission —your first mission since Las Almas— had been successful until it wasn't. You type the code and wait until the door opens with a mechanic sound revealing a not so bad interior. The whole place is silent when you walk in, mirroring the dead of the night. No sound of cars outside not even the sound of the wind to accompany you.

"How are you doing Ghost?" You turn your face to him, he's already staring down at you, noticing the struggle that comes with trying to hold part of his weight. This is not how things should've played out. Yet there he was. A nasty bullet wound on his left shoulder and another to his leg; the latter being just a graze but still hurt like hell.

"Never been better." He growls. And you know he's trying to act nonchalantly. That's just who he is. Who you've come to know. But his injury, especially the one on his shoulder is no joke. You had tried to stop the bleeding right before digging for the bullet. The amount of pain he must've been in was as bad as yours a few weeks ago "How did we miss them?" He mutters under his breath, no doubt recalling the events.

"I don't know. But we'll find out." You lead him to the nearest couch in the corner of the living room and turning on the lamp next to him. Ghost sits down struggling to find a position where he feels comfortable enough. "Alright..." swallowing down you look him in the eyes. "I need to check your wounds again and clean them up properly, okay?"Ghost closes his eyes for a second before nodding, he's too lightheaded to do anything else or maybe it was the morphine you gave him before, he doesn't know anymore.

Trotting back to the truck you unload the duffel bags where all your weapons and medical supplies lie. Closing the door shut and locking it before returning to where the Lieutenant rests. The lamp is turned off again so you can only make the outline of everything. You stop in your tracks dropping one of the bags and shuffle nervously.

"Umm, Ghost?" He hums in acknowledgment. "I can't see anything, do you mind turning...-"

"No." His response comes fast. "I'm not wearing the bloody mask."

So he had taken it off the moment you walked out.

"Then how am I supposed to look at your wounds?" Rolling your eyes you start approaching.

He growls something unintelligible and then adds:

"Fine just don't bloody look up or...-"

"Don't worry, I've no interest in looking at your face."

But the truth was that you wanted nothing more than to see him. The real him. You had dreamed about his face. What would he look like? The small parts of Ghost that you had taken a glimpse of were not enough to make you any less curious. For all you knew was that he most likely was blond. His eyelashes are so light that you wonder if his hair is the same shade. He has soft pink lips and a strong jaw. All of him was huge. Massive. You would never say it out loud but you felt drawn to him.

"Afraid you might like what you see?"

You snort, walking towards him and kneeling in front of the couch he's sitting on. His eyes follow every move you make, never looking up in the process. You slowly peel off the bandages you had previously wrapped around his right leg.

"Does it hurt?" You ask, taking the disinfectant out as you begin to clean up his wound again.

"Not that one." For a moment you almost forget that you're not supposed to look up, but you do. You were trying to take a quick glance to his shoulder, instead laying eyes on his face.

"Shit." You bow your head down as quickly, apologizing profusely to Ghost and expecting some sort of angry reaction from him but he remains in complete silent. "I- I didn't even really see anything, forgive me Sir."

"Fucking hell." He growled. "It doesn't matter. Just don't do it again."

It was true. You barely even saw the entirety of his face. Just pale skin, light brows and a crooked nose from being broken too many times.

"Okay." You swallow hard, hands slightly shaking when your skin makes contact with his much colder one.

Ghost shifts in his seat seemingly uncomfortable with something you can't put a finger on. "Think it's time to stitch that one up." You gesture to where his shoulder should be not daring to look again. Fumbling with the needle and thread waiting for his permission. There's no verbal answer to your previous statement, only a low hum that's enough for you to stand up and silently sit on the armrest next to him, his face is turned the other way hiding himself from you. "You know you can just put it back on?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Yeah, right." brows lifting in surprise. "Want me to get you something for the pain?"

"Get it done, kid."

Breathing deeply you oblige.

Ghost's whole body tenses with the first sting of the needle piercing through his skin. Your eyes are fixated on your work but every now and then they travel to the back of his head. Blond hair. So you were right; and you can't fight back the grin that appears on your lips. You're marveled by something so simple as that; if only he'd let you come closer...

"I think it's my turn to cook something for you. All this time you've taken care of me."

"You don't have to. I was doing what I was told."

Blinking you tap his shoulder lightly to get his attention. Ghost merely turns so a small part of his side face shows, still not enough for you to see.

"I want to." Even if he says it was his job. Even if it didn't mean anything to him. All you needed was a way to thank him for what he had done. That was who you were. How you were taught to be. Grateful amongst adversity. "I'm a good cook I promise."

One last stitch. One more. And then you're done, and his body relaxes as you come to stand gathering the medical supplies while looking down the floor. Before you leave he reaches out, grabbing your wrist in a gentle yet firm grip. Eyes going wide.

"You can look now." His voice is low and when you turn he's put the balaclava back on. Big brown eyes staring with intensity. "Thanks for what you did back there."

You stutter when you speak, something about the way he holds you makes you forget how to form words.

"I had to. It was my job, although I failed..."

"You didn't fail." He growls. You motion at his wounds, embarrassed because you knew you could do better than that. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Your mouth hangs open, lips quivering when his words reach your ears. All this time you've tried to look calm. To appear strong when in reality everything has gone from bad to worse; it began with the loss of your former team and the people you held close and dear. People you thought would be there for you for eternity. And then all of the sudden there were none. Alone in a dirty side road to die, you guess that in the end there were no good people. Just soldiers following orders. But standing in front of a man who was always portrayed as the devil himself maybe... just maybe not all hope was lost. And not all people were bad. Much to your dismay, Ghost stands from his place on the old couch, rising in all his massive glory as he takes one firm step closer to you. Your hands threaten to let everything fall onto the floor, breath getting stuck in your throat. You're lucky. So, so goddamn lucky that he's your ally. Someone who, in these past weeks has become something you don't dare to name.

"At ease soldier." He commands in a hushed voice. And he's close. Too damn close you feel the heat radiate off of him. It makes your skin burn and hands sweat. "I'm just looking at you."

-

Ghost is terrifying when you look at him in full gear. The white skull mask a legend itself among all the military forces in the world. Hushed stories told during late nights back on base. You had never met him nor had the chance to work with him. All you knew was that. Never in a million years would you have thought you'd have to be his eyes from the distance; to be the one who guards him. Your finger caresses the trigger of your sniper rifle, ready to shoot at anyone who you deemed dangerous.

"Should've brought my own mattress." You huff, shifting your body to find a more comfortable position.

"You've been out for a few weeks. It can't be that bad." His deep voice talks right into your ear.

"My stomach was literally reattached, Lt."

A deep chuckle that doesn't last long enough can be heard.

"If you can't do it let me know. I can take you back to your room, yeah?"

"I'm having a hard time deciding if that's a good or bad thing, sir."

"The latter, Vesper."

Laughing you turn your head, maybe it's the paranoia of being back but you feel someone constantly watching you from behind.

"How's that a bad thing? Thought you liked me in my room."

You can practically hear him suck in a breath and then a muttered curse.

"Not when you're injured and nearly comatose." He grunts after a few seconds of silence.

Oh.

Oh.

"Well then's a good thing i'm here."

The mission was rather simple. Break in, gather some intel and get out. Nothing was supposed to go sideways but it did. It had started with the room where the intel was supposed to be.

"Vesper." You hear Ghost calling you. "There's civilians in here." His voice drops an octave.

"What?" A shiver runs down your spine. "They are not supposed to be there." All you hear is the sound of muffled voices. Cries for help. Ghost swearing under his breath. And then shots are fired.

Your heart races when the first couple of hostiles appear through your scope. Not being one to hesitate you aim to their heads and fire.

"Vesper sitrep." Ghost barks, his end way more chaotic than yours.

"Hostiles coming in groups. You need to get out of there asap."

"Bloody hell." It's all he says before another round of shots is fired. "Meet me at the evac point."

"I'm not leaving you behind!"

Shifting your scope to look through one of the windows you watch as a dark figure runs downstairs. Ghost is trying to make his way to the back exit when another group reaches the abandoned building. You effectively take out the first three men that jump out of the black van. Then another ominous creak of crunching leaves in the god forsaken roof of the house across, rolling on your back your turn at the exact moment a bullet is fired your way, and hitting the the ground where you previously laid prone.

Wide-eyed your face pales as recognition hits your features.

You know him. And he knows you too.

-

His big hand lifts slowly as if asking permission to touch you to which you give a small nod. Ghost is looking at a spot on your left cheek his thumb softly caressing the soft skin of your face. You don't know why but you find yourself leaning into his touch.

"How'd you get this?" An unknown look is all you give him. "There's a scratch, right 'ere." Careful not to hurt you or cause you any pain he keeps his motion.

"Must've been when we ran through the woods." You mumble. "I'm sure I didn't let any of them get me."

"Atta girl." A small pause settles when all you hear is the sound of the night outside. Crickets and the now casual passing of cars far in the distance, returning from work, oblivious to the dangers of the world. Some things they'd never heard of before, things they wouldn't witness in their lifetime. "Better me than you."

You melt at his words. Heart nearly beating out of your chest. It's like your body acts out of pure impulse. Hands —your hands— grab the sides of his neck pulling him down just enough that his forehead touches yours, and you rest there with ragged breathing fanning over his face. Closing your eyes you weigh in your options. Break the moment and tell him about the encounter with the man back in the roof, or let yourself feel him? Because truth be told this could only mean one thing. Ghost wanted to be near you in ways that were not professional at all. And hell you wanted that too from the moment you saw him. You just didn't know it.

If the things you heard were true he didn't let just anyone close to him. What was so special about you? You wanted to ask, but you feared that even if you moved, this thing would be broken and the moment would slip through your fingers.

In a quick movement you go from standing in the middle of the living room to sitting on the nearest table, you shriek as Ghost slots himself between your legs. Seemingly unfazed by what he just did you then see the corner of his eyes crinkle. He's smiling under the mask.

"You're hurt. You'll reopen the wound and..."

"I don't care, sweetheart. I've got you where I want you." A sheepish smile forms on your lips and your cheeks grow hot. "One word. Say it and I will stop."

You nod right before he lifted his mask and his lips crash down on you.

Part 5

TAGS:

@fictionallifestuff

[nethhiri]

Chapter 58: Night Watch

Warnings: torture, violence, references to rape, sex (watersports incoming; nothing plot wise happens in that part, so you can skip if you're not into it)

The light coming in Killer's window was already past the blue-pink of early morning and was solidly into the bright, yellow light of midday. You stretched and sighed, smiling slightly as you realized you could see the light pouring in the window. It wasn't a dream. Part of you kept thinking you would wake up and still be blind. There was a weight lifted off you now that you had made up with Killer, who was already awake and out for the day. You felt a little bit guilty you didn't make him sweat for a while longer based on how upset you had been, but you were more willing to forgive since he had never hurt you before. That and you had been craving the comfort of human touch. 

You shut Killer's door behind you, and at the same time heard another door shut next to you. The hair on your neck prickled as the familiar, large, red shape manifested next to you, instantly pissing you off. You didn't give Kid the satisfaction of acknowledging him. Kid, as opposed to Killer, had hurt you plenty before, and it was easier to keep him in the doghouse. You walked past him.

"Hey." Kid called. "HEY! Are ya gonna ignore me?"

"You're hard to ignore." You sneered, "But I'll do my best for you, captain."

"I'M FUCKING SORRY! OKAY?!" Kid yelled after you. 

Coming onto the deck, you passed by Quincy, who was enjoying a fruity cocktail. You plucked the toothpick of fruit out of it and slid the chunks off with your teeth. She made a whine of protest. 

"Thanks." You finished chewing and perched the toothpick between your lips. You needed something to chew or you would grind your teeth into nothing. 

"I didn't say you could have it!" 

"I'll take your next night watch." That made Quincy's mood instantly better. It was an out of proportion trade, however, you liked the alone time it offered you. Sure, it was normally in pairs, but you would usually kick out the other person, which is what you would do for this instance as well.

Quincy smirked. "It's tonight, so rest up." She watched your jaw clench as Kid walked past. She rolled her eyes, knowing that you two were fighting again. 

You stormed off towards the dungeon with a quick wave goodbye to Quincy. You ate and slept plenty. Now, you could get back to business. 

The brig had been cleaned since you were down here last. The gore had been shoveled or mopped away and the tools had been cleaned and polished. That made you frown. They looked much more intimidating covered in dried blood and flesh. The prisoners were taken care of in the barest minimum, only to ensure they didn't die too soon. Your frown deepened when you saw they had also gotten rid of your spare parts, the body you had brought back down the day prior. Warthin was haggard but he didn't look dead inside yet. It was your mission to change that.

You stood in front of him and surveilled his current state. He flinched away from you, clenching his eyes shut and turning his head. You scoffed, "I haven't even done anything to you yet."

"H-haven't you?" 

You hummed and mused, "I see I haven't broken you. Good. There's still a lot we need to get through." 

"Please. I know what I did to you was wrong. I can't take it back, but I'm sorry. Please let me go. I'll fuck off to an uninhabited island and you'll never see my face again." He rambled.

"Tell me where to find Von Kossa and I'll think about it." 

"I-I can't do that."

"Enlighten me." He shifted nervously. "I said enlighten me." You pressed your hand just under his ribcage, using your devil fruit to stick one finger through his skin. You followed that with the rest of your fingers as a countdown, until your whole hand sank into his skin. 

Warthin screamed watching your hand disappear into him. "I DON'T KNOW WHERE HE IS! I SWEAR!" 

You slipped your arm under the ribcage, blood streaming down your arm and dripping from the point of your elbow. Warthin's eyes crossed briefly as you tickled his heart. You could feel it beating in your hand. It was still separated from you by the thin pericardium. 

"I DON'T KNOW! I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!"

"I don't believe you. You're his little dog. I know that you know where the other end of the leash is." You pushed your fingers through the pericardium and scissored your fingers to make the hole large enough to fit all of your fingers, slipping them closer to his beating heart.

"NO!" He blubbered. "I DON'T KNOW!"

His pleading turned to gasping and sputtering as you closed your fist around his heart, momentarily stopping it. It squirmed in your hand, trying to slip from your grasp like a fish trying to go back to the water. You released your grip before you caused him to go into cardiac arrest permanently.

"Do you know anything now?" 

"N-NO!" He was still gasping for air. "HELP! Somebody help m-me!"

"Who do you think is going to help you here?" You chuckled. "Tell me where he is."

"He'll k-kill me," Warthin blubbered again, snot running down his face. 

"I'LL KILL YOU!" You screamed into his face. "AND LET ME REMIND YOU I CAN DO IT AS MANY TIMES AS I LIKE!"

You gripped his heart again, causing him intense burning pain and a feeling of suffocation. It beat slower and slower as you deprived it of oxygen. Warthin's face turned red, then purple and his eyes rolled into the back of his skull. His mouth opened and closed desperately trying to swallow air. He was unintelligibly begging for his life as the light left his eyes again. His heart twitched a few times in your palm. You pumped it rhythmically until he drew in a sharp breath and the life returned to his features. Once you were sure he was alive again, you pulled your arm out, putting him back together on the way out. 

He was dazed for more than a few seconds, becoming sentient gradually. "Y-you're ... you're ...... a crazy.... fucking bitch." Warthin finally mustered the breath to get it out. 

You grinned with a pleased hum. "Don't forget it either. Now, are you going to tell me what I want to know?"

"H-he moves around a lot. I... don't know where he is." When you raised your hand to hit him, he cowered. "It's the truth! It's the truth! I really don't know!" 

You glared at him. Maybe you could use him to lure Von Kossa somewhere or you could manipulate Warthin to make Von Kossa give his location away. You growled your frustration and grabbed his chain off the wall, forcing him to the ground. There were other various chains and hooks so that you could position him however you liked. For now, you like him on all fours, so you limited his movement in order for him to be stuck in that position. You kicked him in the stomach until he threw up, making it hurt just to keep his back straight. Then you went to the wall of tools and selected something akin to a cheese grater. What was it with you and kitchen items? With that, you roughed up his palms and knees until they became raw and ragged. After each one was done, Warthin screamed louder and louder, the wood and dirt on the floor stinging his wounds. 

He was so loud, you didn't hear the door to the dungeon being opened and closed. You hadn't bothered with sealing it. You didn't want to waste any of your power. Only the soft clearing of a throat alerted you to Heat's presence. 

"You here to watch?" You raised an eyebrow at him. 

"Uh, actually there's someone in the infirmary who needs you."

"What do I look like, a fucking doctor?"  You bit back before you thought about it, so engrossed in your devious thoughts. "Oh. I guess that is my job." You just hadn't done it in a while so it was easy to forget. It's not like you were trained as one in any official sense.

"Yeah..." 

"Is it urgent?"

"Well-"

"Wanna play with me?" You batted your eyelashes at him. You knew it wasn't fair to use your charms on Heat, especially after he had saved you from yourself. "Just a little longer?" But you did it anyway.

Heat glanced over his options. "If I burn one, can- can you make him go back to normal?" He could do with a little stress relief.

You grinned from ear to ear. "Of course I can."

Heat grabbed one of the prisoners and placed him into a spot that was backed by stone instead of wood. There were singe marks around the edges and a vent over it. It must have been made especially for him. Heat pinned his arms and legs to the wall with the provided shackles. Then he stood back, applied chapstick from a small tube he pulled from his pants pocket, and let loose. You had seen him do it before, but it was fascinating to watch up close. The room rapidly became much warmer and the smell of burnt flesh permeated the space. Heat stopped and gestured to you. You stepped to the man, feeling the residual heat radiate from his red, oozing flesh. The flesh that wasn't red was black, crispy, and falling to the floor. Proximity made your power work better, though you had been building up skill and endurance the entire time you had been in the dungeon. The man glowed and his skin started to grow back in random patches, like moss on a log, until he was covered again. You hadn't bothered with the hair though.

"Can I do it again?" Heat asked. "I don't get to use my fire a lot because it kills them too quickly."

You came to stand by his side, admiring the excited expression on his normally sad face. "As many times as you want, buttercup." 

Your tongue toyed with the toothpick between your lips as you watched Heat repeatedly barbecue your prisoner. Each time he went a little further, testing your ability. If he was charred to bone you wouldn't be able to reverse it, anything up to that, however, you could most likely mend. The pop and sizzle of the man's fat reminded you of when Killer cooked bacon in the morning. The man alternated between being a bright beacon of orange and a soft glowing firefly. Heat was breathing hard and his lips were dry, cracked, and uncomfortable. He had been so enthusiastic, he forgot to apply his chapstick. He was ready to stop anyway, satisfied with his open-flame cooking. 

"C'mere." You beckoned him with your finger so that he bent to your level. Gently grabbing his cheeks with both your hands, you pulled him for a kiss, healing the chapped and cracked skin as your lips touched his. Heat let out a soft whine as you pulled away. You pecked him on the nose. "All done."

Heat had a blush spreading across his cheeks. "I thought you didn't need to touch to use your devil fruit anymore."

"I don't. I just like to fluster you because you're so cute." 

Heat rolled his eyes and followed behind you as you went to the infirmary. It turned out that was by design, because when you opened the door, you immediately turned to leave. Heat's chest blocked your exit. You thought for a moment that you might use your fruit to walk through him, but you hadn't tried that yet and didn't want to risk becoming Heat's conjoined twin. You turned back around at a less than blistering pace.

"I'VE BEEN WAITIN FOR A FUCKIN HOUR. WHAT TOOK YA SO LONG? YA FUCKIN?" The last part seemed more curious than accusatory. 

"My apologies for the wait, captain. I didn't want to come." You begrudgingly stood in front of Kid, waiting for him to tell you what was wrong. It was most likely another ploy to get your attention. 

Kid pulled his flesh hand out from the metal one that had been holding it and you jumped back. All of the disdain and anger you had towards Kid evaporated and was replaced with worry. Two of his fingers were about blown off, only shreds hanging by tendons remained. 

"KID, WHAT THE FUCK?!" You almost tripped over yourself running to the cabinets.  You rummaged through them with urgency for some antiseptic to disinfect the area before you healed it. "HEAT, I ASKED IF IT WAS URGENT!"

"He didn't say it was." Heat shrugged. 

"You have eyes that work, don't you!?" You ran back to Kid after you found what you were looking for and doused his hand. "What did you do, Kid?!"

He sucked in a breath as the stinging liquid hit his wounds. He was surprised he could feel anything, given that most of the nerves were melted off. "Nothin!"

"Tell me!" You pancaked his hand between your own two. Hands were a bit complex so you wanted to make sure it was healed correctly. You looked into his workshop and saw little wisps of smoke coming from something. "You burnt yourself? Something exploded?"

Heat chuckled to himself. "Boss... you got fingerblasted." 

Kid didn't find it as funny. "M'GONNA FINGERBLAST YER SORRY ASS, HEAT!" Kid saw you trying not to crack. "ROTTEN, KEEP THAT MOUTH SHUT."

"Promise?" Heat retorted, bursting into laughter. 

You were actually worried about Kid, but you couldn't help yourself and burst out laughing alongside Heat. "Stop. His fingerblasting days are going to be over if I can't focus." It was, in fact, his index and middle finger that were afflicted with Explosion Accident Disorder. 

The giggles between you and Heat wore off as you began to restore Kid's hand. First, the bones remineralized. Then the ligaments slid back into place and the red-pink muscles and silvery tendons wrapped around them. Pale skin crept down from Kid's wrist and surrounded the two reconstructed fingers. The finishing touch was his fingernails growing back into place, which was uncomfortable only because normally he couldn't feel them growing. Kid shivered. He held his hand up to inspect, flexing his fingers. 

"Good?" You got a rag and dampened it, grabbing Kid's metal hand and wiping the blood off. There was still some concern left in you. What if he hurt himself worse next time? And what was he doing to hurt himself so badly in the first place?

"Only one way ta find out." Kid curled his fingers suggestively, grinning at you. 

"Fuck you." You were trying to be the nice, compassionate caregiver you were supposed to be when you were in this context, but of course Kid had to push you too far. It was a good thing you still had that toothpick, or you would have cracked your teeth. You flung the rag in his face and stormed out. "He's all yours, Heat."

The door slammed and Heat frowned at Kid. "So you didn't apologize?"

"I tried!" Kid pouted. "And what was that!? She was laughing and being all nice and then she turned into a bitch!"

Heat was so tired of being in the middle of this. "She was probably worried about you and was laughing to distract herself from the fucking hand you almost blew off." He folded his arms. "I'm not helping you anymore. I told you what to do," He sternly added. 

Kid glowered, too stubborn to admit there was a part of him that didn't want to try apologizing for real, in case you decided to stop forgiving him this time.

"I believe in you, boss." Heat said it in a very reassuring way.

On your way back to the dungeon, Killer intercepted you, seeing that you were upset. As Heat did with Kid, Killer encouraged you to talk things over with Kid. Maybe it was petty of you, or childish, but you simply did not want to. No one could make you do anything. Kid was going to have to man up and apologize, a real apology. You weren't initiating shit and you weren't going to give into his charm. Killer may have been fucked and forgiven, but he was still on probation. His well-meaning words made you angry, not necessarily at him, and you stormed off again. You grumbled a noise of displeasure as you went back to the dungeon, with Minerva accompanying you this time. 

It was beginning to get a little boring, so you had to get more and more creative. You sat on Warthin's back, using him as your front row seat. With Mini's help, you had disarticulated the shoulder and hip joints of the prisoners. Their limbs were flopped at unnatural angles as muscles had no resistance and could pull the bones wherever they wanted. They were lined up on the floor, unchained, only able to move by using their chin, chest, and hips. You watched as they raced to Peach Tree Man, with the promise that whoever won would be free from having to fuck Warthin's ass later. Curiously, one did not even try. He would have Warthin first, you decided. 

The torsos wiggled furiously across the floor, scraping the fuck out of their stomachs. The weight of their limbs made this more difficult for them, which was one of the reasons you left them attached. You laughed as Mini snapped at them from behind, making them move faster for fear of getting their feet crushed. They looked like pink-fleshy maggots. By the time they reached the other side of the room, there were red trails behind them. The one that Heat had toyed with earlier only made it halfway before he became too exhausted to move, having used a lot of his energy screaming and being burnt alive. Mini made good on her threats and grabbed him by the feet, dragging and tossing him around like a rag doll. None of them were in danger of dying so you left them as they were, putting them back in their places. The 'winner' you hung up last. 

"Congratulations, you don't have to fuck Warthin's ass." You patted him mockingly on the cheek. "You will have to fuck his mouth though."

"No! I don't w-want to do that!" 

You punched him. "Why not? You love doing it to every other unwilling person. He'll hate it. That should really get you going, you rapist pig." You addressed all of them. "You're going to fuck him or you're going to get fucked. So make your choices now." You smiled at the terror in their eyes. You didn't tell them when they would have to perform. You were hoping Kid would finish your eye so the first thing you got to watch with your full vision back would be revenge. It was better that they didn't know when things would happen anyway. It gave them time to live in fear, just as you did when you had no idea what was going on around you when you were captive.

You wanted to stay longer, however you did promise Quincy you would take her night watch shift in exchange for borrowing her stupid toothpick. You were at the door to leave but spun on your foot, pulling the toothpick out of your mouth. You had been idly chewing it all day, but you didn't need it anymore. Using some tongs to avoid touching it with your bare hands, you gripped Warthin's pathetic little worm, plucked the toothpick from your mouth, and shoved it right up his urethra. His scream was so high-pitched, it might have shattered glass.

______________________________________________________________

Whoever else was on night watch with you wasn't there yet. Between the dungeon and your current position, you had grabbed a snack and had a quick shower, trading your normal clothes for leggings and a giant T-shirt that had probably been Kid's so you would be more comfortable. You sat on the small bench that went around the mast and propped your feet up on the bucket portion of the crow's nest. From this position you had a comfortable view of the horizon. It was a nice evening, perfect for you to stew over your thoughts. They circled around Kid. It bothered you that Kid really didn't seem to understand what about his comment made you so upset, seeing that he kept making crude remarks at you. Normally you didn't mind, in fact you thought they were funny most of the time, but right now it bothered you. It wasn't that you were against fucking, obviously, but you wanted to be more than that, be reassured that you were a crew member and partner above anything else. In fact, you were mad that he hadn't apologized yet because you did want to fuck him. You wanted to feel close to him and feel loved by him, not feel like a convenient toy. Now in the right setting, being a toy didn't sound so bad. What is wrong with me? You had to prove a point first though.

Damn your mind. You were supposed to be angrily digesting your thoughts. Instead, you kept thinking dirty things. Fucking Killer had unlocked your libido after it had been hidden away by trauma for so long. It was a struggle to stay mad at Kid when he kept doing naked somersaults through your head. Maybe you could rub one out after you kicked out your watch-mate. Then you could really focus on everything you were going to say to Kid and it would prevent you from caving to your vagina's demands. 

There was a shuffling and grunt behind you as someone joined you in the crow's nest. 

"Get lost. I'll handle it by myself."

"That's no way to speak to your superior."

You turned, confused, to see Wire. "Oh." You sighed and looked back to your half of the horizon. There went your chance of having some alone time.

Wire sat behind you facing the opposite direction. 

You had forgotten all about the warning you were given several months ago, the one about night watch with Wire. There was no reason for the memory to be triggered. Wire sat on his side. You sat on yours. It was silent, but for the waves and for thunder in the distance. Several hours later, only the edge of the storm brushed the ship. A light rain began to fall. It felt refreshing at first, though the wind sent a chill down your spine as it blew against your damp clothes. 

"Cold?" Wire asked. He checked on you and saw you shivering.

"Just a little. I'll go grab a coat."

"Don't bother. It was only a light rain and you'll be dry in no time."

"Yeah you're right." You could tough it out for a few minutes.

"Here." 

You scooted halfway to him to see what he was offering you, as you couldn't bend far enough over to see him from your side. Wire was holding out his cape for you to get under. You debated until another gust of wind made your decision for you, hurriedly scooting close enough to pull the edge of his cape around your arm. It was big enough that you weren't touching him. Another wave of rain came, this time harder, and you scrunched as small as you could to stay covered in Wire's cloak as he pulled it to cover himself. You hadn't realized it was waterproof.

It was dark inside Wire's cloak. You were uncomfortably pressed against his side. You used your devil fruit to emit a soft glow, just so you could see a bit better. It was almost comical how big Wire was. It was like you were in a small circus tent, minus the elephants. What it did have was The Man With Three Legs. Your eyes just so happened to drift across Wire's lap. His tiny, black shorts left little to the imagination. There was the sturdy silhouette of his cock plastered against his leg. Was that even comfortable? It looked like it barely fit. One fatal twitch and his tip would be peeking out from the pant leg. It definitely wasn't healthy to have your junk compressed like this. As the ship doctor, you should suggest not wearing those particular shorts. And maybe he could start not wearing them right now. No! You banished those thoughts from your head and tore your gaze away from Wire's beautiful penis imprint. 

"Doing ok in there?"

"Mhm."

"Just checking." Wire added. "You were breathing pretty heavily." 

"I'm cockstraphobic. CLAUSTROPHOBIC. I'm claustrophobic," Your muffled voice suggested from the inside of his coat. 

When the patter of rain against the fabric slowed to a stop, Wire parted his cape and peered into it. 

"Hi," you said, looking up at the face above you.

"Rain stopped." Wire had a hint of smugness to his voice. "Hope you weren't too uncomfortable."

You wiggled out from Wire's side to stand up and stretch, noticing that everything was wet. Obviously it was wet; it had just rained. Specifically, the spot you had been in was wet and you didn't really want to have a wet backside.

Wire saw your discomfort. "You can still sit here if you would like."

You glanced from your seat to the dry spot next to Wire. This was a trap. "I'll stand." You returned to your side of the crow's next and leaned your elbows on the bucket lip so the you were partially bent over.

"You sure? That doesn't look comfortable." Wire added, "But I won't complain about the view."

"Turn around, pervert. Watch your side of the sea."

"Me? Pervert?" Wire chuckled. "I think of it more as admiration. You know... the same way you were admiring my cock."

You whipped your head around. "No I wasn't!" 

"It's ok, sweetheart. Everyone does it."

"Well, when you wear shorts like that, it's hard not to stare." You huffed. "And by the way, it's not good for your sperm to have your balls confined like that."

"Hm." Wire hummed. "I haven't had an exam in a while. Maybe you should make sure everything is working properly then, doc." 

Your eyebrow twitched up. What would be the harm in just a quick, professional check up? "Wire, we have to keep watch." It wasn't fair. You were so horny and he was offering it up so casually. 

"Fine." Wire sighed. 

"I didn't say no. I just said we have to keep watch." Saliva was pooling in your mouth just thinking about getting stuffed. "I can't refuse a patient."

Wire grinned and had a wicked tint to his features. "Can't refuse, hm?" Wire thought for a moment. "Lean on that, like you did a second ago, but in front of me."

You did as he asked, giving him a wonderful view of your round ass. 

"Touch yourself." 

Again, you did as he asked, sliding your fingers over your clothes to rub your clit. You heard the rustle of clothing. 

"Back up."

You stayed bent over, pressing your backside out further, closer to Wire. It wasn't a large space so he was fairly close to you. You felt a thick finger slide between your clothed lips, feeling the moisture that was gathering there. He pressed his fingertip into your clit until you squirmed in an attempt to get friction. His hands moved to your hips and ass, appreciating every inch. When his hands slid to the middle, you heard the tearing of fabric and gasped when the cool night air hit your bare pussy. You were about to complain about your pants when two fingers pushed into you and left any complaint you had dead in the water. It felt a little sore from the previous day, but quickly turned into pleasure. You looked between your legs and moaned when you saw that his pants were pushed down just enough to free his cock, so tall and heavy that it leaned to one side. His other hand stroked it.

"Shhh. You don't want everyone to know what a slut the ship doctor is." 

Wire grabbed your hips and lined them up with his. You pulled away and turned around. Your heart raced for a second, scared he was going to pull you straight down on his cock. Which, normally, you would have invited, but his size and your soreness made you nervous. 

"Be easy. I lost my virginity yesterday." 

Wire was easily puzzled by this. "I'm sure that's not true."

"First of all, I don't appreciate the implications of your tone. Second, it's a long story."

"Well I know it wasn't Kid who took it because he's been bitchin and moanin about how you're ignoring him."

You sank between his legs and put both hands around his shaft. "I'd rather not talk about Kid while I'm trying to fuck you."

"You're trying to fuck me?" Wire asked incredulously. "I thought this was a check up." 

"Shut up." You put your mouth over the tip, intending to go down gradually.

Wired tsked. "There you go again. Talking to your superior in such a disrespectful way." Wire grabbed both sides of your head and pushed you down until you gagged. He released you right afterwards and you came off his cock coughing. "Are you going to be a good girl?" 

"No, probably not."

Wire smiled. "Good. I like a brat." 

You went back into position but Wire pulled you up and turned you around, sitting you on his lap. One hand covered your mouth and the other went back to your pussy, slipping two fingers in. He worked you up until he fit a third finger in, pumping them into you until your cunt was sopping wet. He didn't even try to make you cum yet, and you had a feeling he wasn't going to let you any time soon. Your noises were muffled enough by his hand that only you and he could hear them. 

Wire whispered in your ear. "Yellow if you need to pause. Red if you need to stop. Repeat it back to me." Wire wasn't planning on being rough but it was better to be safe. He removed his hand from your mouth for you to answer.

You nodded. "Yellow to pause. Red to stop." 

Wire put his hands under your thighs and lifted you with ease until you were over his cock. It took a few tries to get it in. You were so slippery that his cock kept slipping away from your entrance. He had to let one leg go and let you sag against his torso for a minute while he grabbed his shaft and guided the head into you. Even with prep, there was a sting as Wire stretched you further. If you were honest, you kind of liked the sting. Wire's hand returned to your thigh as he lifted you up and down his shaft, going further down every time. You bit your lip to keep the moans in, but were failing miserably. 

"Hush," Wire spoke lowly into your ear. 

Wire settled you in his lap with your legs on the outside of his, spread as far as you could comfortably be spread. He was still after that. 

"What's wrong?" You asked him, tilting your head back to stare up at him. 

"Well. I just remembered. You said we need to keep watch. I wouldn't want us to be distracted." 

"I changed my mind. Fuck watch." You rocked your hips for friction and he stilled them with his massive hands.

Wire chuckled darkly. "No. You're right. As a commander, I have to stay focused." 

You pouted. "Wire, c'mon." Groaning, you strained to move against his iron grip.

"You're so cute when you're desperate, fucking brat." 

You moved your hand to play with your clit again and Wire snatched your wrist, twisting it behind your back and pining it between you and himself. You whined, "Wire, please."

"Prove you can be good and I'll give you what you want."

You made a discontented growl but stayed still, hopeful that Wire would give in to his own desires soon and fuck you bent over the crow's nest railing. 

______________________________________________________________

Kid and Killer were returning to their cabins for the night after spending some time in Kid's workshop. Of course, Kid was curious as to why you were leaving Killer's room that morning, so Killer enlightened him. Kid was internally screaming at himself for not making up with you sooner after he had heard about the whole pseudo-virgin thing. Mostly, he was jealous that Killer was forgiven and got to spend time with you.

They passed by Quincy as she came from the women's quarters, her hair bundled up in a turban to dry after her shower. 

"Why aren't you on watch?" Killer questioned, as he was acutely aware of the schedule. 

"Oh! I switched with Y/N." Quincy continued down the hall. 

It took Killer some processing time before he grabbed Kid's arm. "Wire's on watch."

They shared a knowing glance and hustled back out on deck until they were under the crow's nest. It wasn't a problem if you decided to fuck Wire. They wanted to check on you out of curiosity and maybe slight territorial instinct, not jealousy. 

"Y/N!" Killer called up to you.

______________________________________________________________

 You had been sitting in Wire's lap, completely still, trying not to think about every little twitch of his cock that you could feel, that you knew he was doing on purpose to tease you. You sat up a little straighter when you heard your name being called and looked at Wire.

"You can get up."

With his permission, you leaned over the edge of the crow's nest. "Yeah?" When you saw Kid, your lip curled. "What do you want?" 

"Just checking on you." Killer yelled up. 

"I'm fine? Wire is right here." You gestured behind you. Kid and Killer shared a look, which made you squint your eyes suspiciously at them. 

Wire got up to show his face to them, coming up right behind you, leaning over you on the edge. He was quite a bit taller than you so he was hunched at a strange angle. 

You sucked in a breath and tried not to betray what was happening as you felt Wire sheath himself back inside you. 

Wire whispered so only you heard. "Now touch yourself." You felt him pull out and push in, just enough for you to feel the movement but not enough that it was noticeable. 

"It rained. You didn't get wet?" Killer questioned. 

You were afraid to do as Wire said, but you obeyed anyway, before Wire could use it as an excuse to make you do something humiliating. "I'd say I'm a little w-wet. But it's fine." Even the smallest movements felt amazing after being still for so long. As soon as your fingertips touched your clit, you weren't so reluctant, taking advantage of the opportunity Wire gave you.

"You're not cold?" 

"I'll come up and give ya my coat!" Kid offered. 

"No!" You said with too much force. "No I'm actually hot. I'm very hot. Must be hormones or something." Your knees knocked together while Wire dragged deliciously slowly against your gummy walls and your fingers danced around your sensitive bud. 

"We're fine up here." Wire said. "Stop worrying so much about our girl. I'm taking very good care of her." He had a knowing smirk on his face, daring one of them to say something. To you only, Wire said, "Tell them."

You were pretty certain your eyes crossed as Wire pulled your hips tightly against him, so tightly that his tip was squished against your cervix. "Wire-" You coughed to cover a moan. "Wire's been keeping me warm." 

"Wire can handle watch by himself! Why don't ya come with me and..." Kid thought very hard about this one, trying not to make it a sex thing. "... tell me ... about yer day?" 

"Goodnight, captain." You said, ending the conversation. 

From behind you, you couldn't see but Wire was giving Kid the middle finger.

Killer cursed Wire, having to grab Kid and spin him around before he started a fight. 

Kid growled in an annoyed way, harshly whispering to Killer. "He's fucking balls deep in her. He doesn't even like her that much." 

Killer spoke out of the side of his mouth. "It sounds to me like maybe you're regretting your decision not to apologize sooner." 

"Ya better have something sexy on under those jeans."

"I'm not fucking you either. I need my beauty sleep," Killer reminded him. 

"THEN WHO'S GONNA FUCK ME?!" Kid accidentally yelled louder than he meant to. 

Wire's voice came from far away. "Try your hand!"

Killer had to restrain Kid again. Wire knew he was playing with fire, but it was worth it to see Kid get worked up over someone else playing with his things while he was still grounded. 

______________________________________________________________

Wire pulled you back onto his lap as he sat back down. He rewarded your good behavior with a few good pumps before he stilled again and took your hands away from pleasuring yourself. He tortured you most of the night by not moving, or by touching you just enough to make you whine and then rescinding it, or by whispering all the filthy things he'd like to do to you into your ear. It was driving you wild. All you wanted to do was ride his dick until you came at least once, preferably multiple times. You thought about using your devil fruit against him, but that would be cheating, and this was all a game. 

"If I decide that you deserve it, what do you want me to do to you, whore?" 

You involuntarily shivered. "I want you to bend me over that railing and fuck me until I'm crying." 

Wire chuckled. "Are you sure you want to ask that of me, princess?" 

"Please fuck me. Please." You begged. "It won't take much. Just give me 5 minutes."

"So needy." 

"I am. I am needy." You stretched and adjusted your position as your back started getting stiff, but also just to have an excuse to move.

"I know what you're doing."

"I'm not doing anything." 

Wire continued to bully you, telling you how big of a slut you were and how he bet you would love it if the entire crew took turns fucking you. He suggested fucking you in front of Kid and making him watch as a punishment for upsetting you, which was fairly appealing to you, except Kid didn't even deserve to watch. Every so often, Wire would shift for his own comfort and you relished it. It was so pathetic that him shifting his weight, and the minute movement it caused, had you throbbing and twitching. Wire had you so worked up, just by talking dirty to you for the most part. This time when he shifted, he was pressed uncomfortably against your bladder, which apparently was full. 

"Wire, can I use the bathroom really quickly? I have to pee."

"Sure."

When you tried to get up however, Wire held you in place. "Wire, you said I could go!"

"No. I said you could pee." 

"I'm not doing it here." 

"Then I guess you'll hold it." 

"You're disgusting. I'm not peeing in front of you, on you, whatever."

"Would it make you feel better if I peed on you first?" 

"Don't you dare." 

"You're not the one in charge here." 

Wire's hands wandered over you, tweaking you here and there. One slid over your lower stomach, firmly pressing down.

"Wire!" He knew what he was doing, putting pressure on your bladder.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Curious how you haven't used your colors yet, though, isn't it? I think you want to." 

"I don't." The truth was, you weren't sure how you felt about it. Part of you was intrigued by the receiving end, being marked, almost animalistic in nature. Your pride wouldn't let you ask for it though. 

One of Wire's hands covered your mouth and the other went between your legs, tracing the outside of your labia and gradually moving inward. You shuddered when his finger finally pressed into your clit, arching your back into him. He rolled his hips from under you. It was hard not to hit your sweet spot when he had a dick that took up every inch of space there was inside you. You both resented and praised him for wanting to make a complete humiliating mess of you. You moaned freely into his hand, unworried about anyone hearing you. Every movement he made pressed into your bladder and it was a struggle to balance relaxing into his thrusts so you could cum and holding your piss in. 

"That's right, little one. You can make a mess in my lap. Come undone for me." 

You resisted, still holding onto your pride and your piss. 

"I know you want to cum so badly. Think about how good it will feel to let go."

You shook your head, still screaming into his palm. 

Wire was unrelenting in his movements, thrusting into you more, rubbing your clit in fast circles. "Cum for me. You've been begging all night to cum and now you're resisting me? Tch. You are a brat." 

You were less and less in control of your body as you gave in to your pleasure. Wire allowed you to roll your hips against his. Your hand was gripped tightly on his wrist, holding it in place over your clit. In a burst of stars across your vision, you came, thighs shaking, back arching, Wire's hand barely containing the blissful sound coming from your throat. Wire got what he wanted. As soon as you came, you did more than squirt, you soaked your torn leggings and Wire beneath you. 

"Fuck. Make a mess. Let it all out." Wire rubbed your clit harder until you were spraying the wood that made up the bottom of the crow's nest. "Good girl."

You were panting and blissed out in Wire's lap. All the edging built up into a huge, rapturous orgasm that had you completely limp against him. Every so often you twitched with aftershocks.

Wire took his hand from your mouth and stroked your hair. "That feels better, doesn't it?" 

You nodded, slumped in his lap. 

"You're my plaything aren't you?"

You nodded again. You would agree to whatever he said, too tired to put up a fight, too focused on the tingling endorphins zipping around your body as the orgasm lingered. 

"You'll do whatever I want, won't you?"

You nodded.

"Out loud, little one."

"I'll do whatever you want, Wire." 

"That's a good pet." Wire threw you so you were bent over the side of the crow's nest. "Now you get your reward. But you better cum quick, looks like dawn is close, and you wouldn't want Killer to wake up and see his favorite girl strung out on someone else's cock." 

You both knew damn well Killer would actually really enjoy that, but you played along. You didn't want anyone else to see that anyway and people would start getting up to start on their duties as soon as dawn broke. The sky had a light tint to it at the horizon, though dark clouds that threatened rain still hung low in the night sky. 

Wire grabbed your hair and your hip as leverage to pound into you. You weren't expecting him to start so rough, but you did say you wanted him to make you cry. The edge of the wood painfully pressed into your thighs as Wire pushed into you from behind. He was unrelenting, not even giving you a chance to recover from your orgasm. Your hand gripped the wood hard, half afraid he would fuck you right over the edge. Your cries were no longer imprisoned inside your mouth by Wire's hand and you cared little to cover them up. All you cared about was Wire fucking your brains out and being intoxicated with ecstasy.

"Oh fuck!" 

"That's it, slut. Beg for my cock. Tell me whose pussy this is."

"It's yours!" You moaned. "Ruin this cunt, Wire. Please."

Wire's monster cock rubbed your clit from the inside. He bullied your cunt, forcing his length as far into you as it would go, repeatedly pounding into your cervix. You were melted over the side of the crow's nest, lost in pleasure. Tears pricked the edges of your eyes as you gave in. Your thighs were soaked with a mix of the wetness of your cunt and your urine, and they only got wetter as Wire fucked into you. He was turning you into a sloppy puddle and you loved every second of it. 

Wire pulled you up so your back was touching him and shoved his fingers into your mouth to muffle you, as you were starting to actually get loud enough to wake the ship. Your wet, hot breath on his hand and the wanton moans spilling from your mouth made his balls tighten, threatening to spill inside you. He didn't even think you knew you were doing it, but you were throwing your hips back on him, and the way you were hypnotized by his fucking made him groan. Your cunt had him ini a vice grip, trying to milk him for every drop of cum he had. 

"I'm g-gonna cum," you stuttered. 

Wire grunted. "Me too. You gonna take all of it?"

"Fill me up! Please! I need it."

"That's ngh- my good little slut."

As soon as Wire felt your walls clench around him, it pushed him over the edge. His balls squeezed as he spilled his seed inside you. An impressive amount of cum was unloaded into you, spilling out onto your thighs as his cock left no room in your pussy for the cum to go. Every pulse of your orgasm pushed a little more of his seed out. Wire felt your weight fall into him. Your knees gave out with the intensity of the waves coursing through you. Wire lowered you sit on the bench, licking his lips at the way you were slumped and whimpering, legs spread, leaking his seed, with your pretty pink pussy exposed in your ripped clothes. He couldn't help but thrust his fingers back between your puffy lips, feeling his stickiness clinging to you. You whined feeling his fingers move inside your overly-sensitive body. Wire stroked himself, not to stay hard, but to feel the residual pleasure before his dick softened. 

"What do you say?"

You barely registered Wire talking to you. "T-thank you."

"That pretty, tight pussy is mine, right?"

You nodded. "Yes, sir."

"You want me to make it mine?"

"Mhm." Fat raindrops started to fall on the ship, cool against your skin. Then you felt something warm pattering against you. You were brought partially out of your stupor by the sight of Wire with his heavy shaft in his hand, pissing directly onto your spread cunt, marking you. The foreign feeling of the stream hitting your clit made your legs twitch. Warmth rose to your cheeks as you processed that you were allowing yourself to get peed on by Wire. It was both humiliating and arousing. Maybe you had some kinks that needed to be explored further. 

Wire pressed a kiss to your forehead and slapped your vulva when he was finished. "You were so good for me. Let me take care of my pretty pet." 

The sun's rays were starting to branch out from the horizon line as Wire carried you unseen to his and Heat's quarters. It was smaller than either Kid or Killer's cabins, and there was no separation between Heat and Wire's spaces, but they still had their own bathroom, again smaller than Kid and Killer's. You could hear rain begin to pour down harder, which was for the best since it would wash away the mess in the crow's nest. It was also relaxing as Wire stripped your soiled and torn clothing from you. He brought you into their shared bathroom, and was supporting you with his arm while he disrobed as well. Wire ran a bath and brought you in with him, as their bathtub was also large enough to fit someone as large as Wire and then some. He let you lay on his chest while you soaked. 

"You did so well, sweetheart. Does anything hurt?"

You shook your head. You really just wanted to sleep now.

"I know that was new for you. How was it? If you didn't like it, you don't have to do it again."

You thought about it. "I... liked it."

"Good." Wire stroked your hair.

You mustered the strength to sit up and face Wire. You hadn't taken the time to appreciate his features, usually lost on his dick when he was sans clothes. The flecks of gray in his dark hair were charming. You scratched his sideburns affectionately. "Thank you for guiding me into something new." You felt like he deserved some praise, too. You grinned. "You know, you weren't that mean to me this time."

"And you weren't that much of a brat."

You sighed a weak laugh. 

Wire cleaned you up and tucked you into his bed, choosing himself to slide in next to Heat, who was still asleep in his own bed. You thought you heard some sleepily exchanged words of endearment between them before you melted into unconsciousness. 

NEXT

Tag list: @bbnbhm @nocturnalrorobin @wgwingguns

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 8: Recollections

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

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Raph sits down on his bed, grabbing a stuffed bear and rubbing his thumb over its worn-down stomach.

The room is dim, but not dark. The main light is off, but the hanging lanterns he has strung along the wall give a warm red glow to the room.

Ever since his krangification, Raph's eye has been a bit sensitive. It waters easily, stings on occasion, and bright lights irritate him. He's started wearing sunglasses outside more often, even on cloudy days. Donnie offered to make an artificial eye to help, but Raph said no. He'd rather keep the eye, even with its attitude and quirks.

"I'm not ready to be a cyborg just yet," he'd joked.

He thought that much of a change would be too big for him, after all the changes he and his family have already gone through.

Now a mechanical eye doesn't sound so crazy or scary.

Raph hugs his teddy bear. It squeaks in his arms. He thinks of how similar it felt to holding Mikey before he got mutated...

He grimaces, scrunching his face up tight and pressing his hands against his head, trying to force the thoughts away.

Mikey is still Mikey! Just with a few new... he won't call them upgrades. Changes. Nothing that can't be reversed, of course.

But... what if they can't be?

Raph presses his hands even tighter against his head.

Stop it. Shut up. Shut up!!

He doesn't want to think about this. He doesn't want to think about Mikey. Not in this way.

He feels like he's betraying him somehow, thinking of him as a monster or a wild animal rather than a brother. But then, he feels like he won't be able to help him if he keeps thinking of Mikey as he was before, and not accepting that he is changed now. But then, he won't stay changed. But then...

"SHUT UP!" Raph yells to himself, slamming his fists against the bed frame.

His ninpo activates, giant red fists breaking the bed slightly and causing the edge of it to slip under his weight and crash against the floor. Raph yipes in alarm, looking down at the mess he's made.

"...Nice going, Raph," he grumbles, grabbing some boxes of dumbells from the corner of his room to prop up the extension on his bed.

He sighs, sitting down on the edge of the mattress again, head in his hands.

He tries to stay strong. He tries not to break down. His family doesn’t need that right now, they don't need a basket case or a worry-wart or whatever else they might call him. They need Raph, strong and brave and ready to take on the world.

But he needs Mikey... he needs his baby brother back, safe, sound, whole. Not broken, not bloody, not feral and confused. He wants Mikey home again. Home in his own body.

Raph starts crying. Although he's disappointed in himself for it, he is glad that he can finally get the tears out. He presses his face into his stuffed animals, trying to get it all out all at once.

Raph hates himself so much right now...

Because...

Because it is all his fault...

.

.

.

"...But I don't see WHY we have to wait!" Raph gripes, Mikey sitting beside him, drawing random doodles on his arm wraps while he listens to the rant. "If we know that the place is doing villain stuff, shouldn't we go in to stop em?"

"I mean, Leo's decision does make a little sense," Mikey counters, taking a big yellow marker out and drawing a smiling sun on Raph's arm. "It's a pretty big building, dude."

"I'm not saying we storm the castle," he responds, waving his arms in exasperation.

Mikey scolds him and brings his arm back down to continue his work.

"I'm just saying that we could scope out the place instead of ignoring it completely!"

"We're not ignoring it," Mikey corrects. "Donnie is gonna run surveillance on it. Leo's gonna have Cass and the girl scouts check it out. Besides, when did you become the go-getter? I thought you and your Raph-chasm would have preferred taking it slow and safe!"

"Raph-chasm?!" he sputters. "Is Leo spreading that slander around?"

Mikey giggles.

"You do know we've been calling it that for years, right?"

Raph growls angrily.

"Dang it, Leo..."

Mikey giggles again.

"But for real, Raph... why are you so antsy?"

"I don't know... just a gut feeling. There's been reports of all kinds of crazy stuff since the invasion, and most of it has something to do with that new organization Donnie and April told us about..."

"What did they call it again? ESP?"

"EPF," Raphael corrects. "Earth Protection Force, or some junk. But the building they're occupying is labeled Techno Cosmic Research Institute, or some junk."

"Doesn't sound so bad," Mikey hums, taking out a blue marker and drawing a mini version of Leo on Raph. "Sounds like a radio shack from the 90's or something!"

"Maybe, but it bothers me that this new weird mystery organization is everywhere." Raph shudders. "It's unsettling. What if they find us?"

"Find us...?" Mikey turns his head up. "What do you think they'd do?"

"I don't know. But I don't trust em. Something about it all just... bugs me."

Mikey is quiet for a second. He places the cap on his marker. He's managed to draw everyone in the family but himself.

"Well, if it bugs you, then... let's go check em out!"

"Wait, huh?"

"You're gut says they're untrustworthy? Then that's enough for me!" he says, jumping up from his spot. "Let's go see how bad they are."

"But... Leo said..."

"Weren't you the one just complaining about how you didn't think we should stand still and do nothing?" Mikey challenges.

"I know. But Leo is the leader, and I want to show him that I trust him."

"We do!" Mikey exclaims. "We're not storming a castle, we're checking out the scene. Leo wants to wait until we can get some actual intel? Then let's help him along! Let's grab a few listening devices or something and place them along the windows."

"Well... that would help... but we leave at the first sign of trouble, okay?"

"Absolutely!" Mikey salutes. "Now, am I breaking into Donnie's labs to get the spy stuff or are you?"

Raph chuckles as he stands, cracking his knuckles.

"You get the spy equipment, I'll get the weapons. Meet you at the tank."

The two give quick nods before heading off in separate directions.

Raph rushes to the training room and grabs the weapons. It is only then that he sees Mikey's doodles.

Oh, he should change his wraps. He doesn't have time to clean them off, and besides, he knows Mikey prefers to take pictures of all his doodles before getting rid of them.

Raph quickly grabs his sai and Mikey's nunchucks before heading to his room, grabbing a spare roll of black bandages, and carefully but speedily removing the one on his right arm. He just needs to replace the one arm, Mikey hasn't gotten to decorating the left yet. Maybe when they get back he can finish it...

He races back to the tunnel, seeing Mikey leaning against the ginormous tire of the turtle tank as he waits.

"There you are! Ready to go?"

"Sure thing. Do you wanna try driving tonight?"

"Can I?" Mikey asks with excitement.

"Sure, why not? You need the practice."

Mikey squeals with delight as he climbs in, Raph following suit.

The two drive away, making plans while Raph gives Mikey impromptu driving lessons. They joke, they laugh, Raph clings to his seat when Mikey's turns come in too sharply.

"Park over there," Raph says, pointing to an alley closeby to the targeted building.

Mikey nods with an "aye-aye, cap'n!" as he makes another sharp turn and hides the tank in the alley, activating a cloaking device Donnie came up with recently.

"Okay, got the listening doohickeys?"

"Right here!" Mikey says, reaching out and producing several small, round baubles with purple centers.

"Alright, so all we're gonna do is ninja up there, ninja a few of these around the perimeter, and then ninja out."

"That sounds just like the time future Leo saved a war camp!" Mikey giggles. "Or whatever Casey Jr. said."

"Uh, okay?" Raph offers. "I'll pretend like I understood that."

The two exit the vehicle and slink around the block, coming up on the building.

It looks like a normal building. No more than 13 stories, small windows with frosted glass, a rotating door that leads to a small lobby, a few security guards and an intern behind a desk. Above the door is the acronym TCRI, bright and silver surrounded by white LED lights. There's graffiti on the side of the wall, with what looks like an artist's rendition of the 'New York Heroes'. Mikey takes a quick selfie with it before getting back to the unsanctioned mission.

"You take the left side, I'll take the right," Raph whispers. "We don't have a lot of listening gadgets, so use 'em sparingly. Got it?"

"Got it!" Mikey whispers back.

He takes his chucks out and swings them up. A long glowing chain activates, and Mikey starts to scale the wall, swinging to the opposite side.

Raph starts pressing the small devices to the wall, doing two for each floor. Once the gadgets stick to the bricks, the purple centers start to blink.

After about five minutes, Raph's phone buzzes. He pulls it out to see that he's getting a call from Donnie.

Uh-oh.

He declines the call.

He presses two more devices to the wall before Donnie calls him again. Raph groans and pulls the phone out, answering it.

"Hello?"

"Oh, Raphala, where are you?" Donnie asks. His tone sounds cheerful and fake. He can tell he's seething.

"Um, nowhere..."

"Nowhere? Really? Then, would you care to explain to me why I am getting bombarded with notifications about my spy tech being activated? And why when I checked the garage, the tank was gone? And why I cannot find you, nor Mikey, nor your gear anywhere within the lair??"

"Um... bad connection?" Raph tries.

"What are you doing."

"Nuthin'," Raph says, his voice squeaking. He clears his throat and tries again. "Just, y'know... ninja stuff."

"I can clearly see your location, Raph."

"Shoot, I forgot about that," he hisses. "I mean, uh..."

"Is that Raph?" Leo's voice comes into the call.

"Oh no," he groans.

"Let me talk to him."

"You had your chance," Donnie speaks into the phone, before handing it over to Leo.

"Raph. Where are you. What are you and Mikey doing with the listening devices."

"Okay, well, we were thinking," he starts, moving away from the alley for a moment as he talks with Leo on the phone. "We were thinking that maaayyybeee it would be a good idea to get some surveillance on the TCRI place before our next big mission, and so --"

"And so you ignore the fact that I said to wait?!" Leo yells angrily. "Raph, we TALKED about this! I thought you said you were gonna let me be leader without pulling these kinds of stunts behind my back!"

"I'm not pulling any stunt! All we're doing is setting up the devices, then leaving! We just wanted to try and see if we could get any intel on them to help! We're not stupid enough to just go in and mess around, ya know!"

"Where's Mikey?" Leo asks exasperatedly. "He isn't answering his phone."

Raph turned back to look at the building he's walked away from. He looks up, and can see Mikey standing on the roof, looking around.

"He's on the roof," Raph sighs. "I'll go and get him."

Raph puts Leo on hold as he runs back to the building. Once in the alley, he starts jumping between walls, doing impressive parkour as he bounces back and forth and flips off of fire escapes until he's at the roof.

But Mikey isn't there.

Raph walks to the other side of the roof and looks over the edge.

Mikey isn't on the ground.

He notices a vent panel has been jimmied open.

"Oh no."

Raph grabs his phone.

"Um, Leo? I think he went in..."

"WHAT?!" Leo screams at him, causing Raph to pull his phone away from his ear.

"Why would he go in?!"

"I don't know!" Raph whimpers. "I told him we were only doing the exterior--"

"You shouldn't be there at all!"

"Should I go in after him?"

"No, don't -- wait for a minute, call him, maybe he'll answer you."

"Okay, yeah, I'll do that," he says, trying not to panic. "Call you back soon."

Raph hangs up and quickly dials Mikey.

It rings once before he answers.

"Shello?" he whispers.

"Mikey? Where are ya?!" Raph hisses at him. "I thought we said no inside stuff!"

"I saw a weird van pull up," he explains. "They took a krangified person in through the back."

"They what?"

"Yeah, I know. I wanted to see what they were gonna do with him."

"Mikey, I think you should get outta there," Raph whimpers.

"I will in just a sec, I think I found the room where... huh..."

Mikey's voice trails off.

"Mikey? Mikey, what is it?"

"I'm not sure... hold on a sec, 'kay?" Mikey whispers, his voice soft and secretive.

"Mikey, get out of there, now!" Raph scolds.

Mikey doesn’t respond.

Raph waits for him to say something. Anything. He hears Mikey gasp quietly.

"Ohmigosh," he whimpers. His voice is weak and his breathing fast. "Okay, that's enough for me, I'm coming out now!"

"Mikey?! What did you see, what's going on?"

He hears a clattering sound, a stifled gasp, muffled shouting.

"I dropped my phone," Mikey whimpers in fear. "I think they heard me."

"GET OUT NOW!" Raph yells. He dials Leo, adding him to the call.

"Raph? What's going --"

"Mikey's been made," Raph says in a panic.

"Get out of there, now!"

"Leo?" Mikey whispers nervously. "Is that you?"

"Mikey, we're on our way now, just get out as fast as you can! Don't worry about whether or not you're seen, just get out!"

"I'm trying!" Mikey cries nervously. "I'm stuck in the vents!!"

Raph hears a loud clang, followed by Mikey's screams and a thud.

"There he is!"

"Get him!"

"Come'ere, kid!"

Mikey yells in protest, terrified screams as he shouts at them to 'let me go, stop, leave me alone!'

Raph yells out into the phone. He's not sure what he yells, only that he wants Mikey back. He hears Leo yelling, too.

"Raph! Leo!" Mikey screams.

"MIKEY!!" the two yell back in unison.

The line goes dead.

A blue light ignites besides Raph, and Leo jumps through immediately, gasping for air as he stares down at Raph, who is on his hands and knees, holding the phone like it was Mikey's only lifeline.

"Where is he?" Leo pants. "Where is Mikey?"

Raph can't do anything but shake.

Mikey got captured... Because of him...

.

.

.

Raph lifts his face from the army of plushies he has been confiding in.

He takes in a deep breath.

He stands, going to a drawer and pulling out the wraps from that day. Almost a week ago.

The drawings are still there. The sketches and doodles are all intact. The image of a family is there, with each member colour-coded. Red, Blue, Purple... but it's missing their Orange brother. He never did get to finish that portrait.

Raphael leaves his train car and walks over to Mikey's. The door is wide open.

Inside, he sees Leo, slumped over on a beanbag chair and snoring softly, his mouth fallen open.

He hadn't said anything about sleeping in here.

He must've wanted to check on Mikey, too...

Raph grabs of one the extra blankets and pillows and adjusts his brother so that he can sleep more comfortably.

He takes residence in another beanbag chair opposite him.

Once settled, Raphael watches Mikey, who is sleeping peacefully and undisturbed, his tail swinging from side to side and his claws twitching on occasion.

Raph sighs.

Tears silently streak down his face as he cries himself to sleep.

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[miseta]

Chapitre 4 ➺ Hell Clasico

Starting over In Madrid

Misa Rodriguez x Reader (Nicky/first person)

After moving to Madrid as the new Real Madrid photographer, Nicky's eyes can't look away from the pretty face of Misa Rodriguez. But how is she going to handle her growing desire for the Canarian goalkeeper when her working contract's strictly forbidding her to date players?

Chapter 1 ➺ A harder job than I thought Chapter 2 ➺ Clearly on a bad slope Chapter 3 ➺ Calmly panicking

4K words

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ 

"You don’t come after training because we’re still grounded ?" 

Misa’s text made my heart lifted. With the Clasico and games abroad coming, I had a huge amount of work that was keeping me out of the stadium. I had shut myself in my office for three days now, importing, retouching photos, thinking about the next games’s visuals… Due to the fact that resisting the goalkeeper was becoming more and more difficult, I had to admit I was relieved to be able to avoid her.

I thought a moment about what to answer. As soon as she had stood up from that bench on the evening at the park, Misa had been her funny self again. She had joked happily. We had said goodbye at the entrance of the parking. Like friends do. If she had been disappointed, she had been hiding it well. 

And now she was texting about me for not coming to our photo meeting in a casual yet flirty way again…

"Feels like I’m the grounded one… work is having me trapped in my office!" I texted back.

"👉🤓" 

"🫠👋"

She started typing and stopped. Her text bubble didn’t reappeared. I sighted. I hated having to be distant with her. I sighted again and buried myself back into work. 

Fifteen minutes later, loud erratic knocks boomed against the door of my office.  "What…?". Without waiting, Misa, Hayley and Sofie burst into the room. "Here she is ! You believed to could get rid of us that easy Nicky?" Hayley asked while the three girls came around my desk. Misa had bring a ball and severals biscuits with her. "What are doing here?!" I said already annoyed. I had a feeling they weren’t here to help me… 

"We’re checking if you’re still Nicky and not a robot." Misa dropped the biscuits on my desk and started to play with her ball, making it rebound between her foot and thigh. Sofie was leaning toward my computer’s screen. "Do you have new photos of me?". Hayley was observing my cameras under every angles. "I’ve never seen this one, would you recommend it Nicky?" The dull sound of the ball rebounding rhythmically was constantly filling the room. I wasn’t believing how fast they had created such a mess.   

"Guys, a girl needs to focus right now!" I said, eyes closed, a hand on my forehead. "Oh, you can keep working, don’t mind us." Hayley had taken a camera and was back at taking pictures. Sofie joined Misa and they went passing each other the ball. There was no way I was going to be able to concentrate in this chaos. 

Edit just ten more photos tonight. I said to myself. I grabbed back my pencil and graphic tab, opened a photo of Olga striking, and started to erase an unwanted grass twigs on one of her socks.

On the corner of my eye, I saw Misa’s face approaching the screen while chewing a mouthful of biscuits. "What’s this? Are you drawing?" She pointed at my tablet. The sound of the ball was still resounding, Sofie had taken over. A few crumbles fell off the goalkeeper’s mouth. "Misa! The keyboard !" I blowed hard on it to make them go away. "Perdòn!" She stood back and tried to swallow her snack. She gestured to me to explain again.

That girl can be such a pain !

"No, I can’t draw, I’m just correcting details. A pen is more precise that a mouse". I said to her.

"Oh vale ! Can I try It ?" I glared at her. "I mean not now! When you have the time. And… I can teach you football in exchange". She ended up showing an innocent smile.

That girl will drive me mad! 

"Misa! Leave Nicky alone and come to my IG Live, the fans wants to see you !" Sofie called from the farthest corner.

"Coming! Nicky, take a biscuit, son muy buenos!"

They kept going like this until they were forced to leave with me. I had painfully managed to do half the work I wanted to be over. Tomorrow is another day, they say. 

***

Alas, next day was just the same. They came after their practice and occupied themselves more loudly than ever until my boss finally came to have them go away. With all of that, it was miracle I had finished everything at a rather early time on the eve of the Clasico. That meant I could attend the motivation speech that followed today’s training session.  

Sitting in the stands, the speech wasn’t captivating after all. Maybe I hadn’t enough knowledge of football to really get it but I found it lasting forever. The players weren't into it either. Olga’s legs were showing signs of impatience. Linda was slowly drifting. But despite my tiredness, I wanted to check on Misa and Hayley, so I kept waiting. 

I caught them at the building exit. I could sensed their nervousness behind the frank smiles they both gave me as a greeting. 

"Hey Nicky, great speech eh..?" Hayley hugged me, she was so tensed. "Thanks for waiting but I need go home. I’m off, girls, see you tomorrow !" Misa patted her shoulder as she left and she roughly brushed her hair in return. 

I turned to the goalkeeper. "How are you coping?" I asked her gently. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "Estoy bien…", she answered peering down, her foot kicking at the floor vainly. She obviously wasn’t. 

"Do you want to walk ?" I said without any back thoughts. I just wanted to help my friend to feel a bit better. She nodded. 

We went touring the sport campus. We tried to talked about anything but the Clasico. At first, Misa was jumping in place every now and then to get rid of her stress. She relaxed when we started to tease each other. 

"Misa, you can’t be with a ball without showing off! That’s insane!". 

She smirked. "I’m athlete Nicky! Football is my life, of course I play with my ball all the time". She side glance at me, her mischievous tone and satisfied smile back. "I did 65 rebounds yesterday." 

I giggled "Is that much ?". Misa’s both disappointed and irritated air had me laughing out loud. 

She slapped me on the arm "Jajaja, muy divertido! Enhorabuena Nicky! I don’t care about what a girl who work al Real Madrid and knows nothing about football thinks!" 

It was my turn to faint annoyance. "I see trainer Misa is long gone before she even started… you are a very reliable person." She opened her mouth but was out of answer. I had had her sulking again. Grumpy Misa was one of my favorite. 

I took a pleading look. "All right, you are the best Misa! Now, when do we start training ?" I was sure the training part would lift her spirit. 

She side-eyed me again, still vexed. "Have you at least ever play football ?". 

I pretended to search my mind. "It happened... twice maybe. First was at school, and second on the alley in front of my parent’s house". 

She snorted. "No es posible…" She shook her head and continued, her voice suddenly curious. "For real, why did you want to work for a football club?" Her mocking tone gone had me really wonder how much I wanted to tell. 

"I needed a change in my life. Anything was… not going well. I had a rough break up and was really unhappy in my previous job…"

"I’m sorry to hear that" she said with a concerned look. 

I half laughed half sighted. "It’s ok now. I’m glad to be here. I really like Madrid". We were reaching the exit of the building again. 

"Bueno… and do you like your new job too ?" 

"Yes, I’m quite found of it… and of my new exasperating friends" I went back teasing her a little as we headed to the parking. 

"I’m happy you’re good with us", she said, not reacting on the teasing part this time. 

We arrived in the middle of the car park. I didn’t know if we were going in the same direction so I gestured on the right  "I’m parked this way". 

"I’m parked over here but I’ll go with you to your car, I can do with walking a bit more " she replied although she sounded far less stressed now. 

We reached my vehicle and faced each other to say goodbye. "Thanks Nicky" Misa softy spoke. Her features were less drawn. The walk had soothed her a little. 

"You’re looking better. Are you sure you’re ready to go home ?" I inquired one last time. 

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Instead she simply smiled and looked away. "Misa?" I frowned not knowing how to help her anymore. 

Her head turned back to me. She bit her lip and her eyes stopped on mine. Then she slowly moved forward. My brows went up, having me frozen in a surprised look as she took my hands in hers, and I knew that that was it, that there’s was no escaping this time, and that I didn’t gave a fuck.

I half closed my eyes, my head slightly bowed while she leant over. My gaze stayed on her quivering mouth as she approached mine. At last, she pressed her lips. I let out a short breath. I was surprise by the tenderness of her kiss. Her mouth was soft, its movements slow.

I kissed her back. Letting relief fill me up. Completely abandoning myself as her taste and scent washed over me. Our noses brushed against each other. The grip of our hands tighten as we went on kissing, softly still, slowly still. 

Finally, she withdrew her lips from mine, a soft smile lingering on them, having me missing their contact immediately. My eyes couldn’t leave hers. 

"I’m ready now" she whispered. I exhale and shyly smiled and she released my hands. "Good night Nicky ». She stepped back and turned over. My gaze followed her until she disappeared behind the birch trees growing between the parking spaces. 

***

Aitana Bonmati was running fast, dribbling everyone coming for her. She armed her strike and shoot between Ivana and Olga toward the penalty area. The ball landed right on Salma precise foot who immediately kicked hard at the upper left corner of the goal. Misa jumped with all her strength and the tip of gloves deflated the ball, preventing Barcelona to strike once again. 

The match had been hard and demanding from the very beginning. Barça team had been pressing Real Madrid players, having them constantly cornered near their penalty area. Misa had already saved five goals but as Mariona Caldentey had outpasted all the defenders for the third time and send a particularly well aimed kick to Caroline Graham Hansen, the goalkeeper had gone on the wrong direction and the ball had rolled easily in the cage. Misa had sweared, gotten up, and send a long clearance skillfully recovered by Hayley. Hayley was a fast runner too. She had passed the ball to Athenea, who had dribble passed Irene Paredes and used the one second of disorganization to find Linda. The kick from Linda’s head had miraculously flied through the expert gloves of Cata Coll, and crashed on the net behind her, filling the stadium with unexpected joy. 

Returning from the halftime, Barça had pressed harder and harder without succeeding at scoring yet an other goal. After a clever discussion in locker room during the break, the real Madrid was holding well against them for the first time, Misa’s many saves putting and end to theirs brilliant sequences of passes. And the unbelievable had happened at de 78th min. Naomie had succeeded at loosing Alexia Putellas’marker to get the ball from Oihane’s throw-in. Her quick arched shot had found Olga on the left side, who had managed a shot worthy of the World Cup. She had stricken from her rather distant position straight at the right upper corner, giving Cata Coll an impossible job. The stadium had burst screaming, echoing Madrid players all hugging together to celebrate their first time ever leading Barcelona. 

It was extra time when Misa’s body crashed on the grass again from saving Salma’s strike. The Madrid player were back at having a hard time. I could see they were physically drained, their feet barely touching the ball anymore. 

They all took position, ready for the corner, Misa giving directions to her teammates as she prepared herself for the upcoming action. Salma struck. She crossed the ball back from the goal line. The ball descended on Alexia in a perfect neat curve before she sent it crashing to the net. Barcelona had come up to the score, victory slipping through the Madrid girls'fingers at the 95th minute. Now, the match was going extra time. I saw Misa down in her attempt to save to ball, kicking the grass with her fists in frustration. As well trained as they were, the team was exhausted. With Barça clearly dominating, the extra time was going to be a living hell. 

Misa passed by me as she exit the tunnel to ran toward her goal after the short break. I took a shot of her face, a mix of deep concentration and extreme fatigue. My heart sank. I had been covering the match with other photographers from the start, trying hard to focus on my job rather than on the ongoing actions and the increasing pressure on Misa. 

The game resumed. Madrid team formed two compact lines in front of the goal. They had received new guidelines: keep on defending and don’t take another goal at all cost. Their strategy, and Ivana’s agile foot prevented a new shot on target finding the net. The only two more attempts of Madrid met Cata’s gloves, her clearance sending the ball back on their half pitch again. But, they hold on again and again the entire the first half of extra time.

During the second, fouls and cramps multiplied on each sides, chopping the play in numerous sloppy actions and hardening the footballer’s job by giving them unnecessary minor injuries. Misa’s attempt to grab a shot by Mariona sent her rolling on ground and her knee hit the goal-post. The ball luckily found the cross-bar and was quickly cleared by Kathellen. But Misa was still down, grasping her knee between the puffy fingers of her gloves. I shuddered. No please! Let not it be a serious injury! I silently prayed. The medical staff came over after the referee had blown the whistle. With several of her teammates surrounding, I could barely see what was going on. 

I waited, trying to breathe properly, not looking at the last picture I took of Misa, curled up on the grass, her features distorted by pain. After what was feeling like an hour, the med staff went away and the small crowd scattered, revealing Misa standing on her feet again, though she was breathing hard and slightly limping. I relaxed a little.

The goalkeeper settled back in front of her caged but she gave the ball to Ivana for her to do a long clearance. She clearly hadn’t the strength anymore. The ball was back in her penalty area in a heartbeat but the match had Madrid finally find the key to put up a very strong defence. When the whistle blew again, it was to put an end to the game at last. 

The penalty shoot out would decide the winner of the Copa de la Reina. More than ever, the outcome of the match was now resting mostly on Misa’s shoulders.

The goalkeeper and the rest of the team gathered around the trainer near the bench. I crossed eyes with Misa and I smiled, my fist clenched up in the air to show her my support. She didn’t seemed to see me. Nothing exists apart from the game when she was playing. 

Madrid opened the shoot out with Olga. She shot, scored. Cheers burst. 

Misa jumped on her line. Caroline Graham Hansen scored as well. 

Claudia kicked hard on her right but Cata had understand where she was aiming. Her body blocked the ball, having Barça yelling in triumph. 

Aitana scored. 

Athenea scored. 

Mariona scored.

Hayley scored.

Last ball. All was resting on Misa. If she failed the ball, everything was over. 

Alexia armed her leg. Kicked. The ball flew on the opposite of the goalkeeper. 

It was it. Madrid had lost. I forgot to take pictures, focusing on the limp body of Misa still laying on her back, her gloves on her face. As the Barcelona players hugged together in victory, the sturdy figure of Alexia was crouched at Misa side, muttering to her words I could not hear. She heaved Misa to her feet, helped her taking off her gloves. I could see her face wet with tears, her eyes puffed and closed as she was still sobbing. They leaved the pitch, Alexia’s arm over Misa’s shoulders. One of other photograph was shooting restlessly at them while they headed toward the tunnel. I couldn’t suppress a surge of anger. 

I got up, quickly took the steps that separated me from the man with the camera. 

"Give her a rest ok ?!" I shouted in his direction. The man stared blankly at me, astonished. In addition to my strange behavior, he probably wasn’t speaking English. 

Noticing my action, Misa and Alexia had stopped. When she saw me close, Misa lowered her head as if she couldn’t bear to look at me. Alexia stared kindly at me, guilt still her eyes as she knew she had partly caused the sadness of her friend. 

"I can take her to the locker room if you want" I said, instantly shocked by my own words when I couldn’t leave my job. 

Misa lifted her face again. Alexia looked at the goalkeeper to see if she was ok with that. Misa nodded and I took over Alexia to guide her through the tunnel. 

I made Misa sat on the farthest bench of the locker room. Everything was quiet here, the screeches of the celebration only a distant echo. The goalkeeper had stopped crying. Her board shoulders and muscular body seemed so fragile somehow. I took a seat beside her, not knowing what to do now it was up to me to comfort her. 

"I’m sorry" I simply said.

"We were so close!" she cried. "Let’s just go! I don’t want to be there, I don’t want the puta silver medal again!" She blown her nose hard and rubbed her red eyes with a towel laying by. Exhaustion was oosing from her at every levels. 

"No Misa you can’t go" I responded and caught a surprised side eye, as surprise as she could be in her current state. "You can’t go because everything’s not about wining or being better or best ! You can’t go because football doesn’t have to be that. It’s not about the score, the cup or whatever. Football is an emotion, a battle, a shared experience. And first and foremost it’s a spectacle and you put on one hell of a show as a team and as a player tonight! If you go, nothing remain, it would mean nothing. You have to go back Misa." 

Silence settled between us. I felt exposed and embarrassed by the words I had just spoken. It was ridiculous, saying obvious things like that to a seasoned footballer when I was barely discovering the sport. 

The goalkeeper exalted deeply. "You lied to me" she said, gotten me confused. She chuckled softy "You acted like you didn’t know a thing about football". She painfully stood up and waved me to do the same. "But you do" she said smiling as we faced each other. The tall woman pulled me into a hug, her head resting on my shoulder and I hold her tight against me. I gently stroked her back, her jersey was wet and she was clearly stinking of sweat but I didn’t care. I just wanted us to stay like this, clump together.

After a minute or so, we parted and smiled softy at each other. In spite of her weariness, Misa was looking less drained. She was waiting for... something while expectantly looking at me. Her dimples back with her grin enlighten her tired face. I kept smiling, my mind racing to figure out what I should do, what I could do… what I wanted do to. When she thought I wouldn’t do anything, Misa’s smile faded a little and she started to turn around. 

"Misa, wait…" I grabbed her arm and pulled her back against me. I only took a glimpse of her surprised yet eager face before I kissed her.

I grasped her face, pressed her mouth harder against mine. Misa let out a whine, the sound of it had my body set afire. I slowly made her step back until she hit the lockers room’s door. She gasped at the contact, put one of her hand in my hair, the other gripping the fabric of the bottom of my shirt. She opened her lips, her taste filled me up entirely and had me moan with want.

Our heated kiss had enlighten all my senses and turned my body into white iron. I felt my hand acting on her own as it went under Misa’s jersey and up her abs. She wimped again, her own fingers going under my shirt and touching the skin of my waist. Her soft and full lips were enveloping my mouth, our breathings had become jerky.

Fevered by my desire of her, I led my hand down her stomach to the strap of her shorts. She groaned and froze. "Wow! Nicky wait…" I stopped neat. She took her hands off my back and gently seized my face. "I have to go back" she said, a burning gaze on me. I breathed, trying to tame the flames devouring my insides. I smiled and repeated, "You have to go back". She placed a last kiss on my lips and got off the room.

Right now, Hell Clasico was finishing on a heavenly note.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Chapter 5 ➺ Valleys and peaks

[multi-level-shipper]

This shit was a fucking acid trip, like most of the game.

Anyway, something that poked my brain was the Infirmary. For all this game's insanity, there were actually some decent roots planted for worldbuilding/ character development.

It seems like the reason the cast ended up in Queen Bouncelia's domain is because they're treating the player as if they have 6 stars in GTA. Seline is no exception to this rule, and that seems to be her motivation for coming down to the lower floor, as she watched us leave in Chapter 3.

Toadster noted in his "Archives" that she was already hiding when brought in, and crying in her shell. She may have been antagonized by a bigger enemy- likely Kittysaurus or Tama/Chamataki (turtle chameleon thing), and she may have gone past the kingdom's walls for sanctuary. (That's just a loose theory, though.)

In any case, at some point she was frightened enough to shut down completely.

This could be some kind of anxiety attack, though there's no way to "diagnose" Seline at this point. Also interesting that Seline felt too afraid to even continue moving around on the lower floors. I think this is meant to speak to just how dangerous the lower floors are- if the giant ass snail is afraid, you should be, too.

Next, Jumbo Josh. Toadster categorizes him as a "Green Gorilla", which in hindsight, weirdly makes a lot of sense.

Firstly, an adult silverback gorilla can bench up to 4,000 lbs (or at least, that's what google told me.) Not that we needed an explanation of why he was able to throw Stinger Flynn, but I can only assume that if we adjusted that number for his size...it probably checks out.

Second, the fact that he walks like a chiropractor's worst nightmare. It took me a second, but I FINALLY realized that his posture is meant to IMITATE A GORILLA. Like, look at this:

DEFINITELY EXPLAINS WHY HE WALKS LIKE A HORSE IN GARRY'S MOD.

And thirdly, Josh's love for vegetables is also a gorilla trait. 85% of a gorilla's diet is leafy greens, with the remaining percentage basically amounting to termites and larvae.

Not too much to say about the Fucked Up Birds, but still! Nice to see them finally displaying a flamingo behavior (AKA their sleeping posture) because they seemed to lean more heavily on ostrich behaviors in previous chapters.

Toadster mentions in his archive for "The Teacher" that she keeps repeating the phrase "I can't be late" over and over to herself after being subdued.

He also notes that the bowling pins "calmed her down," which may not entirely be the case. In Chapter 3, in Banbaleena's "Classroom", each object had an assigned role like Cool Kid and Popular Kid. The bowling pins were meant to be the Bullies.

So Banbaleena is likely stuck in a prison of her own self-doubts right about now, which is doubly sad when considering her insistence in Chapter 3 that she was actually trying to be a good teacher. Either someone placed this idea in her head that she needs to strictly adhere to all these rules, or it's a stress she placed upon herself trying to fulfill her identity as a teacher.

Stinger Flynn gets better as the story progresses. He seems to have an ego to the point where he sees himself as a savior that can't see the faults in his own plans. His initial "safest procedures" plan seemed so obvious to him, but it seems as if he measures success by efficiency rather than the cost of human lives. While he's smart, he's not immune to being wrong, though he has yet to learn this.

He also seems to suffer from some form of depression, or at least intense sadness, and we see this as he talks to Banban in the latest hallucination sequence. Makes sense- his intelligence would make him much more privy to all the horrible things happening around him. It seems as if his high intelligence comes at a high price.

Last note- This might just be a case of recycling animations/rigs, but I think it's cute that Banban shares nearly the same emo pose as Banbaleena.

[glubsurleseuil]

Don't be scared - Chapter 1

This is the first chapter - Next

A Pennywise X F!Reader fanfic 'cause I need to get these ideas out of my head before they eat me up. I'll post this thing on AO3 when I'm not so lazy to create an account. If I go ahead with it, it'll be NSFW, sexually disturbing, gory, violent, reader is an autistic drepressed suicidal girl… In short, skip it if you're a sensitive soul. For the rest of you, enjoy (I hope).

(Note: It was translated by Deepl, English is not my mother tongue, so I apologise for any mistakes. If you want to correct me, don't hesitate!)

(Note 2: The image is by @fandomscreenshots but you should already know that because what she does is amazing)

You've always lived in Derry, Maine. Well, actually you were born in Derry, went to school in Derry and, like any good citizen, you now work in Derry. You don't like it, you never have, and you know that no matter what you do, you'll never like it.

Firstly, because no matter how hard you try since childhood, you just can't seem to make any friends. Worse, people seem to have agreed to shut you out and hate you. At best, they ignore you, at worst… well, let's just say there are certain people you've learned to avoid at all costs, so you don't have to spend the evening licking your wounds…

Secondly, because there's something unhealthy about the general atmosphere of this town, as if it were being devoured by a cancer that affected not only the surrounding greenery, but also the buildings and even the people. A cancer that could be called suffering, melancholy or despair. And although no one knows where these feelings come from, everyone seems to accept them as an inevitable burden.

Tonight, like most evenings, you're working at the Canal Rouge, a rather quiet bar where people can drink and listen to local artists perform on a small stage. You're a waitress, and it's not the most pleasant of jobs, especially when you're a woman. Fortunately, your boss is a woman too, and she's very strict about the respect customers show her staff, so things could be a lot worse.

But tonight, you're in a particularly bad mood. Fatigue has always been a difficult thing for you to deal with, and lately your nights have been… tormented. You've been having a dream, always the same with little difference, on and off for over a week. It's a hazy, dark, incoherent dream that's hard to remember. What you remember most is anguish, fear… and an unbearable feeling of being watched by something dangerous, making you feel like prey waiting to be devoured. When your therapist asked you to describe this dream, even with random words, you said 'fear', 'red' and… 'clown'. You laughed after saying that last word, a nervous, uncontrolled laugh, like a continuation of the one you always hear in this dream before waking up.

But tonight, the worst is yet to come, because you have to serve Jenny's gang as consumers, young people your own age who, like you, are stuck in Derry and like to pass the time by annoying other people. Especially you, since you met them in kindergarten. You know you won't be able to get home safely tonight…

And your fears are confirmed as you finish your shift. As you emerge into the alley to which the service door leads, you see them laughing at the end of it, looking in your direction. This is the way home. You quickly think of another option, but you know that even if you take a longer route, they'll be able to corner you sooner or later, and that's what they'll do. Unless… you go through the forest…

You don't hesitate, knowing that your pursuers won't follow. Their parents have given them the same instructions as you: never go into the forest at night. Ever. Your father had made it clear that he meant business by emphasizing his order with the back of his hand. But tonight, you're a grown-up, and between your dead father's old superstitions and Jenny and her gang's guaranteed beating, the choice was quickly made.

You head into the forest, at first more worried about your pursuers who, as expected, quickly abandon their target. Then you decide to turn on the torch on your phone, as it quickly becomes very dark between the tightly packed trees in the middle of the night. You recognize the path you're on and follow it to the ancient oak tree where you used to climb as a child to escape the bullies. But even this place, reassuring by day, gives off a menacing aura by night…

All is quiet, too quiet for a forest where animals should be going about their nocturnal lives. You get the impression that a kind of fog is floating around, light but unnatural, and as you look at the thick branches of the oak tree, you get a strange feeling… Like a memory from another life… Like a dream…

Suddenly, there's a sound. A sound you know well, having heard it every night for over a week. A laugh. A clown's laugh… You turn in all directions, shining your phone in every nook and cranny around the oak. And just as you realize that there's nothing there, that maybe it's your imagination playing tricks on you, the laughter starts up again. You jump back against the tree, light pointed ahead, anticipating the appearance of someone, something… The laughter becomes more distinct, closer… But it's not coming from in front of you, nor from the sides… It comes… from above?

With a quick gesture, you point the light towards the branches of the oak tree and there, hidden in the shadows of the leaves, you see it: a clown. No, THE clown. The one who has haunted your dreams, distressed your nights, devoured your sanity. This present moment has repeated itself endlessly in your nightmare and now it's all happening for real, clear as day and just as terrifying.

With a muffled scream, you drop your phone, the lamp face down and your legs buckling beneath you. The little light that escapes from beneath your phone only faintly illuminates the bottom of the tree, but you know IT's there.

And it's not long before he leaps down from the tree. You can only make out a silhouette in the darkness, and as you hear him coming closer, you try to remember the end of the dream. It's all a blur, and all that comes back is a vague memory of a hunt in which you are the prey… Back on the grassy ground, you pull yourself back as best you can with your hands, never taking your eyes off the presence. Is this how you're going to die?

He moves slowly closer, slipping into the shadows. You can make out that he's leaning forward, then addressing you in a childlike voice.

"Hiya Y/N! I'm Pennywise, the dancing clown!"

He suddenly picks up your phone from the floor, pulling it up slowly, light downwards, gradually revealing his appearance as he continues.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you, you know? Don't be scared, I'm not going to kill you…"

As he utters these words, light finally shines on his face, reflected in his abnormally large and sharp teeth, piercing yellow eyes focused on you, and horror fills you.

"… yet."

The instinct to survive gives you new energy. You leap to your feet and flee the way you came, briefly illuminated by your phone in the clown's hands. You run at full speed, ignoring the noises behind you that make you think he's chasing you. If you've got a chance of getting away, you're going to take it. In fact, the forest exit isn't far off. One last push! You close your eyes and accelerate again… when hands often clutch your collar, brutally stopping your momentum.

"There you are, you bastard!"

"I told you she'd come back! She's such a pussy!"

"No way out now, you bitch!"

Jenny and her gang… It was Tim, the big muscular guy who caught you. They were waiting for you just outside the forest…

"Why are you running so fast? Are you afraid of the big bad wolf?"

They burst out laughing, but the sound reaches you distorted. The adrenalin from your run is wearing off too slowly and you can still hear your heart pounding in your eardrums. You struggle on, your brain unable to make sense of what has just happened. Suddenly, you hear a foul noise. A kind of hoarse, inhuman growl, coming out of the depths of the woods like an echo to their pitiful mocking laughter. You feel Tim's hands trembling with uncontrollable fear on your collar and watch their faces disintegrate before your eyes. Tim lets go and they all flee in a single scream of terror, leaving you behind.

You turn around, your body still tired from your frantic run, and you quickly understand what made them flee: golden eyes, shining menacingly in the darkness, perched on a huge, muscular, fur-covered figure, its multiple sharp teeth accentuating the evil growl rolling down its throat. A werewolf.

You barely have time to realize that it's the clown from earlier before he disappears between the trees with a hoot that sends shivers down your spine. Just as you regain your strength to flee, something falls near you. You examine it carefully: it's your phone, and as you turn the screen towards you, you see a message written in a torn red font:

DON'T BE SCARED

You don't wait any longer and run towards town without looking back.

[adventuringblind]

Drive With You Forever

Chapter Six: When they realized then needed a bigger bed

Max Verstappen x reader x Charles leclerc x lando norris

Chapter Summary: Lando is a bit insecure, sleeping arrangements are changed, reader gets an ominous letter, Charles is furious with Ferrari

Warnings: anxiety, insecurities, creepy people, ferrari being idiots

Notes: so, hear me out here y'all. Any thoughts on adding a fifth 👀

Previous <-

Masterlist

Lando spent the rest of the break with them. Or, as much as he could.

He felt like he belonged every time he was near them. Even if they were just sitting. He felt loved and wanted.

They hadn't officially said what they are yet. Lando has no idea where any of this is going. But for now, he's enjoying it.

The start of the season came around quickly. All of them are back to traveling around the world in now time.

Something new is in the air, however.

Covid had been a possible threat to their sport. It had already canceled other events and prohibited people from leaving their houses.

They got to spend a few days in Australia before being sent home. Ordered to tay inside.

Lando was terrified. He hates being cooped up, and he hates being alone. Two of his worst nightmares come to get him. The idea makes him want to vomit.

It's her idea that he stays with them. He practically lives there already anyway. Max is especially excited to have his gaming buddy in the same house, and Charles is glad that Lando is open to the idea of all this.

All of you hated the idea of not being able to leave the house. The only thing keeping everyone sane is each other.

The boys have taken to streaming. The setup in every room made to look like it's an entirely different house.

There have almost been a few close calls. Her awareness of tlwhen they have a camera on not the greatest. It's specifically difficult when all three odbthen are playing and she has nowhere to go.

Max took the main bedroom. Lando has been living in the guest bedroom and set up there. Charles has a corner of the living room. It leaves very few safe spots for her.

Their sleeping arrangement hadn't changed. Lando is still holed up in the guest bed. Despite all three of them making it known he could sleep with them if he wanted.

She saw the anxiety flashing through his eyes every time they brought it up. They'd tried talking to him about it it multiple times now only for Landonto shut down right before their eyes.

"You could just kiss him." Suggests Max one night like as the three crawl into bed.

"And send him straight into a panic attack?" Charles counters. His hands under his pillow and spine facing the ceiling.

"Have we ever considered that maybe he doesn't want this?" She ponders. Her arms wrap around her legs and pull them into her. Both boys just shake their heads. They'd all picked up on how he was testing certain boundaries. Slowly getting comfortable with being more touchy. He asks questions about them whenever he sees them do something new. Longing glances cast between him and the other three when they do something romantic.

“I think he’s just shy.” Charles voice is muffled by his head in his pillow.

“Maybe we need a slow start.”

~

Lando can’t sleep that night. The tossing and turning he’d been doing forever, not helping him. There are too many thoughts. There are too many wants. Not enough sleep.

He'd been listening to someone tiptoeing around outside. The hushed whispers of deep male voices. Sometimes, the cats would pur outside the door.

He was already when he heard someone softly knocking on the door. "Yeah?"

The door opens, revealing the outline of a female figure. She pads over to the bed and crawls in next to him. "Can I stay? The boys are snoring. Only if you're okay with it, though."

'"Yeah, sure, it's no problem. I can't sleep either, actually."

She slides herself under the covers and curls up into his sides.

He'd been more touchy with then recently. He didn't know the limits and it seemed like touch is a secondary form of communication. But this felt different. Seeing her completely relaxed, head on his chest and his arm now wrapped around her. It's more intimate. She's letting herself be completely vulnerable with him. Something very few get the privilege of.

He did even realize he fell asleep until he's awoken by another set of knocks. They just come in without knocking.

"Can't believe you left us." Charles feigns and exaggerates a look of heartbreak.

"You sounded like your engine at the start of a race." She counters.

Max keels over from laughing so hard.

None of them mention the way Lando is holding her. Neither of them make it awkward.

"Can we join you? You look so cozy." Max smiles at them. His voice raspy from his previous sleep.

"Sure, if it's not weird or anything."q

"Why would it be weird?" The girl on his chest asks. He looks at her, and there is genuine confusion in her eyes.

"I'm not - you know - with you guys."

"Do you want to be?"

He's grateful the lights are low because he can feel the heat in his cheeks. Everything in him wants to say yes.

"The offer is there Lando, if you want it."

He goes to sleep with that thought in his head. The presence of other people comforting enough to send his head into the bliss of unconsciousness.

~

The way they wake up in the morning is absolutely ridiculous. The girl is still on top of Lando's chest. The two of them are tucked protectively into Max. His arm managing to grip both their waists. Then Charles is sprawled across their legs.

He's met with pretty eyes batting down at him. A smile creeping on his face at the sight. "Is this normally how you wake up?"

"Depends on the night." She answers with a chuckle. He lets himself relax into the soft feeling of the bed. The other two males waking up slowly to the sun drifting in through the window.

"Why me? I don't add anything to the group."

"You don't have to add anything. Yourself is enough because we love you." She smiles. "Seb says I spent so much time away from people that now I have too much love to give."

The German had told her it's okay to want to love more than one person. It just means she has a big heart and wants to share it.

"Is it bad that I like waking up like this? With everyone?"

Max tightens his grip. "We can do this all the time, if you want."

Lando gains the biggest grin on his face. "I think I would like that."

"We're going to need a bigger bed." Comes Charles voice, muffled since his face is in the bed.

His comment making everyone giggle

Then three became four

~

They did manage to get a bed big enough for them. Instead of a set place they had previously, the file in where ever seems most comfortable for the night.

It didn't take long to move Lando in. He didn't have much left at his apartment anyway.

They did have to rearrange some furniture and get another dresser. Their original storage far from enough now. They'd give new purpose to the guest room by basically turning it into a closet. They are proud of their handiwork on that.

Now, if someone wants to stay with them, they'll have to explain why there is a room full of dressers and drawers. Not that they're complaining, though.

Lando had fallen right in sync with how they've been operating. Even adding his own things to their routine.

The four of them were on the couch just talking about anything and everything. Lando with his new hobbies, Max and his iracing team, Charles and his music, her with her new inventions.

They'd wanted to know for a while now what been keeping her attention. She'd done small projects up til this point, and now she had been working on the same thing for weeks. They had yet to figure it out.

Then Max's phone was ringing. Then went Charles. Followed by Lando. The three darting to seperate room to answer without bothering eachother.

She considered calling Seb. Only to cure her boredom while waiting for them to return. She called him and Hanna almost daily. They'd laughed when she told them about Lando. Seb commented that she's collecting drivers at this point. The joke made her laugh so hard she alerted the entire house.

It doesn't take long for Max to come back, practically jumping with excitement. "We can race again!" He cheers. His celebration continued by lifting her into his arms and swinging her around.

Charles and Lando do the same thing, and by the time they finish, the floor is moving beneath her. She had yet to get a phone call. She works for Ferrari, so she figures it will come soon.

She is, however, very wrong.

She gets a call from Mattia hours later. The boys exited to celebrate the return of their livelihoods with her when she comes back with the good news.

All three are shocked to see her return downcast. Her phone call lasts longer than the other three combined. They can't hear anything aisde from small sniffles.

She doesn't want to tell them what was said. She dosen't want to ruin their night with her problems.

Mattia had called just to tell her not to come anywhere near the garage. Somone had been leaking Ferrari designs and data to Redbull. The most likely suspect is her because she's dating Max, but that's their only evidence.

It feels wrong. She feels let down in a way. Did they really think she would do that?

She's drying her tears before they can see them, but they know. They'd seen her upset enough times to know when she's hurting.

Charles is the first to embrace her. The hug causes her to fall into him. She choked on her sobs as she hid her face in his chest. His fingers fall into the same soothing pattern that always calms her down.

"They think I told Max Ferrari secrets." She sobs.

The other three exchange looks of anger and confusion. Obviously, someone had done it if they had a reason to think this, but to blame it on her makes no sense. She'd been with them longer than Charles. She practically lived in the garage helping the mechanics.

"I promise I didn't, Charles. I could never hurt you and Seb like that."

"I know you didn't, mon chéri. You're too busy trying to help Max not crash his car. Our secrets won't fix that.

Lando bites his lip to hold a laugh in, and Max dramatically clutches at his chest. "I'm offended by this Charles. Next time, I'm crashing into you."

~

Their first day back, she immediately ran off to find seb. Only to hault in her tracks when she sees him in the Ferrari garage. She looks at Charles, who followed close behind since they needed to go to the same place anyway. "Can you tell Seb I'm out here and want to see him, please?"

The Monegasque nods understandingly and stalks off. Still angry that they've kicked her out of any Ferrari places in the Paddock.

Seb nods his head at Something Charles said, then comes in her direction. Despite the protocol, the German hugs her anyway. "I'm trying to sort things out, I promise."

"I'm alright, really, I'm just disappointed that they think so low of me after all these years." She sighs.

The engineers are looking at her with sad and longing glances. She was immensely helpful to their strategy and safety. Very few of them really believe what they've been told.

She spends her newfound freedom to see those she hadn't in months. Daniel's smile is still as big as the last time she saw it in person. Alex and Lily haven't changed a bit. George seems to have gotten taller over the break. Then Carlos, his jokes just as bad as when they last saw each other.

Pierre and Kika end up finding her. Pierre spent a good chunk of time with Charles, and though he hasn't said anything, she gets the feeling the Frenchman knows there's something going on.

She doesn't know where to go. Everyone knows her as the Ferrari girl. It hurts seeing everyone in red and wishes she could be there with Seb.

Redbull is out of the picture for now. If Seb is trying to fix things, that would make it worse. McLaren seems like a good option, but even then, she doesn't know if she'll be wanted.

She finds a corner of the paddock that's secluded and tucks herself away. Her mind is doing its best to try and escape the reality that she is no longer with Ferrari.

~

It seems nobody is going to disturb her. That she may get to sit here in peace. Until someone she doesn't recognize is standing in front of her.

He looks like a fan. "Excuse me, sir, do you need help?" She asks. Her voice made to be friendly since he's probably not trying to disturb her and she dosent want him to feel bad.

"Actually, I was looking for you." He fishes around in his pockets and pulls out a note. The envelope folded and creased and he hands it to her.

"He said he's nit finished with you." Is his only statement before turning on his heels and leaving her alone again.

~

She texted the boys that she was going to the hotel. The encounter left her with a sick feeling. She just made up some excuse about not feeling comfortable around the Ferrari garage. It's only Thursday. They won't miss her with their media duties to keep them busy.

Her fingers hold the crinkled envelope. No address or name on it.

Her curiosity gets the better of her, and she's ripping it open to soothe it. The letter itself is just a handwritten piece of white lined paper. Nothing special.

The contexts inside the note make her sick. She knows this handwriting. It's her father's.

Sentences about how he's going to come back for her when they let him off parole. How he's been spending his free time learning everything the government would teach him. He was a benefit to them and he is benefiting from them.

There are instructions about how to keep herself in top condition for when he is finally able to continue his work. To make her whole. To let her atone for her sins.

The room feels as if it's closing in on her. She can't breathe. All sense of reason lost to the idea she could be going back there.

But she's an adult now, right? He can't tell her what to do.

She tucks the note into her coat pocket. Praying the boys don't go rifling through her things. She's not going to tell them. Worry about what it could do to them eating her up inside.

They have jobs to do. She's just here now. Alone and lost. Just like all those years ago.

~

Traveling with the four of them makes trips fun. Somone is always getting up to something.

The constant banter filled with love and tender moments makes everything worth it.

She feels guilty for hiding what happened. The note still hidden in the same pocket.

She's analyzed every bit of it. Her free time still massive since Ferrari determined they are not taking her back. Charles and Seb have been struggling more since her departure. The mechanics are trying to make up for her speedy repairs, and the engineers spend more time looking and analyzing data.

The boys can see she's hurting. Charles sees it every time he's heading to the paddock. Lando notices when she looks at her old Ferrari shirts. Max can seem to pull her head away from trying to figure out who did leak the information. Terrified it could hurt Seb and Charles more if the same person is able to do it again.

Max had even made a statement about it along with Charles. Neither of them being heard.

She's basically glued to Lando now. The McLaren garage her new safe place since corners are now seemingly dangerous. They welcome her in with open arms. Lando enjoys sending pictures of her to their group chat, much to her displeasure.

Seb is the one who catches wind of redbull not having a second driver yet. Silly season in full swing with the German moving to Aston Martin, Carlos moving to Ferrari, and Daniel coming to McLaren.

He's over bugging Christian within minutes. Max being dragged with him.

"Just give her a chance. You trusted me once and I wouldn't lie to you. It could actually hurt my career more if you let her drive." Pleads the German.

Christian turns to Max. "Have you seen her drive?"

"Yes, and I can confirm that she fast."

"I'll Gove her one test drive to prove it."

Seb and Max are smiling in excitement. Max is rapidly texting the group. All of them cheering in the message stream.

A week later, she's able to test drive an older car. They geared her up. Her nerves settle in as she slips her helmet on and slips into the car.

All the boys are there to cheer her on. There are a few skeptical looks from people here and there, but they don't say anything.

She fires up the engine and waits for the go-ahead. Her mind fires up as well. Her fingers are getting every piece of information from the car she needs to get the best out of it.

Then engineers release her, and she drives out of the pits. Starting a slow lap to learn the car and track.

She lets small images in of what could happen. A possible spin on her third lap that can be avoided by staying on the inside of the turn. She's flying by lap three and is able to correct the mistake she saw herself make.

Her lap times are gradually getting faster as an engineer gives her data and things they want her to try.

It's not perfect, but she's fast, and she listens. She takes the corrections she's given and gives some feedback of her own. Even asking questions here and there.

She's signing the papers that afternoon. Seb having looked over the contract with her since she doesn't have a manager herself.

She calls Hanna first. The older woman practically screams into the phone, and the kids are chanting her name.

The boys are all over her that night. The four of them celebrate her monumental achievement. The smile doesn't leave her face all night.

~

The off-season is back, and she is busier than she's ever been. Max had to force her to set up every social media account under the sun. The PR team are attempting to get her out there so she dosent go into the season a stranger.

It's weird posting updates about her life for strangers. Though she will admit it is fun to see what her friends and partners post.

It's a controversial subject. She is hardly known and did a little racing prior but nowhere near the amount she should have to be in Formula 1, and she's female.

Some fans have taken a liking to her, and others are ripping her to pieces. She's incredibly glad the boys are there to help her navigate the shark infested waters of the internet.

Speaking of the boys, they've been trying to let her come to them. The guilt that's been eating away at her is showing in everything now.

Her smile drops when she thinks nobody is looking. She's struggling with simple daily tasks. She been more reserved than normal, and frankly, it's scaring them.

Lando decoded he wanted to try his hand at a new recipe, and Charles decided he wanted to be a menace in the kitchen. Max and their female quarter are lounging at the table.

Max is trained to notice small things. He has to as part of his job. So when her eyes flicker to the pocket of her blue zip-up, he knows something isn't as it seems.

"Is your jacket more interesting than me now?" He pokes. Trying to make light of her gloom and ease her into opening up.

Her eyes winden the smallest bit as she shakes her head no too fast for his liking. "Just distracted, sorry."

He can't take it. His instincts are clawing at the back of his mind that something is wrong and her jacket it the answer.

He throws himself over the couch, grabs her jacket, and then plops himself right back down next to her. Lando's frustrated wails echoing in the kitchen as he does so.

"I know something is bothering you and it's something to do with this jacket. Now, either I'm going to find out via investigation, or you can tell me." He quirks his eyebrows at her in a questioning look.

She's shaking now. Her face losing the slightest bit of color. Her hands find her head as the word no falls from her lips repeatedly.

Max places a hand on her knee. "Whatever this is, we'll get through it together, all of us. We want to help you, okay? But we can't do that if you shut us out." He keeps his voice steady and soft. The words he said resonate with her.

She reaches her hand into the pocket and pulls out a letter. Her fingers tremble as she hands it to him to read.

Max takes it cautiously. He can see the panic increasing in her body language. The note crinkled as he unfolds it. His eyes scan furiously over the words.

It makes sense why she's been distant, he thinks. The letter obviously causing her to pull away in case something happened to her.

Max tugs her into his side. "We're not going to let anything happen to you. Honestly, I think Seb may actually start a war if something does."

A ghost of a smile tugs at her lips. "I'm sorry for not telling you. It was just scary how it all happened."

"I understand why you are so scared. Just remember you have three very protective boyfriends who won't let him anywhere near you."

"Seb says he wouldn't be shocked if we get a fifth at this rate."

"Honestly, I don't think any of us would."

The moment is interrupted by shreiks from the kitchen. "Charles! You ruined it!"

~

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[baronessvonglitter]

Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 14 🍒

"1984"

pre-outbreak! AU!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 2,984

Summary: a pause in the story to focus on Joel's own particularly life-changing moments and uncovering the past which brought him to you.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, age gap (reader is 18, Joel is 35), TW for brief mentions of teens having sex (nothing in detail and it's all consensual), language, mentions of teen pregnancy, brief mentions of underage male with adult women, underage drinking (it's the 80s), takes place in winter though fall 1984, a small part takes place in July 2003, no use of y/n, TW for unknown parentage, if I missed anything please let me know.

Author's note: I'm a sucker for backstories, if you haven't noticed, and I wanted to give a little insight to what Joel was like as a teenager.

Series Masterlist

February 1984 Austin, TX

Joel waited in the cold parking lot of his high school, cigarette between his lips as he leaned against his dark green Ford F150. "Damn, where the hell is he?" he muttered to himself, checking his watch.

Finally Chris showed up, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, looking at the ground as he walked, his mind a million miles away.

"Fuckin' finally! Where you been?" Joel stamps out his cigarette on the ground. "Shoulda left an hour ago."

"Sorry," Chris mumbled, leaning against the car as well, his face cloudy with worry. "I was talking to Anita.."

"Yeah? What'd she want?" Joel kept his face impassive even though Chris was lost in his own thoughts.

"Man, she's pregnant," he mumbled, letting out the longest sigh of his life.

Joel froze. "Pregnant?" He gets quiet too. "Is she for sure about it?"

"She missed her period twice already. She says she took a test and it's positive."

Joel nodded, his face took on a serious look as he did calculations in his head. "Well, what's she gonna do?"

Chris sighed, shifting uncomfortably. "She wants to get married."

Joel scoffed incredulously. "Is she crazy? Y'all ain't even finished school yet!"

"I know," Chris moaned. "I don't want her to keep it," he confessed after a long quiet.

Joel shook his head. He had no words of condolence to offer his best friend.

"Maybe she'll lose it," Chris whispered, his eyes far away. "She could trip or something, when it's early like this, any little thing could make her lose the baby."

"That's fucked up, Chris."

"She only wants to get married so she doesn't have to live with her parents anymore. She thinks we'd be better off married, living on our own.. I'm not gonna give up my dreams, Joel. I can't. I won't."

Joel sighed deeply. "You wanna get drunk?"

Chris shook his head. "I've got a shift over at the food mart."

"Y'know, I could see if my dad would give you a job," Joel offered. "Construction is hard work, but it'd pay real good."

Chris just shrugged. He was still in shock, still unsure of his next move.

Later, after Joel dropped off Chris, he went home and called Anita. He'd have gone over to her place himself, but her parents were strict and didn't approve of boys coming over.

He locked the door to his room and dialed her, glad that she picked up so he wouldn't have to go through her parents.

"Hey, it's me," he drawled into the phone. "Talked to Chris today. Says you're pregnant."

"Damn it, he wasn't supposed to tell anybody," Anita groaned.

"Were you ever gonna tell me?"

"Why would I?" He could hear the boredom in her voice.

"Well shit, Anita, you know why." He got quiet a moment. "You and me were together around the time you got pregnant."

"That doesn't mean anything, Joel." Anita sighed.

"It sure as shit does. How do you know for sure it's Chris's baby?"

"Joel, Chris is my boyfriend, of course it's his. I must have missed a pill or something. But it is his baby."

"You're tryin' to trap him. He don't want anything to do with this, You shoulda seen the look on his face, like he'd rather walk off a bridge than go through with you havin' a baby."

"Shut up, Joel," Anita said sharply. "He'll get over it. He's gonna do the right thing by me."

"And if the baby ain't his?"

"It is," she said with unwavering tenacity.

"Anita.. Christmas break we went to Sherry Rivera's house party, and do you remember what we got up to in the spare bedroom?"

"Joel.."

"Yeah, I know you remember, 'cause you'd asked me for one last fuck before you stayed faithful to Chris for good."

"Joel, how dare you!"

"It's true though." He stretched out on his bed, vividly recalling that December night with Anita moaning in his ear as she rode him. "How many times did you cum? Three? Or was it four?"

"I'm hanging up now."

"For real, Anita," Joel sat up, his anxiety over the issue finally coming to the forefront. "Is it my baby?"

Anita sighed, and even over the phone he could sense her brain going a million miles an hour. "No, Joel. It's not."

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated, fearing she wasn't telling the truth. "Anita, I--" then he heard a muffled voice, giggling on the line. "Tommy!" he shouted, banging on the wall. "Get off the line, you little shit!" More giggling, then Joel heard the other line click and Tommy had hung up.

"My mom's calling me to dinner," Anita said quietly. "Can you just talk to Chris for me? I know he'll come around. He'll listen to you. You're his best friend."

"He doesn't know? About us?" Joel asked.

"Why would I tell him that? It'd break his heart, Joel."

"But he's the one you left me for."

He didn't mean it to sound that way, he was going for accusatory but it came out vulnerable.

"I gotta go," Anita whispered. "Please don't call here again." The line went dead.

It was Valentine's Day, and though he would never tell anyone about it, that was the day he had his first heartbreak. Sure, he'd had plenty of girls since Anita had broken up with him before sophomore year started, and they'd definitely hooked up even since then, but this was the moment he realized he lost her for good. And this was the start of the rift between him and the best friend he'd ever had.

He called up Debbie, a girl in his math class who he knew liked him, and of course she was available that night. He showered, picked her up and took her to the only Italian restaurant in town that had a table available. After spending his last twenty bucks on dinner, he took her an isolated point at Covert Park. A half hour later, the windows fogged up, he got on his way to take her back home.

And so it went for weeks after that. If he wasn't working part time for his dad on the new subdivision in town, he had a girl in his truck, headed off to God knows where, to do whatever the mood struck them.

Summer was worse. He worked with his dad, painting houses, installing AC units and appliances, applying flooring, anything that could earn him money. Sometimes when he worked alone, the lady of the house would be present, and more than a few times the opportunity presented itself for him to take up these older women on their offers of lemonade or a massage, which always evolved into a quick, hard fuck against the countertop, or on a freshly carpeted living room floor.

Nights were his own, usually spent drinking with some guys from the football team who he didn't particularly care for, but they had fake IDs and knew easy girls.

Every time Chris called, Joel was out, with friends or with a girl. The few times Anita and Chris saw Joel out in public was in line at the movie theater, buying tickets for Purple Rain or at the Pizza Hut with a date. Joel turned away when he saw Anita getting bigger, her figure blossoming into that of a mother. Chris approached him to say hi, and Joel was good-natured with him, almost like old times, but it was obvious that something had changed. Anita hung back, hand self-consciously going over her belly, noticing the way Joel seemed to look right through her.

"Ain't you even gonna say hi to me?" she asked him one night, catching him as he came home from a party.

"Thought you told me not to talk to you no more," he slurred, brushing past her to get inside to his house.

"Joel Miller, you're not gonna walk away from me!"

"Shut up," he muttered, stepping towards her as if he'd shut her up himself. "Can't you be quiet? Always gotta shout and moan.. what the fuck do you even want anyway?"

"I'm here for Chris. I want you two to mend your friendship."

Joel let out a hearty guffaw. "Aw Christ, Anita. What's it matter to ya anyway?"

"Can't you be quiet?" she said in turn. "He's not the same since y'all ain't been talkin'.. he barely talks to me sometimes.. I think he misses you."

Joel heard that, and looked Anita up and down. "Does he? I think you're the one missin' me, darlin'."

"Shut up. I didn't say that."

"Ya didn't have to." He grabbed her by the waist and she didn't protest. His eyes hungrily took in her form, the way her breasts swelled over her top, her hips nice and full, and the firm roundness of her belly. "Is that a Miller in there.. or otherwise?" he all but growled in her ear.

"Oth-otherwise," she stammered.

He kept his eyes on her a long while before he finally released her. "Get in. I'm takin' ya home. Ya shouldna walked here all the way. It's past midnight."

She got in, immediately smelling spilt beer, some other girl's cheap perfume, and the unmistakable scent of sex in his truck. "You've been Mr. Popular all summer," she said sullenly.

"Yeah? Jealous?" He started the engine, taking off.

"Over your sorry ass? No way," she muttered, but she kept eyeing him from her seat. "Kelly Johnson said you laid her, then picked up her older sister and fucked her too."

Joel's grin was about a mile wide. "Oh yeah? That's what she says? She forgot to tell you I did their mom too."

Anita hit his arm. "Just let me out here. I'm walkin' home."

"The hell you are." He sped up a little until he reached her house, devoid of any lights on within. "How your folks takin' it?" he asked, nodding at her baby bump.

"They still won't talk to me," she said quietly. "But at least they're letting Chris stay over. We're getting married next month," she said, holding out her ring finger upon which rested a simple diamond ring, probably the best Christ could afford on his shitty grocery mart salary.

"So it's for real." Joel slumped in his seat, gripping the steering wheel tight.

"It's for real," she echoed, and when Joel stayed quiet longer, she leaned in and softly kissed his cheek.

Suddenly all the longing he'd suppressed, all the pain of longing for someone he couldn't have.. everything bubbled back to the surface and he took her in his arms, kissing her. And just like old times they found themselves hurriedly undressing, removing only what was in the way. Pants down around his ankles he pushed up the hem of her dress out of the way as she sat on his lap, holding on to the dashboard as he let her ride him. It seemed to take forever and yet only a few minutes until she came, and he followed soon after.

"Lemme guess: that was the last time?" he muttered as he tucked himself back in his pants.

"You're a good lay, that's all. And Chris ain't been himself lately."

"Give him my regards."

"Damn it, Joel, just call him," Anita said exasperatedly, making herself look more presentable as she got out of the truck. "You're like a brother to him. He needs you."

Joel already had the engine turned back on, a Bob Seger song rumbling on the radio. "I already got a brother," he said, driving off.

He tried. Joel did try to reconcile with Chris. That coming school year they were juniors, and in the same homeroom. But it began to be difficult to start a conversation that didn't automatically become about the baby. And Joel wasn't good with questions like that.

The girls gushed over Anita's large belly when she showed up to bring her transfer paperwork to the alternative school for pregnant teens. Then thankfully (to Joel) she was gone the rest of the semester.

Chris and Joel resumed their friendship about as much as two seventeen-year-olds in their predicament could. Football season started up again, as well as wrestling season, and Joel was at practice constantly. Then in late September, Chris was gone, having dropped out. The night of his birthday he got the call right as dinner was being set down.

"It's a girl," Chris said breathlessly over the phone, his voice tinged with excitement and a tremor of fear. "A beautiful baby girl, and wouldn't you know it, on the same birthday as you, Joel."

July 2003 "Are you kidding me?" you ask. "Joel.. are you kidding me?"

"Huh? What?" he snaps out of his reverie.

"I didn't know you had a mullet in high school!" you burst into laughter. "You look like Billy Ray Cyrus!"

He laughs, running his hand over your soft hair as you stretch out on the bed with him. You'd found the old box of photos in the attic and just had to show him "I can't believe my dad looks so young here.." you say wistfully. "What happened to that truck?"

"I gave it to Tommy when he got old enough to drive. Then I think he sold it later on. Who knows where it is now.. probably busted up for parts or in a junkyard somewhere.." That picture had really cast a nostalgic spell over him.

You fall asleep on his chest, eyes too heavy to stay awake for the ending of Gladiator no matter how cute you think Russell Crowe is.

Joel's mind is on the past. You've awoken memories you had no part of, at least not willingly or consciously.

With Anita and Chris gone, it was like his life, the one he'd always known and always felt comfortable in, was gone too. In the past several months he'd gained popularity and had a few girlfriends but no serious relationships, but none of it really meant anything without his best friend at his side.

Only when Anita had finally graduated from the alternative school did Joel get the call about the news. He was a few weeks away from his own graduation when he learned Chris and Anita would be moving to Houston, where Anita's family came from. The baby was getting bigger, and Chris mentioned that Joel hadn't come and seen her. He had no answer for that, only a halfhearted response that he'd plan to stop by before they moved.

He never did.

After graduation Joel went to work full time for his old man, learning the business that would one day be his. He filled his days accordingly, still broke a few hearts from time to time, still raised a little hell with the boys, but he became more solemn, kept his real thoughts and dreams to himself.

He was in his early twenties when he met Sarah's mom at a club. He hated clubs, preferring laid-back bars, but he'd been suckered into it by some friends from work who wanted to let off some steam. And there she was, on the dance floor, an angel in a short and slinky number, drink in hand, and when she turned her gaze and her eyes met his, Joel swore he'd forgotten any other woman existed.

He didn't remember much about that night except the little apartment of hers, that they had to keep quiet because her roommate had work in the morning. But they were not quiet, and much to Joel's lament the next day, they weren't careful either. A couple of months later she found him at one of his sites, having remembered the name of the company he worked for, and told him, while he was carting a wheelbarrow full of concrete, that she was pregnant. He'd talked her into keeping it, promised her a wedding and anything else she wanted.

He purchased his parents' house, the one he grew up in and had hoped to raise a family in on his own time, and he fixed it up for her and the baby, turning his own bedroom into the nursery. Tommy'd be graduatiing soon and had plans to enlist, so it would all work out. Joel would have a wife and a child, none of which he'd planned on quite so early, but he was looking forward to it all the same.

He tried to make it work with her, but the more time they spent together the more they realized they weren't compatible beyond anything outside the bedroom. He knew it, and still he tried. She knew it, and didn't stay long. The day Sarah was born was the happiest of Joel's life. He'd never imagined that a creature so small, so defenseless, and which cried so often could take hold of his heart in such a way. When Sarah's mom left, leaving only a note regarding her sincere apologies, it struck Joel as more of a relief than anything, even though he was now a single dad. He had help from his parents and brother, and even from his neighbors, cousins of his old buddy Chris who remembered Joel with fondness.

Days sped up, and soon Joel took over the business when his father got too ill to take care of things. Sarah and Joel became their own little unit, a family of just two that still seemed to work more efficiently than traditional families. Sarah looked so much like her mother that at times it hurt Joel just to look at her, but she was an entirely different person: strong, stubborn, extremely smart and savvy. And independent. Joel was proud of the way he raised her, and never considered that he'd love anything else as much or have as much to lose.

And then he met you, and you fucking changed everything.

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