#she was actually using reverse psychology | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silverlullabies · 1 month ago

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B E L L I C O S E

Summary: Captain John Price has faced countless enemies in his career, but none like you. A mercenary with a reputation, you infiltrate his unit under the guise of cooperation, but your true motive is far more sinister. Using charm and manipulation to pull their strings, Price finds himself caught in a game he can’t control or predict.

Pairing: Mercenary!Reader x Captain Price, vague mentions of Soap x Reader, Gaz x Reader, and Ghost x Reader

Word Count: 16k+

Tags/Triggers: Smut(18+), gaslighting, blood, murder, afab reader, psychological manipulation, guns, knives, death, violence (it’s based off a game about soldiers shooting bad guys, come on), oral (female receiving), vaginal sex, human trafficking, dubious consent, alcohol, really dark content, morally gray reader who’s probably a sociopath, enemies to lovers if you squint

AN: two things, one: I didn’t set out to write this as a morally gray reader. The story kind of got away from me while I was writing it. My bad. And two, I describe the reader as petite compared to the 141 but at its a reverse trope of the petite tiny girl so at least give me the benefit of the doubt and make it past the briefing scene before you give up on it because of the trope. The reader is based off an actual OC of mine in a book I’m writing. I just love Peepaw Price, okay.

BELLICOSE: adjective. demonstrating aggression and willingness to fight.

Alarm bells rang in Price’s head as he watched you, gliding through the shadows of his office like a panther hunting prey. He had known from the start that bringing you onto the team was a mistake. Bloodied teeth and hands stained with grit, fingers curling around blades and triggers with lethal precision.

In a room full of predators like the 141, you were still the apex.

But Laswell had insisted, and Price—ever loyal to her judgment—had conceded, like always.

It wouldn’t happen again.

***

It always started the same way: someone screwed up, and the stakes escalated. Regular operators couldn’t handle the fallout, so they called in the 141—need dirty hands wading through a cesspool of problems? They’re your men.

“You need her on this one,” Laswell had said, sliding your dossier across the sleek ebony wood table that probably cost more than one of his paychecks.

Price didn’t need to read it. Everyone knew The Mercenary. Every soldier worth his salt had heard your name whispered in the dark corridors of conflict.

Deadly. Beautiful. Like a vengeful goddess slinking through the battlefield, your reputation was legend even among special operators who had long since abandoned the idea of there being a god out there. You’d accomplished more in your career than most units combined would in a lifetime.

Price didn’t need to feel the weight of your file to understand. If you’d followed the conventional path, you’d probably be a five-star general by now—his commanding officer. But you had chosen a different way.

Government-contracted, available to the highest bidder, loyal to no flag but the one that paid your exorbitant fee.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, a twinge of resentment he swallowed down. No luxury of choice for him, no hefty paycheck to chase. Just duty, the same beast inside him that clawed for rest while the storm outside only worsened. But duty called again, and so did you.

Laswell was right, though—Price’s men were good, the best, but this mission was something else. Human traffickers using victims as pawns, running weapons across borders into war-torn lands. Human luggage in a nightmare spun by bureaucratic oversight, one that allowed dangerous enemies to arm themselves.

Price couldn’t see any of his men fitting the part for what needed to be done. He wasn’t about to send Ghost, Gaz, or Soap into the field in a dress and heels.

“When does she get here?” Price growled, his gut tightening at the idea of relying on a mercenary. His instincts screamed danger. There was no loyalty from someone like you, only a paycheck. And if the money ran dry? You’d vanish, leaving them to pick up the pieces. A major risk.

“She’s already here,” Laswell replied, and Price closed his eyes, the weight of inevitability settling on his shoulders.

Of course you were.

***

You’re even more stunning than the stories claimed. Soft curves, sultry lines, more tantalizing than even the darkest fantasy hidden in the back of his mind—everything about you is crafted to disarm. Wide, calculating eyes and full lips that hint at wicked intent. Even under the harsh, shitty fluorescent lighting of the briefing room, you manage to look ethereal, otherworldly. The glow makes your skin seem almost too perfect, casting shadows that sharpen your edges in a way that commands attention.

Price feels his breath catch in his throat when he sees you in person for the first time—a reaction he despises in himself. He’s a hardened soldier, decades of battles etched into his soul. Yet here you are, making him feel like some green recruit with a schoolboy crush.

Your poise betrays years of experience. Relaxed, almost bored, you drape yourself across the briefing table like a cat lounging in a sunbeam. It’s unsettling, the way you’re completely at ease despite being surrounded by some of the deadliest men in the world. The 141, all seasoned killers, men who’ve faced horrors most can’t imagine; and yet you make them look like the ones on edge. Amateurs. Wet behind the ears recruits.

The way you sit, tipping your chair back on two legs, snapping your gum, it’s borderline disrespectful. You’re surrounded by battle-hardened operators, yet you act as if you’re in your living room. It’s a brazen, almost reckless display of control. You know they’re watching you, torn between admiration and frustration. Some of them shoot heated glances, others glare, but the reaction is the same. You’re already under their skin.

Your eyes lock onto Price’s, and that dangerous, knowing smirk curls your lips. It’s predatory. Calculated. You know the effect you’re having on the room, on him. It’s a game, and you’re winning before it’s even begun. Your confidence is unnerving. It’s clear you’ve been in rooms like this before, with men just like these, and you’ve always come out on top.

Price has seen your type before. Or at least, he thought he had. But as you shift, languid and lethal, he realizes he’s never encountered anyone quite like you. There’s something almost intoxicating about the way you move, the way you radiate power, sex, and control.

The dossier warned him about your preferred methods. Psychological warfare, it said, and you excelled at it beyond anything any military had ever seen. But now, watching you in action, he understands the depth of that statement. You aren’t just skilled: you’re a force of nature, effortlessly bending men to your will with nothing more than a glance or a smirk.

Price clenches his jaw, reminding himself to stay sharp. You may be beautiful, but you’re dangerous, and in this room full of predators, you’re the alpha.

The tension in the room is palpable as you continue lounging, still flashing that confident, almost taunting smirk. A few of the men exchange looks, clearly wrestling with disbelief. They’ve heard the stories, just like Price, but seeing you now, looking more like a runway model than a deadly mercenary; it’s hard for them to reconcile the myth with the woman before them. The weight of your reputation hovers in the air, but no one speaks it aloud.

Surely the stories were exaggerated, Price thought as he watched you, the quiet figure lounging amidst the behemoths of the 141. You were small—tiny, even—compared to the hulking men surrounding you. They were all sinew and muscle, hardened by the scars of war, skin puckered with keloids and edged with experience. Every inch of them screamed violence, battle-honed warriors ready to strike. And then there was you, standing in the center of it all, soft and petite, as if you’d somehow wandered into the wrong place.

Price struggled to reconcile the image before him with the legend he had heard. The Mercenary—the Mercenary—who had single-handedly taken out entire terrorist cells, dismantled cartels, and assassinated warlords, all while slipping in and out of hostile territories like a ghost. You had pulled off the impossible: extracting hostages from fortified strongholds, escaping death traps set by men who underestimated you, and—on one memorable occasion that seemed too far-fetched to believe—boarding a hijacked plane already 35,000 feet in the air with no safety net to catch you if you missed.

But standing there, you looked almost delicate. Fragile, even. As if a papercut would have you turning lachrymose hues to the men, the skin of your small hands unmarred by the callouses that should have come with years of holding a gun steady. How could someone like you, slight and lithe, with a frame that looked like it belonged in a ballroom, not a battlefield, be the same mercenary who had left trails of bodies in your wake?

It was unsettling. Disarming.

Price’s eyes flicked to the men around you. They were cautious too, thrown off by the contradiction you presented. They’d heard the same stories. Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and all his other men—they were all sizing you up, waiting for a sign, something that would confirm or deny the rumors that had reached their ears. But you gave nothing away.

It was easy for the stories to seem exaggerated, to dismiss you as anything other than the quiet, almost too-pretty woman standing before them. But Price had a sinking feeling that those stories, the ones that seemed too wild to be true, might not even scratch the surface of what you were capable of.

And that made you the most dangerous one in the room.

Finally, one of the newer recruits, eyes flickering with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism, breaks the silence. His voice cuts through the thick atmosphere like a knife. Impatient, he is. Price needs to drill that out of him before it gets him killed one day, or worse.

“Is this really her? The legendary Mercenary?” he asks, doubt threading through his tone. His eyes narrow, darting over your form as if searching for some obvious flaw, something that proves you aren’t the deadly operative you’re supposed to be. “She doesn’t exactly look the part.”

A low murmur passes between the men, and Price watches carefully, gauging your reaction. They’re on edge, these hardened soldiers, unsure of whether they should be impressed or insulted by the idea that you, this beautiful, relaxed woman, are supposedly their ace in the hole.

You don’t miss a beat. Slowly, with deliberate grace, you let your chair drop back onto all four legs and lean forward, resting your elbows on the table. The shift in your posture is subtle but powerful. The room stills as you survey the faces around you, that lazy, confident grin never leaving your lips. Then you speak, your voice low and smooth, dripping with a dangerous sort of amusement.

“I don’t look the part?” you repeat, eyes sparkling with mischief as you stretch languidly, the movement sending a ripple of distraction through the room. “Go on, sweetheart, tell me, what exactly do you think your enemies are looking for on the battlefield?”

The recruit hesitates, blinking, before he stammers, eyebrows furrowing as if expecting your words to be a trick question, “Uh… Well… people who look like us. Like soldiers.”

You give him a pitying smile, as if you’re explaining something simple to a child. “Exactly. They’re looking for people like you. Trained men, geared up, muscled, armed to the teeth. Big, scary soldiers who they can see coming from a mile away.” Your voice drops, growing almost intimate as you lean forward, eyes hooded. “They aren’t looking for someone like me.”

The room goes quiet again, everyone hanging on your words as you continue, your tone soft but laced with steel. “By the time they even think to check for someone like me? I’m already in their camp, already bleeding them dry, and they don’t even realize it until it’s too late.”

The recruit swallows, his skepticism fading as the weight of your words sinks in. Your beauty, your relaxed demeanor—it isn’t a weakness. It’s a weapon. A weapon that none of them had ever been taught to anticipate. You sit back in your chair, the smirk widening into something almost predatory, letting the silence stretch before you speak again.

“They see you coming. Hell, they’re expecting you. And sure, you’re tough. You’re strong. You know how to fight. But when you look like me, no one expects the knife in the back. No one expects the bullet between their eyes. They underestimate me.” You pause, the smirk twisting into something darker. “And it always costs them everything.”

There’s a shift in the room now. The men exchange uncertain glances, realizing that their assumptions about you have been dangerously naive. Price watches you closely, his gut tightening. You’ve won the room over, made your point loud and clear without so much as breaking a sweat. It’s unsettling, the way you wield words as skillfully as a blade.

Psychological warfare was your preferred weapon, the dossier highlighted.

And maybe that was your greatest weapon. You were the perfect trap—innocuous on the outside, unassuming. But underneath? Underneath was the lethal precision of someone who had mastered the art of deception, who had turned their own appearance into a weapon as sharp as any blade.

Price felt a knot of unease settle in his gut. You didn’t need muscles or brute force. You had something far more dangerous: the element of surprise. You wanted them to underestimate you. Hell, maybe you enjoyed it.

That realization hit him like a cold blade pressed to his throat, and Price shuddered involuntarily. It wasn’t fear, not exactly; not the kind of fear that came from facing an enemy in combat, but something deeper, more primal. The kind of instinct that had kept men alive for centuries. His spine stiffened as the sensation crept down to his core, urging him to adjust, to move, to make sure he always had his eyes on you.

He shifted his position, subtly but deliberately, ensuring that no matter where you moved in the room, he would never have his back to you. It wasn’t conscious, not at first—just an overwhelming sense that he needed to see you, track you, keep you within his line of sight at all times. It was survival instinct at its most raw.

He didn’t trust you. Couldn’t. Not after everything he’d heard. The stories. The way you could turn on a dime, shifting from ally to predator without a second’s warning. And though he knew you were here for the same reason he was—for now, at least—Price couldn’t shake the feeling that the real threat wasn’t the mission. It was you.

The worst part was that you never made it obvious. There was no overt menace, no clear sign of danger. Just the way you moved, fluid and graceful, like a shadow slipping through the cracks of light. It was too easy to picture you with a blade at his throat or a bullet between his eyes, and the thought unsettled him more than it should. You were a mercenary, after all—this was your game.

No, Price realized, he could never afford to look away from you. Not now. Not ever.

You turn your attention back to the recruit, and your voice softens again, the edge in your tone melting away like honey. “So yes, darling, I’m the one they call when things get ugly. Because no one expects the woman to be the monster.”

You let the words hang in the air, the weight of your reputation finally settling in as the men come to terms with what it means to have you on their side. There’s a reason Laswell insisted on bringing you in. A reason Price didn’t protest harder, despite the warning bells ringing in his head.

You’re a weapon. The deadliest kind. One they’re just beginning to understand.

***

The mission began in uneasy silence, the familiar thrum of the helicopter blades cutting through the tension in the air. Ghost sat across from Price, arms folded, eyes hidden behind his skull mask, but even without seeing his expression, Price could sense the discomfort. Soap and Gaz weren’t much better, both of them fidgeting in their seats, exchanging glances but saying nothing— unusual for the two normally loud Sergeants. The air was thick, charged with an unspoken anxiety, malaise.

You sat with them, but apart—physically and emotionally. While the men carried their weapons, tactical vests, and hardened expressions, you wore something completely out of place. Scandalous even, but necessary for the situation. A slinky dress, cut high up the thigh and plunging just low enough to leave nearly nothing to the imagination. Black, tight, and dangerous—like you. Every inch of it was designed to distract, to draw eyes away from the weapon concealed underneath the allure.

Price shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The idea of sending you in dressed like that—to mingle with human traffickers in their filthy, blood-soaked underworld—didn’t sit right with him. You wore no protection, no physical weapon. But he knew it was necessary. None of them could do what you could, slipping between shadows, playing the part so convincingly it was terrifying. You’d be in the belly of the beast, surrounded by men who bought and sold human lives.

As the helicopter roared towards the drop zone, you were the calmest one there, completely unfazed by the mission ahead. You sat with your legs crossed, leaning back against the hull as if this were a casual night out rather than a covert infiltration into the heart of a trafficking ring. You didn’t even glance at the weapons the others carried—why would you? Your body itself was the weapon, sharpened and deadly, while the dress was just a distraction even to the men on the heli.

Price looked out the window, eyes narrowed as he ran through the mission briefing in his head. The traffickers operated out of an exclusive club, hidden behind layers of corruption and bribes. The “Red Room,” they called it—a place where those with enough money could buy anything, anyone. And that’s where you’d be slipping in.

The plan was simple in theory, though nothing ever went as planned. You’d go in first, the rest of the team scattered throughout the perimeter, waiting for your signal. Once you had eyes on the targets—the ringleaders behind the trafficking operation—you’d take them down. Silent, quick, surgical. The rest of the team would follow, sweeping in to clean up the mess.

Price hated it. Despised it. The reliance on a mercenary, the need for you to infiltrate like this—it gnawed at him, leaving him with a deep sense of helplessness as he waited outside while you ventured straight into the lion’s den.

Call him old-fashioned, but the thought of sending a woman into a place built to break women, to degrade them into nothing more than objects, turned his stomach. His skin crawled with the weight of the decision he’d made, the reluctant agreement he’d given when assigning you this task, knowing what it would subject you to, despite your hardened reputation.

The helicopter jerked slightly as they neared the landing zone, the tension in the cabin tightening as they prepared for what came next.

The men checked their gear, but Price couldn’t help but steal a glance at you. You were adjusting the straps of your heels, unbothered by the shift in the helicopter. You caught him looking, and for a brief moment, you smirked—one of those dangerous, knowing smiles that sent a shiver down his spine.

“Relax, Captain,” you purred, voice low and dripping with amusement. “I’ve done this a hundred times. It’s not me you need to worry about.”

Price grunted in response, but the knot of unease in his gut didn’t loosen. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like you. But there was no denying your skill. You were their only shot at infiltrating and escaping without igniting a full-scale war that would spill into the impoverished neighborhoods surrounding The Red Room, putting the locals at risk.

The helicopter landed with a slight jolt, and you stood with the fluidity of a predator. As the doors opened, the cool night air flooded in, mixing with the heavy, pungent smells of the city—garbage, pollution, and the faint stench of decay clinging to its urban foundation coupled with the sting of hot metal from the helicopter.

You were already moving, stepping out into the shadows without a backward glance. Graceful. Tantalizing. A fucking problem if the heat pooling in his lower abdomen was anything to go by.

The Red Room was waiting for you, and with it, the men who thought they could play gods with human lives.

Inside the club, the air hung heavy with a haze of smoke and luxury, the heady mix of costly cologne, sweat, and spilt liquor clinging to every breath. Lights pulsed in time with the music, casting flickering shadows across velvet booths and marble floors. You moved like a wisp through the sea of bodies, effortlessly weaving past gilded figures lost in indulgence, your sharp eyes sweeping over each face, every shadowed corner, alert for the slightest hint of danger.

No one paid you any mind. Just another beautiful woman in a sea of beauty, here to be admired, objectified, discarded.

Your eyes never left the traffickers. They were predators in tailored suits, laughing behind the safety of closed doors, basking in their perceived invincibility. They had no idea that the real predator had already infiltrated their den. A viper in a den of wolves.

Among them, you spotted a target—a bloated, balding man, a thick cigar dangling from his lips as he smirked, a young girl, stiff with terror and silently pleading anyone with her eyes for help, held under his heavy fat arm like an accessory while he dragged her beyond double doors. In an instant, you melted into the shadows, slipping away from the glittering chaos of the club like a whisper carried on the wind, following them.

The Red Room was hidden down a dim corridor, guarded by two burly men. You approached them with a practiced, sultry smile; an expression crafted to exploit the foolishness and vanity of men like these. It worked, as it always did. One of them barely glanced at you before stepping aside, holding the door open without hesitation.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The decadent luxury of the club gave way to something colder, darker. The air in the hallway felt sterile and oppressive, thick with the stench of fear and cruelty. Tears and sex. Depravity and desolation.

As you walked, the soft click of your heels against the marble floor echoed through the space, a haunting reminder of the danger lurking just beneath the surface. Outside, the guards remained blissfully unaware of the storm about to break.

***

Outside, Price and his men lay in wait, a silent sentinel group surveying the entrance. They were a hawk-eyed presence, alert to every detail as they observed the ebb and flow of clubgoers; oblivious revelers lost in the rhythm of the night, unaware of the horrors festering behind the liquor-drenched walls of the establishment. Among them were the human traffickers, predators moving with calculated ease through the crowd, fully aware of the darkness that lurked within.

As the hours dragged on, tension grew palpable in the air. His men shifted restlessly, eyes darting towards the entrance, where your absence weighed heavy. The recruits fidgeted first, their anxiety contagious; soon, even the seasoned veterans succumbed to the unease.

You should have signaled by now.

An uncomfortable weight settled in Price’s gut, worry sinking like a stone, as doubt slithered into his mind. Had his trust in you been misplaced? Were your stories mere fabrications? Was he leading a lamb to slaughter, destined to storm the building only to find your lifeless shell left among the remnants of your fight, chewed up and spat out among the cum-stained shackles of other victims?

Just as he began to consider which of his men he would send in to check on you, the comms crackled to life, your voice sultry and cursory. “Bravo-Six, this is Bravo-Two, how copy?”

Price jolted, relief singing through his veins, the tension in his chest easing. “Solid, Bravo-Two. What's your sitrep?”

“Come see. Back door through the alley. Watch your footing. Follow the hallway on your left to a row of offices. Third door on your right.” And then silence enveloped the channel once more, your voice replaced by the eerie quiet that had plagued it for hours now.

Price exchanged a quick glance with Ghost, the closest man to him, before signaling for the team to move. The meaning behind your warning echoed in his mind, leaving him to wonder what you meant about needing to watch his footing.

He wouldn’t have to wonder for long.

As they entered the back door, the scene before him was grotesque. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, torn and mutilated as if an unstoppable force had swept through them like a violent storm. The human traffickers, buyers, and sellers were dead, their lifeless forms littered with stab wounds and bullet holes, blood pooling around them in dark, congealed puddles, mixing with shards of glass and spilled liquor.

In the shadowy corners of The Red Room, only the victims remained alive—caged like wounded animals, trembling and whimpering, their bodies splattered with the blood of their tormentors.

Price signaled to some of his men to break off and attend to the victims while instructing others to clear the club beyond a set of double doors. The pounding music masked the carnage that lay inside, a stark contrast to the horror they had just uncovered. The rest followed him down a lavishly decorated hallway into a series of opulent offices, where he found you standing amidst the chaos—three dead men scattered around you.

The fourth man knelt on the floor, blood oozing from a gash in his cheek, hands bound behind his back. His eyes wide in terror as he stared at you, as if confronted by a demon, his mind no doubt racing through a rapid reassessment of his life choices as you forced him to come face to face with his mortality.

“Saved you one,” you drawled in lieu of a greeting as you caught sight of the Captain, your hair and skin slick with the tacky blood of others, but not yours.

“You were supposed to call for us, not take on all the traffickers by yourself,” Price snapped, his frustration palpable. You blinked at him, as if the notion of needing assistance was a foreign concept, a radical idea that the 141’s involvement should have been more than a fleeting afterthought.

With an unapologetic shrug, you met his gaze, defiance radiating from you. “Easier this way.”

Unrepentant. Disrespectful.

He hated you. Fucking Mercenaries.

A slow, almost predatory grin curled at your lipstick stained lips, as though you could read Price’s mind and took pleasure in the thought that he despised you. Yet, you didn’t acknowledge it—not now. Still, there was a glint in your eyes, something that made Price’s jaw tighten. He knew you’d throw it in his face later. Call it instinct.

Instead, you turned to the bound man, giving his blood-soaked cheek a condescending pat, like one might to a dog. Blood sprayed across his already stained collar as your manicured fingers dug into his swollen skin. “Meet Vasily Mikhailovich. Human trafficker. Arms dealer. Limited intelligence. Smallest dick you’ve ever seen—”

Vasily snarled in rage, and despite his restraints, he lunged at you. Before Price or his men could react with anything more than raising their weapons, there was a sharp crack. Vasily collapsed at your feet, screaming in agony, his clavicle jutting grotesquely through taut skin. Price hadn’t even seen you move until you were casually resuming your stance, as though nothing had happened.

“That wasn’t very smart of you,” you mused, staring down at the whimpering man, nudging him with the tip of your heel until he rolled over. “It’s rude to try and hit ladies, Mikhailovich.”

A string of curses, half in English, half in Russian, spilled from his lips, but you only smiled, your amusement growing with each word.

You let him continue for a few seconds before you crouched down beside Vasily, your movements fluid and deliberate and his words seemed to die in his throat. You placed your fingers along his jawline, tutting slightly, shushing him.

Price saw it then, the way you wielded your allure like a well-honed tool. With a subtle arch in your back, your posture softened, the dim light of the office casting just the right shadows to highlight your beauty. Your lips curved into a sultry smile, eyes hooded, inviting him— and the rest of the men in the room by extension— to fall into your gaze.

“Shhh,” you whispered, and the air seemed to thicken as you reached out and traced the tip of your blood-slicked finger along his jawline and lower lip, feather light and lingering, like a lover’s touch. His breath hitched, a mix of pain and primal fear contorting his face, but his eyes, those bloodshot, desperate eyes, were hooked on yours.

“Good boy,” you murmured, voice a little sweeter this time, as if rewarding him for his compliance.

“You know, Vasily,” you purred, your voice like velvet, smooth and sinuous, wrapping around the room and dragging everyone into its grasp, “this could go one of two ways. You can keep fighting, keep snarling like the wild dog you are, or…” You leaned in closer, your lips nearly brushing his ear, your words a delicate whisper. “You can tell me everything I need to know. And I’ll make sure the pain stops.”

Vasily’s breathing grew ragged, his mind fraying at the edges, caught between the unbearable throbbing of his broken bone and the soft cadence of your voice. The way you spoke was a lullaby wrapped in threat, every syllable pulling him further into your orbit. Your touch, your voice, your closeness, all of it was like a drug, a disorienting effect that left him feeling both weak and intensely present all at once.

Behind you, Price’s men shifted, eyes flickering between you and the scene unfolding. Even Price, seasoned and hardened as he was, found himself unwillingly mesmerized by the subtle sway of your voice and the deliberate elegance of your movements. Your presence wove through the room like an intoxicating perfume, something that clung to the air, seeming to lull every threat into submission.

Like a manipulative deadly trap.

You moved your hand lower, tracing the lines of Vasily’s arm, lingering just above his restraints, fingers feather-light, the promise of relief so close yet maddeningly distant. His eyes fluttered, and for a second, the defiance in him flickered, like a candle in a storm.

“You’ll be a good boy, won’t you, Vasily?” The words dripped like honey, your lips curling into a smile that was equal parts deadly and intoxicating. Your words echoed through their minds, a seductive whisper that wrapped around their thoughts, making it difficult to focus on anything else. “I know you want to. It’s so much easier to obey. So much easier to make the pain stop.”

He swallowed hard, his tongue darting nervously across his cracked lips. “I—I don’t know anything,” he stammered, his voice hoarse, but there was less conviction now. Your presence was overwhelming, dominating. He wasn’t even speaking to a human anymore; you were something else entirely. Something that demanded submission. He felt powerless, helpless in your clutches, unable to pull away even if he wanted to.

You chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through him. “Don��t lie, Vasily.” You ran your fingers through his greasy hair, tugging lightly, enough to elicit a groan from him. His eyes half-closed as you tugged harder, the sharp pain mingling with the soft lilt of your voice in a way that confused him, that made his head spin. “I know you know. You wouldn’t be where you are if you didn’t. Now tell me…”

You let the sentence hang, trailing your free hand down his neck, your nails grazing his skin lightly, drawing a shudder from him. The whole room seemed to hang on your words, even Price’s men— even Soap, Gaz, and Ghost, seemed caught in your snare, their breaths shallow, as if they too were waiting for something to break.

Your lips brushed dangerously close to Vasily’s ear, tone warm, gentle, enough to make him doubt whether you were a threat at all, or if maybe, just maybe, you were on his side. He gasped, and his resistance snapped. “All right, all right!” His voice was strained, desperate. “It’s—it’s the shipments. The next one’s coming in two days. Weapons. Girls. They— they’re moving them through the docks. I swear. That’s all I know. Just—fuck.”

You smiled again, softer this time, a false kindness that made Vasily’s heart skip, and released your grip on his hair, smoothing it back into place with an almost tender touch. “There you go,” you whispered, brushing your thumb over the corner of his mouth. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The relief on his face was palpable, as if he had been released from some invisible chokehold and in that instant the spell you’d weaved over the entire room like strands of spun sugar shattered leaving Price feeling like he’d been dunked into an icy lake.

Vasily’s entire body sagged, his muscles slackening under your gaze as you rose gracefully to your feet, giving a languid stretch and turned to Price, eyes gleaming with that same magnetic energy.

“All yours, Captain,” you said, your voice a little too sweet, a little too dangerous. “Unless, of course, you’re still doubting me?”

Price’s jaw tightened, the image of the bodies you dropped in the corridor outside of the office flashing through his mind, his eyes flickering on Vasily and the tent in his pants, the embarrassed flush of his cheeks. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction, the boost to your ego, but his eyes betrayed him. He didn’t doubt you. Not anymore. None of them would.

***

Two days later, the docks loom before them, sprawling across the coastline like a forgotten graveyard of steel and rust. Shipping containers stacked high like tombstones, warehouses slouched in the distance, and cranes poised like skeletons against the darkening sky. The sea churns in the background, a slate gray mass flecked with whitecaps as the eastern wind howls through the gaps between the structures. The smell of saltwater and oil hangs in the air, thick and acrid, clinging to everything like a stain that won’t wash off. Overhead, the cries of gulls are swallowed by the low hum of machinery, the industrial heartbeat of a place where shadowy deals are brokered in the dark. The perfect setting for the kind of bloodstained business you’re about to tear apart.

Tonight, there’s no need for seductive disguises or glittering gowns. You’re clad in tactical gear that fits like a second skin, tight Kevlar pants hugging your form, combat boots laced tight, and a custom tactical vest that clings to your curves in a way that draws more than a few glances from the others. No helmet, though—when Soap questions your lack of NVGs, his brow furrowed in confusion, you merely smirk at him, your voice dropping to a playful coo as if he’s a child asking about monsters under the bed. “Don’t worry, love. I see plenty in the dark.”

Unlike last time, you’re not going in alone. You move with them, part of the team, though it quickly becomes clear that you’re still in a league of your own. As the raid begins, Price watches you weave through the shadows, faster and deadlier than anyone else. The operation moves like clockwork, the team dispersing to take their positions, rifles poised, eyes sharp. But while the others move like soldiers, precise and tactical, you move like a predator, instinct guiding you as much as training.

The first targets fall almost too easily. You glide up behind one of the guards, your knife flashing like silver lightning in the moonlight, and in an instant, the man crumples to the ground, his throat slit before he even knows what hit him. Silent. Efficient. Deadly. Price catches a glimpse of you through the scope of his rifle, watching as you drag the body into the shadows, your movements quick and fluid, and he’s reminded of the reports he read—brutal, vicious, without mercy.

But words on paper pale in comparison to the reality before him. As the firefight breaks out, gunfire erupts around the docks, chaos exploding in every direction, and you’re in the thick of it, tearing through enemies with a terrifying grace. You’re not just fighting; you’re dismantling them, piece by bloody piece. One man lunges at you with a knife, and in a heartbeat, you twist his wrist with a bone-snapping crack, slam him against a shipping container, and bury your blade in his chest without a second thought. Another opens fire, but before he can get a second shot off, you’re already on him, disarming him with a brutal kick to the jaw that leaves him sprawling on the ground. You don’t hesitate to finish him off, a single bullet to the skull, your movements cold and unrelenting.

Price orders his men to push forward, but his gaze keeps flicking back to you. He’s seen black ops soldiers in action before—seen Spetsnaz cut through enemies with machine-like precision—but you’re something else. There’s a ferocity in the way you fight, a raw, unbridled violence that has nothing to do with rules or regulations. It’s personal. Every move, every strike, feels like it carries a deeper purpose, as if the blood on your hands is a long-overdue justice you’ve been waiting to exact.

Soap lets out a low whistle over comms, his voice thick with awe. “Screaming Jesus, she’s a one-woman army.”

Price doesn’t respond, his jaw set tight as he watches you tear through another wave of enemies. The reports weren’t just accurate—they were restrained. You’re more than what they described, more than what even he expected. And as the last of the traffickers are mopped up, bodies littering the docks like broken marionettes, Price realizes there’s no one alive tonight who’ll walk away with a different opinion.

Not of The Mercenary. Not of the storm she unleashed.

It’s not long before the docks finally fall silent, what with you tearing through the traffickers like a hot knife through butter like you did. The echoes of gunfire faded into the night as Price surveyed the aftermath—bodies strewn across the grimy concrete, the remnants of a trafficking ring laid to waste. His team moved like shadows, finishing up the sweep, checking corners, and clearing out the last stragglers. Everything was by the book, clean and efficient, the kind of op that Price had seen a hundred times before.

But there was something different this time, and it wasn’t just the bloodied bodies left behind. It was you.

You stood near the water’s edge, wiping blood from your knife with a rag, the same calm expression on your face as if nothing extraordinary had just happened. As if you hadn’t torn through armed men like they were made of paper, leaving only devastation in your wake. You didn’t even glance at the bodies or the carnage around you. To you, this was routine, just another mission. Another paycheck.

Price’s eyes narrowed as he watched you. This was the part where you’d usually disappear—head out for your next contract, vanish into the night like the ghost you were. It’s what mercenaries did. They moved from job to job, no loyalty, no ties, just the endless chase of money and violence. He expected you to do the same now, your work here done.

But as his team packed up, ready to head back to base, you didn’t move.

Price signaled for the team to regroup, his orders coming out in short, clipped bursts over the comms. His focus was on his men, but his thoughts were on you. You weren’t leaving. Why weren’t you leaving?

You boarded the transport with them, sitting in the back, quiet, composed. Pupils blown wide as if you were excited instead of bone tired like the rest of them.

Soap, sitting across from you, gave you a raised brow, clearly curious, but he kept his distance. No one spoke. Not even you, which was… odd. Too odd.

Price kept glancing your way during the ride back, suspicion gnawing at him. What was your game? There was no reason for you to stay. No reason for you to be here, surrounded by military personnel, under their scrutiny. Yet you were sitting there, casual as ever, your gear still drenched in blood, as if this was where you belonged.

When the transport rolled into the base, Price caught Ghost’s eye, the unspoken tension crackling between them. His second-in-command seemed as wary as he was, but neither voiced their concerns just yet. They couldn’t. Not without proof. Not without something more than a gut feeling.

As they disembarked, Price expected you to peel off, maybe hitch a ride to the nearest city. But you followed them into the heart of the base, your steps unhurried, your presence unnervingly calm. You weren’t rushing to leave. You were settling in. Like you intended to stay.

***

A few days had passed since the raid at the docks, and everything seemed to settle back into the usual rhythm at the base. On the surface, anyway. Price was back to his routine, briefing the team, debriefing them, overseeing the cleanup from the mission. The trafficking ring had been dismantled, their operations left in ruin, and the victims had been taken care of. Everything should’ve been straightforward.

But it wasn’t.

His instincts told him otherwise. Something was off.

You were still here.

Price had expected you to vanish the moment the job was done. That’s what mercenaries did—complete the contract, collect the payout, and disappear without a second thought. No attachments, no lingering. But it had been days, and you hadn’t left. You wandered the base, moved through the halls like you belonged here, like you had no intention of leaving.

Every time he spotted you, that same unease crept up his spine. You wore the same calm, composed expression, no sign of hurry or purpose. You engaged with his men like you were another soldier of his making passing comments and bantering, the occasional smirk that tugging at your lips when Soap or Gaz tried to strike up casual conversation. And while the others seemed to accept your presence without question, Price couldn’t shake the feeling that something darker lurked beneath your cool exterior.

It was late one night when he spotted you standing near the armory, inspecting some gear. No one else was around. The quiet of the base hummed in the background, punctuated only by the low buzz of security lights. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching you. You didn’t notice him—or at least, you didn’t make it obvious that you had.

He could still hear the rumors from the mission. Ghost, Soap, Gaz—they all talked about the way you’d torn through the enemy like a storm, leaving bodies broken and bloodied in your wake. Brutal. Vicious. No mercy. The reports hadn’t done you justice. And yet, here you were, walking through their base like the aftermath of that massacre hadn’t left a mark on you.

Price had seen enough soldiers go through hell and come out the other side broken or hardened, scarred in ways that never truly healed. But you? There was nothing but cold precision in your every movement, as if all the violence and death you caused was just another day at work. That was what bothered him the most—how utterly unfazed you were. How dangerous that made you.

As you turned, spotting him in the doorway, that small, knowing smile curled across your lips. Like you knew exactly what he was thinking. It was the same smile you’d given after the mission, when you’d cleaned off your knife without so much as a glance at the carnage you’d left behind.

“Price,” you greeted, your tone light, casual, as if the two of you were old acquaintances.

He grunted in return, stepping into the room, crossing his arms. “Still here, I see.”

Your smile deepened, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “Didn’t know I had a deadline.”

“You don’t,” Price replied, though his voice was tight, clipped. “But most mercs don’t stick around after the job’s done.”

Price narrowed his eyes, watching the way you shrugged off his question with a casual, almost too-relaxed air. “I like the company,” you said, your voice smooth, unbothered, like someone who had nothing to hide. But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

For someone in your line of work, you were too comfortable. Too at ease, lingering here long after the job was done. No mercenary sticks around just because they “like the company.” It didn’t add up.

He stared at you for a moment longer, your calm demeanor suddenly grating on him. And that’s when it clicked—the way you never seemed rushed to leave, the way your eyes tracked every movement in a room, like you were always assessing, calculating. This wasn’t about the company. It wasn’t even about the mission anymore.

Price could feel it in his gut, that same gnawing feeling that told him you were here for more than just the mission. You had a second objective, something that kept you close to them, waiting, watching.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let something worse than any enemy into their midst. A rot, festering beneath the surface, quiet and patient. You were no ordinary mercenary. You were a plague, spreading through their ranks, waiting for the right moment to turn gangrenous and poison them all from within.

His jaw clenched as he met your gaze, refusing to let the unease show in his eyes. “What’s your real game here?”

For a long moment, you said nothing, just watched him with that same maddening composure. Slowly, your head tilted, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but it never touched your eyes.

“Curiosity, Captain. I’m simply curious.”

“Curious about what?” His voice was low, a deep rumble like distant thunder on the verge of a storm.

Instead of answering, you gave him that smile—a smile he knew all too well. He’d seen it before, on the faces of sociopaths who thrived on control. Lips pulled tight over teeth, but no warmth, no humanity behind the gaze.

A chill slid down his spine, and his fingers itched toward his gun. But he held steady, knowing that drawing it wouldn’t intimidate you. If anything, he had the unsettling suspicion it might amuse you instead.

***

Weeks passed, and you didn’t leave.

Price watched you like a hawk, waiting for the moment you’d pack up, chase down another contract, disappear like the mercenary you were. But you stayed. You drifted through their base like a shadow, always there but never fully integrated, always just on the periphery.

Every move you made was calculated, deliberate, and though no one said it outright, the entire team felt it. You were a presence; unsettling, magnetic, impossible to ignore. Like a lit candle you should keep an eye on less it be forgotten and burn your house down as a result.

Price had never felt this level of constant tension before. Not on long deployments, not during high-stakes missions. It wasn’t the enemy outside that kept him awake at night; it was you. The way you seemed to move through their ranks without ever fully being a part of them.

He stayed on edge, hyper-vigilant, like a coiled spring, knowing something was going to snap, but unsure of when or how. His senses were stretched thin, his patience even thinner.

It was like having a wolf among sheep, and worse, the sheep were growing comfortable with it.

One night, as Price sat alone in his office, eyes burning from lack of sleep, his head buzzing when there was a quiet knock on the door. It was Gaz, looking more awkward than usual.

“Sir, I thought you should know… Soap’s been, uh… spending time with her.” He didn’t say your name, but he didn’t have to. There was only one “her” that could cause this kind of unease.

Price’s stomach dropped. “Define ‘spending time,’ Sergeant.”

Gaz shifted uncomfortably. “They, uh… hooked up. Last night.”

Price’s hand clenched into a fist, knuckles going white against the desk. He didn’t want to believe it, but he could see the truth in Gaz’s eyes. The warning signs had been there. Soap had always been the bold one, reckless even, and you—well, you thrived on that. Price should’ve seen this coming.

His mind raced. Soap, of all people, had fallen into your web. He could only imagine how you’d spun it, lured him in with that seductive charm you wielded like a weapon. And now? Now one of his own was compromised, and he could feel the situation spiraling out of his control.

Price dismissed Gaz with a terse nod, and the second the door closed, he slammed his fist down on the desk.

This wasn’t just about Soap being reckless or stupid. It was about you. Staying on base for weeks without any clear reason, keeping everyone on edge. And now, with Soap tangled up in whatever game you were playing, it was like watching a slow poison seep into the unit.

He stood up, jaw clenched as he paced the room, trying to think. He couldn’t let this go on. He couldn’t afford to be patient anymore. Whatever your endgame was, you had already begun to rot away at the heart of his team.

***

Price didn’t sleep that night. He paced his office, mind racing, piecing together every moment from the past few weeks. Every time he’d caught your eye lingering on him, every smile that felt more like a test than a gesture of goodwill. Now, with Soap wrapped up in your web, it was clear that this wasn’t just his paranoia. You had an agenda, and he had let you into their midst.

The next morning, Price called a meeting. The men gathered in the briefing room, and he could feel the shift in the air as soon as you entered. All eyes gravitated toward you. You moved like you always did—fluid, confident, unbothered. Soap sat across the table, his gaze drifting to you more than it should, and Price’s jaw tightened.

He began to speak, his voice sharp as a knife. “We’re moving out tonight. Intel says there’s a shipment coming in—drugs, arms, the usual. We’re going to shut it down.” The plan wasn’t anything new—standard sweep and seizure. But it was the underlying tension in the room that couldn’t be ignored. Price’s words were meant to shift the focus, to drag his team back to where they needed to be. But as he spoke, he caught you watching him, your expression unreadable, a flicker of amusement in your eyes that sent a chill down his spine.

Once the briefing ended, the men dispersed, except for Soap, who lingered by you, grinning like he was in on some private joke. Price stared at him for a moment longer than necessary before heading out, fighting the rising frustration in his gut.

Later on after finishing up the mission, Price sat in his office, the faint hum of activity echoing through the hallways. His door cracked open slightly, letting in the soft shuffle of footsteps, the sound unmistakable.

“Captain.”

Your voice, low and almost playful, cut through the silence like a blade. He didn’t turn to look at you. He couldn’t trust himself to keep his composure.

“You’ve been awfully quiet lately,” you continued, stepping further into the room. He could hear the soft click of the door shutting behind you. “Everything alright?”

Price clenched his jaw. “I was just focused on the mission.”

“That so?” You circled around to stand in front of his desk, leaning against it casually, too casually for his liking. Your presence was overwhelming, filling the small space like a thick fog. “You don’t seem like the type to get distracted, Captain.”

“And you seem like the type that enjoys creating distractions.” He finally met your gaze, and the way you smiled in response sent a shiver of unease down his spine. You were toying with him, and worse, you knew he knew it.

“Why are you still here?” Price asked, his voice low, controlled.

Your smile widened slightly. “I told you before—curiosity.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped. “You don’t stay in one place this long for curiosity.”

You didn’t flinch at his tone, didn’t seem fazed at all. Instead, you leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing as you regarded him like a predator assessing prey. “I’ve spent time in many places. Ask around—check with units in Marawi, Mogadishu, Kandahar… even Berlin. I always seem to stick around longer than planned, don’t I?” You laughed lightly, shaking your head like it was an amusing coincidence. “But then again, maybe they never saw it either. Maybe you’re the only one smart enough to see the bigger picture.”

Price’s pulse quickened. Every location you listed, every unit you mentioned, could easily be verified. You knew that. But it was the way you laid it out—so casually, like you weren’t even concerned—that made him falter. Like you wanted him to check, knowing full well what he’d find. Hadn’t you been acting the same way there too? Charming your way through, making yourself indispensable, all the while threading yourself deeper into their fabric until it was too late to unravel you?

“You can ask, Captain,” you purred, leaning in just a little closer, the air between you suffocating with tension. “But you won’t find anything out of the ordinary. Because, if you start seeing ghosts in every corner… well, maybe the problem isn’t me…”

You trailed off meaningfully and Price didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His mind was racing, every instinct screaming at him that something was very, very wrong. You had stayed too long, ingratiated yourself too easily, and now Soap was involved. And even though he wanted to believe it was just a lapse in judgment on Soap’s part, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all part of a larger plan. And yet…

“You know,” you said softly, almost thoughtfully, “trust is such a delicate thing. Once it’s broken, it’s hard to repair. You start questioning everything. Everyone.”

The way you said it made Price’s skin crawl. You were baiting him, pushing him to the edge, and he was dangerously close to snapping.

“What the hell are you playing at?” he demanded, standing up, fists clenched.

You didn’t back down. If anything, you seemed to enjoy the tension, your smile sharpening into something more predatory. “Nothing at all, Captain. Just… enjoying my time. Having fun.”

Price took a step closer, his voice a low growl. “This isn’t a game.”

You tilted your head slightly, the smile never leaving your face. “I never said it was, Captain. I’m afraid you’re reading too far into things. Seeing shadows where there isn’t any.”

Price’s heart pounded in his chest as he stood there, caught in a web of uncertainty and suspicion. He didn’t trust you. Hell, he didn’t even know if he could trust his own men anymore, not after what happened with Soap.

But as much as he wanted to get you off his base, to throw you out and wash his hands of this whole mess, he couldn’t. Not yet. Because something told him that whatever you were really after, it wasn’t just Soap. And until he knew for sure what your endgame was, he had no choice but to keep you close—and pray that he hadn’t just let a fox into the henhouse.

As you turned to leave, Price couldn’t help but feel like he’d just lost a battle he hadn’t even realized he was fighting. “Sweet dreams, Captain. Good night.”

***

Price hung up the phone, staring at the receiver as if it could offer answers to the storm raging in his mind. Eight months. You’d lingered for eight whole months after your contract ended in Berlin, weaving yourself into the fabric of another unit’s daily routine, and just like the Colonel had said, you left without a trace of anything suspicious. No incidents. No trouble. Just gone, as suddenly as you had come.

But the Colonel’s words echoed in his mind: “I thought the same like you, Captain, Ja. I had my eyes on her the whole time, thought something was happening… but nothing ever came of it. She is slippery, that one, but not a drop of blut was out of place when she went away.”

Price exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair, fingers massaging his temples. Eight months. He should’ve been reassured, should’ve felt some relief hearing that someone else, someone just as seasoned, had gone through the same ordeal. But instead, it gnawed at him, deepening the pit of uncertainty growing in his gut. If nothing happened then… why did every nerve in his body scream at him now?

He’d been in the field for decades, lived through hells most men wouldn’t survive, and his instincts had kept him alive through it all. But now? Now he was doubting himself. Questioning his own judgment, wondering if the years had worn him down, made him paranoid. Had it all finally caught up to him? Maybe the pressure, the decades of battle scars, were finally showing. Yet, every fiber of his being still rebelled against the idea of ignoring what was so blatantly wrong.

No, he thought. My instincts are never wrong. He had learned to trust that gut feeling, the one that separated him from the men who didn’t make it.

The door creaked open, and Ghost stepped in, interrupting the maelstrom of thoughts swirling in Price’s head. He stood there, imposing as always, but there was something different in his expression. Price sat up straighter, bracing himself.

“Sir,” Ghost started, his voice steady but with an edge of uncertainty, unusual for the Lieutenant.

“What is it?” Price asked, trying to keep his voice even.

“The mercenary,” Ghost clarified, his eyes narrowing slightly. “She took part in a training drill today with some of the recruits.”

Price blinked. That wasn’t unusual in itself. You’d been weaving in and out of different areas for weeks now, always showing up in unexpected places, like you were trying to familiarize yourself with every inch of the base. But the tension in Ghost’s stance told Price there was more to the story.

“What happened?” Price asked, already feeling a creeping dread in the back of his mind.

“One of the recruits made a mistake. Big one,” Ghost continued. “Nearly cost him his life. Got caught up in a malfunction on the rappel during the high-altitude training drill.”

Price’s heart skipped a beat. “And?”

“She saved him,” Ghost said simply. “Reacted faster than anyone else. Snapped the rope, pulled him out before he hit the deck.”

Price was silent for a moment, digesting the information. “She saved him?”

Ghost nodded. “Yeah. Kid would’ve been dead if not for her. She didn’t just follow protocol. She handled it like she’d done it a hundred times before.”

Price leaned back in his chair again, his mind whirling. You’d saved a recruit’s life, a move that should have earned you praise. But all he could feel was a deepening sense of confusion. You were smart—too smart, maybe. Every move you made, every little gesture, seemed calculated. Even this.

“Did she say anything afterward?” Price asked, narrowing his eyes at Ghost.

“Not much,” Ghost replied. “Just told him to ‘pay better attention next time.’ Then walked off like nothing happened.”

Price nodded, though the pit in his stomach widened. You were integrating yourself even more, and not just through casual conversation or staying on base. Now, you were actively participating in training, putting yourself in situations where people’s lives depended on you. Perfectly timed, Price thought. You knew how to make yourself indispensable, a hero even. It was the perfect strategy—who would suspect someone who just saved a recruit’s life?

But it only added to Price’s unease. You weren’t just hanging around. You were embedding yourself deeper into their operations, gaining trust in subtle, almost insidious ways. The other soldiers would start seeing you as one of them now, and that was exactly what Price had been afraid of. You were smart, calculated, and every move you made had a purpose.

Ghost noticed Price’s silence, his usual unreadable expression giving way to a flicker of concern. “You think she’s up to something?”

“I don’t know,” Price admitted, his voice rough. “But I’m damn sure we’ve let something in. And if we don’t figure it out soon, it’s going to spread.” He glanced at Ghost, knowing he needed his team more than ever. “Keep an eye on her. And make sure the others do too. If she’s playing us… I don’t want her to slip through our fingers.”

Ghost gave a curt nod before turning to leave, but Price didn’t feel any better. The pieces were moving, the game had started, and you had somehow made yourself both player and wildcard. And if Price wasn’t careful, you were going to turn everything on its head.

***

Unfortunately for the growing alarm bells ringing— screaming— in the back of his head, Price couldn’t deny the shift that had taken place after you saved Private Merrick’s life. The act, as timely as it was heroic, had made you a near instant legend on base. Where there had once been wariness, there was now admiration. Distrust had given way to camaraderie. The mercenary who’d sparked suspicion had, overnight, become one of them.

The recruits, green and eager to prove themselves, were especially captivated. They hung on every word you said, their wide-eyed awe palpable as you walked among them, offering tips, pointers, and more often than not, a sly smile that sent them stumbling over themselves. Soap, naturally, had been quick to follow. Gaz too, now. Wherever you went, they seemed to hover nearby, as if drawn in by some invisible thread you were masterfully tugging.

They weren’t the only ones. The seasoned soldiers, men hardened by battle, found themselves drawn in as well, their initial skepticism melting into begrudging respect. You were seen everywhere now: the gym, the shooting range, combat drills, simulations. You seamlessly inserted yourself into every facet of their routine, giving advice, correcting form, all with a confidence and casual ease that was impossible to ignore.

They ate it up: your presence, your guidance, the way you seemed to understand every nuance of warfare as if you’d written the manual yourself. And through it all, that same playful amusement never left your expression, like you were indulging them in some elaborate game only you truly understood.

For most, that was enough. The charm, the beauty, the undeniable skill, all of it combined into a perfect storm that left the men blind to the subtle machinations beneath the surface. But not Price. And not Ghost.

No, for Price, the growing crowd of admirers only deepened the unease gnawing at him. You were too good at this. Too adept at weaving yourself into the fabric of their base, ingratiating yourself with the men until even the most seasoned soldiers saw you as one of them. It should have been reassuring, knowing that so many eyes were on you, watching your every move. But it wasn’t.

Because Price knew that the more you were seen, the more you were in control. And control, he realized, was exactly what you wanted.

He’d watched you long enough now to know there was no accident in the way you operated. Every interaction, every gesture, was carefully measured, designed to draw people closer while keeping them just far enough from the truth. They saw the hero who saved lives, the expert who could outshoot and outfight most of them. They didn’t see the subtle manipulation, the way you orchestrated their perception of you with all the grace of a master conductor.

Price watched it unfold daily, helpless to stop it, and it unnerved him. You were a serpent in their midst, coiled and waiting, though for what, he wasn’t sure.

It was that uncertainty, the sense that there was more beneath the surface, that had him on edge. He tried to shake it off, to tell himself he was overthinking, that his paranoia was getting the best of him. But his instincts, the same instincts that had kept him alive for decades, refused to quiet.

And then there was Ghost. Silent, observant Ghost, who had taken to watching you with the same wariness that Price felt but couldn’t yet name. The two of them were the last holdouts, the only ones still resisting the pull of your charm. But for how long?

One evening, as Price sat in his office, the weight of sleepless nights and gnawing doubts pressing heavily on him, he heard the now-familiar sound of footsteps approaching his door. He didn’t need to look up to know it was you. There was something distinctive about the way you moved—too smooth, too deliberate.

“Captain,” your voice purred, cutting through the stillness of the room. Slid through the air, low and laced with amusement.

He didn’t bother to respond immediately, keeping his eyes on his paperwork (though his focus had long since abandoned him), hoping you’d take the hint. But of course, you didn’t. You never did. You weren’t one for leaving things alone.

You closed the door behind you and stepped further into the room, the space seeming to shrink around your presence. Thick and suffocating, creeping in the room like smoke. The sweetest perfume. “You’ve been keeping to yourself,” you observed, your tone light, playful, as if you were speaking to an old friend. Teasing. This was all a game to you. He knew it was. He knew you enjoyed every second of it.

“I’m busy,” Price muttered, not looking up from the papers scattered across his desk. Jaw tight. Molar aching. He could feel you watching him. Dissecting him with those sharp, calculating eyes. The room felt smaller with you in it.

“Busy with what? Watching me?” The challenge was evident in your voice, a hint of amusement curling the edges of your words. You took slow, deliberate steps towards his desk. Through the shadows. A panther hunting prey.

Bringing you here was a mistake but Laswell had insisted, and Price— ever loyal to her judgment— had conceded, like always.

The question hung in the air like a challenge, and Price’s grip on the pen tightened. It took everything in him not to snap, not to lash out in a way that you’d only twist into some game. He could feel his pulse quicken, an involuntary reaction to the control you wielded so effortlessly.

“Why are you still here?” he finally asked, his voice low and controlled. Brittle. Like rust flaking off metal.

“I’ve told you,” you began, leaning forward just enough to invade his space. You smiled, that maddening smile, like you knew exactly what you were doing. “I’m curious.” Tone dripping with false innocence.

Price isn’t a religious man but even he knows mythology all around the world say the same thing sometimes: a monster that takes on the shape of beautiful women to lure men in and bleed them dry. Siren. Succubus. Lamia. Jorogumo. Nymphs. You.

Price didn’t buy it. Couldn’t buy it. “Curiosity doesn’t make you stay this long.”

You smiled, that same infuriating, empty smile you always gave. “You really think I’m up to something, don’t you?”

He met your gaze, and for the briefest moment, he saw something flicker in your eyes. Amusement. Triumph. You know, he thought. You know exactly what you’re doing, and you’re enjoying it. The way you were looking at him— it wasn’t innocent at all.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” Price asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Your eyes glinted with something darker and the air felt heavier. “What do you mean?”

“You linger. Stick around bases after your contracts end. Like in Berlin,” Price pressed, his voice low but firm. “Eight months. That’s what they said. And nothing happened, right?”

Your smile widened, eyes flashing with a dangerous light. “Is that what’s bothering you, Captain? That nothing happened?”

Price’s heart pounded in his chest. You were pushing him. Toying with him, manipulating every word to plant more doubt, more confusion.

“You can call them, you know,” you said, leaning even closer. “Berlin. Warsaw. Cairo. Ask around. I’ve stayed on bases longer than I should have, but nothing ever happens. It’s just you, Captain. Just your paranoia.”

He stared at you, struggling to keep his composure, but you’d seen it. That flicker of doubt. That split second of hesitation. And you pounced on it.

“You’re getting tired, aren’t you?” you whispered. “Decades of service. Constant vigilance. Maybe it’s wearing you down. Maybe you’re imagining things.”

Price clenched his fists, feeling the tension coil in his muscles. He was tired, but his instincts had always been his guide. Yet you were so effortlessly making him doubt them.

“Or,” you continued, voice low and dripping with venomous sweetness, “maybe you’re right. Maybe I am up to something. But if that’s the case… what are you going to do about it?”

Price’s blood ran cold. You were challenging him, daring him to act, to confront you. And all the while, you wore that same damn smile, the one that made him feel like he was the one losing control.

You tilted your head, eyes gleaming as you stepped around the desk, slowly closing the distance between him and you. “You really do think I’m up to something, don’t you?”

Price leaned back slightly, his breath shallow, but he stayed rooted to his chair. You were close now, too close. The faint scent of your perfume mixed with the metallic tang of his anxiety.

Without a word, you reached out, your fingers grazing lightly over his shoulder. Price stiffened, the warmth of your touch sending a shock through his system. You leaned in, your breath brushing against his neck, and whispered, “You look tired, Captain.”

He wanted to move, to shake you off, but his body betrayed him. The exhaustion weighed down his limbs, and before he could stop you, your hands were kneading gently into the knots in his shoulders.

“Carrying the weight of the world, aren’t you?” you cooed softly, fingers working into the tension, the pressure just enough to make him falter. “Must be exhausting. No wonder you’re starting to see things… imagining things.”

Price gritted his teeth, fighting against the wave of fatigue that was crashing over him, but your touch was so… disarming. Slowly, without realizing it, he found himself relaxing under your hands, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. You felt it too—the way his resistance was crumbling, brick by brick.

“That’s it, Captain,” you murmured, your voice laced with false concern as your hands worked lower, pressing into the tight muscles of his back. “You’ve been doing this for so long. Decades of service. Always on edge. Always watching. Don’t you ever just… let go?”

Price’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and he forced them open again, fighting to keep control, but the words wouldn’t come. You’d stepped even closer now, leaning against his desk, nearly perched in his lap, your breath warm against his ear.

“I can help, you know,” you whispered, your lips so close they brushed against his skin. “Take some of that weight off your shoulders.”

Price swallowed hard, the tension in the air palpable. He knew what you were doing, knew this was just another layer of your manipulation, but his body wasn’t responding the way he wanted it to. His arms felt heavy, his breathing shallow. Your hands, now on his neck, massaged with an expert’s precision, coaxing him into compliance.

“I’ve been around, Captain,” you continued, your voice soft, hypnotic. “Berlin. Cairo. So many places where they thought like you—always suspicious, always looking for something that wasn’t there. And do you know what happened?”

You leaned in closer, your lips grazing the edge of his jaw, your breath sending shivers down his spine.

“Nothing.”

The word hung in the air, and Price’s head swam, caught between the fog of exhaustion and the insidiousness of your touch.

“I’m not the problem, Captain,” you whispered, your hand tracing down his chest, fingers curling ever so slightly against the fabric of his shirt. “You are. You’ve been at this too long. You don’t know when to stop. When to trust.”

Price clenched his fists at his sides, willing his body to move, to push you away, but he was trapped between his own fatigue and the intoxicating effect of your presence.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” you murmured, voice almost tender now. “I’m here because I think you’re special. Smart. Worthy of my attention. But you need to let go. Just a little. Stop fighting me. Stop fighting yourself.”

Your words wove their way into his mind, insidious and slow, planting seeds of doubt. His instincts, the ones that had kept him alive for so long, screamed at him to resist, to see through the haze you were creating. But his body was weak. His mind clouded. And you were so close, so warm, so soft.

Before he could speak, your fingers slid up to his jaw, gently turning his face to meet yours. The way you looked at him—predatory, with a flicker of something darker—made his breath hitch.

And in that moment, he realized just how far he’d fallen. How deep into your web he’d been pulled.

***

The feel of your skin beneath his fingers is rapturous. It’s been too long since he’s touched a woman like this. Years. Decades, maybe. Not since he was a recruit. Maybe not even then.

Your skin is so warm it sears him, like his fingertips are burning against molten caramel, soft and yielding. He bites along the curve of your inner thigh, and the sensation explodes in his mind, melting away whatever resistance he once had.

Electricity hums through him, short-circuiting the alarm bells that had been screaming in the back of his head for weeks. Blessed silence fills the space where doubt and suspicion had lived ever since he saw your dossier. He doesn’t understand you; he’s not sure anyone truly does— but this… this he understands.

Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, your pants are gone, discarded in the blur of heated moments. His head spins like he’s been drinking the strongest liquor, intoxicated, consumed by the heat between you. He’s drowning, but for the first time in weeks, he’s at peace with it.

How did he get here? You’d walked into his office barely twenty minutes ago, and now…

Now.

His fingers hook around the waistband of your panties, tugging them down with a roughness that makes him groan. The sight of you, glistening, dripping… it’s almost too much.

“Fuck,” the word rumbles from his throat, thick and heavy, like a storm rolling in on a sweltering summer night. His body feels like it’s been set on fire, his blood ignited, burning like the tips of his cigars.

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers teasing along your slick folds. The sensation beneath his touch is almost overwhelming— sticky, wet, and so incredibly wanting.

“Fuck,” he murmurs again, the word dragging from his lips as his mouth waters. He can’t stop himself, not anymore. He leans forward, driven by instinct, by a deep seated need to taste you, to devour you.

The taste of your cunt floods his senses, richer than any wine, sweeter than any ambrosia. It’s forbidden, like a taste of something divine, and as his eyes roll back, he’s lost in you.

His hands grip tighter, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as if anchoring himself to the moment. The world tilts, his mind spinning as he presses his mouth deeper, dragging his tongue through your wetness. The heat of you, the taste—it’s all-consuming.

The low hum of his growl vibrates against your core, sending a ripple through you that makes you shudder. Every fiber of his being is alive, sparking, like he’s teetering on the edge of something cataclysmic. His control, usually so ironclad, is slipping with every pulse of your body beneath his.

You moan, soft but sharp, and it ignites something primal in him. He grips harder, pulling you closer, deeper into his mouth, losing himself in the taste of you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him on, and he obliges without thought, driven by a need that eclipses every other instinct.

His mind is quiet. Blissfully, achingly quiet. No questions, no doubts. Just this—your warmth, your scent, your taste. His world narrows to this moment, this singular point of contact where you meet him, where everything else fades away.

He groans again, the sound muffled against you, and it vibrates through his chest like thunder. Every flick of his tongue feels like fire, every second stretching out into something timeless, endless. He’s lost, drowning, and he’s never felt so damn content in the suffocating pull of it all.

Price doesn’t remember how it started, doesn’t remember why it even began. All he knows now is that he’s here, with you, and the rest of the world is a distant blur, a forgotten consequence of this moment.

His mouth works against your cunt, slow but deliberate, every motion designed to unravel you further. Your gasps, your shudders—they fuel him.

His hands grip tighter, anchoring you in place, holding you still against his mouth. He’s seen your strength, knows how easily you could fight him off if you wanted. But you’re yielding beneath him, pliant in his grasp. Submissive in a way that twists something primal inside him.

He holds you firm, his mouth relentless, dragging you closer to the edge with every flick of his tongue. His lips press against your clit, a reverent kiss, sucking gently but with purpose, driving you mad with sensation.

“Price—oh, God,” you gasp, your voice ragged, hands clutching his hair, tugging, pulling. But you don’t push him away. You pull him closer, pushing yourself deeper into his mouth as he coaxes you to the brink.

Your body trembles, thighs shaking, and he knows you’re close. He can feel it in the way your muscles tighten, hear it in the way your breath hitches. And then you’re coming undone, keening above him as your orgasm crashes over you.

Price watches, captivated, as you fall apart. It’s a revelation, the sight of you trembling, unraveling beneath his touch, the taste of you flooding his senses. He drinks it in, savoring every drop, letting it fill him, consume him. There’s something intoxicating in it, a sweetness that lingers, turning his thoughts to static.

He pulls back when he’s had his fill, sitting up, licking his lips as though he’s just finished a feast. The sight of you, dazed, eyes half-lidded, makes something feral stir in his chest.

You slither into his lap, and despite the warning bells starting back up in the back of his mind—viper, viper, viper—he lets you. He can’t resist, not when you fit so perfectly against him, not when your warmth seeps into his skin like a drug.

His belt clinks as his pants fall open, and you smirk, that maddening, teasing smirk, the one that makes him want to either kiss you or strangle you. “That looks painful.”

His cock is painfully hard, the tip flushed, leaking, staining his boxers. Veins bulge along the length, and he’s never felt so desperate, so needy. “Because of you,” he grits out through clenched teeth.

Your smile widens, something wicked and knowing behind it, like you’re a siren luring him deeper into your trap. (Siren. Succubus. Lamia. Jorogumo. Nymphs. You.) “Want me to take care of it, Captain?”

You roll your hips, your slick folds sliding over him, making him jerk up involuntarily. His breath catches, and he nods, unable to form words, his need too great. “Please,” he rasps.

You coo softly, mocking him with your sweetness, teasing him with your control. But then you line yourself up, sinking down slowly, torturously, and he can’t stop the groan that rumbles from his chest.

His head falls back, body arching as the heat of you envelops him, tight and wet and perfect. It feels like coming home, and for a moment, he doesn’t care about the alarms in his head, doesn’t care about the danger you represent. He just needs this—needs you.

You’re not human—maybe you never were. A demon wrapped in the skin of an angel, something sweet and deadly. Sugar and spice for the righteous, poison for the wicked. Karma, incarnate. It’s no wonder Price can’t figure you out, can’t unravel the threads that make you. You’re his punishment, his purgatory, for all the blood on his hands. His salvation, his reward for all the lives he’s saved.

Not quite heaven, not quite hell.

But a taste of both.

He groans as you take him deeper, his mind slipping, thoughts unraveling with every inch of you that sinks down. His hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh, desperate to ground himself, but the way you move—slow, deliberate—makes him feel like he’s losing a part of himself with each second.

The tight, wet heat of you is everything he didn’t know he craved. It’s too much, yet not enough. His vision blurs as you rock against him, your body molding to his, every roll of your hips a deliberate push closer to the edge. You’re in control, and he’s too far gone to even pretend otherwise.

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice strained. He can’t hold on much longer, can’t stop the coil of tension winding tighter and tighter inside him. “You—”

You smirk, that wicked smile playing on your lips as you lean forward, your breath ghosting over his ear. “What’s wrong, Captain? Can’t handle a little pressure?”

Your voice, soft and sweet, twists something inside him, tightening the knot of pleasure and frustration until it’s unbearable. He’s never felt this out of control, never let anyone take the reins like this. But with you, it’s different. You’ve slithered into his mind, into his body, like a drug, and now he’s addicted.

“I can handle you,” he growls, hands flexing against your skin. But even as he says it, he knows it’s a lie. You’ve got him, mind and body, and you know it.

You hum softly, running a hand through his hair, tugging lightly, making him groan again. “We’ll see about that, Captain.”

The way you say it, so sure of yourself, so calm, sends a shiver down his spine. You’re toying with him, just like you’ve been doing since you arrived. But now, he’s not sure if he cares. Not when you feel this good.

And that’s the danger, isn’t it? The way you make him want to let go, to stop thinking, to stop questioning. The way you turn his paranoia into a dull hum, background noise compared to the pleasure of you wrapped around him.

You lean in closer, lips brushing against his jaw, your breath warm against his skin. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’ll take good care of you.”

His breath stutters, fingers tightening on your hips as you start to move again, slow and deliberate, dragging out every second, every sensation, until he feels like he’s going to lose his mind.

The tension inside of him is unbearable, the coil of pleasure so tight it’s threatening to snap. Your hips roll against his, slow, deliberate. Each movement sends shockwaves of sensation through him. His breath is ragged, his control unraveling by the second, catching in his throat at the pressure inside of him builds.

Every part of him is on fire, and he’s teetering on the edge, so close, too close.

“God— fuck,” he groans. Half bitten off words is all he can manage, a guttural rasp as his head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut. You grind down harder, nails dragging across his chest, drawing out the sound again, like you’re pulling his soul from his body.

“You’re close, aren’t you, Captain?” Your voice is a soft purr, a taunting whisper against his ear.

He can’t answer, can’t even think beyond the need to chase his release. Every nerve in his body is lit up and burning with desire. All he knows is that he’s teetering on the brink, and you’re the one holding him there, savoring every second before you let him fall.

Then, with a flick of your hips and a roll of your body, he’s gone. Exploding into pleasure so intense it leaves him gasping, his grip on you tightening as if you’re the only thing anchoring him to reality. He’s lost in the sensation of it, his mind blank, his senses overwhelmed by the feel of you, the taste of you still lingering on his lips. His orgasm crashes over him like a wave, drowning him in sensations, and for a long moment, everything fades— every thought, every suspicion, every doubt. There’s only you.

You watch him fall apart beneath you, a satisfied smile curving your lips as you ride out his release before stilling in his lap.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of his heavy breathing, the feeling of you still wrapped around him, tight and warm, your body molded to his like you were made for him. His head is spinning, mind foggy, but for the first time in weeks, he feels calm. The constant hum of paranoia, the nagging suspicion, all of it fades into the background, drowned out by the euphora still coursing through him.

His body relaxes beneath yours, muscles going slack as exhaustion takes over after weeks and weeks of very little sleep, and when you finally slip off his lap, he barely registers the loss. His mind, dulled and heavy, floats in the remnants of pleasure. Aware only enough to adjust his softened cock back in his pants with trembling fingers, before his hand falls to the side.

He feels your lips against his temple, something sweet and chaste and not at all like you, humming in his ear with that sultry purr of yours. “Sweet dreams. Goodbye Captain.”

He hums in a reply, too far gone in his post orgasm exhaustion to form words. His mind, dulled and heavy, floats in the remnants of pleasure, blissfully unaware.

He hears you slip out quietly, leaving him slumped over his desk in the dim light of his office, door closing softly behind you. For a moment, the world is silent, and Price drifts into sleep, still half dressed, lost in the afterglow.

***

The next morning, Price wakes up to the harsh sunlight filtering through his blinds, the dull ache of his body reminding him of last night’s encounter. He stretches, feeling the tension in his muscles, and his mind starts to replay fragments of the night before. But as he blinks awake, something feels… off.

Something stirs in his chest. A sinking feeling, like a weight dropping in his gut. He sits up, rubbing a hand over his face, the disquiet creeping in around the edges of his consciousness.

Price frowns, pushing the chair back and standing, a strange sense of urgency crawling under his skin. He grabs his jacket, heads for the door, and steps out into the hallway, his footsteps heavy with the weight of something unnamed.

The hallway feels different this morning—quieter. There’s a strange hush over the base, a weight pressing down on everyone that Price can feel deep in his bones. His instincts scream at him that something’s wrong. He moves briskly, trying to shake off the gnawing sense of unease as he makes his way through the building. The recruits he passes look subdued, heads down, expressions uncharacteristically grim. Even Soap, who’s usually animated in the mornings, sits off to the side in the mess hall, arms crossed over his chest, a deep frown etched into his face.

Price’s gut tightens.

He slows his pace as he approaches, his eyes narrowing at Soap’s slouched posture and the way the men seem more reserved, more… off. Something’s happened. The air feels heavier.

“Soap,” Price calls out, voice gravelly, but not quite as sharp as usual. He’s already beginning to piece things together, though he doesn’t like where the thoughts are leading.

Soap glances up, and for a moment, the younger man looks like he’s on the verge of saying something, something biting, maybe, or sarcastic, but instead, he just shakes his head, lips pressed tight in a line. “She’s gone, Cap.”

Price blinks, his chest tightening as the words register. Gone? His mind scrambles to process it, but there’s a distinct lack of clarity. He swallows hard, forcing himself to stay calm as he approaches Soap’s table, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. “Gone?” he asks slowly, though he already knows the answer. “What do you mean, gone?”

“She left early this morning. Ghost saw her off. Said she was chasing another contract,” Soap mutters, the disappointment clear in his tone. He doesn’t look at Price, just keeps staring at his half-eaten tray of food like he’s trying to make sense of something himself.

Price’s blood runs cold. Left. Another contract.

The events of the night before crash over him like a wave, the warmth of your skin against his, your whispered words, the way you’d coiled around him like a serpent, squeezing, suffocating. Goodbye, Captain.

Not goodnight—goodbye.

His heart stutters. You’re gone. And he let you slip away, not realizing that you were never planning to stay. That sinking feeling from earlier becomes a weight in his chest, pulling him down, down into the realization that he’s been played. He let his guard down, let himself get pulled into your orbit, and now… now it’s too late.

Price spins on his heel, already searching for Ghost. He finds him not far off, standing by the exit like a statue, arms crossed, eyes hidden beneath his mask.

“Ghost.” Price’s voice is hard, commanding. “Tell me what happened.”

Ghost gives him a brief look, unreadable as always beneath the mask, but something about his posture tells Price that he’s aware of how bad this looks. “She left around 0500,” Ghost says, voice flat. “Said she had another contract lined up. No fanfare. Just… left.”

No fanfare. Just like that. Price feels the bottom of his stomach drop.

He should’ve known. You’d been toying with him, leading him down a path he should’ve seen coming from miles away. You’d gotten into his head, played him like a fiddle, and now you were gone.

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth. He’s lost whatever game you were playing, and the worst part is, he doesn’t even know what the stakes were. He doesn’t know why you played the game, only that you won. You took what you wanted from him, left him reeling, and now… now he’s standing here, empty-handed, with nothing to show for it but this gnawing sense of failure.

Ghost shifts his weight slightly, glancing at Price as if waiting for a response. But what is there to say? The infamous Captain Price had been outplayed, and there’s nothing he can do to fix it now.

“Dammit,” Price mutters under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He feels the weight of exhaustion settle over him, heavier than before. He wants to be angry, to shout, to curse your name for what you’ve done. But all he can feel is that deep, gnawing sense of loss, like he’s let something vital slip through his fingers.

The base feels emptier without you.

***

Seven months later, the world had moved on, but Price hadn’t.

He tried to bury it; your games, the night you left, the way you’d gotten into his head and twisted everything around him. But the ghost of your presence lingered, always just beneath the surface. He told himself it didn’t matter, that they’d never cross paths again, that you were just a fleeting memory in a long line of battles fought and lost.

Until today.

The mission had been straightforward, at least on paper. 141 had been tasked with securing a high-value target in a remote compound somewhere in the Balkans, a dangerous op that left little room for error. They’d expected resistance, expected threats from the usual suspects— mercs, rival PMCs, all of the scum that rise to the surface during geopolitica conflict. But what they hadn’t expected was you, leaning against the wall with that infuriating, knowing smirk. Casual, like you’d been expecting them. Like this was all some elaborate setup for a reunion you’d orchestrated.

“Well, well, well.” Your voice cut through the silence, playful and dripping with amusement. “This is awkward, isn’t it?”

Price’s blood ran cold. His grip on his rifle tightened, every muscle in his body tensing at the sight of you. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz were flanking him, their expressions unreadable, but Price could feel the tension rolling off them in waves. No one said a word.

You tilted your head, watching them like a cat watches a cornered mouse. “This is starting to feel like one of those Facebook posts,” you mused, laughter lacing your tone. “You know the ones—‘What would you do if you ended up in a room with everyone you’ve ever had sex with?’” Your eyes slid lazily over them, glinting with amusement as you watch their reactions. Soap stiffens, turning a shade darker. Gaz shifts awkwardly. Ghost remains as still as ever, but everyone can see the tension vibrating through him. (Price knew about Soap, but he feels dread crawl up his spine when he realizes Gaz and Ghost fell for you’re games too) “Guess we’re about to find out.”

“Shut up,” Price growled, voice low, dangerous. But you just laughed, pushing off the wall and sauntering forward, not an ounce of fear in your eyes.

“Temper, temper, Captain,” you tutted, waving a finger at him. “You’re not still upset about our little game, are you? I told you goodbye, didn’t I?”

Price’s hands flexed around his weapon, his mind racing as he struggled to stay composed. He wanted answers—he needed answers. And this time, he wasn’t going to let you slip away without giving them.

“You played us,” he said, voice tight, barely controlled. “You got inside our heads. Why?”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a smile that was all teeth. “Why?” you echoed, feigning innocence. “Because I was bored, Captain. You lot were supposed to be the best, the infamous 141. Special operators, men who could match me, maybe even outsmart me.” You paused, eyes gleaming with amusement as you scanned the group. “But you didn’t, did you? Not a single one of you. Men are all the same, no matter how many wars they’ve fought.”

“Bored?” Soap’s voice cracked through the tension, sharp and disbelieving. “You messed with us because you were bored?”

You shrugged, unapologetic. “What else was I supposed to do? I’m the smartest person in the room, in any room. I’m not just saying that to brag. I was tested and my IQ’s through the roof. I’m a WAIS-certified genius with an Mensa membership. A prodigy if you will.” You tap the side of your head with the muzzle of your gun, flashing them a knowing grin. “You have to understand, that gets tedious after a while. I need something stimulating. You lot, you were supposed to be different. I thought you might actually pose a challenge.”

Price’s stomach churned at your words, bile rising in his throat. He didn’t want to believe it—that it had all been some sick game, that you’d toyed with them, used them, used him just to stave off your boredom.

“Turns out,” you continued, sighing dramatically, “you’re just like everyone else. Predictable. Boring. Disappointing. Men get angry, men get frustrated, men think with their cocks more than their brains, and they don’t stop to think. I even warned you in my dossier, didn’t I? ‘Psychological warfare’s my preferred method’, and yet none of you caught on. So really, you’ve only got yourselves to blame.”

Price’s vision tunneled, his pulse pounding in his ears. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you, and for the first time in months, he felt the overwhelming need to wipe that smug look off your face.

“You’re a piece of work,” Ghost muttered, voice low and rough. He hadn’t moved from his position, but Price could feel the weight of his anger simmering just beneath the surface.

You flashed Ghost a grin, unaffected. “I warned you, didn’t I? If you couldn’t see it coming, that’s on you.”

“You think this is some kind of joke?” Price’s voice was dangerously low, fury barely contained. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, couldn’t believe how easily you were dismissing everything that had happened.

But you weren’t phased, not in the slightest. You took a step closer, your eyes glittering with amusement. “I think it’s hilarious, Captain. You were all so certain you could figure me out, so sure that you’d stay one step ahead. But I was always ahead, from the very start.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and Price’s fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to lash out, to scream at you, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. You’d already won, and you both knew it. The game was over, and all that was left was the bitter taste of defeat.

Soap growls, taking a step forward, but Price raises a hand to stop him. His mind races. Every interaction, every word, every glance you’d shared over those months— it had all been apart of your game. And now, standing here, knowing you’d gotten what you’d wanted from them, Price feels the bitter weight of defeat settling in once more.

“What now?” he asks, his voice low, almost resigned.

You tilt your head, considering the question for a moment. “Now? Now we play a different game. I’ve been hired to stop you and the 141, so—“ the gun in your hand cocks and you smirk, that same maddening smirk that drove him insane. He tenses, the lead in his stomach drops.

“Ready for round two, Captain?”

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #john price #captain price #ghost #ghost x reader #soap cod #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #Gaz #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kyle gaz x reader #simon ghost riley

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gingergofastboatsmojito · 3 months ago

Text

Their expiration dates have already been announced

The C Person: "September 2023"

C will stay in Chicago till September 2023 or shortly after when she will be relocated once she completes her residency in Chicago after studying in NYC, where she might come back after her "official" breakup/closure with Carmy. Relocation is super common for Resident doctors once they finish their residency.

Because the C person was only supposed to be in Carmy's life for 6 months.

They run into each other at the store in March 2023 (02X02) and by the end of S3 (August 7th, 2023) only 5 months or less have passed:

So my prediction is that that last month to complete the 6 month run she was supposed to have in the plot, will be shown to us in S4. Not sure if this will include a short-lived reconciliation with Carmy or not even that (I hope not even that TBH), but she will complete that 6-month run and then she will be gone. I have been mentioning that her role was about to become useless soon since Carmy has already had his breakthrough in several previous posts now:

The catalysts

Back where he belongs

The C file & her reverse psychology

But I came to this conclusion now after reading a comment by brilliant chef @ago0112 that pointed out that her exit from the show might have something to do with her residency, which makes total sense. Then I remembered that her deadline had already been announced from the very get-go: September 2023.

And that reminded me of these other 2 characters having similar expiration dates hidden in plain sight for us, as well:

The Eye Candy: "A few months Less than a year"

"A few months" only. Vague and ambiguous as their whole relationship is gonna be because he knows he's not here to stay.

The Joker: "Quickly".

He "wants to move quickly". How charming! That means that his arc is the shortest of the 3. He will be gone before he can get started. Not even months like in C's or Luca's case. We're talking days or weeks here. Fuck you, Shapiro!

Syd will shut him down "quickly" (as soon as S4 starts) and then she will sign The Bear's agreement and we'll go from there.

Bonus track: Comparative analysis of the agreements Syd has been offered in S3

Shapiro's:

Carmy's:

So, the only difference is the starting point's offer which is 80K annually in Shapiro's case, whereas Carmy's is HIS HEART, A STAR, HIS FAMILY, HIS FAMILY BUSINESS, FAMILY STYLE, 2 TOPS, BOOTHS, HIS BABY BLUES, HIS BICEPS, ETC 70K, but Carmy's offer may be even more solid/better financially speaking and emotionally because we don't know the % of the bonuses he offers her, and we know that in Shapiro's case it's just the one bonus upon review but Carmy offers her 2 a year, which she will never not collect, who are we kidding? So, actually, Carmy's numbers might be better than Shapiro's after all. But even if they aren't, this begs the questions: Is Carmy only worth 10K for Syd??? Would she choose Shapiro over Carmy just because this Jocker offers her +10K a year? Is that all Carmy's worth for her? If she doesn't choose based on the $$$ then but she considers Shapiro's offer out of spite for Carmy or to get out of The Bear in a desperate attempt to start clean elsewhere, is Shapiro the best option anyway? Or is she just exchancing one problem for another? Does she know this guy? And more importantly, does he know her? I answered SOME of those questions here already.

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

#sydcarmy #the bear #carmy berzatto #fuck you shapiro #luca #chef shapiro #claire who?#sydney adamu #carmy x sydney #the bear fx #the bear season 3 #the bear season 4 gingerpredictions #carmen berzatto #gingerpovs #the bear meta #sydcarmy meta #the bear hulu #syd x carmen

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transmutationisms · 2 months ago

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do you have more dracula thoughts? i've read the book and honestly the chapters i enjoyed the best were jonathan harker's letters and then it went downhill.

i actually think the most interesting bits To Me have to do with lucy, her mother, and her vampirism [incest goggles on]

i've always seen lucy's choice of preying on children as a reenactment of her relationship with her mother, obviously with roles reversed. when lucy and her mother are both alive, there's a bodily blurring of identity between the two of them: sharing in each other's sicknesses, to the point where the other characters end up lying to each of them about the other's condition, for fear of transmitting / worsening the illness that way. i think what lucy does by preying on children, specifically, as a vampire is essentially create that same maternal relationship, with the blurring of bodies now rendered literal by the supernatural elements of the genre. lucy never progressed past the attachment to her mother by cementing an attachment to a husband; so, as a vampire, all she can do is recreate this dynamic with the children by killing them. we're meant to understand she wants a family, but that desire has been perverted by her transformation into a monster; however, i'd argue this goes beyond just wanting a child and has to do with her unresolved grief about being a child herself. vampiric feeding in the novel is sexual---more obviously with dracula and jonathan/lucy/mina, but nevertheless it's established as an act of both consumption and consummation. so, for lucy to act out motherhood in this specific way is both central to the horror that stoker is trying to convey (in this way, a pretty openly reactionary appeal to the sanctity of the family!) and i think tells us quite a bit about how these filial relationships actually function and what they entail.

the obvious connection here is the number of times dracula is described as having a "childlike" mind, and particularly how this childishness manifests as his desire to kill the men specifically so he can possess 'their' women (i don't have page numbers but he says this toward the end lol). what dracula wants is, on the surface and in the minds of the male characters, a type of possession quite different to a sanctioned legal heterosexual marriage. however, i'd suggest that for readers, just as lucy's vampirism is not a deviation from maternality but a supernatural intensification of it, so is dracula's desire to steal away and possess the female characters a vampiric version of nuclear coupling that doesn't introduce any new elements to the arrangement, only problematises its already existing ones. his "childishness" is therefore a combination of projection on the part of the human characters, and stoker's partially-baked engagement with certain orientalist ethnological discourses about individual psychology as a recapitulation of the progress or decline of a civilisation.

i also wrote a bit about the sci-fi elements and medicine of dracula but those are further down in this tag :-) i honestly wasn't blown away by the book (esp not by stoker's prose) but, it was entertaining and it's such a cultural touchpoint that i felt like it was an informative read regardless.

#dracula

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fangirlingpuggle · 3 months ago

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Another very silly XS AU/fic prompt where the next level the Monks have to ascend to they need more control over their elements. Then Chase shows up at the temple and says he's going to be training Omi after all he's the most qualified.

The monks are of course confused (And Omi's case trying very hard to get exited) like WTF your heylin prince of darkness why would ever let you train Omi. Cue Chase giving them blank look and then very clearly controlling the fountain of water.

The monks jaws are on the floor (Omi has actual stars in his eyes) and Chase just realizes an eyebrow like 'Did no one tell you who the previous dragons were?' and then gives Dojo a pointed look.

Cue Rai, Kimiko and Clay descending on Dojo as they now have so many questions.

Master Fung can't deny that technically at this stage of their growth the monks can/ have previously been taught by previous dragons of their element so technically Chase can train Omi... he wants to say no but Omi now he's given permission to actual train with Chase is literally running in circles squealing with joy. (Master Fung thinks that they really should have revised the rules to say they can't be trained by them if said previous dragon is now on the heylin side)

Of course the other monks get the full story on who the previous Dragons of their element were which leads to Kimiko trying to track down Guan for training. Raimundo trying to get more stories about Dashi or find out more about him/ ask Dojo about how Dashi trained or if there are any talk to the dead Wu?

That leaves Clay, who ends up showing at Jack's lab awkwardly asking to talk to Wuya (She left Chase's palace because it's just him and Omi all the time now and she was getting a migraine listening to them calling out fighting moves or their weird mind game). Jack is very confused and even more so when he finds out she was the past dragon of earth. Wuya is just staring at them like 'My servants are giant stone golems... I wasn't exactly subtle' .

She refuses to help Clay, but Jack decides to help because 1)he wants to know how xaiolin magic works if he can reverse engineer it 2) Clay will him a favor and 3) It's gonna annoy/he can mess with Wuya. So Jack mind games/reverse psychologys her in rambling about her powers/the past.

Clay and Jack are just there mostly eating popcorn listening about earth powers and getting way to emotionally invested in her stories about her and Dashi (Wuya doesn't realize she's telling a tragic romance story but Jack and Clay do and they are invested)

Dojo and Rai come to pick Clay up walk into the lab to see Clay and Jack sobbing and Wuya just talking mostly to herself about something , Dojo and Rai exchange a look and slowly back away they don't want to know.

Eventually Wuya starts showing techniques and teaching Clay and Jack mostly because she sees Clay try and 'no that's not how toy do it idiot just watch'

(Wuya doesn't realize she's technically training 2 xiaolin dragons earth and metal are very close)

Jack does use his favor next showdown he gets the Wu is challenged by one of the other monks and Jack just goes 'Oh this showdowns going to 2 v 2' and asks Clay to help him, this ends up happening a lot mostly because once they do this Chase realize he can do this with Omi and suddenly Chase is going for all the Wu as a chance for him and Omi to fight together.

Clay and Jack actually fight really well together and have bonded a lot, Wuya it just watching these 2 slowly go into full crush mode over each other and eating her own popcorn.

#xiaolin showdown #xs #au #fic prompt #dad chase #chase young #omi #clay x jack #jack spicer #clay bailey #wuya #wuya x dashi #wudashi #former xiaolin dragons #former dragon of water chase #former dragon of earth wuya #humor

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olderthannetfic · 4 months ago

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https://olderthannetfic.tumblr.com/post/756204827274625025/ive-had-to-deal-with-people-in-a-couple-of-my?source=share

the person who compared this situation to an abuser threatening suicide might be being ridiculous, but there is a similarity in terms of that you can't use your psychological issues to just treat people like crap. and i've seen so many communities go through this, and i think people tempted to make excuses for this sort of thing need to look up that essay about the "missing stair."

your mental health issues are not your fault but they are your responsibility, and they are not the responsibility of a bunch of people in a discord chat. and if you have particular situations that tend to trip your triggers, it is on you to try to avoid those, rather than demand that people can't, say, disagree or debate with you in the POLITICS chat even when you say factually inaccurate shit because disagreement "triggers" you. if I were that way, I would not go into a politics chat. (this is a real example and this person ignored repeated suggestions that she stop going into debatey channels if it triggered her. the mods eventually had to ban her from the politics channel.)

as others have said in the replies too, I also think people ignore how this stuff is often deliberately manipulative, even with people who are legitimately troubled, where they still learn that claiming "triggered" is a great way to shut down conversations and make yourself into the victim. i've seen people repeatedly deliberately stir the pot and then cry "triggers" when it had the expected result. i've seen people use it as a get-out-of-jail-free card for racist or misogynistic behavior or microaggressions - now i can declare that this poc getting mad at me for racism or woman getting mad at me for misogyny is actually a mean ableist for yelling at me when I'm triggered! reverse card! now i get to be the victim now!

but overall, there's a difference between "expecting everyone in your chat get therapy before they can join" like someone tried to suggest in reblogs, vs. "telling people to stop using random internet strangers to replace therapy / making their mental health issues other people's problem / taking zero responsibility for their own internet experience in a way that makes everyone else miserable." most of the spaces i've been in like this are full of people with mental illnesses and neurodivergences, like you said in your initial response. (there's also a convo here about the weird way the internet seems to think only "bawww cry" responses are neurodivergent but "angry and defensive" are not, never mind that being a lot more stereotypical for say autistic people. i think especially in heavily afab spaces, it often dovetails with misogyny, an inherent distrust of women who react in more stereotypically "masculine" ways.) none require that nobody have issues or ask for support. but there's a difference between that and expecting the server to be your therapist. as well as just like, expecting people to somehow read your mind and recognize which otherwise innocuous behaviors will trigger you!

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nights-flying-fox · 2 months ago

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leo for 3, 6, or 8?

Hey hey sorry for being a bit late but I got inspired and. I will write for 3 & 8 too >:] But first!! Part 1 of 3:

6 [Reverse amnesia (everyone else has no memory/recognition of your character)]

Word Count: 1540 ❀ thank you @clairvoyyages for beta reading <33

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Leo had failed to stop the yokai’s attack. He was too slow, too late to open a portal. The yokai was running away but his brothers were frozen with a blank stare. As if some statues on top of the roof, stuck in a defensive position. “Raph, Donnie, Mikey!” Leo called in fear as he stopped right in front of them, immediately approaching the closest turtle mutant to him. He relaxed when Raph broke out of the stare and turned to look at Leo’s hand on his arm. Quickly Leo realized something was off, and he hid his panic behind his comforting smile as he talked: “Raph? Are you okay?”

Raph blinked a few times before smiling awkwardly. “Yes… I’m okay…” He kept looking at Leo, as if searching for an answer. A familiarity. Leo was confused, this wasn’t how Raph would answer if he was okay. Something was definitely wrong. Right on cue, Raph spoke and Leo was sure he misheard. For it must be that, because why else Raph would ask him who he was?

“I’m sorry, Raph’s just… his mind is really foggy… Have we met before?” He said those words so genuinely… and each of them stung so much to hear. Because this couldn’t be real. It couldn’t– He couldn’t– Maybe he was having a moment like when he went feral? Yeah, it must be something like that. He was sure Donnie could figure it out, or if it was a psychological situation Mikey would. He could see them watching him and Raph silently from the side of his eyes.

Leo turned to them, “Guys, there’s something wrong with Raph.” They looked at him puzzled. Somehow, this was enough to make Leo’s world come crashing down. “Donnie? Mikey?” Leo called, trying so hard to not let his voice shake with fear.

Mikey was first to talk, “I think there is a misunderstanding–”

“No there is not.” Leo interrupted almost immediately. “Come on guys, this isn’t funny.”

“If you could explain to us- what is supposed to be funny?” Donnie said and Leo didn’t miss how he held his bō. His twin was ready to fight, protect others. From Leo. His twin.

Leo smiled with distress, still keeping a small hope of this being a big ugly joke, “I’m your brother.”

“...What?”

Leo looked in between them. When had Raph moved closer to the others? They looked at him scared, puzzled, and worst of all as if he was a stranger. Leo wasn’t sure what to say– to do. They didn’t… they didn’t remember him. They- they didn’t. Donnie was still looking at him sternly, and Raph and Mikey still were so confused. Not giving them any answer probably didn’t help, but Leo couldn’t think what to tell them. He didn’t know what he should do. He—

His phone buzzed and he grabbed it seeing the message from April. Of course! April could help! With shaking hands (when had they started shaking?) Leo called her. Soon enough he heard her voice: “Leo?”

“April, we have a problem.”

“What did you do again?”

“What– No! I– Not that ki-kind of situation.” Leo couldn’t look away from his brothers, so he didn’t miss when Mikey turned to Donnie and asked “How does he know April?”. Leo took a deep breath, “They– a yokai did something to them and I– I don’t know what to do– they don’t believe I’m their brother–”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay baby, we can figure it out. Where are you?” April asked calmly.

“On a roof. We aren’t far from your home actually.” Leo answered.

“Alright send me the location and I’m coming.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Until April arrived, Leo managed to convince his brothers that he wasn’t a stranger and that April would make things clear. That she would explain everything to them. That there was an explanation of the situation. That she would confirm that he wasn’t a liar. He was telling the truth. He was their brother and some yokai had made them forget this. And they would figure out what was going on and fix it. Because they always did. They were the Mad Dogz, they had stopped the Shredder and the Krang. A simple trick from an every day bad guy wasn’t something they couldn’t handle.

They didn’t believe him, but Donnie agreed to look at the records once April arrived. Raph kept a distance from Leo but kept chatting with him, giving him a chance. Mikey told him how much he liked him already. “Even if you aren’t our brother you’d make a great brother!” He said. Leo wanted to scream so bad about how he already was, but instead he kept smiling.

At any moment now April would arrive and she’d tell them Leo was right. She’d prove to them that Leo was their brother. The minutes felt like hours and Mikey’s happy chatter only kept making him feel like he was sick. But finally he saw April climbing up the ladder to join them. As she got up on the roof, she must’ve noticed something on the ground because she stopped to inspect something on the hand she had grabbed the roof with. After a sneeze though she ignored it, taking a moment before approaching them.

“April! Finally!” Leo called at her. He was met with a startled look. Leo kept talking, “Please, do your magic and reveal the truth to my dear brothers.” He gestured at them.

April looked at Raph, Donnie and Mikey, and then back at Leo. “Who’s that guy?”

Leo froze. Then he turned at her, he was sure he made the disbelief he felt clear even though he smiled. “April? What do you mean who’s that guy? It’s me, Leo.”

“So you don’t know him either.” Donnie didn’t ask, he stated it as a fact.

April shook her head. The three mutants turned to look at Leo, along with her.

Leo felt like he was sinking.

Donnie raised his bō and Leo noticed how Raph changed his stance. April looked at him with a protective glare. Mikey, however, looked heart-broken.

“Please,” Leo pleaded. “Donnie, I know you record everything… Come on, just check your phone gallery or anything! Raph, Mikey, April! Please!”

Raph took a step towards him, “I don’t know what you want or what you’re trying to do, but you better tell the truth Leo.”

He had never heard his name told with such bitterness from Raph. Leo swallowed, “I am telling the truth!” he replied, his voice tiny.

Why wouldn't they just listen to him? Why wouldn't they believe him? All they saw was a stranger who right now was hurting the family with his lies. If only they would–

Raph grabbed his sais. “Last warning, kid. Either you give a proper answer and tell the truth or you leave.”

Leo looked at how Raph was staring at him. Angry, dangerous. Briefly Leo remembered how Raph also stood in the Technodrome, under control and ready to attack him. “I won't fight you. Not again, not ever.”

Raph took a step.

Leo had to take a step back. He wouldn't be able to convince them, would he? And after everything they've been through, could he really blame them? No… he couldn't. He didn't.

He had to figure it out in a different way. He had to think, figure out what that yokai did to them– how. He had to find the yokai.

“I will fix this.” Leo promised as he reached his katanas and swung them, opening a portal. “I promise.”

Before he could see their expressions or hear their responses, he left.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

He clumsily landed on another roof, away from his siblings. Immediately he dropped his katanas from his shaking hands and pulled them up to his face and covered it. He tried to calm himself down, sliding down to the cold ground with his back on the wall. It will be okay, he can fix this. He can, he can, he can—

All he needed was a bit of time to think. To make a proper plan and he’d fix everything. Get his brothers and April back to normal. He could do it.

As he calmed down, focusing on making a plan he started thinking about his next steps. What he needed right now? To find the yokai who caused this mess. But who would know such a weirdo? Sure, he could ask people in the Hidden City but to be honest Leo himself was still a criminal (which was totally unfair). He doubted Draxum would have any relations with such a guy… Oh! That’s it! Leo’s eyes sparkled with the idea: Hueso! Of course he’d know. He accepted anyone who could pay and not cause trouble in his restaurant. He probably at least would know someone who knew this troublemaker. He was sure the bone man would help him, one way or another.

Leo grabbed his katanas from the ground and got back on his feet. He sliced the air with one of them and saw the Run of the Mill right before him. Time to get some answers and remind everyone of their favorite champion!

#rottmnt #rottmnt fanfiction #prompt challenge #rottmnt leo #save rottmnt #unpause rottmnt #anon #me: short warm up!#also me: *proceeds to write a full oneshot* (that is still a wip bc write fight distracted me)#nighty write-y

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traumatizedjaguar · 9 months ago

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MASTER-POST: Psychological Abuse Terminology

Parentification: A form of role reversal, in which a child is inappropriately given the role of meeting the emotional or physical needs of the parent or of the family’s other children. There is emotional parentification and instrumental parentification.

Intrude and Interrupt or Enmeshment: The manipulator has no respect for another person's boundaries, they will say and do whatever they please in front of, behind the back of, or towards their victims, regardless of objections or morals. If done covertly the victim will have no idea what damage has been done until it’s too late. The goal is to cut the victim off from speaking up, gaining support, or making positive changes, either for themselves or the people around them.

Infantilize: The manipulator does not acknowledge their victims maturity either emotionally or psychologically. The victim is treated as if they have no knowledge of life or experience dealing with life's challenges. The goal is to reduce a person to that of an infant or child, lowering their status in the social order, and stripping them of the ability to make choices, both in the victim's mind and the manipulator's. Abusers who successfully infantalized you and kept you behind your peers in life will then use your trauma symptoms as an excuse to say, “see you are childish and can’t do this in your own, here let me do it for you” thus continuing to treat you younger than you are and keeping you in this cycle. This keeps you in a childish state against your will, sometimes living under a rock, or not knowing things people your age should know - but this goes for all complex trauma survivors as well.

Dog whistling or Double Entendres: It can be used to set the victim up to look hysterical, it is a coded and suggestive language that only the victim will understand the true meaning of. Used to abuse the victim in a covert manner. It is a statement your abuser uses with double meaning to be able to abuse you in front of others or just play mind games with you to make you lose your mind. Abusers tend to use “double entendres” to secretly cover abusive language. (Google the definition of double entendres).

For example: with the dog whistle tactic my abuser used on me, that my abuser would tell me and other people, “I fucked a girl so hard she had an asthma attack!” My abuser gloated to everyone she knew about how she hooked up with some chick and fucked her so hard that the girl ended up having an asthma attack my abuser thought this was cool to gloat about - this didn’t actually happen; The true hidden meaning behind that statement was that she and her friends gang raped me and I woke up (from being drugged) having a panic attack and hyperventilating that someone handed me an asthma inhaler and it worked and stopped the panic attack. My abuser told me in private she was telling everyone she knew and gloating about raping me with that double entendre.

DARVO: Deny abuse allegations, Attack the victim, Reverse Victim and Offender role. The abuser pretends to be the victim of abuse while vilifying the real victim, and making them out to be the abuser.

Projection, Deflection, Denial: Projection is when the abuser accuses the victim of what they’re actually doing, this is chronically used as a part of the personality pattern of psychological abusers. If the abuser is cheating, they will accuse the victim of cheating. Deflection is when the abuser brings up things the victim “did wrong” when the victim rightfully confronts the abuser about their abusive actions or brings up something the victim supposedly did to take the blame or eyes off the abuser. Denial speaks for itself, when the abuser denies things when the victim confronts them, even when the victim has irrefutable proof.

Insinuating Comments: The manipulator knows the victim's weaknesses and buttons. They purposely push and pull on these to get a reaction. Often they will speak with double entendres or innuendos to confuse and hurt the victim simultaneously while maintaining plausible deniability of any hurtful intention. The goal is to drain the victim emotionally, wear them down, and to feed the manipulator’s ego or sense of power/control.

Feigning Innocence or Confusion: The manipulator tries to suggest that any harm done was unintentional or that they did not do something that they were accused of. The manipulator may put on a look of surprise or indignation. The manipulator may also try to play dumb by pretending he or she doesn't know what the victim is talking about or is confused about an important issue brought to their attention. The abuser may pretend to not know certain people they’re using to help abuse their victim, this is why the abuser has public friends and private contacts. The goal is to make the victim question his or her own judgment and possibly their own sanity. When others are deceived by a manipulator this way the victim feels powerless.

Triangulation

There are 4 main types of triangulation recognized. It is a situation in which one family member or friend will not communicate with the victim, or will be friendly with the victim, while turning other family members or friends against them. This can take many forms and usually incorporates gaslighting. There is always a covert element which leads to pitting the victim against others without the victim being fully aware of what is taking place. The goal is to isolate (divide), and conquer the victim while controlling their support system.

Killing Two Birds With One Stone:

To obtain control, attention or adulation, abusers will often inform their partner about a third-party such as a mutual friend or co-worker, etc., who has been flirtatious with them. This third-party person is brought into the relationship to kill two birds with one stone! First, it stirs up feelings of jealousy and insecurity in their partner and subtlety warns the partner that they’re replaceable. Instinctively the partner tries harder to please the abuser so as to not be replaced. Second, it creates an illusion of desirability and encourages rivalry, both of which fill the abuser with abuser-supply, adulation and control. So not only does the abuser get their dose of supply, they also increase the amount of power they have over their partner. Psychological abusers are obsessed with jealousy and envy to feed their insecurities and lift their self-esteem. Power is the way they go instead of looking for healthier alternatives to make themselves feel better; it’s just how they are wired. They’re wired for drama, power, control, and chaos.

Recruiting Reinforcements:

One of the ways abusers use triangulation to manipulate their partners into siding with their point of view or acquiesce to their wants and needs is by using third-party reinforcements to substantiate their opinions. This is a form of recruiting allies when taken to the extreme is a form of bullying. The abuser tries to manipulate anyone who may hold a different opinion or belief by using the help of a usually innocent third party, which of course, has only heard the abuser’s rendition of the truth.

The third-party is usually oblivious to the abuser’s ploy and believes they’re only trying to help the abuser. Usually, their party is a relative or one of the members of the abuser’s supporters that the abuser uses as a tool to help settle differences and coerce their partner or anyone else into accepting their viewpoint through the use of persuasion, embarrassment, majority rules or guilt.

Splitting:

This method of triangulation involves pitting two people against each other. The abuser does this by smearing the character of one or both of the people behind their backs. This enables the abuser to preserve their false image and ensures they’re viewed positively among the triangle. In many instances, the abuser will portray themselves as the victim, especially if they feel their partner is growing tired or aware of their manipulation, hypocrisy, and abuse. The abuser will react by planning their partner’s discard by starting a full-fledged smear campaign behind their back. So by the time they dump their partner, the abuser already has a circle of blind supporters.

The abuser will usually seek supporters that he/she knows will always agree with them no matter what. This is how they set up their partner to look like the abuser in the relationship long before the relationship is over. For this to work, the abuser must keep the supporter(s) and partner from sharing information, so the abuser will usually share mean comments each has said about the other.

The abuser uses this triangulation tactic to control the information shared between the parties providing the abuser with the power of being the primary contact person and transferer of information. Since everyone is communicating through the abuser and not with each other, the abuser can further their agenda by relaying their spin on the information between the parties.

The Pre-Discard and Dump:

When the abuser is about to break up the relationship they will confide in people who they know will agree with them and believe their rendition of the truth. Sometimes they will confide in people who hardly even know their partner, if at all. The abuser will make sure to let their partner know that they have been confiding in other people, and every single one of them agrees with the abuser. Most likely, one of the abuser’s confidants will assume the role of the replacement partner.

After the break-up, the abuser will openly brag about how happy they are with their new partner or make social media posts about it. And if their ex-partner acts jealous or tries to beg them back, the abuser will enjoy the new bonus love-triangle of their own creation. Abuser’s do this to always look good, happy, or like they’re doing their best while trying to tear you down.

Enticing the victim back or Hoovering: Is trying to use any means to get the victim to come back to the relationship. Threats, intimidation, guilt-tripping, love-bombing, enticing, making false promises of change, anything.

Blame-shifting: The victim is held responsible for the harm they suffered. The victim brought it all upon themselves and the manipulator is in no way responsible for their actions. The victim made all the choices which brought them trouble or pain regardless of how much they were manipulated into doing so. The goal is to put the victim on the defense which makes them look and feel guilty while simultaneously masking the manipulator's malicious intentions.

An abuser will blame-shift everything, even the littlest mistakes they’ve made, making themselves out to be perfect beings with no faults or flaws - obviously this disrupts the relationship and causes fights when there’s no accountability on the abusers end whatsoever.

Abuse by Proxy (or Flying Monkeys): This is when the abuser will enlist their friends or people to come after the victim and attack the victim, abuse the victim, or intimidate the victim. Abusers befriend abusers, abusers support abusers. This stage is usually after the break-up when the abuser is trying to get their “revenge” on you.

Love Bombing: Is an attempt by the manipulator to influence a person by lavish demonstrations of attention and affection. The manipulator appeals to the target’s vanity and insecurity. Their interest in the victim will be extreme once they have found their target and their “love” for the victim will be incredibly intense. Its purpose is to override the target’s critical thinking skills so that the abuser can control and manipulate. Essentially they will gain control over their victim by making their emotional state dependent on the manipulator. The abuser will act closer to you than they are given they only just met you, bomb you with loving gestures and affection which gets you easily attached (not real love).

Devaluing: This is the part of the cycle where the abuser does the complete opposite of love-bombing, they may rage, put down the victim or use any means to make the victim feel unloved. Relationships with psychological abusers are very black and white, it goes from love to hate in an instant and back again. Mental whiplash some people call it.

Gaslighting

Is a form of mental abuse in which information is twisted or spun, selectively omitted to favor the abuser, or false information is presented with the intent of making victims doubt their own memory, perception, and sanity. Typically this undermines the victims support group carried out by a combination of other tactics synthesized into a large scale attack on said victim. Making the victim deny the reality they know to be true. Often the abuser is sure of themselves and the victim since the beginning of the relationship has been in a constant state of confusion and questioning themselves. There are many types of gaslighting and ways to gaslight.

Physical Gaslighting. You see this in the 1944 movie Gaslight. The gaslighter will physically, and ever so slightly, distort your surroundings repeatedly and deny repeatedly that anything has changed. In the movie the man is slightly turning down the gas-light in their bedroom a bit dimmer and when his wife asks if the lighting has changed, he denies it and calls her crazy. He does this constantly to get the outcome he wants from his victim.

Emotional Gaslighting. This obviously uses non-physical means to gaslight the victim. Ofen making the victim believe things about themselves that aren't true, like making them out to be the abuser for example. Denying events from the past (days, weeks, years) happened a certain way that the victim remembers it happening and calling the victim crazy, delusional, mentally ill, or telling the victim they are dreaming, manipulative and making stuff up. The abuser then asserts their rendition of the truth and a lot of the time adding details that never happened and asserting that they happened.

Minimization: This is denial coupled with gaslighting. The manipulator asserts that their behavior isn't really as harmful or irresponsible as someone else may be claiming. Often times down playing the behavior by comparing it to others, "He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone," or such logic may be present. The goal is to make a molehill out of a mountain, thus letting the manipulator continue the abusive behavior, or at least escape much of the guilt. They act like they don’t see the impact their actions have on others, sometimes they really don’t see it because they’re not reflecting on things they don’t care about.

Amplification: The manipulator will shout out your failures and whisper your successes. Any limelight the victim deserves will be diminished. Their accomplishments will go unnoticed and their shortcomings will be broadcast far and wide. The goal is to drain the victim of the energy to be successful, to make them doubt themselves, so that the manipulator can be the center of attention at all times while belittling the victim.

Emotional Blackmail: Knowing that someone close to them wants love, approval or confirmation of identity, and self-esteem, manipulators will threaten to withhold the emotional support the victim desires or needs, or even take it away altogether, making the person feel that he or she must meet the demands of the manipulator. The goal is to ensure that the victim feels afraid to cross them, obligated to give them their way, or guilty if they resist.

I’ve also seen this in terms of witchcraft/black magick in which the abuser will insist demons or gods have been used to help get revenge on the victim as a kind of deluded “divine retribution” against the victim. I’ve surprisingly heard a lot of stories of people’s abusers using black magic as a threat to their victims. This is blackmailing. All in all, wanting to do vengeful or abusive things using magic to make oneself feel more powerful is a huge red flag.

Monitor and Stalk: The manipulator is always present, lurking behind the victim's back, or from a good safe distance, keeping an eye on him or her. It is common for them to monitor the victim's computer or phone, and even use surveillance equipment in order to follow the person's every move. The goal here is simple: maintain knowledge of everything the victim says and does, their coming and going, and who they know. Check your vehicles for tracking devices, they can be under the car, behind a license plate, in the engine blending in, in the wheel well, or behind one of the tires, in the trunk, or even inside the car under the seats or under the dashboard area.

Personality Traits/Patterns

Vindictiveness: This is a disturbed personality trait that all psychological abusers possess. They are extremely revenge-prone, incredibly abusive with their revenge, and often entitled and self-righteous with their revenge. They believe they have a right to abuse the victim that they perceive as deserving of abuse. Often perceiving things in a cognitively distorted manner (research terms: cognitive distortions, distorted object relations).

Deceitfulness:

Public and Private Personas: Psychological abusers are notoriously known for having a public personality that they may show around school, their unaware friends and family, and a private personality that they unleash who they really are around other abusers or victims of theirs. Victims and other abusers are the only ones that see their private personas.

Tracfones and aliases: An alias is a fake name and identity they go by to get away with their abusive behaviors. Tracfones are also known to be used to get away with crime.

Charm: Charming behavior is used obviously to charm people and get people to like the abuser. Abusers are typically good at charming anybody they come across because it also helps hide their abusive personality.

Cognitive Distortions. A cognitive distortion is an exaggerated or irrational thought pattern. Cognitive distortions are thoughts that cause individuals to perceive reality inaccurately. Abusers rely on cognitive distortions to justify bad or aggressive behavior. One example of how they distort reality is mislabeling a person as stupid or useless because they don’t know what the abuser knows; this is a pathetic attempt for the abuser to lift their self-esteem by feeling superior to others. Another example of a cognitive distortion is mislabeling a person's identity we see this with:

Distorted Object Relations. The abuser tends to relate to others primarily as objects to satisfy their own needs and desires, rather than seeing them as unique individuals with their own feelings and perspectives.

Victim Complex. The abuser is a perpetual victim and sees themselves as victimized when they often are not being victimized. They enjoy taking on a masochistic role where they perceive themselves as being attacked or offended where there is no offense in reality, giving them ample opportunity to perceive the real victim as the bad guy so they can cause chaos and drama to fuel their abuser-supply. The cycle of abuse is called the cycle of abuse for a reason; they cannot get out of the victim role.

Pompous, Pretentious, Posers and Fake. They cannot be anything but arrogant, liars, exaggerators, making up almost everything about their character to portray themselves as a certain person, or with a certain job or degree or having certain relationships or status that they don’t actually have. We see this in a lot of famous DV cases such as “Dirty John” on Netflix which is a true story of a woman and her daughter’s DV case. We also see this with murderer, Brian Blackwell, who tried to keep his facade of a character he wasn’t up to the point where he snapped and murdered his parents, all over the fact that he was fake and needed to upkeep his perfect image to his girlfriend. Lies are a red flag. Slight exaggerations are a red flag.

Foreshadowing. This is when the abuser plays mind games or drops hints that they’re abusive (it is also a way to shift blame onto you for accepting the abuse and to gaslight you or intimidate you because they “warned you about how they are” when the relationship started.)

Crisis situations. If they have an addiction for example, which is the common one I always hear about, they’ll constantly use it to keep you smothered in their presence, there for them, ect. they will “accidentally” leave pills or a needle where they know you’ll find them so you freak out/stress and so you can be there for them. This is also a part of smothering/enmeshment. Abusers don’t know the difference between their responsibility and yours. If you’re going away on vacation, if you’re going out with friends, if you’re doing anything by yourself or with loved ones and the abuser will immediately have a crisis situation for you to come back running to them or else “you don’t care about them” because you aren’t taking care of their responsibilities.

Framing. They will frame the perfect story over the course of years or decades depending on how long you knew the abuser for. I call this simply “framing”. It’s when the abuser frames you for specific problems or for abuse from the very beginning of when the relationship first started.

Double Bind: In the manipulator's eyes the victim is damned if they do and damned if they don't. Regardless of which choice is picked the manipulator will always point out that the person should have picked the other. This may be accompanied by remarks such as "Well if you had done this I would have done something great for you, but forget about it now." The goal here is to beat the victim down psychologically and emotionally, in order to make him or her question and doubt their own intuition and judgment.

Double-Mindedness: The manipulator seeks the double advantage of being able to do wrong, of being able to have their will, of letting their passions rage, and the hypocritical advantage of seeming to be good, helpful, or supportive. In short, double-mindedness is to say one thing and do another, to do unto others what they are not willing to be done unto them. The manipulator can only accomplish said task by engaging in the self deception of doublethink.

Doublethink: To know and not to know, to be conscious of complete truthfulness while telling carefully constructed lies, to hold simultaneously two opinions which canceled out, knowing them to be contradictory and believing in both of them, to use logic against logic, to repudiate morality while laying claim to it, to forget whatever it was necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory again at the moment when it is needed, and then promptly to forget it again, and above all, to apply the same process to the process itself.

Hurt and Rescue: A drowning person will clutch at a straw, so push them in the water, then throw them a rope. Hurting the other person does not necessarily mean physical harm and it may not even mean making them feel bad, but it does mean creating a situation that they want to resolve. The goal is to get the victim to play into the manipulator's hands so they can rush to their “rescue” only to trick the victim into trusting, believing, or becoming dependent upon them. The abuser sets up a problem, the victim is hurt, then the abuser rushes to their rescue as the hero.

Covert Aggressive Abuse: Insults are disguised as teachings, helping, giving advice, and offering solutions. The manipulator makes them appear as a sincere attempt to help, especially to others. This can also be followed by put-downs, and disappointment from the manipulator and anyone else who they have convinced of the victim's inferiority. The goal is to belittle, control, and demean the victim while covering up the appearance of wrongdoing on the manipulators behalf.

Setting up to Fail: The manipulator puts their victim in such a state of stress, or stressful situation, that failure is almost certain, wherein the outcome can be used as ammunition to discredit and blame the victim. This can be done covertly as well, using sabotage or undermining an objective that may otherwise have been achievable. This type of manipulation may be the projection of the bully's own feelings of inadequacy onto the victim.

Moving the Goalpost: When the manipulator has control of the situation they will redefine the victim's goals, in reality, to intentionally devise a way so as to assure that an athlete, for example, will ultimately never be able to finally achieve the ever shifting goals. Depending on how this is done the goal may be to humiliate the victim, keep them preoccupied so as to accomplish nothing else with their time, or to simply wear them out.

Brandishing Anger: The manipulator puts on an act of furious explosive anger, verbal abuse, or physical threats. If the victim is in a trance or has previously been manipulated by the abuser, with just one incident of such behavior the victim can become conditioned and trained to avoid upsetting, confronting or contradicting the manipulator ever again. The goal is to establish dominance or superiority, and complete and unquestionable compliance, over victims through fear.

Brainwashing: Also referred to as heart washing, is the act of changing a person's mind or heart by using extreme mental or emotional pressure or abuse. This is typically done when the victim is extremely outmatched by their manipulator either mentally, physically, economically, or socially. This can be achieved a number of ways but usually the victim is in a situation they feel they can’t escape, and will involve several tactics simultaneously. The goal is to convince the victim into believing their viewpoints about life, believing their view of certain people or a specific person, or something else and that the victim needs to be realigned to the viewpoint of the manipulator.

Silent Treatment: The manipulator refuses to communicate and uses emotional and/or physical withdrawal as punishment. This is to convey contempt and communicate that the person is not worthy of the manipulator's acknowledgement. The goal is to render the victim powerless to change the current situation and induce feelings of abandonment or rejection. If the manipulator withdraws emotionally the victim can become love starved for their affection/attention.

This is different from Gray Rock which is a technique victims in abusive relationships can use to not engage with the manipulative person in their life. You’re doing it to avoid gaslighting, fights and the feeling like you’re going off your marbles, whereas the abuser uses the silent treatment as a way to gain power and control over you, usually because they’re pissed you’re not doing what they want.

Roles in a household

Scapegoating. Manipulators subject the "whipping boy" to constant negative treatment and blame they don't deserve. Manipulators unconsciously project their own unwanted feelings and problems onto the victim. The punishment which the scapegoat has to endure is a direct projection of the manipulator's own insecurities. Scapegoating is a deliberate act of torment against another person for the cathartic pleasure of the manipulator and their cohorts. The scapegoat is often blamed for all the problems that arise, they are most likely to have DARVO used against them (they are blamed to be the abuser by one or multiple abusive family members). A lot of the times when abusive parents (or even other family members) don’t want to take accountability for their mistakes they regret or don’t want people to know about, everybody can dump their projections and insecurities onto the scapegoat.

Golden Child. This is the kid who is looked at as the perfect extension of the manipulative parent(s). They fit the role of being perfectly exploited by a parent that seeks attention, adulation, and success. This child is used for the parents' need for a perfect image. This is usually the sibling that becomes the most successful but not always. They are typically the favorite kid.

Invisible Child. Usually completely ignored. The parents (and sometimes siblings are manipulated to do the same) never speak to this kid, and may genuinely completely ignore their existence. If there are 5 members of the immediate family and it is dinner time, the parents might put down 4 plates at the table, not call them to dinner and have dinner with everybody else, just to further control and ignore the invisible child. A lot of people's situations will be different in how they experience the role. This is one example.

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oxpogues4lifexo · 2 months ago

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Keeping Up With The Camerons

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Keeping up with the Camerons

Episode 4 - Prince And Princess

Previous Episode Here

Episode transcript (/ means cut scene, bold italics means narrator, bold means host)

Word Count: 15.7k

Shorter Episodes Here - 3K Words

Coming up!

“All I want is for you to be happy.. and I’m gonna try my best to be better for you okay..?”

“Sometimes things just happen Bella you gotta understand that by now. With dad gone an’ all-“

“That pogue hasn’t got half the amount I do what’s her fucking deal?”

“Better dick..”

“Oh if you ask me he’s head over heels for her. Don’t tell him I said that..”

“How do I make it stop..? How do I make the pain go away.. It hurts”

Kooks. And Pogues. Two tribes. One island.

Or in this case..

The Camerons. Kildare. One family. The whole island.

I am your host Ryan Seacrest, and THIS is Keeping up with the Camerons!

This episode includes the bts footage the Camerons don't know you can see, forgetting that there are cameras in every crevice of their life not just in the hands of my camera crew! (Written in pink)

Not Proofread

“Bro just go talk to her!” Topper shadows Rafe around TannyHill, getting on his last nerve and knowing it.

Rafe groans, rubbing his brow as he stops; causing Topper to bump into his arm as he turns to face him. “Jesus..” Rafe curses. He sighs, “Don’t you think that’s what I’m trying to do? But you’re up my ass. Now shove off!” He waves his hand at him as he shoves his tongue against his cheek.

He opens the front door, raking his sweaty palm through his greasy bangs as he makes his way down to his bike.

“Look Rafe just a bit of advice-”

“I don’t need advice man, she’s my best friend I know how to speak to her.”

“Well clearly not or none of this would’ve..-“

“What was that?” Rafe’s head jerks to meet Toppers eyes, his hand midway through caressing his bike seat.

“No nothing! Rafe I just mean cos I spoke to her when I took her home you know. She said-”

“I don’t care what she said Topper. That was yesterday, this is today. I’m dealing with it now a’ight? Just let me do it and stay out of it.”

“You uh..” Topper snickers as he watches his friend hook himself over his bike. Dressed.. not so appropriately for a motorbike.

“What?” He gravels, watching Toppers eyes as they don’t shift from his outfit. He looks down and scoffs, “What? Don’t think to dress up for your girl once in a while?”

“Okay THAT needs to stop!” He points at Rafe with his brows raised, referring to him always calling Bella ‘his girl’ when she’s anything but. “But also, yeah alright I guess but Rafe you’re going to apologise for some shit you’ve done to her! Don’t you think wearing a shirt and dress pants is too much?”

“She likes this shirt?” He doubts himself, tugging at the collar as it’s suddenly feeling a little too tight.

“No no I know I didn’t say you look bad, I just..” He watches Rafe’s eyes, never seeing that look in them before and sighing, “You know what?” He taps his back, “She’ll love it Rafe.” He smiles sweetly and nods to reassure him.

Rafe bites his lip, nodding slowly as he throws his helmet on, “I hope you’re right..” He breathes, eyes still holding that same look as before; Topper ‘almost’ feeling upset for THE Rafe Cameron.

“Hey man just.. take the blame yeah? Own up to it. Don’t make her feel like she did anything wrong.”

“But she didn’t?”

“Exactly what I’m saying Rafe. Just don’t make her feel bad and shit. Like how you use your like reverse psychology on us. Making us think it’s our fault when you haven’t actually said it was, you know?”

“When have I ever done that shit?”

“Everyday..” Topper nods unimpressed, not even waiting for him to finish talking.

Rafe nods along unconvinced and slightly confused as he sucks in a breath before flicking down his visor. He kicks up his kickstand and revs the bike.

“Just-“

“Topper?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.” He groans, lifting the front of his bike as he heads off out the gate.

“Tell me how it goes!!!” Topper yells over the sound of Rafe’s engine not quite knowing if he heard him or not.

“That stupid black shirt..” Topper groans, “He wears that shit to parties, to family events, if he’s trying to impress her, or make her happy or ask for forgiveness..” He moans, counting slowly on his fingers as each word drags out painfully. “It’s like, get a new shirt dude?? That things been through wars. Literal wars. It’s about time you find a new apology outfit.” He drops his head in his hands, a muffled breath pushing through his fingers.

He looks up, dragging his hands along his face as a quiet groan falls from his mouth. “I’m just saying,” He huffed, heavily rolling his eyes as he speaks, “He’s so fucking lucky she hasn’t got no one else or he wouldn’t be able to rely on the thought she’s gonna come back everytime. She needs him and he takes advantage of it, he don’t even realise it. But it’s because he needs her too and just won’t admit it.”

“So what are you saying? That he’s just doing this because he feels as though he has to?”

“No of course not! I mean, you saw the look in his eyes right? He seemed so nervous and desperate to get her back, like I almost felt bad for him and that’s the rarest thing I could do. I mean, they have their issues, but they never used to, and you can tell that, just from the way they look when you bring the other up.”

“What Bella basically was saying last night, is that she feels like Rafe has pushed himself away from her, like he doesn’t like her as much anymore and she doesn’t understand exactly why. But Rafe would say the same about her. It’s all a load of miscommunication I’m assuming but you can just tell by the stupid fucking look that they care way too disgustingly much about each other.” He physically shivers, grimacing at the thought as if it were the worst thing to ever happen.

“Are you like their mediator would you say?”

“Uhh..” He chuckles, running his fingers through his fluffy hair as his brows furrow, “I wouldn’t say mediator, I prefer to not get involved in their shit. Mostly because Rafe would kill me. But I am the one they speak to about this stuff. Or, well Bella anyways. She’s always come to me about everything; it feels nice, to be fair, to know she feels comfortable enough around me to speak about all that stuff! Like her anxiety, she doesn’t talk about with anyone but me. I don’t even think Rafe knows how bad it gets and that’s saying something cos he knows everything about her.”

“So your more of the therapist?”

“Yeah fine I guess so.” He laughs, nodding along.

Bella hums, wiping down the countertops with her earphones hanging from her ears. The dishes were all freshly cleaned, by her obviously, the rooms all neatly tidied, and the house quiet and smells like vanilla cupcakes. Her favourite candle scent.

She gets to the kitchen table before a loud thud pulls her from her daydream. She flinches, pulling her earphones out immediately as she looks around, not quite gathering where the sound came from.

It happens again, her eyes quickly pulling to the front door as she frowns, almost tearing up at the thought that her brothers come home.

She puts everything down and quickly jogs over to the door, “Look Callum I-“ she stops as the door had opened wide enough for her to realise who’s really outside.

“That’s not my name princess you should know that by now.” The blonde boy drags a hand through his hair as he laughs to himself to make up for the silence.

She watches him, eyebrows dipped and face tensed. “What’re you doing here?”

He steps closer, offering a hand but she quickly rejects it as she rolls her eyes, “Can we talk?”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” She shuts the door in his face, going back over to the table.

“Bella please!” He whines through the door, his voice shaky as a quiet thump was heard of his head hitting the door.

His voice caused her to stop. She stood a moment and took a deep breath before going back over to the door, “You have two minutes Rafe.”

“Ah you know my name!” He lifts a hand with a grin but still nothing. He coughs away the awkwardness as she shuts the door behind herself so they were both positioned infront of the house under the pretty porch light.

They stand there for a few minutes where they both stayed quiet, eyes avoiding one another. Bella plays with the flowers above the door and Rafe counts the wooden floorboards under their feet whilst he swayed back and forth, hands tucked into his pockets. “So..” He coughs, “Bells are you okay?”

Her eyes shoot to his; hesitating to answer, she stutters, “Uh- uhm..” She opened her mouth to speak but the sight of the boy watching so concerned, she knew maybe it wasn’t the best time. “I’m fine.”

“No cmon Bells talk to me. I wanna know what’s been on your mind recently, I’m worried ‘bout you.” He reaches up to push a strand of hair out her eyes, tucking it behind her ear as she looks back up at him. Her hand finds his and pushes it against her cheek for a moment.

Rafe’s lips pull, rubbing his thumb along her soft skin. She sighs, pulling his hand away but keeping a tight grip of it beside her waist. “Rafe I..”

“Hit me. I deserve it all Bella just let it all out.” He speaks quietly but honestly; causing her eyes to follow up to his once again, the pure genuineness radiating from the boy warming her heart.

Now feeling as though she can properly open up, Bella takes a deep breath and nods to reassure herself, “I feel like.. ever since the cameras have been on you, I don’t know..” She pauses a moment, contemplating her next words but it’s too late to stop now, “You seem different. Like you don’t care anymore. It’s like you’re trying to act cool or something for the audience. Looking for attention or something..”

His eyes never leave hers, his attention never moving away from her as he listens to every word that leaves her lips. His thumb still rubbing gently against her hand as he squeezes tightly, comforting her the best he can in the moment.

“Rafe it’s like you put the show before everything else. But didn’t you say to me, ‘it’s just a stupid show’? So why do you care so much?”

He waits, trying to figure out if now’s the time she wants him to speak but quickly realising when her eyes stick onto his.

“I..” The sudden pressure to talk and also trying to keep in mind what topper said about taking the blame was causing him to stutter, “I don’t?”

Shit..

She frowns and he immediately felt a lump grow in the back of his throat, wanting to quickly take back what he said, “I mean- Yeah okay.. fine look I’m sorry.. maybe I do put the cameras first. But..” His eyes move down to her hand, watching his thumb run along her knuckles as he stops talking.

“Rafe..?” Bella tilts her head under his, catching his eyes in hers as she tightens her grip on his hand.

“Hm.. yeah um..” He lifts his head back up, rolling his shoulders back. “It’s beca- because um.. I wanna make him happy..” He whispers, almost inaudible to the camera as his eyes fail to meet hers.

“Make who happy..?” She questions softly.

“Dad- Ward I mean..”

Bella’s eyes widen, her hands finding his cheeks as she lifts his head to look at her, “Hey Rafe..” His eyes search for hers as they begin to well, “You don’t have to try so hard for him, you know? Just you willing to participate is enough for him. He’s proud of you! He told me that! Just.. why can’t you be yourself? That’s all he wants and that’s all the cameras want!” Her thumbs graze the apples of his cheeks, “Rafe that’s all I want!”

Rafe’s hands take hers and pull them away from his face, “Bella I didn’t.. I didn’t know that. I’m sorry..” He sighs, wiping his eyes before the little pricks of tears could be picked up by the camera.

She smiles weakly, trying her best to keep comforting him, “Don’t be, just.. promise me, you won’t let them get to you?”

His brows furrow, a grin tugging at his lips as a small breathy chuckle falls from his mouth, “Are you quoting me, to me?” He points at himself, amusement written all over his stupid face.

Bella giggles, unaware of the mishap, “Well I didn’t mean to but.. yeah I guess I did!” She snorts.

He watches a moment, admiring the joy on her face, the happiness he created amongst the two of them from a mere sentence. He did that. Him.

“Come ‘ere.” He holds out his arms and he nods his head. She looks up at him with that soft little smile before jumping into his arms. Squeezing tightly, his arms wrap around her like a vice, placing kisses all around her head that cause her to giggle and squirm in his grip.

“You got work to do huh.” He lifts himself up, holding her arms as that stupid smirk sat back on his face, his eyebrow jerked.

“They’ll fire me anyways it’s fine.” She shrugs, tugging at his hands.

“Why because you skipped yesterday?” His smirk only grew as he watched her face drop, the realisation very visibly sinking in.

“Mhm..” She pulls him, trying to get him inside, “Yeah no we’re going c’mon! Can’t have you becoming one of us princess.” He pulls her hand that she used to hold onto his firmly, spinning her around and placing his arm round her neck.

Bella groans, resting her head to the boys shoulder as they make their way down to his bike.

Rafe pats the seat to his bike, watching as Bella’s figure sat perfectly ontop as her big doe eyes stared back at him, a gentle smile pulling at her soft lips.

He smiles back, them both sharing an intimate few seconds before Rafe frowns and shakes his head, coughing away the moment. He reaches for his helmet before placing it ontop Bella’s head.

“You know that I love you right?” He asks, hands wrapped under the helmet whilst he struggles to clip it up. She managed a small nod as she watched his concentration, his tongue slightly visible through his lips as his brows furrowed.

“Doing up someone else’s helmet especially when we’ve just shared a deep conversation, is difficult a’ight? Don’t judge me for that shit.”

“And I do care about you..” He mumbles through struggle, not meaning for it to sound as quiet as it did. Again she nods, placing a hand to Rafe’s that was sat beside her neck; his face mere centimetres from her own.

“And I don’t ever wanna lose you..” He removes his hand, his voice now a quiet whisper as he hooks a leg over the seat of the bike; pulling her closer to him, he lifts her legs over his to get her as close as possible, ignoring the way her thighs graze his crotch. “You understand?” He rubs his thumbs against her bare thighs, almost massaging them as once again, their faces lay not even an inch away from one another.

She watches his fingers as she nods for the third time, “Yeah..” enjoying the contact.

“Then dont forget it..” He watches her eyes for a moment, as he could make out a smile lifting her cheeks. It creates a smile on his own before he places a hand on the back of Bella’s head, pulling her closer to press a kiss to her helmet. His hands grip her thighs firmly as he leans his head on hers, “All I want is for you to be happy.. and I’m gonna try my best to be better for you okay..? I promise..” He speaks gently and informatively, accentuating each other word to drill his point into her.

He lifts his gloved pinky causing the tear-stained girl to giggle, salty tears shimmering across her skin as she links her finger with his.

“I love you always Rafe Cameron..” her soft but muffled words caused a small laugh to leave Rafe’s mouth as he places his hands on either side of her helmet, taking her eyes into his own as he lifts her chin.

“I love you way more than you’ll ever know Bella Brooks..” He rests his helmet against hers. They both sit in silence a moment, just sinking into each others words, each others touch.

He lifts his head and quickly shifts the moment as he smacks the top of her helmet with a heavy hand, causing a pain-filled groan to fall from the girls lips before she quickly returned the gesture. He tries keeping it cool, watching her a moment before shutting her visor.

He hooks his legs back around to face the front of the bike; reaching back to find her hands, he places them against his lower stomach. “You feel safe??” He questions loud enough that she could hear him over the revving of his bike.

She puts her thumb up to him as she rests her head to his back, closing her eyes and sinking into his body. He bites his lip, nodding to himself as he looks down at the fist of black fabric she was gripping onto. He smiles softly, a rare occurrence for the boy, before chuckling loudly. The feeling, the thought. Everything about the moment. He had his girl back and he didn’t care who knew. He was happy and he didn’t care to show it.

He quickly sped off down the road to the Island Club. The cameramen all getting the sign from Ryan that they left and soon following behind.

“She’s all about my safety, that kid.” He laughs, “Wan’ing me to wear gloves and shit. She even begged for the whole thing cos she heard about an accident one time. But I refused cos the only time I’m riding is with her and I take it slow for her.”

“But you two are okay now?”

“Well yeah obviously? Told you we always are. We’re never apart for more than a day at most.” He chuckles, shrugging his shoulders as a hand rakes through his hair.

“Does it not bother you how quickly she accepts you back?”

He frowns, eyes locking onto Ryan’s, “What- why would it? We’re friends that’s just what happens?”

“Okay Rafe..” Ryan stops the conversation short but Rafe hits breaking point. The sarcastic tone caused him to scrunch his fist, banging it against his forehead as he tries to hold back from blowing up.

“Mmm no. What do you mean?” He rasps, his eyes darkening as he doesn’t look him in the eye.

“I just..” Ryan coughs, “I just feel like with a girl like her it means more than just, ‘you said sorry we’re okay now’.”

Rafe looks back at him, his face softening as his brows furrow. He leans against his knees as his palm meets his face a moment.

“Look man we’re fine okay? Just.. don’t ruin that f’me. Please.” He forces softly before up and leaving.

“Topper while I’ve got you here alone, could you explain to me why Bella’s so easy to come back to him.”

He snorts, “You mean this morning?” Ryan nods, a small grin tugging at his lips, “Yeah uh.. I think I’d get in trouble if I told the truth you know man.”

“You can ask her if you-“ He began to gesture towards the group a few tables behind them.

“Not by her.”

“By?”

“Callum. You know, her super dicky, overprotective brother who thinks he’s always right, Callum? Yeah that one.”

“He wont find out you’ve said this.”

“Until he watches the show of course.” Topper interjects, cutting it plainly.

“It’s not coming out for a week, atleast, Topper and we’ll just make sure he doesn’t know that alright? The audience would want to know.”

Topper sighs, rolling his eyes as he begins to nod, his tongue shoving into the inside of his cheek, “Yeah okay fine um. It’s because-“

“She’s a Pogue.”

Rafe and Bella make it to the club. He helps her off his bike as he takes off her helmet for her. “Thank you.” She bubbles, smiling as she watches his every move. “I like the shirt, Rafey.” Her cheeks redden, watching as he stands back up, a grin spread across his face.

“With no family.”

“Yeah? Knew you would princess.” He nips her nose with his finger.

“Are you not hot? Its boiling today and-“

“Is that even a question Bells look at me!” He expresses, arms out wide as a chuckle falls from his lips whilst he watched her expression. She stares at him, a brow raised as an unimpressed laughed slips from her mouth.

“No money.”

“Shut up.” She whines, rolling her eyes before taking his hand. “I’m sure there’s spare clothes in the back!” They head inside, Rafe allowing and enjoying the action; Bella swings their arms back and forward, skipping along to keep up with Rafe’s fast pace. His eyes never leave her as she smiles and doesn’t care for anything other than the two of them, not caring to be seen acting like a child. And Rafe secretly loved it.

“If it weren’t for Ward she’d be living on the fucking streets.”

“So there’s just some spare uniforms but they’ll suit you! I mean you practically live in polos and shorts so-“

“Right, necessary?”

She snorts. He snatches the clothes out her hand with an eye roll before going over to the other side of the room.

“If she doesn’t speak to Rafe, there’s no point in speaking to us.”

The room wasn’t well lit for a place like a country club. It was like a small staff room but was also used for storage. One wall was covered in mirrors and sinks with a few cubicles shoved in the back near Rafe. The extra space was used for a couple chairs, and shelves for spare glasses and alcohol.

Bella begins to undress herself, starting with her top too big for her that it was obvious it wasn’t actually hers.

“If she doesn’t speak to Rafe, Callum gets involved.”

Rafe pulls on the shirt, catching a glimpse of Bella in the mirror as she slides down her shorts. He coughs, frowning at himself but not being able to help himself from the view.

“She doesn’t speak to Rafe and Ward gets pissed off.”

The same happens to her, she looks up and catches Rafe watching her which causes her eyes to widen. “What?? Have I got something on me?” She asked oblivious as hell as she inspected her almost naked body in the mirror.

“No no sorry just.. got distracted..” he mumbles, turning away slightly as he fiddles with the zipper of his shorts.

Bella’s instincts kick in once again as she jogs over immediately, wearing nothing but her underwear, “Are you okay?” She turns him towards her as she places a hand to his chest. He hums, sucking in a breath as he turns away.

“If Bella makes Ward mad at Rafe in any way she never lets it down.”

She watches him a moment, still not understanding what’s up his ass. She hooks her arms around his neck, pressing her body against him firmly as she nestles her head into his neck. The tightness of her grip being a sign to Rafe that she needed this hug more than she’ll ever let on.

“He’s the last person you’d want on your back.”

He takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes as his arms take her body into his own, his hands perfectly placed on the middle of her back. He places a kiss to her shoulder before resting his head against hers.

“He has the money and he has the power to do as he pleases.”

They stand there for a few minutes. In silence. But it wasn’t a horrible silence, it was peaceful. Safe. Bella hums against his ear, smiling to herself as she enjoys the embrace, the contact.

“You okay Bells..?” He whispers softly, a rare occurrence for the boy, not letting go and not lifting his head.

You could hear her smile as she lets out a quiet breath, “Yeah.. now I am..”

He began to feel guilty for his thoughts, knowing this isn’t the time and maybe it never was. His eyes well, thinking about last night. About Callum. About the way she looked and the way she struggled for air. His grip tightens unbeknownst, arms as far round her body as they could possibly reach as he tucks his eyes into her shoulder.

“It’s just easier and safer for Bella to give in and accept Rafe’s apologies, because if not?”

“Are you okay RayRay..?” He nods against her arm, any word that left his mouth would only set off the waterfalls. Her lips pull as she rests her head closer to his, her feet numbing but not caring as her hand reaches up to lay against his head, her nails gently scratching circles along his neck.

She needs me. “She won’t have a family.”

He needs me.

How could I be so stupid, she’s never needed me more. “She won’t have a job.”

I’m such an idiot, he’s always needed me.

She’s lonely, so lonely.. and I’m partly to blame, how could I let it get this bad..? “And she won’t have Rafe.”

He’s struggling, so bad.. I don’t understand how I never noticed..

A slam of a door interrupts their thoughts, Rafe immediately stepping infront of her as he shoves on her, his old shirt to cover up atleast some of her.

“Back to square one..”

“Oh my god honey you’re okay..” The familiar voice causing both of them to look over, Bella peering past his shoulder. The older man steps over, pushing past Rafe as he pulls Bella into his chest tightly. “God I’m so so sorry.. I heard what happened sweetheart.. are you okay..?” She shakes her head against his chest, but sucks in a breath as she lifts herself from his grasp quickly.

Its Ward isn’t it Rafe..

She looks up at the boy, noticing the way he avoids watching, distracting himself with the spare glasses on one of the storage shelves, rubbing his finger along all the rims. She frowns.

“Bella everything okay? You can come home if you’d like?” He grazes his fingers over he cheek, pushing back a strand of her.

She shakes her head as his words caught Rafe’s attention. “No that’s okay.. Callum will kill me if he finds out I’ve skipped two days in a row.” She snorts, rubbing her neck with her palm as she lightly tugs at her skin.

“I can sort that honey.” He rubs her arm, his thumb doing circles against her.

“No don’t worry. I’ll be okay. I have Rafe!” She smiles at Rafe as her words attract his eyes, him smiling softly back at her; nodding as an almost ‘thank you’. “Okay.. well, I’m sure he’ll look after you and, any problems you call me okay?”

“I will dont worry!” She smiles as he places a kiss to her head; her smile slowly fading as he completely ignores his son, walking out the club as if he weren’t even there.

Bella scoffs, eyebrows dipping before turning to her friend. “Rafe I..”

“It’s not your fault.. Hey! don’t we have tables to set up?” He brightens his voice, smiling as he hooks an arm around her neck.

“Yeah.. yeah we do..” She agrees gently, accepting his want to move on; resting her head against his shoulder as her arm takes his waist.

She finishes getting dressed, pulling up her skirt as he helps her with her apron in the mirror. She notices they’re wearing the same colours as he was borrowing the spare uniform, “Hey look Rafe we match!” She bubbles, pointing at the two of them, his hands lingering on her back a little too long before patting down the tie and looking up at them in the mirror; his arms wrapping around her waist, head on her shoulder, “Yeah.. we do..”

She smiles softly but couldn’t help a small tug at her brow as there was still a level of concern roaming the air.

Before she knew it her hair was out her face, Rafe lifted it up into a handheld pony. “Wanna slick it back or it alright like that?” She was mesmerised by his actions, not realising he was waiting for an actual answer until she notices him watching her in the mirror.

“Oh! Um. No Rafey it’s perfect thank you..” She blushes, admiring, as Rafe slides a hairtie from his wrist and gently wraps it around her hair; grabbing his hat from across the room just to put it ontop her head, making her lips pull once again.

Her eyes sparkle as he presses a kiss to the back of her neck, “Perfect..” He mutters, shutting his eyes as his body relaxes a moment. Quickly, he stands back up and squeezes her head, “Let’s go!”

They leave the back room, Bella taking his hand and tugging. “Hm?”

“I love you Ray..” She smiles, a kiss placed to the boys forehead.

He watches her eyes a moment, as they stared up at him, his lips pulling into a gentle smile. His hand finds the back of her head, pulling her in to place a kiss to her head in return. “I love you more Bee.” She hums as he turns away, “Not true.” Her words cause his head to swing round, brow raised as he smirks, “Oh we doing that are we?”

She giggles, blushing lightly as she plays with her fingers behind her back, “Maybe..”

He chuckles from his chest, walking over to her which causes her to step back with each of his footsteps. She could tell from a mile away, his plan.

She turns on her heel darting for one of the tables as he chases her round each one. Chairs being thrown to the floor as tables scratch along the wood; the room filled with giggles and deep laughter as they play around. Him very obviously faster than her but letting her stay ahead to keep the game going.

As she gets herself stuck in a corner, he cackles devilishly, ‘playing the part well’ in her words. She smirks, knowing there’s no way out as he jumps for her, lifting her by her legs to throw her over his shoulder; a shriek falling from her lips.

He laughs as she grips onto the material of his shorts, trying to pull her way down him but failing miserably as her strength didn’t even meet half of his. His flexed bicep curled around her thighs as he carries her back over to the bar, setting her down effortlessly beside the alcohol as he pecks her nose with his fingers, “Better luck next time princess.”

She growls breathily, crossing her arms as she pouts like a child. Her actions causing him to snort as he ruffles her hair. “Cmon ‘Kid’ we got a club to run!” He enjoys his words a little too much as he chuckles to himself, walking off to take the rest of the chairs down.

“I’m not a kid, asshole.” Bella spits, Rafe immediately taking her eye with a laugh and a raise in his brow.

“Woah woah hey, you’re too young to be using that language here, don’t you think ‘kid’?” He smirks, watching as her eyes darken and she huffs a breath. She rolls her eyes going over to the other side of the room to arrange the tables; turning back around to give Rafe a dark glare after he decided to laugh at her once more.

“So Rafe what’re you doing here today? Since I didn’t get a chance to ask earlier!”

“Well I’m just here to help out. Whenever Bella has a shift on her own I offer to help, it means I get to see her all day and it gives me something to do! It also means she’s in a better mood when we get back.” He chuckles to himself, a hand running through his bangs. “Normally the others wouldn’t come but somedays they do.”

“Which do you prefer?”

“If I’m telling the truth I prefer when it’s just me and Bells. We barely get time alone with Callum and shit so when we do we make the most of it you know. And being here is one of the only times we are by ourselves. It’s nice though I enjoy spending time with her. It reminds me of when we were younger!”

“What’d you get up to?”

“Nothing! Thats the thing. We used to just sit on the piers or the boat and just talk. And obviously back then Callum wasn’t so obsessed with her so we had way more time together. I miss it to be honest, it’s why we do everything we can to get extra time by ourselves!”

“Care to give your opinions on this mornings, I don’t know how to put it um.. tension-fest!”

“You really gotta call it that?”

“You mean with me and Rafe?”

“Yes that’s exactly what I mean miss Brooks. How’re you doing? How is HE doing?” He asked sincerely, genuine concern filling the air which she noticed quickly; evident by the way her shoulders drop and her face warms.

“Yes I do. Now Rafe we’d just like an explanation for what’s happening. Catch us up!”

He sighs, rolling his eyes as he turns back to watch the rest of his group laughing and talking. He grunts, “Fine. Um.. I just, I don’t know. I’m just worried about Bella is all. Feel like I’m not putting in my full 100% for her at the moment and right now? I feel like she really needs me.”

“Umm.. I’m good thank you! I’m just worried about Rafe. I mean he seems really off recently and I feel bad because I realised today that it’s not about me at all. And my little outburst last night kinda didn’t help. I just want to know he’s happy but it’s difficult when he won’t talk to me.”

“I just wanna make sure she’s happy you know, but she don’t talk to me about Callum. Or anything for that matter.” His face was turned away from the camera, his eyes glued to his best friends figure as she bounced against the floorboards with the sweetest smile across her face. “I don’t really know anything about her no more.”

“We used to be way closer. Like we never had these stupid petty fights, we just talked to each other and everything was perfect. But I guess getting older makes things more difficult. And not everything lasts forever. We’re growing apart and I don’t ever want to believe it, but sometimes, it’s hard not to.”

“I just feel like the past few years have been different and I’m partly to blame. I know that for sure. The other half? Could be anyone on this island, I couldn’t tell you. But all I know is that the most I can do is be there for her.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s because of Ward. I’m growing up which means I need him more, and Rafes growing up which means he needs him less. But if you really asked us both. We’d tell you that’s not what we want. And I fear that Ward will forever fail to see that. So the most I can do is show Rafe that no matter what, I’m always here for him. Because if not? I don’t know.. I don’t want to know that’s for sure! But all I do know is that it won’t be good, for anyone.”

“On a lighter note, you two seemed really happy after your little moment in the back room.”

“Hm..” Bella hums, smiling as she twirls her fingers into each other. “Yeah.. we have our moments. And when we do we REALLY have our moments! I mean if you ask me he was playing the part pretty well don’t you think?” She snorts, looking back at him with a soft smile. “I really do love him Ryan. And I know he feels the same way, it’s why I just want him to be okay, you know?”

“I do know Bella.. and I know you enough to know that you’ll figure it out. I believe in you.”

“So do I!” The sandy blonde wraps his arm around Bella, “So. Do. I.” He nudges his head into hers, causing her to smile; her brows furrowing.

“Topper what do you-“

“I know what you’re on about Bells, I see it too. Both the feelings part and the emotions part. And I believe you can fix it. Because you’re Bella Brooks and none of us would trust anyone else with a situation like this.”

She lets go of him, smiling gently as she nods, “Thank you Top. I always know I have you to rely on.”

“What’re friends for huh?” She giggles, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Hey uh Ryan?” Rafe turns back to take his focus once more.

“Rafe.” He smiles in return.

“You uh.. between you and me.” Rafe steps closer, leaning over his shoulder to whisper into his ear, “You got that footage of her and Top last night? Asking for a friend..”

He stands back up, Ryan flashing him a wink as a small smirk tugs at his lip, “We might have. Come speak to us later okay? I’ll see what we can do.” Ryan pats Rafe’s shoulder.

“Yeah uh.. thanks! Mr um.. Ryan, sir!” He stutters with a soft smile, before quickly returning to his friends.

Ryan takes a moment to appreciate the little moment of genuineness that came from the boy. Having heard and witnessed things so different, that small kindness was enough to change his view on the Camerons son.

“Don’t even get me started Sir.” Topper rolls his eyes, slumping into the seat opposite as he realised how long he’s being kept for. “I mean, they both adore each other. Callum adores Bella and vice versa too. Or should I say did. To all of them. Did. You see, a few years ago something happened, don’t ask what because fuck knows. But when the said ‘something’ happened, Callum, Rafe, Ward, Sarah. Everybody me and Bella knew had changed. And not in a good way. Callum fell into the drug hole, Rafe resorted to violence; well more than usual. Ward became unbearable in every way possible and Sarah became distant with everyone. Neither me nor Bella know what happened but as far as we’re concerned, nothing will ever be the same as it was 3 years ago. Thats what’s wrong. Thats what’s always been wrong. Since the day there was ever something wrong between them all. That’s what their issue is with each other and neither of them will bring it up because they don’t know what they’re bringing up. Because NOTHING HAPPENED.”

Topper stops himself quickly after his outburst. Sitting back in his chair and coughing to clear the air. “Sorry um. I just mean that they’ll never fix this because nothing ever happened. Meaning there’s nothing to fix. It’s just the way life is from now on. And unfortunately we all have to just live with it.”

“I’m getting sick of the cameras now Bells.” Rafe huffs, his head held up by his hands whilst his eyes followed Bella behind the bar. She hums, wanting him to continue but too busy making him a drink to look. “Like yeah alright don’t care we have an episode to ourselves but it’s when there’s just the ones sat at home or there’s just a guy fucking following me around shoving a camera in my face it’s like I don’t give a shit enough to want to do this anymore.” He exaggerates his words as his eyes glance over to Ryan and his crew who sat on one of the empty tables furthest from them.

Bella frowns, turning to him as she places the glass in his hand, “I thought you were excited! You wanted to do this no?” Her expression contorted as she waited for him to finish his drink, thoroughly confused and slightly concerned for the boy.

He shrugs, putting his glass back down with a clink as it hit the tabletop. “Nah, it seemed interesting at first but it’s literally just like nothings changed except there’s more people and shit like I’d rather not, you know.” His eyes follow up to hers, swirling the remainder of his drink around in his cup as he watches her face.

“Have you not spoken to Ward about it? Maybe they could turn some cameras off or something?” She rests her hands to the edge of the bar, helping herself to stand up to his height whilst he was on the bar stool.

Rafe snorts, rolling his eyes as he looks back down at the brown liquid. “Like he’d do that shit for me Bells! It’s fine I don’t care just when they ask me shit in the middle of my day that I don’t care about it’s like just shut the fuck up.” His eyes droop, breathing out a heavy sigh as he rests his head back on his free hand.

“Rafe..”

“Hm?” She takes his glance, his focus now moved back to her as she watched him with pure worry.

“Are you okay? Relax..”

He watches her a moment, before properly taking in her words. He sits up, dropping his hand to the bar as he itches the back of his neck with the other, “Sorry.. haha..” He laughs awkwardly, trying to keep himself composed, not for the cameras but for Bella, “Just pissed off cos it feels like I can’t be myself. Like everything I do is being judged by everyone you know.”

Bella sighs, nodding along, “I know Rafe.. but the point of the show is that you be yourself! Since when did you, the Prince of Kildare island, care about what anyone said or thought anyways. Remember what you said to me the other night? They’re just cameras Rafe. It’s a stupid show.”

“Yeah yeah alright keep quoting me to me and I’ll fucking leave.” He points a finger at her causing her to snort.

“Haha bye bye then!” She pats her fingers to her palm as she waves him away. He hits her hand away, a smirk evident across his lips.

Bella pauses, smiling softly as she watches his smile grow. “You know.. you’re doing it now!”

“Huh? Doing what?”

“Being yourself on camera..”

Rafes brows raise, his smile softening as he nods, “Yeah cos you’re here! Its easier when you’re around, it’s when I’m at home with Cal or something and they’re just watching us. They don’t even ask for permission when they cut all this into the episodes you know that? They just pick and choose the best parts apparently!”

Her face drops almost instantly as she stands up, “What, you serious?? I thought they’d go through it with you after?”

“Nope! That’s why it’s such bullshit! I could say something so outrageous and they choose to put it in that everyone then hates me or wants me dead or some shit.” He speaks plainly, shrugging his shoulders along to his words.

“Rafe that won’t happen! I’m sure Ward gets a say atleast?” Her voice was louder now, serious.

He sighs, “Whatever. I don’t care-“

“Debatable..”

“Hey watch your mouth!” He spits playfully, slamming a hand to the wood beneath his arm as he points the other towards her.

She giggles, the sound putting a genuine smile to Rafe’s face as he roles his eyes.

The two kids share an intimate moment of silence before a vibration cuts it short. Bella’s eyes dart to Rafe’s pocket as he grabs out his phone.

“Is it my brother?” She asked worryingly, him quickly reaching out to hold onto her hand.

“No it’s Top. On the group.” His thumb caressed her skin as he read the messages, her peering over the bar to do the same. “It’s for you.”

As per usual the kids sent in screenshots of the messages. When I say the kids I mean purely Bella. After the day Rafe had we get all the blame and he wants nothing to do with us. Surprised? Not really.

Bella groans as she goes over to her phone, picking it up and rolling her eyes. Rafe laughing to himself quietly as he watches her over exaggeration to people who can’t even see her.

His eyes follow down to his phone as he awaits her response.

He chuckles, looking up at her with a raised brow, “Depends on what Bee?”

“Oh he knows.” She grins, bubbly and genuine. Another chime snatches their attention and the sight of the next sentence cause a squeal to leave her mouth. “Yay! Told you!”

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head; enjoying the moment as her smile began to reappear - her inside smile.

Her face drops at the sound of another chime, Rafes eyes quickly darting down to his phone as he reads the new text. Bella’s attention shifts to Rafe who sat with his brows furrowed and his mouth agape. “Why.”

“Rafe..” She whimpers, stepping over.

“No why the fuck is he still here??” His sudden tone change causes Bella to flinch as her body began to warm; a tear shaken out of her as she sucks in a breath to keep herself contained.

She sighs as she brings her phone back up to her face, typing out a quick plain response.

“Whyre you defending him?” Rafe spits, snatching the phone, as he grimaces at her.

“I.. I just want it to be over.” Her voice was shaky and her lip wobbled. Her broken words causing Rafe to look up, his eye twitching.

“Rafe just leave it, it’s fine..”

“IT’S NOT- It’s not fine Bella..” He frowns, huffing a breath as he looks back down. A small whine falling from the brunettes lips as she watches his thumbs hit the letters with purpose.

“Stop.. you’ll make it worse..” She grabs the phone out his hand, cutting his message short before deleting it and quickly ending the conversation.

Rafe’s eyes don’t leave Bella’s as she sniffles, wiping her eyes with her knuckles. The panic and fear that sat evidently on her face only made Rafe feel worse. He furrows a brow, reaching out to her hand and shutting off the phone; her eyes scanning the messages over and over as her body refused to stop shaking.

“Bella.. hey. What’s going on? You don’t have to deal with him anymore. I can-“

“You can’t do anything Rafe.. I don’t want you to..”

“What?”

“He’s my brother.. people make mistakes.. I forgive him.”

“Bella you don’t have to do this.” He stands, reaching for her cheek but was held too late as she turned away.

“I do..”

“No you don’t! You can get rid of him. I can. Ward can! I don’t know. Bella-“

“Rafe you don’t understand!! Who’s going to look after him if I dont?”

He pushes his tongue to his cheek, scratching his brow as he walks round to her. Reaching for her arms. His hands travel down her skin to meet hers, “That’s not your job.” His voice softened, his thumbs running circles over her knuckles.

“But then whose is it?”

He watches her eyes as they find his. Awaiting a response but not receiving one because Rafe struggled to get anything to leave his mouth.

“Exactly..”

“Bella-“

“It’s fine Rafe. It’s always been this way, nothings changed. I’m okay..”

“It doesn’t have to be this way..”

“I don’t know any other way.” She pulls away, shrugging her shoulders; the first member of the club arriving with a friend, their conversation filling the room. Rafe watches her wipe away her tears, quickly dabbing her cheeks and straightening out her apron before plastering on a smile. She strolls over, taking their order and jotting it down on her notepad.

“That motherfucker is really getting on my fucking nerves. This stupid fucking rule is bullshit!!”

“Sorry Rafe what rule?”

“I..” His eyes widen, “No nothing no rule. What?” He laughs awkwardly.

“Rafe. What, rule?”

“Just some stupid rule Ward set a’ight? Don’t gotta know everything on this stupid show.”

“Topper do you know anything about this rule Ward has set for Rafe?”

“Uhm..” He hesitates, looking around for a distraction or a new conversation starter.

“Topper!”

“Yes! Yes sorry sir what?”

“The rule?”

“Uhm.. yeah uh. About that!” He coughs, his fingers raking his hair as he finally looks at Ryan, “It’s not just for Rafe. It’s for all of us. I uh.. actually sorry no I can’t say anything. Not this time.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not important?”

“But it is! Rafe’s upset and-“

“Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

As the club filled up, Bella and Rafe gained more orders. The more orders, the busier they were. Rafe kept a smile on his face, doing his part and treating the members respectfully. Bella did the same, using her kind words and soft heart to keep the members happy. Them both taking it in turns to serve and bartend.

“Bella does this thing. She like, she puts on a play, you know. It’s like one minute she’s my best friend Bella Brooks; the next, she’s my best friend who’s always an absolute sweetheart who would do anything for anyone. Every little problem she had disappears and all that’s on her mind is making others happy. I know she’s always like that but you know what I mean, it’s just.. different! I’ve learnt to do the same. I mean it wasn’t hard, I had a good teacher!” He laughs under his breath, catching a glimpse of Bella across the room as a smile tugs at his lip.

“I can act for the camera, I can act to be what people want me to be. When I’m helping her work, I’m a good guy with a big smile. When I’m with my friends, I give no shits. Infront of the cameras I try to be cool. Different. Not myself. The other versions are parts of me that I hide away from certain people. This one isn’t me. I fake it. Because I know the real me won’t be as likeable. But I also know that the only opinion that matters.. is my best friend’s. When I’m around her, I’m myself. I don’t put on a play. I don’t hold my breath and puff out my chest and hope the moment goes by quickly. No. When I’m around Bella it’s like, everything’s okay. Like there’s no expectations on me to be a certain someone. I don’t have to act cool or mysterious or whatever. Because she knows that’s not me and she doesn’t care. She’s who I aspire to be. But I’m not her, I’m not the sweet guy who has a heart to give to everyone. And I never will be. Because that’s just not who I am. So I act. And that’s the closest I’ll ever get to being a good person.”

“Ayyyy there’s the lovebirds we missed so dearly!!!” Toppers arms fling open, very clearly stating his presence as the three boys take their places on the barstools.

“You two a’ight now?” Kelce questioned, eyeing the both of them.

“Depends..” Bella shrugs, trying her hardest to hold back the grin that pulled her cheeks.

Rafe chuckles, watching Topper as he rolls his eyes. He sighs, shoving a hand into his pocket, “Maybe.. I might of stopped on the way to get a few things.” He slams a few packets of sweets (sorry I’m British) onto the bar, enjoying the way the girl’s eyes lighten up.

“Yay! Okay yes we’re fine.” She snatched them away from the boys, stashing them under the countertop.

“Fine? Is that what we’ve come to Bee?” He asked playfully offended. A hand held to his chest as his mouth fell open.

She giggles, her eyes rolling towards him as her hands find her hips, “You know I didn’t mean it like that dickhead!”

He jerks an eyebrow, his smirk growing as he steps closer. The brunette quickly flinching and immediately apologising.

Bella’s attention is stolen by a grunt. Her focus turned to the boy beside her, head on the bar against his arms. She takes a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut before swallowing and shaking her head as reassurance, “Cal? You okay?”

Her brother lifts his head, eyeing her with a sheepish look, his face puffy and eyes reddened and dry. “Are you high??” She reaches for his face but her hand was quickly swatted away.

“Fuck off..” The taller boy grumbled as he slumped against his elbows.

Rafe goes to jump for the boy, quickly held back by Kelce who grabbed him over the bar. “Leave it..”

“But Cal you promised-“

“I know what I promised a’ight. Sometimes things just happen Bella you gotta understand that by now.” He throws a hand up in the air as his eyes dart to hers, quickly moving away as he frowns.

“I do Cal trust m-“

“With dad gone ‘n all!” He interrupts unnecessarily. Causing the girl to pause her sentence and step back. Bumping her body into her friends as he grabs ahold of her hips.

“I said I do okay!!!” She cries, trying her best to hold back her tears as she stares him down. The sensitive subject making it hard for her to keep all composure.

Rafe moves her figure out the way gently, “Dude just leave her alone??” Topper and Kelce both give each other the look before joining the stare down between the two boys.

“You ain’t her brother why don’t YOU leave her alone?” Callum slams a hand to the bar, standing up in the process. His tough facade being stopped away as he winces, gripping a hand to his head before placing himself back to his seat.

Bella holds Rafe back, shaking her head ‘no’ to suggest for him to stop. She passes the boy a glass of water, “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Nothing happened..” He takes a sip of the water loudly, his loss of all his senses making it heard to hear himself. “Just woke up like this..”

Bella frowns, looking between her other friends with a piercing glare as she squinted to try and force an answer from one of them, “You made him do it?” She asks calmly, not wanting to make assumptions with her lack of information but knowing they were with him the night previous.

“No Bells we told him not to!” Kelce reassures, Topper nodding along as his eyes never leave the Camerons son.

“Where’d he get it from??” She furrows her brows, her tone more serious now as she just wanted to understand the situation. Kelce and Callum’s gaze joined Toppers as Rafe’s didn’t leave Bella. “What-“

“Hey I’m not the one who promised!” Rafe defended himself, tossing his hands in the air guiltily as he almost pleaded for her trust.

Bella’s shoulders fall, a sigh leaving her throat as her eyes travel towards her brother. His figure lay limp against the bar as his eyes focus on a small dust speck. She goes over, a hand resting against the back of the boys head, “Are you okay..?”

All she got as a response was a small nod, enough of a response for her to smile. She reaches under the bar to grab out some antibiotics, opening his palm and placing them in gently, “Take them please..”

“Can we talk about-“ Topper begins.

“NO!!!” The others all shout in sync, wanting to stay off of the topics he’d bring up.

Bella stares at Callum, watching carefully as he swallows the pills down with some water.

“John B-“

“Topper!!! This ain’t about you bro.” Kelce nudges his arm, sighing as he’d had enough.

“You can all stop staring at me now..” Callum grumbles, finishing off his water as he looks up at Bella. Everyone quickly turning away to distract themselves with anything close. “Why’re you talking to me?”

The girl shrugged, “If you don’t ask then it never happened.”

He nods along, a smile pulling at his lip as he runs his finger along the rim of his glass.

“That pogue hasn’t got half the amount I do what’s her fucking deal?” They all groan, rolling their eyes towards the blonde boy.

Rafe snorts before speaking, “Better dick..”

The other three turn away, quickly trying to cover their snickers as they try their best to play it off. Topper raises a brow, his face instantly causing Rafe to burst out into laughter, leaning over the bar as he tries to steady himself.

Topper waits, watching them all as they don’t even bother to be sincere. He slumps onto his hand. “Top-“ Bella managed through a deep breath. Rafe’s eyes take hers, immediately both letting go once again; gathering the members’ attention as they collected stares.

“Top I.. uh..” She takes a deep breath, over exaggerating by a mile. Kelce snorts into his fist as Rafe smirks, scratching his nose to cover it. “You wanna talk about it?” She rushes out, pushing her lips together to stop anymore coming out.

“Not with you lot no.” Everyone looks over to him in offence, eyebrows jerked and faces tensed.

“Bit rude.” Kelce mumbles.

“Top it was funny.. we’re sorry.” Bella tries taking his hand, Topper hesitating before giving in.

“No we’re not..” Rafe snorts, earning himself a slap on the arm from the girl before she turns back to Topper.

Bella’s eyes quickly shoot up, the boys all frowning in confusion before looking over. Another member. She sighs, “We can talk in my break okay?” She smiles reassuringly as she runs her thumb along his hand before going round the bar.

She pauses midway to the men, turning back to the boys, “Don’t upset him, dickheads.” She waved a finger towards them before going off to take orders.

“Well that was just unnecessary!” Kelce throws his hands up with a furrow in his brow, Rafe snickering once again.

Whilst Bella and Rafe gain new orders, the other three enjoy their time alone. Talking about anything but the situations at hand: Topper and Sarah, John B and Sarah, Callum and Bella, and Rafe and Bella.

Ryan pulls Topper over for a chat.

"So uh.. The shirt worked for what, a total of ten seconds? Maybe less?" Topper snorts, shoveling a handful of sweets into his mouth.

Rafe scoffs, rolling his eyes as he snatches a handful for himself, "Yeah try an hour asshole. She made me change 'cos she thought I was too hot."

"Oh yeah she did.." Kelce smirks, raising an eyebrow which only causes Rafe's cheeks to redden and he snorts, "Fuck off.."

"HEY!!" A girls voice pierces through the air right as the packet of sweets is stolen from the blondes grasp, "Since when did I say you could have any??"

"Well tech'ic'lly.." The boy starts, mouth full of gummies to the point his words were mere mumbles, "They're 'ine 'cos I bo't 'em so.."

The other boys only grimace at his sounds, however the silence from behind him fills him with fear, causing him to turn his body round to be faced with a deathly stare. "Okay okay sorry they're all yours.. Please don't kill me."

The brunette stares at him a moment longer before a smirk tugs at her lips; she snorts before going round the bar to stand with her closer friend. He wraps an arm around her waist, leaning his head against hers.

"So Bells, when's your break?" Topper questions, reaching down under the bar to very obviously grab another packet before being swatted away with a whine.

"Now!" An unfamiliar voice answered. A girl around the boys' ages walks over, tying her apron around her waist and joining beside Bella.

"Oh my God Sofia you savior! Today's a busy one.." She moans, leaning forward to rest her head against the girl's shoulder.

"Hi Rafe.." The new girls voice softened, her cheeks blushing as her words fill the silence. Bella removes her head from her shoulder instantaneously, her shock joined by the boys' reactions. All their eyes shoot up to Sofia's, Topper chewing on a sweet slowly as he squints, Callum's brows furrowing deeper than his eyes as his tongue pokes against his cheek, and Kelce pulling out his phone to record the next few moments.

Rafe's lips tug, running a hand through his bangs as he chuckles, "Hey.."

The boys all join each other to stare him down; Bella's eyes not leaving the other girls. "Haven't seen you around in a while."

"Yeah I uh.. I've been dragged to do this show. Hard to do much when cameras are following ya' all the time." He laughs, his hand not having left his friends waist but his eyes definitely nowhere near hear figure.

"Ah! I see.. The fame getting to you already huh?"

He smiles, jerking an eyebrow at her quip, "You could say that."

Bella grits her teeth, the boys all still well occupied with surveying the situation. "Rafe I'm on break now!" She removes her apron, finally peeling her eyes away from her competition as she looks up at the boy with her big eyes.

He smirks, running a thumb along her hip, "Yeah I'm talking right now princess, why don't I meet you outside huh?" She glares at him a second, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from commenting on his suggestion.

Topper scoffs, stuffing more gummies into his mouth to keep himself quiet whilst Callum grunts, raising his brows as his eyes darken, holding himself back from standing up and dealing with him right then and there.

Bella doesn't respond, placing her apron on the bar before removing herself from the situation, dragging Topper by the arm off the stool and out the building. The other boys quickly follow behind, all gathering outside for a meeting.

Topper and Kelce both look at one another, exchanging small smirks before snickering, looking back up at the girl and flicking their imaginary hair off their shoulders, "Hiiiiii Rafeeee." They mock, dragging out their words in a whiny put-on voice, as they flick out their hands in the air in a girly manor.

Callum groans, "What's his fucking deal all of a sudden, thought you two were like glue or some shit?"

Bella shrugs, "Don't know, don't care. Why should I, It's not like we're together or anything." She mumbles through a deep sigh.

"No but Bella we all care. He clearly-"

"He's always liked her Top, there's no denying that. That's not my issue. It's just the way he acts like she's better than me."

"Is she?" Kelce questions, not understanding the severity of the situation for Bella.

Hers, along with Topper and Callum's eyes all dart up to him. Callum tilting his head slightly with a smirk, "What was that?"

"No I just mean-"

"It's okay Cal, he wouldn't be the only one to think so." Bella states, shrugging her shoulders. Her words did nothing but piss him off more, with Topper joining the equation by frowning and watching her with concern more than anything.

Kelce nudges her arm with his elbow, darting his eyes to behind the other two boys. She looks up at him before following his gaze, her eyes widening at the realisation. “Shit..” She mumbles, running past them quickly.

“JJ??” Callum spits, Topper and Kelce each taking an arm to hold him back.

“Dude you’re lucky she’s even talking to you right now, just leave it.”

“Hey ma!” JJ raises his arms to let her in, wrapping her arms around his waist tightly as he reciprocates the motion.

“Hey Jayj..” She mutters, nuzzling into his chest.

He frowns, “Bell’s?” She hums in response, not shifting from her position. “Everything okay?” He questioned due to the tightness of her hold.

“Yeah course.. missed you..”

“You sure?” She nods, causing JJ to push her off of himself, “Bells.. I know what’s been going on, John B filled me in. You’re not okay..”

She exhales, slumping her shoulders as she avoids eye contact. She opens her mouth to speak before a loud voice interrupts.

“There he is ladies and gentlemen!” Callum expresses, throwing out his arms to introduce the boy walking out the club, “Still got the stick up his ass by any chance?”

“What’s your fucking deal now? And where’s Bella?” He ignores Callum’s remarks as he searches around, Topper and Kelce quickly shifting their bodies to cover the view. Rafe frowns at the two boys, “Dude why’d you blow her off like that?” Callum asks with genuine concern coating his words, taking Rafe’s focus; now the other two boys both frowning, confused why he’s almost protecting Bella when usually the sight of another Pogue would set him off.

Rafe scoffs, turning to Callum with a darkened glare, "How was that blowing her off?? It's not the worst thing I could've done, you would clearly know!"

Callum shoves his tongue to his cheek, laughing breathily as he jerks a brow, "Wanna say that again, pal?"

"No I wanna find my girl."

"She'd be inside, I'm sure you would clearly know that." Callum chuckles, followed by a few snickers from the boys beside them. Their noises directing Rafe's deadly stare towards them before it suddenly softened; hardening again once he realises, pushing past the boys.

"Ay Pogue! This ain't your side of the island!!" He yells, making his way over to the two younger kids.

"Rafe??" Bella stops him quickly by pushing a hand to his chest.

He stares at the blonde a moment longer before his eyes move down to the brunette, "We don't have long left of your break Bell's just come play yeah?"

Her brows dip, nose scrunching as she steps back to place herself beside JJ, "We're a little busy right now 'princess' I'll meet you over there." JJ smirks, hiding it by ducking his head behind Bella

Rafe's lips pull, pushing his tongue to the inside of his mouth as he nods, "A'ight fine look I'm sorry 'kay? Now can we go?"

Bella shrugs, "Depends.."

Rafe frowns, looking between the two as he held back from mentioning JJ's hand against her bare skin beneath her shirt, "I'll pick you up somethin' on the way back a'ight. C'mon.." He reaches out a hand to grab hers, Bella quickly pulling back as she lets out a quiet 'nuh uh'.

"What? That's not it?" His brows furrow, body tensing as he tried his hardest to stay calm, the vein in his forehead growing more noticeable which pulls a laugh from the other blonde.

"Nope."

"Look Bella we-" He checks his watch, sighing through his words.

"Why'd you do it?"

"What?" He questions, oblivious to her meaning.

"Why do you always act like everyone's better than me?"

"I don't?"

"Wrong answer man.." Kelce mumbles as Topper distracts Callum from the conversation. JJ's eyes glued to Bella as he already noticed her tearing up.

"She's one of the most sensitive people I know. And don't get me wrong it's for good reason, I've never known someone have more shit happen to them then Bella fucking Brooks. It's just whenever anything or anyone makes her even remotely upset she starts to cry and I want to fucking break them. Bella being happy is the only thing I want in life and she isn't getting that by living with that prick, Callum. I mean look, Rafe makes her unbelievably happy but he's just an asshole and sometimes she realises that, and I'm glad she's not hidden from it or fucking hell would she be in for a fucking ride."

"I'm guessing you don't like the Cameron's very much then?"

"Well to be honest it's not that I don't like them, I mean they do make her happy and I love seeing her happy, like they've genuinely changed her life, you know. But me? Nah they fucking hate me." He laughs to himself, pushing his hair out his face and placing his hat back ontop his head. "So why should I like them if they don't like me huh? Any explanation would be appreciated."

“Okay Rafe.. JJ wants to talk, I’ll come join you in a minute!” She puts on a smile, tapping his hand gently before taking JJ’s and pulling him to the side.

Rafe’s eyes widen, just standing there and watching them.

“She does that a lot. Not wanting to continue the argument so she just ends it on a light note. But it’s like, I’d rather her argue back and tell me what’s going on in her head, you know. I never mean for it to end up an argument but sometimes I just raise my voice and then get frustrated at myself so it becomes like this cycle. I don’t blame her for not carrying it on and ignoring me but then it just makes me feel worse. I fucking hate that she just lets everything go, like no shout in my face and tell me I’m a horrible person, I deserve it!!”

Whilst JJ questions Bella about the previous night and her wellbeing, Rafe and the others grab their golf clubs and set up for the first hole.

“Okay sorry ready!” Bella skips over, hooking her hand into Rafe’s which causes him to look down suddenly.

“Everything okay..?” He whispers against her ear and she nods a response.

Bella steps closer to the T, placing her ball and lining up her club. Rafe watches her every move, his eyes skimming over every part of her body yet they didn’t reflect a look of desperation, but a look of guilt.

In Rafe’s mind Bella wore her uniform well: a black mini skirt, with a white half buttoned shirt tucked in. A small white apron wrapped round her waist and a pencil stuck behind her ear. Black maryjanes and white knee high socks. Her hair in a high ponytail with one of Rafe’s SnapBacks keeping it out her face.

She looks perfect. So why am I not happy?

She lifts her club to swing, the boys silent. A quiet ‘clink’ was heard before the boys started cheering and screaming.

The others take their turn until it was time to split off to find their balls. Rafe and Bella’s landed fairly close as they were the best in group.

“Dude she’s fucking good..” Kelce mutters to Topper as they look around for a white ball.

“Tell me about it. You think she’s getting private lessons?” Topper smirks, nudging Kelce’s side with his elbow as he raises his brows.

Kelce snickers, “From Rafe? Yeah wouldn’t surprise me..” He snorts, looking over at the two; Bella stood beside him, looking up at him sweetly as she slowly swayed back and forth. Rafe smirking down at her, hand against her waist.

“Right.. yeah well that’s a yes.” They both laugh, turning away instantly as Rafe catches their eye.

A loud yell was heard coming from inside the club, catching everyone’s attention before Rafe’s realisation kicks in. “What is it?” Bella questioned, concern coating her words as she frowns, grabbing a hold of his hand to stop him from walking away.

“Stay here please.” He orders, yanking himself from her grip and jogging back over to the club entrance. Bella’s eyes follow round to meet the other boys, them nodding to reassure her as she follows after him.

“Ayyyy princess! What you doing ‘ere?” Another unfamiliar face spoke, holding it his hands towards the girl which only caused Rafe to frown, swinging back his head.

His brows furrow, face tensing as he pushes Bella backwards by her arms, “I told you to stay over there..” He gravels softly, only concerned for her and nothing more.

“But it’s only Barry, Ray. It’s not like he’s gonna kill me.” She giggles, shrugging her shoulders as she gives a wave to the other man.

“You don’t know that..” His words don’t change her mind, evident by the way she doesn’t budge a centimetre, “Just.. stay close ‘Kay?”

“Okay!” She bubbles, taking his arm as they step back over to him, “Hey Bear!”

“Hey sweetheart. Your boyfriend here’s in serious trouble you know that?”

“What why??”

“He ain’t paid me back, it’s been two weeks and your man is being stingy.”

“Dude I don’t have the money right now!”

“Yeah well times up I’m afraid, country club. Give me some shit now or you gonna regret it later aight? Ya understand?”

“How much?” Bella questions, letting go of Rafe’s arm.

“It don’t matter Bee stay out of it.”

“I can get you some money Bear! I-“

“Bella!!” Rafe grabs her arm, pulling her back into him forcefully which causes her to whine. “What’d I say? Stay, out of it!”

“But Rafe he’s gonna hurt you.. you can pay me back!”

“He ain’t gonna pay you back princess! Look you ain’t got the money now, I’ll be back, 12 o’clock on the dot. You still ain’t got it? We gotta problem.”

“I’ll sort it alright? Just, I need more time! The money ain’t come in yet!!”

Bella hands Barry a piece of paper, a signature written at the bottom. “Take it. I don’t know. Just leave him be.” Her voice was shaky and quiet.

“Bella..”

“Rafe let me do this for you. I don’t want you to get in trouble again. It’s better to just leave it. Please..” She widens her doe eyes, looking into his own as she juts her bottom lip.

He sighs, looking over at Barry who was smirking down at the piece of paper, “Alright fine Bee.. but this ain’t okay.”

Her lips pull into a soft smile, her head bobbing, “I know, but neither is you getting hurt.” Her words cause Rafe to smile, him admiring her features as he pushes a loose hair from her face.

“Aww you two lovebirds want some space or what?”

“Fuck off Barry you got what you want!”

Barry leaves and Rafe and Bella carry on their game of golf; Bella and Callum being the competitive two who keep heckling one another across the course. Bella however had to leave early to finish her shift so once the boys were done they seated themselves on a spare table inside.

Sofia took care of their table, which earned the boys a few stares and glances every once in a while from their friend. Rafe being sure to keep his distance and keep his eyes to himself, throwing a few snarky complaints every other sentence.

Bella got a message from Ward to say that they’ve gone out for dinner so the house is theirs for the night. Bella and Rafe bring their clothes home with them and on the way they pick up some take out; taking it out onto the Druthers and enjoying their night with the others.

“Ward is gonna kill me..” Bella whispers to Topper, leaning over the seat to get closer whilst her brother was inside. Rafe’s hand was glued to her back, his fingers hooking into her bikini strap to keep her balance whilst she leans forward.

“What why..??” The blonde scrunched his face.

“Because..! I gave Barry all my money and I haven’t paid him back for the house yet..” Topper’s eyes widen, choking on his beer.

“Bella! That was like two days ago he asked for that shit! What’re you gonna do..??”

“There’s nothing I can do..”

“Bee my dad ain’t gonna get mad at you for anything now is he? He ain’t who she’s worried ‘bout Top.” Rafe’s eyes follow inside to meet her brother’s figure as he makes his way out to sit beside Kelce.

“What?” He furrows his brows, watching Bella’s figure.

“Nothin’.” Rafe answers, pulling her up by her strap to make it less obvious to Callum what she’s talking about. She rests back against Rafe’s bare chest, nestling her head into his neck as she closes her eyes.

Topper reaches for Bella’s leg, tapping lightly which causes her to look down at him, one eye open. “I’ll sort it out..” He mouths, giving her a wink before sitting back not waiting for her response.

“Tired girl hm..?” Rafe mutters, placing a kiss to the top of her head as his hand gently rubs against her waist.

Callum rests his head against the chair arm, his arms under his head as he rests his eyes also. Topper watches the ocean and Kelce plays on his phone whilst Rafe enjoys the comfort of his friend’s body against his own.

The land grew darker as the stars appeared like little specs in the sky. The water sat calm against the boat as the temperature cooled. The boys made their way back inside and Rafe carried Bella to the couch.

“You can’t tell me that there isn’t something between them Topper.”

“Oh no if you ask me he’s head over heels for her. Don’t tell him I said that..”

“What about her?”

“Well that’s the thing, if you’ve watched the show back you can clearly see she’s like that with everyone. But then again she does have a soft spot for Cameron so I honestly couldn’t tell you.”

Like Topper said, this next clip may be an answer to Ryan’s question, but then again maybe not.

Everyone was asleep in the living room, it was now around 2 am and Bella had just awoken; stretching out her body as she scouts the area, quickly noticing someone’s missing. She sits up, looking around as her fingers come up to rub her eyes, trying to clear her vision.

She takes a deep breath as she squeezes her fists together, going round the couch. A light from outside catches her gaze and she follows it to the glass doors where the boy is viewable.

Her brows furrow, her body now covered by one of Rafe’s baggy tops which she assumed he put on her when they came in. She quietly and slowly opens the door, her eyes stuck to the other sleeping boys as she makes her way outside.

Rafe sat himself on a pool chair, his arms behind his head whilst he watched the stars in the sky. After everyone had gone to bed he had spoken to Ryan about the clips from last night; not being able to sleep afterwards so he decided to keep to himself by the pool.

“So Rafe you wanted to watch that clip with Bella and Topper from last night?”

“Uh..” He scratches the back of his head, eyes avoiding contact, “Yeah if that’s a’ight..”

“Yeah of course Rafe! Sit down we’ll pull it up now.” Ryan sets up Wards computer so Rafe could watch without any interruptions whilst he places himself in the office chair.

“Bells can you tell me what’s going on? I know this isn’t the first you’ve felt like this.”

She sighs, placing herself onto her bed whilst she slides off her shorts to replace them with some pyjama bottoms. “Top it’s fine..”

“No I’m serious. You said you were feeling better!” Topper sits beside Bella, passing her the top that was thrown to the edge of her bed.

She looks down, fiddling with the straps of her vest, “I guess.. I don’t know.. things just never got better..”

“What things? You mean-“

“Everything Top.. with Rafe. With Callum. Even with Ward I don’t know.. it’s just never the same as it used to be and I don’t understand whyyy!!!” She cries, shoving her vest over her eyes to cover her face whilst she let tears stain the fabric.

“Hey hey Bells c’mere.” He reaches his arm round her waist, pulling her into his lap as she curls her legs up to her chest, sniffling into his shirt.

“You alright Rafe?”

“Yeah fine.” He couldn’t understand if he was jealous or upset. Either way he hated how he felt and despite wanting to know what happened he didn’t want to carry on watching.

“Top I want it to stop.. I want it all to just stop. Why can’t it just be like it used to.. why do they have to change..” She sniffles, stuttering and gasping at every other word. “I miss my best friends Tops.. I want my best friends back..!” She whines, dying for air as her sobs become too uncontrollable.

“Bella I wish I could do something to help but unfortunately they’re both too far gone to change.. I’m always here though I promise.. you can always come stay with me if all else fails..”

“You’re just saying that Top.. Cos Sarah dumped you..”

“I mean it Bells, I’ve always thought of you like a little sister and nothings gonna change that. I’d give you the world if I could!” He strokes her hair, moving it away from her face as his other hand rubs against her back. “I promise that I’d never leave you.. and I can promise that even if it seems like the most impossible thing, Rafe does care about you more than anything, we all know that.. don’t give up on him Bells.. he needs you just as much as you need him. And if anyone can fix this mess it’s you! And I believe that with every piece of me.”

She sits up, her lips pulling as she wipes her face dry, “Thanks Top.. you’ve always been so sweet to me.. but could you stay? Just ‘till I fall asleep? I don’t wanna be alone..”

“Of course I can..” He smiles, speaking gently as he tucks her hair behind her ear. She offers him a smile before tucking herself into bed; Topper leaning down and placing a kiss to her forehead before sitting beside her bed, holding her hand tightly and muttering little reassuring words to help her feel safe.

“Thanks Top..” Rafe mutters to himself before quickly exiting the room.

“Rafe..?” Bella spoke quietly, “What’re you doing out here?” Rafe’s head quickly turns towards her, smiling softly as he realises who it was.

“Can’t sleep.. go back to bed Bee.” He sits back, groaning as he stretches his limbs.

Bella walks around to sit herself upon the chair next to him, crossing her legs as she faces him.

He looks at her, furrowing his brows, “What’re you doing?”

She pulls a smile to her lips, shrugging her shoulders lightly, “Showing you that you’re not alone!” She reaches over to take his hand, taking a moment to watch her thumb graze his skin, sighing before opening her mouth, her eyes not moving from their joined hands, “Rafe I- I can’t pretend like I don’t see it.. Like I don’t know that you’re hurting. Because I know..” She looks up at him, her eyes already glistening as she squeezes his hand, “I know! And the fact you don’t talk about it hurts because it means I don’t know what I’m meant to do..” Her words tremble as her lip wobbles, her voice cracking as it got quieter the more she spoke. A tear forming in the corner of her eye.

He doesn’t look at her, only rubs his thumb along her palm, him biting his other nails.

“We can turn the cameras off whenever we want. You told me that. You!” She pats a finger against his chest, her words coming out as whines as it became increasingly harder for her to hold herself back from crying, seeing her best friend struggling so bad. “If that’s what it’ll take for you to talk to me then I can make that happen.. Or we can go talk somewhere else like my room at home or something I don’t know, I don’t care I just..” She pauses a moment to take a deep breath.

“Because I know it’s not the cameras Rafe.. You wanted to do this show, you were actually excited about it, you told me that! But it’s those little moments where your smile slips that I can just tell that you’re not okay but if I ask you just push it off.. I just..” Her eyes well up as a tear slips down her cheek, “Your my best friend Rafe!!!” She cries out, lips pouted and wobbly as she tries to speak, “I- I can’t act like there’s nothing wrong just because I know you won’t tell me. I want to know what’s wrong so I can.. I don’t know, talk about it or hold you or something!! Just.. it hurts me Rafe and I want to be able to help you.. please..” She pleads out through her teary voice, her throat drying as she tries to steady her breathing.

Rafe turns away, not being able to keep it all in as he lets go, tears running down his plush cheeks; trying to wipe them away but it not stopping more from forming.

Bella sits beside him, pulling him into her arms as she pats his head lightly, “It’s okay.. I got you..” She rests her head to his own as her hand grazes his hairs against the back of his neck.

He begins to sob; choked up breaths falling from his lips as he gasps for air, soaking Bella’s top in salty tears as he grips onto it with his spare hand.

“I just don’t know what to do.. I can’t do it anymore Bells.. I’m trying.. I’m fucking trying my best..” He chokes into her chest, causing the girl to squeeze her eyes shut, tears falling from her cheeks as she sniffles, trying to hold together for him. Her grip on him tightening without even realising as she pulls him as far into herself as she possibly could not wanting to let go.

“I know you are Ray I know.. and I am so unbelievably proud of you.. but you can do it..! You can I know it.. you’re the bravest and strongest person I know Rafe.. but it’s okay to feel stuck sometimes.. and that’s what I’m here for okay..? I’m here for those moments when you feel like that..” She kisses his head, her fingers running circles along his neck.

“Fuck I need you Bells.. every damn day I feel like without you I’m gonna fuck up and I want to die.. you’re the only person I’ve ever cared about and I.. your the only reason I’m even still here..” His voice was barely hearable as he pushed his face into the soft material, muffling his cracked words; tugging on her top firmly.

“Rafe..” She managed through a gasp of inhale, tugging lightly at his hair as his words cut deeper than intended.

“No I.. it’s a good thing..” He raises his head, glassy eyes already filling again as his cheeks glistened in the moonlight, “I just.. I never wanted to put that pressure on you.. so..”

She blinked at him, “So you never talked about it..” She nods along, finally understanding everything clearer now.

He merely nods; breaking down once again, chest heaving as he tries keeping it back.

Bella’s brows furrow, her eyes welling at the sight of her best friend struggling so hard; she reaches for him, “Hey no let it all out..” She pulls him back into her chest, lightly rubbing his back as she rests her head to his, “It’s okay I got you..”

He falls back against her, squeezing her like she was his only lifeline, like she was the only thing keeping him grounded anymore. He sniffles, “I’m so sorry..”

Bella’s emotions immediately cut short, face contorting in confusion, “What-“

“For everything.. for always pushing you away.. for-“ He cuts her off but she felt herself aching from his words.

“Rafe-“ She tugs at his shirt trying to get him to sit up as she almost begs him to stop.

“Treating you like shi-“

“Rafe!!” She cries, “Stop apologising! For gods sakes Rafe none of this is your fault.. why else do you think I’m still here?? Your dad’s an asshole, your friends are shit, your sisters hate you. Rafe I understand.. so much more than you’ll ever know.. I understand.. don’t you ever go apologising to me again for shit that wasn’t your fault..”

He stops talking, only squeezing his grip tighter as he nuzzles his face into her skin of her neck. “Bella..” He whispers against her skin.

She hums in response, focusing on comforting him as her head rested gently against his whilst her hand caressed the back of his head.

“How do I make it stop..?” He pleads hopelessy, almost begging for the answer, “How do I make the pain go away.. it hurts Bells..” He chokes out in a tear-driven whine, “And.. and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do..” His arms wrap around the girl tightly, digging his face deeper into her skin, “I don’t know what to do anymore..” He croaks, his face hidden in her shoulder.

“I..” Bella searches for an answer but nothing comes to mind as she stutters, “I.. R-Rafe all you can do is push through.. and I- I’m so sorry to say that.. we can get you checked out or you can speak to a therapist maybe.. if I could take it all away Ray you know I would.. I’m so sorry.. I- I feel so useless..” She cries, resting her head onto his, her eyes pushing into his strands as she holds him tightly.

He merely shakes his head, silence falls as they just sit there, she lets him cry it out, letting out small ‘its okay’s and ‘I’m here rafe’s whilst stroking his head, and cuddling him for comfort.

After they both calmed down Rafe sits back up, taking a minute to process his thoughts before speaking. “Bells, you ever um.. You ever had to make like a really tough decision..?” He kept his voice low as he lifted his knees to his chest, he eyes sat on his hands that wrapped around his legs.

Her brows dip as she looks up at him, her hand snaking round his leg as she gently caressed it, “What’re you on about Rafe?”

He shrugs, “Just like you know.. having to do something that’ll affect the way people view you.. How people really close to you see you..”

Bella grew more confused, yet concern fuelled her expressions as she glued her eyes to Rafe’s, “Rafe what’s going on?”

“Nothing just wondering..” He mumbled, leaning his head against his knees.

However Bella persists, “Rafe whatre you being made to do? What’s the decision?” She runs her fingers through his hair, her words causing him to sit up.

“It’s not important Bells..”

She jerks a brow, her face scrunching, “Yes it’s important Rafe! Everything you do is important to me!!”

His eyes widen, finally meeting hers before a sigh falls from his lips, “Bella I’m serious..! I don’t ask a lot from you but please just don’t worry about this a’ight..?”

“But Rafe-“

“No buts Bella! I’m fine..”

She watches him. Watches as his ocean eyes wonder the sky, as his fingers intertwine and pick at one another, as his hair gently shifted in the breeze.

Frowning, she shakes her head, “Rafe..” His attention moves back to her, “You know um.. I have to continuously make the tough decision of staying with Cal everyday.. I don’t know everything that goes on with him. You don’t know everything. No one will.. I don’t want to leave him on his own but I also can’t let myself be treated this way. So I choose to stay anyways because I know I have you.. And if I chose to let him go, I know he’d be alone. And that’s not fair.. There you go.. yes is your answer. Everyday. You’re not alone Ray you never will be.. I promise, okay? Whatever it is you have to decide, I’ll be here. Right by your side through the whole thing. I promise..” She reaches out a hand to squeeze his own.

His eyes glaze her face, admiring her features; her soft plump lips, her brown chocolate eyes, her rosy cheeks that glistened from tears she cried for him.

He sighs, knowing that this decision, if he makes the wrong choice then she won’t be by his side. She can’t promise because she doesn’t know what she’s promising. And if he chooses wrong, they might never see each other again. She understands how hard it is, but she doesn’t understand how much harder it’ll get after he’s made his decision. And yet it’s one he’s going to have to make.

He shuts his eyes a moment, pushing away his thoughts before removing himself from the pool chair. Reaching out a hand to take hers he plasters on a smile, “C’mon Bee let’s go to bed..” She smiles back softly, nodding along to his words as her hand grips tightly around his fingers, not arguing back about the fact he wants to end the conversation.

He takes her upstairs, them both embracing one another in the warmth of his bedroom as they fall asleep tangled together. Neither one of them knowing how much each other needs it at this moment in time.

Thank you so much for watching this episode of Keeping up with the Camerons! I know it was a long one but there was so much that had happened today that we didn’t want anything to go unseen! See you again soon to join Rose on her motherly duties and maybe some comfort to today’s happenings..

Next Episode Here

It’s 12:30 AM so I’m not wrong in saying it’s already the next day 🤷‍♀️🤭 oops..

BUT HOPE YOU ENJOYED 💕

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