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leclsrc · 9 months

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more than anyone ✴︎ cl16

genre: childhood friends to enemies to lovers (a mouthful), smut, humor, Fluffff!!!!, angst

word count: 13.7k

You moved out of Monaco at fourteen with an unrepaired friendship hanging by a thread. Ten years and a whole lifetime later, you’re forced to work with him confront it all over again.

auds here… hi hi hi!!!! HAPPY 4k to us guys!!!!! i am so insanely thankful for all of u and i will make this a longer note when i wake up tomorrow because i have so much to say but have this for now. i hope u like it,i love love love u guys forever also i changed the banner because i wanted to

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, semi public sex, praise central, size kink (pretty tame smut in auds world)

You know it’s bad when your assistant-and-friend-aka-friendsistant (her vernacular) Rachel walks in with a free coffee without a quip about how dependent you are on this exact order of coffee (she’s a millennial, so caffeine and lack thereof are in her arsenal of Funny Jokes). You fear you didn’t correctly anticipate just how bad it was going to be when she stays instead of leaving to work on your schedule, combing a few fingers through her fringe and sitting herself on your couch stiffly. Maybe you’re intuitive, maybe you spend too much time with Rachel and you can spot the way she scratches at her eye, maybe both—but it’s bad.

You don’t take a sip from the Starbucks that sits idly on the coaster, opting to watch the latte sweat instead. You do stare, though, at Rachel’s stagnant posture, scrutinizing her every movement. She takes a few deep breaths and drops the bomb.

“David sent me to tell you he has good news. But there is, um. Bad news.” Dread writhes through you at the mention of your manager with bad news, and you clear your throat to compose yourself.

“What’s going on?”

She purses her lips. “He’s on his way over here. Just…” She cocks her head sharply to the glass door of your home office, expression antsy. “Sorry. Wait for him. I can’t tell you anything yet.”

You take a swig from the pity coffee. “Am I getting blacklisted?”

“God, you dumbass, no—” She makes an incredulous noise, but before she can open her mouth to elaborate, your manager walks in with an excited expression on his face, pocketing his Juul to take a seat by your table. His smile is the radiant one of a man over forty with a comical amount of Botox.

“Rachel told me you had”—you stifle the adjective—“news.”

“That I do, yes.” He hums, tracing the edge of your table. “Did you enjoy Paris Fashion Week?”

Beside the brash Frenchmen, God-awful timezone differences and consequent calls at half past three, hungover show attendances, posing for pictures until your ankles blistered, and a temporary diet of black coffee, cigarettes, and stale croissants—sure, it was fun. It was your job to attend anyway, your obligation to shake hands with important people and be photographed in designer clothing and benefit from the PR, but how often could people call work fun?

“Sure.” You take another gulp off your coffee. “It was… fun.”

“Well, since your movie’s doing well,” David pauses and hums, “how do you feel about another few weeks of fun?”

“Like Paris Fashion Week—weeks… this month?” You frown, eyebrows knitting together. Is this a new Vogue thing? You’re not sure how many updates they give the schedule, but you wouldn’t mind too much if you could travel again for a little bit. “So soon after spring? Did Anna want this?”

“Iiiit’s, er, Vogue’s new project. Capsule shows in Europe, coastal and summery. She wanted an exclusive guest list. She asked for you by name,” David says smugly. “Well, she called my office, granted. But to ask for you—”

“Are you fucking serious?” You stand up, and if you hadn’t had some fix of coffee you would’ve gotten dizzy. “David, tell me you’re serious.” Time seems to have suspended itself as you await his answer—which, if affirmative, would be a pretty big deal to you.

“Yeah, I am.” He plays off a grin. “She loved your movie with Greta, and would love to send you to Europe to do PR on a few shows and pair up with some guests on a couple features. Exclusive stuff.”

You sit back down, mouth slack. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe it.” Your eyes dart to Rachel, who’s caught between a smile and an awkward purse of her lips. “Fuck! This is huge, David.”

“Yeah—okay, yeah, it is.” David shifts in his seat and crosses, then uncrosses, his legs, then his arms. He stutters for a second. “Good and bad news, remember?”

You blink a few times. You’d nearly totally forgotten the fact that this good news—and it is overwhelmingly good—comes with a bout of bad news, so bad apparently that it’s noteworthy enough to state alongside this massive deal. But it’s. Fine. It’s whatever. Worst case scenario, you’re going to need to fucking swim to Europe sans oxygen canister.

“So… the shows? Events, and shit?” He watches, waiting for you to signal that you follow. When you nod, he continues, averting his gaze to the face of his Patek. “They’re all in Monaco.”

Wrong.

“Monaco.” You repeat, deadpanning your delivery. It’s not out of the ordinary, the glitz and coast of the city being a perfect venue for high fashion. But Monaco is different for you, vastly different, and you tend to avoid the place to the best of your abilities. “Monaco. Are—you’re sure?”

“Mmm,” he hums in affirmation. “I know, I know you’re not exactly privy to Monaco because, bleh, childhood shit, whatever. But this—like you said, this is huge! And I don’t think we should jeopardize that.” He pulls a piece of paper from the folders tucked in his arm and waves it around.

“Well—yeah, I suppose. I’ll deal with it.”

“Yeah.” He sucks his teeth, eyes gliding over the scenery of L.A. that your window offers. “Okay, that’s it, so. Byeandhaveagoodlunch.” He slams the paper onto your desk, jostling you a little, but as he makes his exeunt, Rachel raises her arm to stop him.

“Is that it, David?” She asks, an edge to her voice.

You pick up the paper as they make hushed, stifled conversation, and find that it’s a call sheet of sorts, listing all the collaborators traveling to Monaco and what or who they’re in charge of, or paired up with, there. Models, athletes, celebrities, influencers—all making TikToks, or appearances, or brand deals, or interviews, or YouTube videos, the whole shebang.

“Yeah,” says David dismissively—nervously? “That’s it.”

You search for your name. “Okay. Um, hey.” Rachel turns to you, trying to catch your eye, which is busy scanning the sheet. “Did, um—did David mention you’re paired up with Charles Leclerc for a feature? Because you are. Paired up with Charles Leclerc for a feature, I mean.”

David sucks his teeth. “Thank you very much for graciously reminding me of that, Rachel.”

Still half-distracted and growing increasingly worried with the exchange happening in front of you, you make haste in your search—eventually, you find your name, printed in plain letters beside one you’ve wished to never read over ever again.

“Wait, my Charles?” You pause and look up, suppressing a yell as your eyes widen, and you blunder over a pathetic self-correction. “I mean—no, sorry—Charles, as in Charles Leclerc? I can’t work with him, you know this!”

“Wh—well, Vogue apparently wanted a really good Monaco-born pair and they seriously lucked out on you two. Also,” Rachel says, adamantly defending herself, “you’re always saying you can work ‘with anyone’!” She raises two comically vigorous air quotes to further her (moot) point.

“I didn’t ev—I never say that,” you lie straight through your teeth, mouth dry. You definitely do. You can place all the exact moments. “I would’ve known if I did. Rach—David—I cannot, absolutely cannot work with Leclerc. He’s my… we…” You shut your eyes and sneak two fingers upward to massage your temple, slowly caving into defeat.

David makes an oh well face and shrugs passively. “Fine. Then it’s either Anna Wintour’s special job that will help the Academy campaign or not meeting the ex-bo—”

“—friend.” You look up to cut him off, eyes narrowed. “Ex-friend.”

“Alright, kid. Suuuure.” David leans against the back wall of your office as Rachel comes to comfort you, her eyes already sympathetic and droopy. It shouldn’t be so bad, right? She asks sweetly, nudging the latte closer to your catatonic figure. You have seen him since, anyway.

With a despondent gaze, you just remain silent, refusing to state the negative aloud, opting to stare at the latte. At your disagreeable silence, Rachel continues, tone anxious: You have seen him since. Right?

You moved out of Monaco at fourteen, right after the school year finished and your father had gotten the opportunity to transfer out. The whole thing would’ve—should’ve, even—been a sentimental affair, full of tears and dramatic caresses of your bedroom wall, whispering thank yous to the city air in French and Italian, but it wasn’t. Months prior, you’d been preparing yourself for this kind of goodbye; but when it came to it, you merely kissed your extended family goodbye and slept en route to the airport, silk sleeping mask pulled taut over your shut eyelids. The only thing you left in the city was a letter written only to Gi and Cha about how much you’d miss them, with your email address scribbled at the bottom for an added touch, in case they felt like sending you longer messages.

“Do you two at least get along?” David asks, noting how genuinely aghast you appear.

“It’s not that simple.” You tap a nail against your desk a few times. “But I think it’ll be fine. I hope, at least. We used to be… good friends? As teenagers.”

You feel like an alien hearing yourself talk about it, talk about him and the whole circumstance a decade later. Your friendship with Charles was the only thing that mattered to your adolescent self, all lemonade stands and long car rides and stealthy conversations about your futures (racing and acting, respectively). It was happiness, in what you consider to be its truest form, it was lovely and real. And it ended abruptly, no goodbyes, no nothing.

“So it’s a no.”

“I’m just saying it’s impossible for me to work with him, and in Monaco no less?!” Your eyes are wild with frustration and anxiety at the prospect of your past whipping you in the face, full-fledged. “I don’t even talk about the guy or the city, how can I spend time with him there?”

“Are you seriously going to junk this amazing fucking opportunity just because of some petty childhood fight?” David’s tone is comparable to that of a dad’s, scolding and horrified, almost. “Look. If you don’t take this, career-wise, it doesn’t mean much. You get paid a shit ton, you’ll survive—you’ll do well. But emotions-wise? Maturity-wise? Be the bigger person and do it—I mean it.”

You stare back at him because you know he’s right. “Maybe it won’t be a big, long feature?” Rachel offers as some advice, some comfort. “If you reject it, his team will know, and so will he.”

And yes, you were fourteen, and yes it was petty and unexplainable even for fourteen—but there was a catalyst to all of this, a reason why the move became easy and forgetting childhood memories became second nature. A reason why you’re selective with who you make contact with from home. A reason why Giada and Charlotte are selective with topics they choose to bring up with you.

So, fuck it, really. That’s how you end up in Monaco, booked for the next three weeks, sharing a studio and public appearances and a 24-hour shoot with the last person you’d ever want to be in a room with. Ten years later—the person still is, and no doubt will always be, Charles Leclerc.

—

“MAMAN!” Charles’ voice was loud, loud, and so incredibly loud. You followed not far behind, legs running at full speed to try and leap onto his lanky figure and wrap an arm around his head to quiet him. It’d been futile: he ended up at the dining table facing his family with a victorious smile on his pink face. He breathed heavy, waiting for everyone to turn their attention to him.

“Charles,” you chimed in warningly, breathing even harder with the effort you had exerted to chase him from the sidewalk to here. “Don’t.”

“Guess who got the lead spot in the recital.” He slowly turned to point at to your angry face, and then bent, rifling through his already messy, grubby knapsack for something that he raised with glee: a headress that read…

“But-ter-cup.” Hervé sounded amused when he looked at your fuming expression. “You?”

“Yes, Papa! Maybe, just maybe,” he sing-songed, using the term wrong yet again, “she got the titular role!” He walked over to you and placed the headress square on your head, beaming.

“There is no titular role in a school recital,” you seethed, burning with embarrassment. Your stellar academic record had apparently granted you incentive to be centre stage during the routine year-end recital, where years were lumped into twos or threes (in your and Charles’ cases, Years 8 and 9) and the student body would dance or sing a variety of teacher-selected music.

In your case, it was Build Me Up, Buttercup, complete with choreography you’d be practicing over the next month and a half. Charles laughed at your pouting expression, didn’t stop laughing even when you’d both sat down and twirled through forkfuls of spaghetti, didn’t stop chuckling even when Lorenzo got the turn to speak and he started talking about how Bringing Up Baby was his movie of the month.

You allowed him to laugh—even laughed yourself at some point—because all day, you’d been absently wondering how you’d break the news about your moving away to him.

—

Charles is not okay. He’d gotten off a red-eye from a short vacation stint, and now he’s back in Monaco, sleepy and a bit jetlagged, being briefed on brand deals and press junkets he has to accomplish by three p.m. today. “On the dot, sharp,” said his assistant, like the two didn’t just mean the same fucking thing. He’s patient, though, smiling through the exhaustion, through the dressing room, the tape around his waist and legs to measure clothes for this fashion… thing.

“A meeting for Ferrari, two TikToks, a vlog for your personal YouTube channel, three stories by noon… oh, and in the next few weeks, you’re going to film a Vogue-sponsored 24 Hours With… with—”

“D’accord, thank you,” he cuts in, already exhausted from the spiel alone. He’s a professional; no matter what people believed or what gossip rags liked to say about him, he maintains a well-kept reputation of being polite and kind to people he works with. Maybe it’s the jetlag, maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the heat outside, but today he just wants to close his eyes and sleep for days.

But the assistant follows, clipboard and Excel sheet and all, still spouting all his media obligations lest he forget (and mark his words, he definitely will). “Sorry,” he says. He’s new, probably assigned as a part of the Vogue team, lanky and tall and nervous looking. “I’m new. I’m Greg.”

Briefly, Charles is left alone to stare at his tired reflection while the assistants reconvene and connect. There’s several of them, each assigned or already committed to a different celebrity. Charles should know more details, but there’s only so much reading of a call sheet he can do before he’s conked out on Ambien; he trusts he’ll be around people much more famous than he is, probably American or English, actors and athletes alike. He’ll figure it out.

Yeah, she’s almost ready. Is Charles here? One of the assistants says, a bright-eyed American. They need to be introduced before 11. Her voice is quiet, quick and hushed, and Charles has to focus to hear what she’s saying. Greg chips in with something he can’t decipher; in response, the American whispers, Yeah, I’ll get her to sign it for you. Bring Charles out in five.

In five, he is indeed being brought out to the lobby of this hotel; the outdoor area is decked out with models, cocktail tables, Vogue signage and a carpet for pictures. It’s even busier inside, wait staff and event coordinators conversing in angry, aggressive French—table settings, mineral water, extra forks are needed. Greg keeps a steady pace transporting Charles through the indoor throng, and at 10:59, Charles is outside, by the pool.

“Um, right, yeah. Okay, uh—wait here. Your partner—not really partner, but like, mate? Fuck, definitely not. Um, partner. She’s on her way heeere…” He checks his phone. “Okay. You caught her name, right?” Charles nods to fend him off. “Okay. So, wait here.”

There are cameras taking pictures of him when Greg departs, some microphones waved his way; in the distance he spots fans waving crazily, sporting Ferrari merch. Charles is doing what he’s told (waiting, maybe posing a bit) when an even bigger crowd appears, surrounding one person; with their arrival, ameras click even faster, and an uproar follows. Greg waves him over, pointing at the person frantically, so Charles smiles, extends a hand, and when the crowd parts—

There you are, in all your glory. Pink dress, hair clipped into a bun, a tanline on your exposed skin, lithe hand coming up to shake his. Your eyes are flat but the lack of expression doesn’t inoculate them from beauty; they remain sparkling and pretty all the same. Cameras snap the interaction, seemingly innocent, seemingly the first.

He fights, he really does, to keep his hands shaking yours. He forces himself not to hug you, press a kiss to your cheek even if that might look friendly, caress a hand across your cheekbone, brush the tendrils of hair out of your eyes. It’s a valiant effort.

A valiant effort that pays off because, as soon as you’re ushered into a room by yourselves, your smile turns into a scoff; your hands are kept to yourself, slipping a pair of sunglasses on, and; underneath them, your eyes begin to roll. “I need a drink,” you huff, not even looking at him.

You’re on two couches opposite each other, in what he assumes to be a foyer to a hotel room that’s much bigger than the one he was in earlier. A-list fame and that. The girl he’d seen earlier scurries off, mumbling something about a martini. Greg, beside him, goes: “Do you need a drink, too?” But he shakes his head.

“Are you voluntarily working for this guy, Greg?” You refer to his assistant by name, offering a sarastic, honeyed smile. You adjust the strap of your dress and he blinks his gaze away.

“Oh, no. I mean—yeah. Kind of. I was assigned to him.”

“It’s okay, I don’t expect you to do it of your own will,” you joke, crossing your legs.

Charles laughs dryly. “Who asked?”

“So he speaks…” You ping off his retort without missing a beat, a sardonic smile playing at your lips.

“In the two minutes we’ve been around each other, you’ve insulted me and my assistant. I’d prefer silence, your highness.”

“Aww, did my joke and asking Greg a question piss you off?” You suck your teeth. “You must be fun at parties.”

“Do you two, um. I don’t want to, like, overstep, but do you know each other?” Charles notices that Greg’s forearm is signed by you and realizes he has no allies here, with an inward grimace. “Or if you don’t, like, are you two just… not in good moods or something?”

The girl comes in then, saying here’s the martini and catering you a sweaty glass with a smile. You offer up the empty space beside you, patting the white leather for her to sit down on. Your eyes meet his again briefly, catty and a bit challenging, before you turn back to the girl. “Sit.”

Maybe Charles spends too much time with Max, because he’s starting to become more and more inclined to getting the last word in lately. “Bossing people around, eh? Fame really does change you.” He offers a smile of his own.

“She’s my assistant, Rachel,” you say sweetly, but your smile is gritty. “We need to check my schedule.”

He wants to slap himself. “Too busy to open your calendar?” Nevermind, he’s a god.

Your sarcastic smile drops. “And what’s on yours? P6 this week, P7 next, DNF after?”

Fuck. The tension is so thick at this point, it’s almost steaming hot. Both the assistants stare at you, waiting for Charles to wedge something in, but he bites himself back. Thankfully, right as the silence just begins to settle like oil on water, the door swings open and one of the coordinators steps in, noisily rattling off the week’s plans and proclaiming you’re both free for the remainder of the day before things pick back up—Schiaparelli show at noon, both of you, front row—tomorrow.

The four of you filter out of the room, and you make a quip about your autograph on Greg’s arm, which grants your assistant some face time with Charles. She turns to him, combing a hand through her hair and furrowing her thick eyebrows. “Hey, I’m Rachel, by the way.”

“Charles.”

“I know,” she says sheepishly. “Listen. I know you two have history, she—we—she’s, um, told me about it before. I don’t know the whole story, and I’m not… like, I’m not saying I do, so I respect it, whatever it is. But I hope you can find it in you to work with her properly. It’s a huge gig for you both. So—yeah, uh. Great job, and good luck.”

She smiles with a nod before exiting the room, leaving Charles alone and stirring with thoughts and memories woken from wild unrest.

—

“Alors,” Charles had said, not turning from his position in front of your vanity mirror. He’d been picking at his face, stopping only when you tsked at him not to. “What is the problem?” His eyes flicked over to you, your lying figure on the bed exhaling little puffs of frustrated air to the ceiling. “Are you missing the recital?”

“Quoi? Non.” You gnawed at your lip, accepting your defeat. You couldn’t lie for much longer, not when you’d been keeping this under wraps for two months. “Listen. Charles.” He nodded, clearly preoccupied with something. “Charles.”

“Hmm?”

“Can you ple—look at me.” Your voice hardened.

He’d noticed it then, the curt cutoff of your voice, the absent look in your eyes. He knows you even through a mirror, even in the low light of your room. “Desolé. This pimple won’t go away.”

“Charles,” you said, groaning but allowing yourself to laugh. “Listen.”

“Okay.” He turned to face you, a spot on his chin red from how long he’d been scratching at it.

You shrugged then, suddenly scared to deal with the realness of it all. You didn’t understand why you felt so torn. “It’s something to do with me,” you said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m moving.” You rubbed at your nose, the cold draft coming in through the window causing you to sniffle. “Out of Monaco.”

A beat. “What?”

You closed your fingers around your necklace, scratching absently at the divots of the pendant. One, two, three little dips in the gold locket, tiny but comforting. “Yeah. In a few months, like, after school. It’s Papa—his job. It’s a whole thing.”

“Europe?” You shook your head. America.

“What… well, what does that mean, then?” His expression didn’t waver but if anything did, it was his eyes—desperate, seeking more answers, wanting them with a guttural, belly-deep desire. You’re his best friend, so if he has to let you go in this life, he at least needs to know everything about the move.

“We’ll keep in touch,” you reassured, kicking your leg to further your point. “You were bound to get busy with karting anyway, so it’s like. Ça revient au même.”

“It isn’t the same,” he said, his voice thin and cracking.

“You’ll be fine.”

“You have a very misguided idea of who I am.”

“Shut up. Come off it,” you laughed, sitting up straighter. “We’ll call everyday, and I’ll meet all the famous people who’ll get me a real acting job, and I’ll come for the holidays or summer or something. Things won’t change. Not that much, at least.”

“Maybe, just maybe.” He pauses. “Will you be here for my birthday, at least?” He’d made a big deal all year of his turning sixteen on the sixteenth.

“Charles,” you sighed.

“No, yeah. I get it.” He looked down, rubbing his thumbs together, like he’s just been hit across the face. He will tell you one day it felt infinitely more painful than that. But at the time he shook his head and looked up at you, reached his pinky to yours, a thin slip of paper around the finger that matched your interlocked one, and didn’t say anything else.

Just: “We’ll be okay.”

—

You could pin a lot of adjectives on Monaco: picturesque, without a doubt; warm, glamorous, but you’d sooner die than pin the word home over it. The city is sprawling even with the little surface area it possesses, and only few things seem familiar. Your lodging is a hotel in Monte-Carlo, a penthouse suite that requires you to travel very little. It feels like a vacation.

And you embody the role of a vacationer very well—the first five, six days of your stay in Monaco went great, mainly appearances that lasted a few hours at most and several junkets to promote Vogue and your latest film, before you were free to do whatever you wished. You’d gone the touristy route already: shopping more times than you could count, trying your immense luck at the casinos, and eating at Michelin-starred restaurants; eventually all the fun blurred into each other and you found solace in naps instead.

Your troubles are not far behind, however, and they finally come after you on Day 7. The event coordinators had informed Rachel, who in turn informed you, that the first of next week’s agenda would be a photographed tour of the Musée Océanographique de Monaco, a grand seaside building right at the edge of the water. Today is, apparently, a day for you to “fraternize with” Charles, which meant you would once again need to put a façade over your less-than-kind appearance toward him.

Those are the concluding words of David’s very firm text, encouraging (read: coercing) you to settle things with Charles into some approximation of civility. You resolve things by calling him to skip over the awkwardness that comes with texting. It takes you all of twenty minutes and twice your body weight in courage to press the green telephone button.

“B’jour,” he goes, his voice quick. French people (he will hate that you called him French, even if it was just in your head; you relish in this) always talk rapidly. After some silence, he clears his throat: “Hello?”

Butterflies—some form of them, whatever—flutter in your stomach. “It’s me.”

He drops formalities and adopts a disinterested voice. “Huh. What do you want?” The butterflies have rotted to death.

“I need to talk to you.”

“To insult me again?” He sounds a little amused even over the phone, a breath of laughter landing in your ear. “Bah, I get it. We are enemies. You have no interest in reconnecting, et cetera. C’est tout ce que tu as à dire? I gotta go.”

Your face warms at his accusatory tone. “Wow, leave it to a guy to be charming, huh?”

“Why should I be charming with you?”

“At least be polite,” you taunt, but your voice lacks its usual edge. On the other line, Charles lets his own defiant tone ebb downward.

At least be polite. It’s the least he can owe you after ten years of forgetting. It wasn’t as if you two had a mutual agreement then, in 2013 when you moved away, to stop becoming friends. For months before you moved out, he completely stopped talking to you, like he’d forgotten you two were even connected, were even friends. What little words you two shared became petty and abrasive, and suddenly Monaco lost its color. The closeness you had with him, which for so long you’d convinced yourself was once-in-a-lifetime, was ripped from you, robbed from you—by him, no less, which hurt all the more. You’d given up on finding out why at some point. You waited for him to reach out. Maybe, you told yourself, just maybe, it would take a few months, a year.

Ten years of radio silence. He owes you that: politeness.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say to nobody in particular, in an effort to segue into the topic of your choosing. “Look, we’re supposed to be friends. In… on camera, at least. It’s disastrous if we look like we, you know, hate each other. We need to be professional.”

“For the cameras,” he says back, solemn.

“Yeah.” You wind a finger through your hair. “Just… for the sake of civility.”

You hear his little hums of consideration. “D’accord,” he says after a few minutes. “Truce, then.”

“Sure.” You smile a little. “I have to go.”

—

You were halfway through your mess of clothes when your mum peeked through your door, her hair held back by a headband. “Call you yet, poppet?”

“Non,” you said, decimating your voice to a monotonous murmur. You looked up from the dress you’d been folding and offer a half-hearted, sardonic smile. “Je t’ai dit qu’il ne le ferait pas.” You were right: he wouldn’t call. What difference did a month make, anyway? This time, though, the usual victory of being right settled into an ugly disappointment in the pit of your stomach.

You wanted so badly to be wrong. To clamber to the telephone, to your Skype, to your cellphone, any of the three, and see his name flashed across the helm or his voice in your ear. Maybe he was dialing your number now, to ask if you wanted to grab dinner after the year-end recital, or to update you on karting, or to tell you Pascale wanted lunch.

She could tell, as all mothers can, that you’d been upset. The knit in your brows that didn’t go away, the bottom lip being chewed, the tight clutch of your fingers over the already-folded dress. She sighed. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s fine.” Your voice came out sharper than you intended and you have to roll it back, recede it, to sound more relaxed, more at ease. “It’s… fine. I’m fine.” She knew better than to pry, closing the door softly to continue packing up the living room.

You heaved a dry sigh to express the nausea that came with his absence. It began a month ago, two days after you first told him about it and poked at the zit on his chin. He’d buried his head in your shoulder until tears seeped into the cotton sleeve of your shirt, and you let him. You felt guilty, after all, for keeping it a secret for so long. You would leave in September, you told him. We have time.

Two days later he walked you home as always, on the “dangerous” side of the street, lanky legs skipping to the tree in front of your house. You pointed at the beginnings of clementines on its dewy branches, smiling, inviting him in, but he remained leaning against the trunk, playing with his mop of hair that covered his forehead.

“Bah, trop dramatique,” you said, poking fun. Lorenzo had showed you both some art house films he studied in class, and with the bout of French cinema, you and Charles had grown obsessed with making fun of overdramatic stills that often included the classic leaning-against-a-surface. “Come on, Mum made bouillabasse, I smell it.”

“We need to talk,” he eked out awkwardly. “I have something important to tell you.”

You dropped your knapsack, leather scratching against the concrete of the steps to the front door as you walked over to him. “Ouais?”

“I…” His lips moved, wobbled, but nothing left, so he shut them and his eyes, like he was considering something. His breathing slowed into one rhythm you find yourself unconsciously matching, just two kids looking at each other in the dusky breeze of Monaco, the orange sun casting shadows over the clementine tree. You closed your hand over his, a tight clamp over his knobby wrist with certainty. “I…”

“Say it.”

“I want to.” His eyes were shut. Exhale. Inhale, open. “I… I’m going… going home.”

You breathed out apprehensively and relaxed. “Oh.” You blinked. “That’s it?”

“Ye—ouais. Yeah. I gotta.” Already he was climbing to the gate, waving a half-hearted goodbye. “Save some for me, oui? Bye.”

“Charles,” you warned after him, voice tinged with concern. “That’s it, promise?” Your hand flexed around air.

“Cross my heart!” The last thing he ever said with any bit of something genuine.

—

You reunite with Charles at a meeting; under the guise of your truce, he makes the barely-necessary small talk. The rest of the staff file out of the restaurant in due time, but you both stay. You ask about Lorenzo and Arthur, leaving out questions you’d rather not listen to him answer, and he tells you they’re both alright. That his mum asks about you sometimes. That makes you smile. He asks if you’re still dating the guy you’d most recently been partnered with in Us Weekly.

“God, no. We never even dated, the… um, tabloids always make shit up.” You purse your lips. “Anyway. Is Lorenzo still in film?” You ask, turning your head a little. You don’t think you’ll ever forget his affinity for cinema.

“Not professionally, but I still sit through hours-long… you know, reviews, and stuff.” He laughs when he sees you laugh, eyes half-closed and meeting the ceiling.

“He introduced me to some of my favorite movies, especially when I got into acting and I was kind of… like, I wanted some inspiration, acting-wise. But not my actual favorite movie.”

“Which is?” He segues into a more personal topic. “Is it still Bambi?”

“Oh, it was, for the longest time!” You almost squeal with excitement. “Not anymore, though. It’s been dethroned, ha ha. I think it’s… I’d say it’s maybe Casablanca now.”

“How American.”

“Shut up.” Your face warms. “It’s so romantic. When he says—when he goes, um. We’ll always have Paris. And then, God—when Ilsa goes, I said I would never leave you—and Rick goes, And you never will… isn’t it so classic? Romance movies nowadays are—I, I, I… I get scripts sent to me that are just so bad, and they’re either too idealistic or too pessimistic, or too indie or too commercial, and.” You sigh. “It’s like nobody gets love right anymore.”

“Us Weekly disagrees,” he says weakly, after a period of silence.

“Stop,” you laugh warningly. “And don’t act like you’re not being paired up with different girls, too.”

For a minute you sit with the realization that you’ve both been keeping tabs on each other all these years, even just a little bit. It’s a bit jarring, it’s a bit warm, it’s a lot confusing. You make a move to ask for the bill but Charles is quicker, opens his mouth to implore your presence.

“Come see me tonight.” He says it like he didn’t mean to, like it escaped him on a whim, a blurted out confession born out of your memories and conversation. His voice is dreamy, faraway. “Earth to…?”

“Wh—sorry. Fuck.” You clear your throat and deduce your next words. “Where?”

“I’ll text you. A club, near your hotel.”

“Yeah… yeah, sure.” You hum an affirming noise.

—

Your name is on the list, though you’re sure it doesn’t matter whether or not it was. No ID is needed, and paps catch a bouncer being dispatched to guide you through the nightclub toward the elevated area with significantly less people. It’s low-lit, smoky, vaguely blue and purple, smelling of flows of alcohol and fresh ice. An Azealia Banks song is playing, pounding through your head.

Tabloids don’t care about nightclubs. They care if you come out drunk or with a smidge of snow under your nose, neither of which have happened to you; entering is fair game, a fun affair, especially in a district like Monte-Carlo. You don’t have any explaining to do, not even to questions like are you clubbing with your professional Vogue collaborator, Charles Leclerc?

The collaborator in question is the first to greet you, getting up and approaching you with a smile so obviously tense. The picture in front of him is like if he’d conjured up a forlorn fantasy of his to life—your hair fell loosely over black lace, a hand pinched around the hem of your dress. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“So.” He realizes he’s in charge of the socializing, and turns to properly introduce you. “Um, guys, this is my—friend—you already know”—he fusses over your name, which everyone in the world knows, anyway—“and these are my friends. Pierre, Alex, George, Lando, Daniel… you know Joris.” He points to each guy's face as he goes, eliciting a beam every time he gestures.

You wave with a polite smile before you station yourself beside the only one you know: Joris, with whom Charles shares a longtime friendship. He greets you first, with a side hug. “Long time.”

“Yeah, it’s been.” You watch him turn toward the low table, and back around with two shots, offering them to you with haste.

You thank the Lord that he makes quick, dextrous work of it, and before long you’ve downed a glass or three of some strawberry four seasons thing, socializing with the different people around the table. One of them, Lando, talks about your latest film for five whole minutes (“I rated it five stars on Letterboxd. I left a review, if you wanna see”) before he leans close and asks: “Are you his girlfriend?” His is obviously referencing Charles, and you pull back from the proximity to shake your head.

“No,” you holler to emphasize it. “We used to know each other. I grew up here.”

“Oh shit! Native!” He whoops, offering you another glass. This must be your fifth, maybe, fifth G&T or Cosmo or something or other of the night. You take it, drinking as you walk, planning to collect your bag to take with you to the bathroom—another hand takes yours, though, dragging you down the steps. Halfway through, you realize it’s Charles.

“How’s the drink?” He asks, brows straight.

“That’s all you wanted to ask?” You raise your voice above the bass. “Someone needs to teach you fucking… proper small talk.” A laugh involuntarily bubbles past your lips, eyes crinkling.

He laughs, too, despite himself. “Non, I was—I was just asking. We should—I brought you over here to—so we could…” He realizes he’s been talking too fast without getting to the point and pauses, resetting himself with a pinched sigh. “Dance.”

Your heart pulses. Dance? You hear yourself ask. For wh…Why?

“For the sake of the truce.” His voice is light. “We should try being closer.”

“We were close once,” you say, loose. “Did you forget?”

He’s looking right at you, and you’re warm all over. “How could I?”

It feels too real. Not the words—yes the words—but the alcohol, the alcohol is what you’re referring to, and all those shots and drinks suddenly seem not as harmless as they’d seemed earlier. You scan the periphery for the WC sign and try your best not to look deranged on your way there, offering the same pretty smile to recognizing passersby. Behind you, Charles calls out; but you wave him off, heaving dryly.

The restroom is clean because the nightclub is outrageously expensive; you push yourself into the available stall that’s in your direct path and crumple above it. You heave. Heave some more. Nothing comes. The nausea rises and recedes, so you decide to wait it out.

The bathroom door hauls open, bringing with it a few seconds of noise before it swings heavily onto the frame again, sealing the sterile silence. The momentary return of the bass from the dance floor sends your head spinning all over again and you freeze, willing yourself not to wind up hurling your guts into the toilet. It’s a futile effort, though, because you’re feeling nauseated beyond your limit again, and you need water and maybe a salve or something.

“This stall is open,” somebody says, a chipper American voice that grows in volume as it nears you. A gasp follows, and then: “Oh, my God. Are you okay?”

You turn, your face flushed and lips parted. “I’m so sorry. I just—I’ve been nauseous all night.”

“I have water,” she answers, reaching her arm outward, as if seeking it. “Carmen, the water!” A bottle of Evian is thrust into her hand by another girl (Carmen, you presume), and she doesn’t hesitate to bend next to you to feed it into your mouth. She stares for a second, then goes: “On the off chance I’m lucky, and you’re the famous actress, by the way, I just want to say I’m a huge fan of your work.”

Eyes wide, you lock eyes with her and pull away from the water. “Oh, God. Yeah, that’s me. I’m so sorry—this is so humiliating.”

“It’s not—it’s normal,” she assures, nodding. “We’ve all… y’know, puked into a club toilet before.” From the stall doorframe, Carmen nods. “What’d you drink?”

“Fruity stuff,” you recall, eyebrows knitting at the memory. “And shots.”

They both grimace at the same time, knowing the exact feeling, the exact taste, it seems. “Are you heartbroken or something?” Carmen asks; Lily shoots her a look that can only really mean don’t ask the world-famous actress if she’s heartbroken. But you laugh it off, shaking your head.

“No. There’s a guy, though, and he’s… we’re… it’s a lot. I think I thought alcohol would absorb all of it, but… clearly, it did not.” Your lips simmer into a straight line and you’re quiet for a few moments before remembering you’re on a dingy club floor being supported by two nice girls who are strangers. “Anyway! Sorry. I’m clearly, um, delirious.” You get up on semi-wobbly feet, swallowing the nausea as you go.

You walk to the sink, and behind your back, the girl and Carmen share a telepathic exchange (should we ask her to elaborate? Yes! Should we really? Fuck, no.) You rinse your mouth out, washing your hands and focusing on your reflection—your tired eyes, your smudged lip gloss, your fussed-up hair. You turn after rinsing, offering a small smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” says the first girl, offering her hand and a tube of lip gloss. “I’m Lily, by the way. And just so you know—I’m so sure that guy has nothing on you.” Carmen, beside her, nods in solidarity, and your heart blooms.

Your smile grows as your hand shakes hers, accepting the lip gloss. “You’re too kind. Thank y—”

“Lil? Baby, are you puking?” Comes a disembodied male voice from the door, ajar ever so slightly. Lily visibly cringes and walks over to the door, pulling it open further. On the other side—the detective of sorts—happens to be Alex, who you’d been introduced to a few hours ago. At the sight of you, his eyes widen with recognition.

“We’re fine. Leave us alone,” replies Lily in a conspiratorial whisper. “Carmen and I have a new friend.” She doesn’t even need to drop your name; your face alone is enough to make people recognize who you are.

Alex, however, refuses to admit defeat. “Try harder next time.” He pumps his eyebrows. “We were introduced earlier.” He looks up and waves to demonstrate his truth; when you smile back, Lily’s jaw drops as she turns to her boyfriend again, aghast.

“What the hell? How?” A pause. “No offense. It’s like. Two levels of fame, right there.”

He makes a pinched face. “She’s Charles’… friend? I don’t—coworker? Something, something. They were both vague about it. Actually, George and I were talking about it, and we both think something is up. With them.”

“Wait—you might be right.” Her eyes are hyperfocused, and her voice drops to a whisper for a second. “Let’s talk about it at the hotel.”

You and Carmen watch their hushed exchange, and eventually Alex leaves you three alone again with a loud goodbye, which allows Lily to rejoin your conversation. “Sorry,” she says with a smile. “That was my boyfriend, Alex. I didn’t know you two were introduced! He told me you knew Charles?”

“Oh.” Your shoulders relax. “Yeah, um. We knew each other as kids, but I moved away and we kind of—we drifted apart, so. I’m here on a business trip, and he’s just welcoming me.” You try to reduce the decade-long mess into a sentence.

“So you’re friends?”

“Yeah.” You feel like vomiting all over again.

—

The sky’s a searing blue at noon, silver clouds lining the horizon. Charles has to press a finger to the high point of his cheek to test if he’s sunburned from the heat, and the cameras catch it; he doesn’t doubt the fans will spin that into something cute later. You’re somewhere else on the property, this big, massive thing of a museum that’s crashed into by the waves.

He remembers Andrea first telling him about this whole arrangement. He and the team had deliberately left out any mention of you, like they could predict the immediate veto. He wonders if you knew, or if you, too, had been surprised when seeing him, a ghost of your past looking into your eyes. He wonders if you, too, are now in this endless emotional turmoil. Inside there’s a photoshoot ongoing, with you but also with some models in varying aquatic-related poses to convey the intent of the building; he’s done his share of pictures already, just needs to sit down with you for an interview.

“And a B-roll of you guys, um, like, walking, like—around?” Greg’s voice invades his head again, the nervous man beside him running through a to-do list like this is boot camp.

You’d left him hanging at the club—he couldn’t blame you though. A truce hardly called for the bringing forth of memories you two are now supposed to have buried beneath you. Memories he buried first. But alcohol had loosened him, and maybe you had, too, your eyes in the vaguely bluish light and your smile.

He wishes to apologize. He makes up some excuse and finds you nursing an Evian by a faraway corner, against a screen of stingrays. Your eyes widen when you see him, in recognition. He waves and then, with a thumb, gestures to the catering outside.

You end up by the water eating one of the caterer’s churros, a recommendation he deems “very special.” (“Have you worked with these caterers before?” “No.”) It’s also his excuse to cheat on his diet and eat a churro or three—chocolate dip included, always. You rave over the taste, smile, enjoy the view. Charles realizes this looks deceivingly like a date, and at the same time realizes he would not stop to correct someone if they assumed so.

“Our truce seems to be working.” You say in-between chews, voice flat but eyes bright.

“It seems so. I owe that to my personality.”

You really laugh at that. “I didn’t know you had one. It’s very fit for someone as unapproachable as I am.”

“Who said that?”

“No, noth—nobody.” You comb a lock of hair behind your ear. “Aw, putain. I’m ruining my lipstick. Pat’s going to kill me. I look awful.” There are no reflective surfaces around you to affirm your statement, but you sound so sure of yourself.

He smiles. He enjoys the illusion, the mask that you two seem to wear, albeit involuntarily. The chocolate syrup he squeezes on your little paper box of churros. The muttered back merci when he’s finished. Your flushed face, eyes darting from the delicacy to the ocean, eyelashes fluttering, lips smiling, curving into a laugh at some random realization. Briefly he imagines what he might tell somebody if they stopped to ask if you were dating.

Some old woman, French accent and short in stature. You two are so cute. Si mignon! And she would ask how you two met. Charles would tell her the story. But that is imagination. He blinks out of it and focuses on the beauty in front of him, so very real.

“No. You are very pretty, you know.” He says then, and it’s taken him all his nerves and then some just to wrangle it out of his mouth and past his lips. Anticipatory, he watches you, waits for your response.

You comb the hair out of your face messily, licking over the cinnamon sugar on your lips; then you smile up at him, turning your head in question. “Sorry,” you laugh, and his heart’s frozen because it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. “What did you say?”

The wind roars in his ears, so Charles barely hears himself when he says, stuttering, “What? Nothing, I said nothing.”

You make a face—confused, suspicious—but all your allegations quell once you bite into another churro, stepping yourself a path along the area. Having blocked off the building, production staff and models are all that populate your surroundings, big headphones and even bigger cameras, rolling around racks of monochrome and Hermés, Birkins to match Loro Pianas. It’s easy to get lost in a crowd—in a city—where everyone looks the same, and knows the other’s name. Perhaps that’s also why, even at fourteen, you were excited to leave, he thinks.

“The coast was always my favorite part about the city.”

He notices. The way your eyes have softened, become more fond than when you’re in the centre of it all, in the bustle. Here it’s busy, but less busy; the distinction, perhaps, matters. Your gaze is not one of distaste, of disdain. It’s nostalgic, homesick, yearning. He supposes he describes this gaze so well because it’s the way he catches himself looking at you over the week.

“I wanted to…” He trails off. “I wanted to talk to you because, ah. I’m sorry. It was foolish of me to put you on the spot last night. I should’ve been more… yeah. I’m sorry. I hope you’re okay.”

You stare at the sea and nod quietly. Instead of responding, you launch a story: “I always…” You’re clearly lost in a different sphere of thought, and you have to fall quiet while finding the right words to say. “I remember, um. In Year 3, we—I came here with my mum. And I was super mad, because I got, like, three mistakes on my Maths paper?” You laugh and he does, too, but more because your storytelling is so effortlessly enthralling and funny and he needs to shut himself up.

“Anyway.” You pace around again, and he follows. “So, I’m mad, and she’s trying to cheer me up, buys me glace and everything, but no. So I go sit myself on a random bench. It must’ve been around here, I think.” You look around and point at an empty area. “There. But it’s—they must’ve ripped it out. Whatever. So yeah, I’m sitting there, and moping, and all of a sudden All You Need is Love by The Beatles comes blaring into the entire area.”

Charles’ eyebrows knit confusedly. “What, the bench area?”

“No—the whole pier, I guess? Like, it was loud, I almost jumped. And then this guy comes in holding this huge—this, um, board? Sign? Poster? And he’s got half the pier in on his whole thing, and I’m totally… it was just… yeah.” You smile. It’s the biggest smile he’s seen on you since you got here and the fact that he’s even around to see it gets him all warm.

“So what happened?”

“It was a flash mob. You know those—yeah, they’re usually insufferable, but that one was a little calmer. Nobody was, you know, dancing and yelling. It was just a bunch of people cheering and all, and the guy was actually proposing to his girlfriend. It was so cute.” You sigh a little, a brief exhale of air, and it turns into a smile. “I’d love that.”

He raises his eyebrows and, despite himself, laughs. “Vraiment?”

You turn to him, ready to defend yourself, mid-laugh. “Heeey. Everyone says they find big, romantic gestures cheesy, but I think deep down, if you trust the person enough, you’ll like it. Maybe not a proposal, though—can you imagine the pressure?” You pause. “But I don’t know. There’s something so nice about just knowing that person loves you so much they think it’s worth it to share it to everyone around you. So even if it’s cheesy, I wouldn’t mind much. You?”

“It’s cheesy for me,” he disagrees, shrugging. “But I see your point.” Truth be told, he didn’t see you as a romantic type—but all he’s ever seen you do lately is work, and even back in childhood, all you ever did was study. He likes learning these little facts, ones you wouldn’t share in interviews—likes knowing you feel comfortable enough to share with him. “Dancing is a bit overboard.”

“Oh, definitely.” You throw your head back to laugh, eyes half-shut and crinkled and reflecting the sun. Would you look the same if he was dancing to The Beatles, proclaiming all the words he hasn’t had the courage to say?

—

Next question is who your first love was—we’re rolling in three…

“First love?” You laughed a little, facing the camera to continue your Screen Test interview with W. The questions had been candid and lovely, but they were about your career, which you answered with familiar ease. First love is different—uncharted, private territory. But you’d realized all this too late, and the director called go, and you let words spill out of you like a bag popped open.

“I want to be funny and witty and say acting, but that would be a lie. Um, my first love was a childhood friend. We lived near each other, our parents were friends, and I… I really did, I liked him a lot. But these—there were so many factors at tension with each other, like me moving away in 2013—that’s, what, six years ago now? And us being young and not really knowing how to communicate. When you’re a teenager, you’re kind of just like, oh, no worries, um, that’ll sort itself out, and then you grow up and look back and realize, these things never do. But I miss him a, a, a… a lot, and I think of him always.” Your smile didn’t reach your eyes when you looked at the camera again. “We learn a lot from childhood loves.”

Cut. Lovely. Just lovely.

“Thank you, Lynn,” you said with a small smile. A pause as silence creeps up onto the room, and then, quieter: “Could we omit that? I—sorry. I could answer anything else. First kiss, or something? I’m sorry, I just. Sorry.” For the first time in five years, you realize, you’ve conjured his memory again.

—

“Okay. What else do you remember?”

“I… do you remember the recital song?”

“Of course I do! The dance is… that’s a different story.” You’d been at Charles’ hotel room earlier to go over some video shoot regulations for a 24 Hours With video you’re doing in a few days. You stayed because—that’s beyond you at this point, and you’d rather not delve into the rationality of it all. You’re content with thinking about how nice this conversation is, a trip down memory lane.

“The dance, mon dieu, the dance.” He smothers a hand over his face, smiles fondly. “You were at the center!”

“Stop. Stop,” you protest, letting laughter settle into quiet. “It’s crazy, you know? How we… like, we share a life. Not—but like, we had a whole childhood together.”

“And nobody knows.” It’s not something you keep a secret on purpose—it’s just that neither of you feel like name-dropping the other. Some stories have surfaced, but none of you have fully commented. Somehow, that’s a good thing for you.

“Do people ask?”

“People ask, yes.” His accent is a reminder of your past—you’d once had the same thick wraparound, the loose reign over English you’ve now grown to master. Now your accent is a lot thinner, to the point where it’s barely perceptible, and if it is, your coworkers and fans call it cute, chic, use it as a jumping off point to ask where you grew up. But in this hotel room, legs folded underneath you and glass of wine in hand, you have no coworkers or fans, it feels like; no one to perceive you but Charles. Charles and his accent, nostalgic and so very his, which you wouldn’t describe as anything but home.

“What do you tell them, then?” Quickly, you add: “The truth, or…?”

“That we knew each other as kids,” he says, smiling absently. “That is the truth, no?”

You cover a smile with the rim of your wine glass, nodding. There’s no revisionist history in that statement, but it hides a lot of the truth, the nitty gritty of it. You know it, he knows it, you both know it. “What would you want me to say?” His voice is soft and thin and imploring, so different from the boisterous voice he uses in public, from the slurred voice you heard in the club. This sounds real. This sounds like a conversation you would’ve had years ago in your childhood bedroom before everything went—

“Nothing, that’s fine.” You cut your own reverie off, clearing your throat. You even laugh, to alleviate the tension, but he sees right through you so many years later. “Unless you’re privy to telling people how we didn’t talk for months before I left.”

He blinks, smothers a palm over his face again, and sighs, eyes meeting yours. “I’m sorry. I don’t—I… I’ve wanted to bring it up.”

“I’m not mad.” It’s a half-lie. “Okay, no—I am, a bit. It just—it would’ve been nice to hear it two weeks ago.”

“I know.” He doesn’t even need to say it, but him saying it sends a low thrum of reassurance in you. Charles has found, in the two weeks of being in your company, that he accomplishes a sense of self—a sense of quiet, a sense of privacy—when he’s alone with you. Perhaps it’s your natural ability to bring out the best in people, to talk and loosen tongues and make everyone around you feel safe. Or, and this is on a likely front, maybe he misses being one of those people.

He pretends he’s back to last week after another club rendezvous left you tipsier than the first time, dropping you off at your hotel room with two hands taut at your shoulders, one pinching a keycard. You’d been muttering something under your breath, stumbling as you went—you weren’t tripping too much, really; he didn’t need to hold you, but he told himself he had to—and leaning against the doorframe of your room, staring at him blankly. When he met your eyes, you said: maybe, just maybe. Just those three words. If he tries to remember right, you’d been smiling, but he was sufficiently tipsy, too, so he could just as well be wrong.

He does remember a few things right. The eyeliner smudged across your lower eye, lipstick smacked to a point where it looked like you wore none, beads of salt by your lip, your hand wrapped around your necklace.

The silence is anything but awkward; still, he resolves to break it. “When you were drunk last week.” He looks up. “You said—you kept saying, maybe, just maybe.”

A laugh escapes you, stilted and a bit nervous. “Oh. That was—yeah, okay.”

“What’s it mean?”

“You seriously don’t remember?” You’re laughing for real now, your hair bobbing with it, eyebrows furrowed to emphasize your confusion. “Oh, my God. Charles, it’s all you ever said in Year… what, 7? I don’t… anyway. But when we were maybe twelve, I…”

Momentarily, you’re stunned by the memories of him—you’d forgotten they were even there. You press a few fingers to your lips and clear your throat. “Sorry. Yeah, I, um—I think you heard it in a movie or read it somewhere, and for ages it was your favorite saying. Maybe, just maybe.”

“I don’t underst—”

“—You were always just saying it,” you cut in, laughing, your voices layering as you discuss the origin of his former favorite term. “No, you really—”

“I don’t—I do not ever remember say—”

“—Well,” you say, “I remember.” He stays silent for a few seconds, the intensity of your stare and the little smile on your face and everything beating down on him. For a split second he thinks of opening his mouth and getting on his knees and telling you everything, all the apologies, all the things unsaid in the months and years you became strangers. He seriously does. The pressure is almost physical, beyond overwhelming.

“I have to go.” You swallow the lump in your throat, disentangle your legs and clamber off the couch, setting the empty glass on his coffee table. “Good?”

“Yeah,” he says, blinking. “Yeah. Take care. Should I drive you?”

“God, no.” You laugh breathily. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He closes the door after you leave, stares at it, as if that will conjure you back to him. It occurs to him, jolts him almost, that he’d almost let slip a quiet utterance of love you as you slipped out. His stomach boils. With thankfulness over not having said it, he wonders—or with regret?

—

“Best friends now, are you?” Lily, Carmen, and Rachel look up to the sound of your voice, their serious faces breaking out into smiles. If you could chart the time you spent here, there are definitely people you’ve spent the most time with—these three are at the top of the list. You hang your coat and drop your Chanel bag on the entryway seat, already picking up on the British noises of Love Island UK from the telly.

“Wait, so she’s hooking up with him?” Lily asks, confused; her train of thought is cut off by your flopping onto the bed. “Hiiii. Where’ve you been?”

Muffled by the bedspread: Charles’ place.

Silence. The television switches off and you hear the precarious preparation of three girls readying themselves for a debrief-or-sobfest of a lifetime, a noise you’ve heard and partaken in countless times over your life. You suddenly feel too watched, too spectated; you break the quiet by looking up, displaying your tear-streaked face.

“Talk to us,” Rachel encourages, her voice raspy with unuse (Love Island will keep one occupied and quiet for hours on end). Three of them are touching you in some way or other, reassuring grips on your hair or shoulders. “Did you two fight?”

And, oh Christ, fight? It’s not like you’re dating. You aren’t even halfway to that (not that you want to be, but that’s a discussion for another time). The idea of a fight with him is so terribly juvenile, so horribly reminiscent of secondary school and Monaco and being together and being friends. You can’t fight with a guy who’s not your boyfriend. You can’t fight with a guy you’re not close to, for Chrissake. You squeeze your tears out of your eyes and breathe hiccups out.

“Do you want gelato?” No, no.

“Love Island?” In a minute.

The truth is, you want both, but you really just want to sort everything out with Charles. It was no use—hating each other was futile, but pretending everything was fine in some pathetic attempt at a “truce” seemed even worse. You just want to talk everything out, even if it excavates feelings you’d once been able to suppress.

“What kind of crush doesn’t disappear after ten years?” You ask through tears. It’s almost funny, but the question comes straight from the heart. “I’ve dated guys, lived across the world, started a whole new life pretending he never—pretending we were—fuck. Pretending he didn’t exist. It was—I’m not lying, it was easy, pretending. But one glimpse—I see him one time and suddenly it feels like all of it was in vain. It’s the same crush I had before, coming back, like it’s never going to leave me alone.”

“Maybe it’s not a crush,” says Lily, slowly.

“So what is it then?” You ask, hopelessly. What is this—this revival of memories? This little feeling, this sense that no matter where he is or what he’s doing, you’ll be just as in tune when you reunite even if it takes a decade? A decade spurred by months of being given the cold shoulder? What kind of magic is that?

She doesn’t answer, because you already know.

—

“Hey Vogue—I’m here with Charles Leclerc, and we’re here to take you along with us on all our little adventures here in Monaco.” Your smile is rehearsed, the perfectly-orchestrated blend of fun and serious, and when the cameraman calls cut, it falls into a more natural resting face. It’s the one Charles turns to and observes for any signs of a grudge.

The day is busy, which is precisely why it was chosen as the film day: three shows in the morning, press junkets for your movie and Charles’ season in the afternoon, and then a gala in the evening, hosted and attended by Anna Wintour herself.

The day’s business is only trumped by its tension, which reaches its crescendo in the janitor’s closet of the fourth floor of your hotel. It’d begun with a fight over the color palette, then a fight over last conversation you shared, then a fight over him fucking up the color palette, and then kissing against the door. Ironically enough, this floor houses a fair number of honeymoon suites.

It’s ironic beause hardly anything about this is or should be romantic—it’s a temporary fix, a pause from the turmoil, his hand squeezing your thigh. He’s gentle but you feel his possessiveness, lingering longer, higher and higher up until he’s playing with the high hem of your skirt. You knot your fingers in his hair, smell the shampoo and hairspray and cologne in the wispy curls there.

He kisses your jaw, then downward, until he’s licking, nipping at your throat. Charles.

“Yeah?” His voice is rough against your pulse point.

“Make it—we gotta—quicker.” Your hands tremble, heart hammering loud and bold in your chest. His voice is sure, gravelly, quiet, and you have to focus on something—so you centre on his hands, up your thighs and slipping under the lace of your skirt, bunching the fabric up around your hips. His hands, big and calloused, fingers resting on your hipbones, on your ass.

He’s hard against your thigh, straining against his jeans. You could cry. “I want more.”

“I know, baby. I know.” The pet name, so new but so natural, sends you into a dopamine rush.

You squirm when he doesn’t let up on his touches, over every inch of your body, groping you. He wants to take his time—he hates that he can’t—and counts on the possibility of a next time. You pull him in for a spit-slick kiss, needy and whimpering, sloppy and tongues knotted. It feels good—fuck, it feels like this was all you were ever made for, his touch.

You buck your hips into the air desperately. “We really—fuck. We don’t have time.” Cameras, a shoot, a video; reminders ring in your head like alarm bells. He nods, goes I know, and you pick up the strain in his voice as he tugs his jeans down just enough to rub his clothed cock under your entrance, hard and drooling through the fabric.

You moan softly. “Please, I can take it,” you breathe. You’ve never been this wet, this worked up, this teased. You need to feel him, be full of him; he presses you flush against the door with a hand at the small of your back to keep it from aching too much, and drops forward as he pushes into you. Your noses brush and he goes deeper, air thick and muffled with little moans and whimpers.

His mouth is against your jaw, thrusting slowly to get you used to the size of him. The angle gets you dizzy, draws a burst of wetness out and gets you clenching around him. You’re flushed and sweaty, moaning. Feels s’good. So good, Charles, so, so good. He fucks harder, the door rattling, dirty talk cooed from his lips to your ear: Yeah? Feels real good? You’re so good for me, baby, come on.

Your needy voice, needier movements, are driving him crazy, getting him to fuck you harder, licking over his lips as he watches you fall apart on his dick. Relax, he slurs. You squeeze around him and moan, wretched and raw. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re so big. You’re getting his dick wetter and wetter with every thrust, shiny and drooling with cum.

Yeah? He says it so well, the best kind of reassurance. Come on, we don’t have time, baby. Let me feel you cum.

I know— you whine. I’m cumming—it feels too good—

You cum first, thighs shaky around him and lip curling into your teeth. You lean forward, mouth to his shoulder, and bite at the cotton. Fuck, he grunts, and releases then, a groan spilled into your hair. You watch, laughing breathlessly, and feel the world click into something different.

You two will do anything, apparently, but talk this all through.

—

The gala is big and extravagant and you’re seated not with Charles this time, but with a roster of celebrities straight out of an LAX red-eye. Anna is at the table adjacent, andy you were able to talk to her about the experience, though not without leaving out bits with Charles in them.

You’re beside Florence and she’s talking about something, about a new movie she’s working on, and you chip in with jokes and laughs but your smile doesn’t really reach your eyes. You’re still caught in a web of fragile confusion. “I need to excuse myself for a moment,” you say after a while, after you’ve done nothing but smile and push broccoli puree around on your plate.

Consolation comes with isolation, at least tonight, at least right now. You find an empty balcony on the third floor, stare into the black sea. You try and try to remember what life was like three weeks ago, but it’s irrevocable now, the change that’s come since then. You tap the glass of your beer bottle against the marble banister, solid and probably expensive—a match for the rest of the hotel, you realize. It’s starkingly clean and smooth, and white, the kind of things you’d only say about a marble banister when you’re trying to avoid an adult introspection.

Behind you: “Are you okay?”

In response, you say, “We shouldn’t have had sex.”

Charles settles himself into a spot near you, not totally beside but not too far—he, too, holds onto a bottle of beer. There are fancier drinks around, but somehow the dry taste of ale is all that brings you comfort right now. Your gears turn and, without prompt or question, you spill yourself forth.

“It was hard, when you didn’t… when we didn’t talk, and you didn’t ever tell me why, so I didn’t know anything. I keep remembering it, even now, what—ten years later, ha ha, even after… I don’t know, after the fact. We’re supposed to have moved on from shit that happened to us when we were fifteen but I’m finding it to be the hardest thing in the world. It was so… like, I had no trouble saying goodbye to anything else but you. And I’m famous now, my life is a whole thing, a—this whole party, and I’m supposed to… fuck.” You shut your eyes, and you can feel, through the thick fog of embarrassment and delirium, the tears that stain your cheeks. “It’s like. You know when you’re a teenager and you see all of it in movies and TV, this, like, moment where you’re staring at someone from across a room, and you’re smiling and talking to other people and you’re happy because you know in a few hours, you’ll be with that person anyway? At home, rearranging furniture, feeding the dog, eating leftovers? That… I always thought you’d be that person for me. Maybe because you were the only—you know—the only love I ever knew, and now, what. Four? Boyfriends and ten years later, you might expect me to feel differently—hell I expect myself to feel differently, but, unfortunately for you and me, I don’t. Sorry. I’m not—I’m not drunk, or anything.”

He stares at you, his expression soft and unreadable. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the world today, twenty-somethings, ten years later, unearthing all you left buried. “I…” he says, before pausing. “I’m sorry for leaving.”

You nod in response.

“I always thought you would forgive me.” His face is sullen and handsome and your heart seizes. “I wanted to be your person.”

“How could I forgive you without an apology?” Your voice comes out fragile. “I leave in three days. You’ve fu—you’ve… you’ve kissed me, had sex with me, flirted with me. You’ve done everything but that.”

“I did apologize. I don’t think it was enough, but—”

“But you didn’t,” you reply, a jagged response. “You never said anything.”

“I wrote you.” His eyebrows knit. “I wrote you.”

“You wrote me.” You repeat, deadpan. Your head spins with it. “What, a letter?”

“An e-mail. Before your first film came out—2014? A year after you… yeah.” He’s quiet and timid and nervous. “I forced Gi to tell me your address.”

“I didn’t… I wasn’t using that e-mail anymore. I haven’t in years.” You pinch your nose and let the silence settle like fine dust onto the room, an unspoken bomb that explodes over the both of you, raining regret and unsaid words. “I have to go.” You push yourself off the banister, turning already to the doors of the balcony. He stops you before you can step any further, a hand closed over your wrist, rough and warm.

“If you find the message,” he says, “will you read it?”

“I don’t plan to,” you lie. “Goodnight.”

—

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <[email protected]>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Urgent!

hey buttercup, I asked Giada for this email address. my bday in 2 days. Will you be home for Xmas this year btw? ill show you some new places that open ed + we can bike around. mum misses u a lot too. parfois je souhaite que tu ne partes pas… not sometimes but always. i think i need to edit this a little let me try ag

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <[email protected]>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Buttercup

j’appellerais mais je ne pense pas que tu veuilles répondre. it’s been more than a year since you moved out, in two days i’ll be celebrating my second birthday w/o you. i’ve been karting a lot, things are looking up, just like we always said they would :) just want to say i miss you a lot, and i hope you’re doing good. i would say i hate radio silence but i know it’s my fault all this happened in the first place. i’m sorry i stopped talking to you last year when you were moving away. i was being childish, but the truth is it was the only way i could handle it - by pretending we werent friends at all… i don’t want to make you pity me or anything (ne pense pas que je suis) but yeah you’re my best friend and you always will be. i’m sorry for being a knot head.

i was always scared to tell you but it’s been there since forever: i love you. i should’ve enjoyed your months here instead of leaving you in the air. i know i ignored you but it’s the 1 thing i regret. should’ve done a lot more, i know.. but i didn’t. we have a lot of promises i broke because i was being selfish. i kept the paper ring to remind me. remember that? we had a “playground wedding” when we were 5/6?

tu ne me dois rien - i just want you to give me a chance to make you happy, even if it’s just in the way we’ve always been (as friends). if you write me back i’ll try and fly there. mum is always asking me if we’ve talked yet. if not, that’s ok. i love you all the same and i will love you as you reach your dreams. this will never change.

charles

p.s: est-ce que je te manque?

p.p.s: call me if you can and wish me a happy birthday?

—

“Rachel, I would sooner die than wait another two hours for the tarmac to clear again.” You try to up the firmness in your voice but it fails, only serving to make you sound less angry and more agitated. When all you get in response is a muffled I’m coming! you grumble and hang up the phone. Your plane was delayed all of three times, and the instant it arrives and is scheduled to take off on time, your friendsistant is nowhere to be found.

Lily and Carmen had thrown you a goodbye party the night prior, with sprinklers and music and cocktails, and promised to be on the next flight to L.A. Vogue and David had emailed you for a job done spectacularly, and to watch out for the videos and interviews’ release dates. Twitter is raving about your movie. Everything should be good, and yet, it’s not.

You check your inbox. IM COMJNG LILTIERALLY IM RUNNING THRU AJRPPRT!!!!!! You scoff again, hoping the plane doesn’t somehow take off for the fourth time, and take a seat on the VIP waiting area sofa again, shaking your now-empty chai latte. The room, sectioned off from economy and business, is fairly full.

A woman paces over to you, a bright grin on her face. “Hi. I’m a huge fan.”

“Thank you,” you smile, despite your tiredness.

“This is so embarrassing—but do you happen to have the time?”

“Sure”—you tap your phone open—“half past four.”

“Great,” she says. “Thanks, Buttercup.”

You’re opening your mouth to say you’re welcome, but it catches like cotton in your throat. You watch her depart like nothing happened, a strange feeling settling in your chest. You have barely any time to answer it, because a flight attendant is tapping you on the shoulder, addressing you by name, thankfully. She maintains a tone of professionalism all throughout her announcement that the aircraft under your name will have to evacuate the runway in ten minutes or less.

“I know, I know—I’m just, um. I’m waiting for somebody. She should be near now, though.”

“Tremendous. Merci, Buttercup.”

“Wh—” You stutter, blinking and watching her leave. “What?”

She doesn’t turn, walking to the kiosk to exchange information with her coworkers. You look around the airport, for a camera hidden somewhere maybe. Perhaps you’ve been unknowingly listed in some Impractical Jokers skit.

Rach hurry you text instead, leaning back and hoping you’re in some grandiose delusion. Your phone dings. Omw promise! It reads. Then: Look up buttercup

Your head snaps upward faster than you can register what you’ve just read, matching the opening notes of a song you’ve grown all too familiar with in your lifetime. The opening beat to Build Me Up, Buttercup flows like honey through the room’s intercom and floods it with life.

Mouth agape, you watch as the staff and guests perform the routine you’d learned at fourteen, complete with hops and turns you were too embarrassed to do even then. They’re smiling and whooping themselves and each other as they go, finishing the entire first verse before turning collectively to the entrance of the room. There, in all his glory: Charles, wearing an entirely too-small headdress that reads Buttercup, worn dusty from years of being stored away.

He’s dancing, too, closer to you. You refuse to budge for the express purpose that he dance some more, which he complies with, though not without an eyeroll and an exasperated sigh. Your heart beats with something irregular and warm. You’d told him about this before. He’d listened.

The music settles for a little and the dancers do, too, so he takes the time to raise his sign. Will you forgive me? It reads. No pressure. Except kind of. You laugh, throwing your head back at the gesture, at this entire affair that must have taken some amount of effort to prepare. As the lyric comes on, so does his sign: I need you… more than anyone, darling.

He drops the sign when you approach him, arms crossed over your torso. He removed the headdress and places it gingerly on yours. “I believe that belongs to you.”

And, hyperaware of all the eyes and yet the complete lack of cameras—you’re grateful for it—you finally, finally, finally pull him in for a kiss. You’ve kissed before, done your worst, but still means volumes to the both of you.

In-between kisses and cheers (from voices belonging to Lorenzo, Rachel, Lily—so many familiar ones), he says it again: “I’m sorry. I’ll make it all up to you.”

“You better,” you tease into his lips, smiling. “I know. I love you.” Ten years later—your person still is, and no doubt will always be, Charles Leclerc.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

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all-the-fish · 3 months

Text

Oh, you know, just the usual internet browsing experience in the year of 2024

Some links and explanations since I figured it might be useful to some people, and writing down stuff is nice.

First of all, get Firefox. Yes, it has apps for Android/iOS too. It allows more extensions and customization (except the iOS version), it tracks less, the company has a less shitty attitude about things. Currently all the other alternatives are variations of Chromium, which means no matter how degoogled they supposedly are, Google has almost a monopoly on web browsing and that's not great. Basically they can introduce extremely user unfriendly updates and there's nothing forcing them to not do it, and nowhere for people to escape to. Current examples of their suggested updates are disabling/severly limiting adblocks in June 2024, and this great suggestion to force sites to verify "web environment integrity" ("oh you don't run a version of chromium we approve, such as the one that runs working adblocks? no web for you.").

uBlockOrigin - barely needs any explanation but yes, it works. You can whitelist whatever you want to support through displaying ads. You can also easily "adblock" site elements that annoy you. "Please log in" notice that won't go away? Important news tm sidebar that gives you sensory overload? Bye.

Dark Reader - a site you use has no dark mode? Now it has. Fairly customizable, also has some basic options for visually impaired people.

SponsorBlock for YouTube - highlights/skips (you choose) sponsored bits in the videos based on user submissions, and a few other things people often skip ("pls like and subscribe!"). A bit more controversial than normal adblock since the creators get some decent money from this, but also a lot of the big sponsors are kinda scummy and offer inferior product for superior price (or try to sell you a star jpg land ownership in Scotland to become a lord), so hearing an ad for that for the 20th time is kinda annoying. But also some creators make their sponsored segments hilarious.

Privacy Badger (and Ghostery I suppose) - I'm not actually sure how needed these are with uBlock and Firefox set to block any tracking it can, but that's basically what it does. Find someone more educated on this topic than me for more info.

Https Everywhere - I... can't actually find the extension anymore, also Firefox has this as an option in its settings now, so this is probably obsolete, whoops.

Facebook Container - also comes with Firefox by default I think. Keeps FB from snooping around outside of FB. It does that a lot, even if you don't have an account.

WebP / Avif image converter - have you ever saved an image and then discovered you can't view it, because it's WebP/Avif? You can now save it as a jpg.

YouTube Search Fixer - have you noticed that youtube search has been even worse than usual lately, with inserting all those unrelated videos into your search results? This fixes that. Also has an option to force shorts to play in the normal video window.

Consent-O-Matic - automatically rejects cookies/gdpr consent forms. While automated, you might still get a second or two of flashing popups being yeeted.

XKit Rewritten - current most up to date "variation "fork" of XKit I think? Has settings in extension settings instead of an extra tumblr button. As long as you get over the new dash layout current tumblr is kinda fine tbh, so this isn't as important as in the past, but still nice. I mostly use it to hide some visual bloat and mark posts on the dash I've already seen.

YouTube NonStop - do you want to punch youtube every time it pauses a video to check if you're still there? This saves your fists.

uBlacklist - blacklists sites from your search results. Obviously has a lot of different uses, but I use it to hide ai generated stuff from image search results. Here's a site list for that.

Redirect AMP to HTML - redirects links from their amp version to the normal version. Amp link is a version of a site made faster and more accessible for phones by Bing/Google. Good in theory, but lets search engines prefer some pages to others (that don't have an amp version), and afaik takes traffic from the original page too. Here's some more reading about why it's an issue, I don't think I can make a good tl;dr on this.

Also since I used this in the tags, here's some reading about enshittification and why the current mainstream internet/services kinda suck.

#modern internet is great #enshittification #internet browsing #idk how to tag this #but i hope it will help someone #personal #question mark

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hotvintagepoll · 21 days

Text

Propaganda

Cyd Charisse (The Bandwagon, Brigadoon, Singin’ in the Rain)—LEGS LEGS LEGS I would sell my soul for the legs of Cyd Charisse - she oozed style and glamour and sex appeal!! And she could DANCE! She was dancing next to the greats - Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire but they are never who you're looking at because why would you when you can look at her. I will only sit through too long ballet breaks for her. If there was any woman who you could call sex on legs it was her. These dances are everything to meeee (she comes in at the minute mark) and this dance too of course is iconic. In the words of Fred Astaire 'When you've danced with Cyd Charisse you stay danced with'

Rosaura Revueltas (Salt of the Earth)—She was a Mexican actress who is best known for starring in salt of the earth, an amazing pro-labor movie made by blacklisted filmmakers. She also starred in the Mexican remake of madchen in uniform, one of the first representations of lesbian romance onscreen. She was really dedicated to making progressive films and was also such an incredible actress and artist I truly believe more people should know about her and her work.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Cyd Charisse:

Arguably the Best female dancer of her time, she supposedly insured her legs for $5 million dollars. Stole the show whenever she had a dance number, even if she went uncredited. Musicals started to go out of fashion so unfortunately she didn't have as many big roles as she should have, but those she did are unforgettable. The Broadway Melody number in Singin' in the Rain - the green dress!

Incredibly, Cyd Charisse only started learning to dance as a rehab exercise to strengthen her body after a childhood bout of polio. She was in high demand as a dance partner, Fred Astaire called her beautiful dynamite and said "When you've danced with her, you stayed danced with". She was one of a few leading ladies to dance with both Astaire and Kelly, declaring them both delicious. Kelly apparently was stronger, while Astaire was more coordinated. She also said her husband would always know who she had been dancing with because Kelly left her bruised, while Astaire didn't leave a mark. She's better known for her dance numbers today, but she was a leading lady in her time! Her Scottish accent in Brigadoon leaves a lot to be desired, but compared to the other actors in the movie, it's almost good. She appeared in The Harvey Girls alongside Judy Garland and Angela Lansbury in her first speaking role, but she really burst onto the scene with Singin' in the Rain and her infamous Broadway Melody Ballet number with Gene Kelly (no one could handle a length of fabric like Cyd Charisse). She was brought in because Debbie Reynolds wasn't really a dancer and Kelly was notoriously a stickler about his Vision. After that she starred opposite Astaire in The Band Wagon, which was a bit of a flop but created some enduringly incredible dance numbers. She went on to star in a number of MGM movies, and was one of the last of the Studio era stars to remain on contract. Since we've got up to 1970, I'm including her opening routine in The Silencers (1966) to show just how long she was making a splash - she's into her 40s here and still a siren:

youtube

and of course, the iconic Broadway Melody Ballet -

youtube

Photos do not do Cyd Charisse justice, unfortunately, because she is at her hottest while dancing, which she was exquisitely good at. Just go watch her first number in Singin' in the Rain, in that green dress; nothing I could say here will be more convincing that that.

She had amazing legs, and she knew how to use them! You probably know her best from the dream sequence in Singin' In The Rain. She was such a stunning dancer, and all her dance scenes are hard to look away from.

Dancing in the Dark clip:

youtube

She's an amazing dancer and my favorite from the period. Here's her and Fred Astaire in the Band Wagon:

youtube

I just like a woman who's there to be really incredibly good at dancing.

One of the most talented female dancers in Hollywood history, but what sets her apart from other competitors for that title is that she...umm...well let's be blunt, she was the dancer who put sex into it. The one who said "Hey, you know that A+ leg tone that naturally develops from doing this for a living? Why don't I let people see that? Like at every opportunity?" She reportedly insured her legs for five million dollars after hitting it big, which just goes to show that fame makes you crazy. It should have been ten million.

She could pirouette in pointes or tear it up in taps. Fred Astaire called her "beautiful dynamite" and wrote, "That Cyd! When you've danced with her you stay danced with." Gene Kelly partnered with her three times. Her legs were (reportedly) insured for $5 million in 1952 ($57.8 million in 2024 dollars)! Everyone in this poll will be iconic, but for raw physical grace, Cyd is up there with the best.

Legs for days, beautiful dancer in the most iconic scenes of Singin in the Rain. She's glorious. As some guys sung to her in It's Always fair weather, 'baby you knock me out!'

No additional propaganda was submitted for Rosaura Revueltas. Please send me some.

#Rosaura Revueltas #cyd charisse #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 3

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moumouton4 · 7 months

Text

Reclaiming ( Make Up Sex ) || Kakashi Hatake x fem!reader

A/n : Prompt 17 of the Smutember 2023 ( As you can see I'm very late but school is starting off to a flying start, I have already 3 big books and 2 presentations )

The list of promps is HERE

Smutember 2023 Masterlist ⚜

Warnings : protectiveness, oral fem!receiver, cream pie, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 1190

You initially frowned when you sensed his chakra at your front door. Indeed you'd had a silly argument a while back. But for him it was anything but nonsense. After all, if he'd objected to you going on that mission, it was because he found it particularly dangerous, not because he didn't think you were capable. It's just that... damn, it was you, and he'd lost so many people that he couldn't even imagine your name joining that blacklist.

You knew, that day he opposed Tsunade's choice to send you on this mission, that it was out of a deep protectiveness and care for you. But it just came out so wrong in the way he immediately stood up and placed himself between you and Tsunade, as if he could protect you, his hands resting on the desk in front of the Hokage. His face - fortunately hidden behind his mask - betrayed a lively apprehension and a slight anger at your being sent on such a mission.

Of course, when you stood up to express your displeasure, he took offense and raised his voice at you, when all you wanted to do was reassure him. And since then, well, you've been on this mission against his will - even though he had nothing to say about it. And of course you haven't seen each other since. That is, until today.

You heard the knock on the door and froze. Even though you were annoyed that he didn't understand that you wanted to prove yourself, and that his annoyance was turning against you rather than supporting you, you didn't know what to do. But still, you loved him more than anything and after 2 weeks things were starting to get long from your point of view. You undeniably missed him.

So you didn't hesitate to open the door. And what a surprise it was when you saw him with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, a man who so often found it hard to express such things. Yet, just like you thought he didn't speak. He let silence surround you as you gazed into each other's eyes. Afraid that you might not be satisfied with this, he glanced around briefly before lowering his mask completely and apologizing to you for his inappropriate reaction back then.

Your eyes widened as you motioned for him to pull his mask up - not because it was ugly, lmao - out of concern for his privacy. You quickly took his arm and led him into your apartment. Once inside, a long, almost interminable staring match took place, your breaths heavy. Suddenly he took a step towards you, and far from pushing him away, you took a step towards him too, his arms coming around your waist before he pulled you flush against his body.

Passion and fragility were clear in his gaze as he regained contact with your eyes. He needed you, but it was much more than physical. It was like a primal moment his body had chosen to make sure the connection between you remained intact after the heated argument you had 2 weeks ago.

His fingers gripped your hips a little tighter as if asking your permission. And when you nodded, he didn't waste a second in crashing his lips against yours.

His bottom lip trembled with the force of his emotions. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, and he took advantage and carried you in his strong arms so that your legs naturally wrapped around his waist.

Even though he knew the way to your room, the force and ardor with which you were kissing put cotton in his legs, distracting him and causing him to bump into some of the walls that stood in your way. At one point he pinned you so roughly that you could feel the hardness in his pants pressing dangerously close to where you needed him most. You exhaled heavily in his mouth. Your foreheads were pressed together as he sighed, "I'm sorry. I should never have- mmh"

But you cut him off with another, even more fiery kiss "Shut up, it's done now, but you can always make it up to me" you spoke with difficulty in a mixture of trying to catch your breath and all the anticipation of what was about to happen.

He chuckled breathlessly before putting his lips back on yours and leading you - this time unhindered - into your bedroom. There he laid you down on your bed and showered you with kisses, each one wetter than the last. He grinded his hips against yours a bit before slowly leaving your lips to go to a more specific place. You shuddered immediately when you felt him suck on your clit - bro didn't waste any time - your hips bucked up against his mouth as his skilled tongue worked on you.

And he didn't stop until you screamed his name and came in his mouth "Mmmh still so good" he mumbled against your folds. Once he was sure you were going to enjoy it as much as he was, he came back to you, while his hands fumbled messily with his belt. But once he was able to get naked, he didn't waste another minute before sinking into you with a low groan.

With each come and go of his hips, he felt luckier and luckier to have you by his side, even though he'd been a bit of an asshole on this one. He tried to really apologize, in all his vulnerability as his cock glided through your folds, but each time you grabbed his head and pulled him to you for another kiss.If it weren't for the way your walls tightened on him he'd have lost patience already.

"Come on... just let me tell you I regre- mpph"

"Y/n I'm serious I'm so- oh"

"Please just- mmmh fuck"

After what seemed like an eternity you spoke again "If you make me a nice cream pie I might forgive you" you teased. But for him it wasn't a joke, your forgiveness was the most beautiful thing in the world. His hips accelerated the rhythm, determined to do what you wanted. And as he accelerated, he could see his orgasm approaching.

Like a perfect gentleman, he waited for you to finish before indulging in his own pleasure. And what a pleasure it was to cum deep inside you, to mark you as his once again as you milked his cock. With time, you felt his warm seed start to flow down your thigh and that's when you met his gaze again "Well that's good for this time but the next time you pull up some shit like that on me you'll see"

"This time ? But dear, it's not over yet, we've only just finished round 1" he smirked.

"Kakash-"

"No no you wanted a good cream pie. Well, you stay here and pretty and in 15 minutes we'll go again" his tone was dripping with assertiveness that sounded so hot. But who were you to refuse him, after all, it was his punishment, wasn't it ?

#naruto #naruto imagine #naruto shippuden #naruto shippuden imagine #kakashi hatake #kakashi hatake imagine #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi hatake smut #kakashi x reader #kakashi smut #smutember 2023 #smut #miri-writes

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doki-doki-imagines · 1 month

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hi! maybe a little self indulgent but was wondering if you could write a lil drabble of earthrealm gang x yn (fem y/n if possible) but she’s related to shang tsung in some way (idk sister, daughter if u wanna get real silly) and shes just as pretty but just as mean :3c ty!

author note: In some the reader is the sister in others the daughter. Going for hcs for my mental health :)

Do you like what I write? Consider tipping on my ko-fi!

Johnny Cage: -He doesn't completely trust you, even if damn, you are hot. -Like he can't resist flirting with you even if it means getting the harshest rejection ever. -At this point, it is a challenge more than anything else. Once one of your failed potions exploded right into his face while he was blabbering one of his cheesy pickup lines. "You are smoking." "Hot?" "No, just smoking." You reply, pinching a strand of hair still on fire, extinguishing it. -You know 99% of boys stop flirting just before getting a date? Johnny's positive mindset won't let him fall for this trap. -Maybe you'll fall for his loserboy behavior…

Kenshi Takahashi: -Mh the ex-yakuza doesn't trust you one bit. Even if you never betrayed them. -It's just that you like lying a bit too much for his liking. -"I'll keep an eye on you." You chuckle "What eye? I don't see any on your face." You shrug his words off. -Nobody has ever been blacklisted this fast in Kenshi's mind. -But for real, he'll keep your every step checked ready to attack at any of your missteps. -"If you like spying on me so much you could take me out on a date so I can answer all your questions." You hear him choking on his saliva before snapping back. "How do you know I'm spying on you?" Your eyes widened getting closer to him "So I was right? You are spying on me? Damn, you must be so down bad for me-" -The idea of falling one of Wu Shi mountains sounds so good now for Kenshi. "Come pick me up at 9 p.m. and take me to a nice place it has been so long since I've eaten something nice." -Seems like Kenshi has a new problem to deal with. -Also because Madame Bo is the only place nearby…

Kung Lao: -He doesn't trust you at all, your mother may have been a nice woman but your father is terrible! And with your sharp words, Lao thinks you have taken his personality too. -"Begone sorcerer! My hat will slice you in two if you take another step closer." "I'm sure my words have done more damage than that stupid hat." -Actually, a friendship will develop thanks to your constant fights, not always won by you. -Raiden better if you stay alert, you have two sly foxes in the temple now

Raiden: -He isn't as wary as the others, after all you haven't done anything wrong. Being born from such an evil guy doesn't make you evil. -But damn, you can be so harsh with him at times. More than once Raiden wanted to remind you that if it wasn't for him you would be homeless and a loser just like your father. -But then Raiden remembers it's actually thanks to Liu Kang if you are there and bites his tongue. -You are also one of the few people able to make Raiden snap! Most monks never saw such fury before he met you. -"You should thank me. Weak minds don't last much in battle." "If you expect me to thank you for pissing me off you'll have to wait your entire lifetime, snotty sorcerer."

Liu Kang: -When he created this new timeline he hoped a sister could tone down Shang Tsung's evil intentions. -But at the end he threw you away, treating you like a stepping stone to the road to achieve his goal. -So Liu Kang took you in. That doesn't mean you will so easily forgive him for his mistake. -Your words slice his heart frequently. Not because you want to cry about your condition, it's mostly your fault after all, but simply because you like to tease that raw nerve that awakens a usually hidden side of him. -"Shut your mouth or I'll seal your lips forever!" "Ohhh-" you coo at his words "But then how I'll latch my lips at your throat? You seemed to like it yesterday." You say, pressing a finger on the spot where the hickey should be, already recovered thanks to his godly nature. -Liu Kang stomps his right foot on the ground before running out from your lab. How he can love you so much and despise you at the same time is something he still has to wrap his head around.

Geras: -A saint. You may tease, joke, just be nasty and Geras will reply with the calmest voice ever. -Liu Kang told him to make you feel at home and Geras takes his job seriously. -You nagged him a lot about the hourglass, making you take a small peak at it but he never let you close. -"You are too serious Geras, loosen up a little." "It's to compensate for your lack of rules." -You still have to warm up to each other…

Bi-Han: -He doesn't like you. AT ALL. -Bi-Han looks at you with a face dripping with scorn. Even if you are taller than him, he'll make you feel like an ant. -If you tease him too much he'll snap back and won't keep himself from hitting you. -But if you stroke his ego, promising him strength and glory… -As your brother told you "If you want men to do what you want stroke their ego and they will be at your feet." -He also did an analogy comparing the ego to a di- Okay I think the point is clear.

Kuai Liang: -He doesn't trust you, but if Liu Kang decided to keep you with them he won't oppose his decision. -Liang will often ask to train with you, mostly to test your skill level and eventually prepare for a future betrayal. -Also your lab will be often spied, checking if your experiments are safe and good for Earthrealm. -Till one day Liang found a small card on your desk "Train better your men, I could tell someone sneaked in the first time. Shirai Ryu won't last long otherwise." -He tightens the grip on the card, rolling it up before throwing it on the ground. -Liang was the only one that has been spying on you…

Tomas Vrbada: -He doesn't trust you immediately but he is one of the few to give you a chance. -Tomas won't be like a dog, following you around and completely trusting you, but he'll be one to bring you a hot beverage in cold winters when you are alone in your lab. -He answers wittily to your words and rarely he gets dejected. -"I suppose you won't survive in the Lin Kueis if you had a weak mind or if you are simply an idiot…" You whisper out, Tomas' ears catching your words anyway. "…You thought I was an idiot?" -You'd like to reply "Why the paste tense? I still do." but you decide to bite your tongue. You don't mind his company after all.

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dollymoon · 8 months

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🍄Mushroom Oasis - Mychael Facts Compilation🍄

A facts compilation of Mychael from Mushroom Oasis by @deerspherestudios.

All of these come from what they’ve replied in their tumblr! I write these down as the creator, Cheea, has stated them with a few changes/summarizing in some for easier reading.

There may be some light minor spoilers a tiny bit here and there!

The 1st half will be general Mychael information and then the 2nd half with be more Mychael & MC information.

-------------------------🍄🍄🍄

💚Here’s a NARRATIVE PLAYLIST [by Cheea] based off Day 1 of Mushroom Oasis and a MYCHAEL PLAYLIST [also by Cheea], if you wish to listen to them while reading~💚

💛What made you want to write such an empathetic and slow burn kind of Yandere? [Source 1 & 2] initially it was gonna be a snail monsterman who steals crops out of your back garden and you go out to bonk him on the head only to invite him into your home. Maybe in the future i'll work on the snailboy dating sim </3

But I think I’ve always wanted a cryptid-like yandere for the gamejam when it all started. It was a very barebones concept about a lonely mushroom man who sets up spore traps in order to ensnare and kidnap company. It was supposed to be way creepier and invasive as a oneshot thing, and was never meant to have multiple days in the story. I’m glad I didn’t go in that direction, though. I’m having more fun fleshing out Mychael’s character.

So when I started Mushroom Oasis, I wanted to go for a strangers-to-lovers scenario, instead of starting out with the yandere already smitten with the MC. That way, he gets to know you at the same time as you getting to know him. Hence, the attempt at slow burn haha. I just thought it’d be interesting to try and express it differently. I don’t know if I’m able to execute my intentions well but I’m doing my best! it's gonna be fun writing him as he starts to spiral :-3c Laddie doesn't know what attraction/attachment feels like. Woe be upon ye

💛Was Mychael always going to be named Mychael, or did he have other names upon his initial creation? And does he have a last name? [Source 1 & 2] Always been Mychael! Lorewise he has a different name but MC wouldn’t be able to pronounce it, so he goes by Mychael. And he doesn’t have a last name :-] He’s just Mychael!

💛What species is Mychael? Is he a faerie? [Source] As much as everyone calls him faefolk, he isn't! He's more… monster-oriented I suppose? Creature or cryptid-like. I'm not sure what to categorize him tbh hahaha.

💛Is Mychael over 18? [Source 1 & 2] Oh he’s WAY over 18. He’s way older than he looks.

💛What’s Mychael’s Height? (Dolly’s note🌹): So initially, Mychael’s height was 5'8 but then Cheea said “Mychael is 5'8 (172cm) in the demo! I just wonder if I should've made him a big boi since the beginning but i held myself back 😔” But they didn’t want to make the decision just themselves; thus they made a poll to keep Mychael as is, or to make him taller, taking into account the fan’s wishes as well. The one that won was making Mychael taller. (54.5% vs 45.5%).

And thus Cheea decided his new height would be 6'2. Cheea also added “I think it’s a fair balance since taller Mychael won the majority vote, but a vocal few really liked his original height, so I decided to go in the middle <3”

So yeah his current height is 6’2 (187cm approximately).

💛His sexuality and gender Identity? [Source] He identifies as male with he/him pronouns. And I’ve decided panromantic asexual fits him best! I just don't find him being too sexual tbh. Graysexual at best. Feel free to interpret it differently.

💛Are you okay with NSFW art of Mychael? [Source] 50/50? I’m an adult and so is he as a character. I’d say I wouldn’t mind as long as it’s properly tagged and only the right people have access to it 👍I will not share it on my main blog though but tag it as ‘mushroom oasis nsfw’ or something so people can blacklist it.

💛Mychael’s Headcanon voice? [Source] Jonathan Groff! Particularly his role as Kristoff in Frozen.

💛Can he sing like how Kristoff does in frozen? [Source] I’d imagine he could! He’s not much for singing though, he’s more likely to hum random tunes throughout the day.

💛Are Mychael's scleras just black or is it like a void/empty socket? [Source] He just has black scleras!

💛Does Mychael have tear ducts in his lower eyes? [Source] They do!! The lower eyes basically work like regular eyes, just smaller below his main ones. They can blink independently of each other too.

💛How does Mychael see if he leaves only one pair of his eyes open? It forms a blind spot but depends on which pair he closes! He sees 90% out of his upper eyes and 10% out of his bottom half. His ability also relies on eye contact, so by having both sets locked onto someone else's gaze the influence is stronger. And here’s an illustrated example!

💛Can Mychael see in the dark? [Source] Yes he can see in the dark; his eyes have that tapetum lucidum layer that reflects light in the dark, so they also glow :-)

💛What's Mychael's skin texture like? [Source] Almost human but you can tell something’s different. Eerily smooth, despite his rough palms. If you pinch his cheeks or poke his sides enough times (if he doesn’t get mad at you for it) you’d be able to tell his skin’s a bit thicker than yours. Also like fungi I imagine his skin has chitin. So a bit tougher maybe.

💛Are Mychael's horns and tail soft and fragile like an actual mushroom? [Source] If you mean the shroom-like caps on his head and tip of his tail; soft but definitely not fragile. Think of those cheap squishies with some give but bounce back pretty quick! They’re susceptible to bruising too.

💛Is Mychael’s tail poisonous? If not, how would Mychael react if someone bit it? [Source 1 & 2] Nop it isn’t poisonous. And like… a straight up bite out of it?? Or a nibble??? If you bit him so hard it takes a piece of his tail it’d hurt and bleed a lot. It’s full of nerve endings but will heal over and regenerate eventually.

If it’s just a nibble you’d just taste dirt and bitterness I think haha. And depending on how close you are to him, he’d either be flustered beyond belief or just downright very uncomfortable hahaha.

💛Is Mychael’s blood blue because some irl creatures have blue blood due to their blood having copper instead of iron or was it for aesthetic reasons? [Source] It was definitely for aesthetic purposes more than anything, since I wanted him to blush a non-human color. One of the earlier concept sketches had him blushing bright magenta haha.

💛What does Mychael smell like? [Source] I’d describe it as freshly cut grass with a hint of log fires. Like camping in summer if that makes sense.

💛Does Mychael purr? [Source] Since im honestly a sucker for the purring trope i'll say hell yea tbh hahaha. His would be a really low rumble I'd imagine. He can also occasionally let out a low trill or those ‘mrrp’ sounds when he’s caught off guard or surprised but it's rare since he's real embarrassed when he does it.

💛Is Michael ticklish? [Source] Considering he’s never been tickled before,,, I think he’d go into shock if you did that to him💀 But to answer your question yeah I think he’d be the most ticklish person you’ve ever met haha. He’s either gonna accept his fate or go down fighting😔

💛Does Mychael snore in his sleep? [Source] He’d be a pretty quiet sleeper I think!

💛Does Mychael get sick? Since he’s not human, he doesn’t get sick like we do:

He’s aware we call it being sick, but his term is ‘feeling withered/wilted.’

He doesn’t have a temperature, but his skin turns pale and blemished like a diseased plant, and gets kinda slimy and cold like a frog’s. Here's a visual of how he looks like sick.

No energy, no appetite, barely talks. Very zombie-ish.

He gets real drowsy and dazed and the only thing to motivate him is seeking out warmth.

He just needs sunshine and sleep to get better so you’d find him laying out in the sun during the day and hiding away in blankets at night, sleeping it off. He only eats once a day, since his body needs rest rather than sustenance.

He gets sick like... once every few years that's how rare it is but when it happens it knocks him out for like a week </3

💛Does Mychael fear metal? What phobias does he have? [Source 1 & 2] No, he doesn’t fear metal and iron wouldn't hurt him! His phobias/fears are: snowstorms, thunder/lightning and water wells. In no particular order :-) (Oh, and trains/train whistles.)

💛Does Michael have any food that he hates? [Source] Anything spicy! He can handle some spice, but anything that gives heat on your tongue he’d definitely be put off since it makes him physically ill.

💛Mychael's life cycle: [Source] His life cycle is very different from a human’s.

💛Does Mychael have his own languge? If so, what does it sound like? [Source 1 & 2] He actually has his own language, but speaks in English (or your own language if you’d prefer!)

His language sounds very animalistic; a lot of growls, hisses and clicks. It’s like hearing a cat verbally communicate with those sounds. If you guys are familiar with Toki Pona, (here’s a video for reference.) the simplicity is very similar in terms of vocab and sentence structure. Considering the limitations of those same growls, hisses and clicks, plus how little he communicates in his own language, it’s not a complex system but he speaks it regardless. He wont be speaking it in-game hence why im okay answering the question.

💛Can Mychael read? [Source] Yep, he can read! He talks about it some more in Day 2.

💛Can Mychael swim? [Source] He’d be able to swim, yeah.

💛How much does Mychael know of human customs/cooking/inventions? And does he like/dislike some of them? [Source] He knows enough to make a living for himself. He’s really into DIY and crafting, but if anything gets more complex to the point it goes over his head- he’d just abandon it. As for human customs he knows even less; it’s kinda touch and go what he does and doesn’t know ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ For example, he's seen cars and phones but doesn't understand how they work. Traditional stuff like crafting/cooking/gardening is easier for him to grasp.

💛Does Mychael have any religion/belief? [Source] I’ve played around with this concept in my head! I did want to explore a unique kind of religion/belief Mychael has but,,, eventually I kinda settled on the idea that Mychael broke off from that way of thinking? Or something like that. It can be accepted that he used to have a religion- or never had one to begin with. it's a tricky subject for me anyway </3 But feel free to have your own interpretation!

💛Does Mychael have any superstitions? [Source] His biggest superstition is respecting the forest and whatever happens in the forest, stays in the forest. (That is until you came along and made him break his own rule. Whoops.)

💛What's Mychael’s wardrobe like? [Source] He’s not much for fashion; as long as he thinks it’s practical and comfortable he’d wear it. He wouldn’t be a fan of clothes that’re less weather-resistent though, since he clearly needs stuff that could stand the wilderness.

He doesn’t accessorize much either, preferring to keep simple and be as drab as possible to attract less attention. But I think he’d love to try nail polish :-)) He has a lot of hats and scarves though.

💛Would Mychael be willing to wear a dress? [Source] I’d like to think he’s tried em before! He kinda had to scrap by when it came to clothes so he wouldn’t be picky in his early days.

Nowadays, he probably thinks they’re nice to wear but impractical for his daily chores, so he mostly sticks to tops and bottoms. But he won’t be opposed to it.

💛When did Mychael start knitting and why? [Source] He’s been knitting for a few years, so he’s kinda advanced. As for why, he finds it relaxing especially after a long day, and usually does it before bedtime. Plus he just loves being bundled up in warm things in general.

💛What is Mychael's favorite thing to knit? [Source] His favorite thing to knit are beanies!! :-D

💛What are other craftsmanship does Mychael do? [Source 1 & 2] He’s tried out woodworking, sculpting, candle-making, pottery etc. Knitting just happens to be his favorite of all the things he’s tried haha. Assume Mychaels an expert at gardening too!

💛Does Mychael ever overwork himself to the point of almost passing out? [Source] He definitely used to! It’s not easy making a living out in the wilderness; especially when he only had himself to rely on. Thankfully he doesn’t need to go through that anymore; he’s made a pretty nice home for himself since then. He's been thru a lot. Sopping wet cat energy.

💛How long has Mychael been in his home/cabin for? [Source] Previously he’d wander around like a nomad before finding himself a home. He’s only settled down into his cabin in the woods for a few years, it’s still a work in progress by his standards.

💛Does Mychael like stargazing? [Source] He’s more of a daytime person tbh! At night he’d prefer to stay cozy indoors. When you spend half your life sleeping outside in the cold. You don't miss it much despite the pretty lights in the sky.

💛What kind of music does Mychael listen to? [Source] Hm! He rarely listens to music, so he doesn’t have a preference tbh. If he had to choose- Perhaps something more upbeat and dancey since it’s a nice change from the quiet, but only for short periods. He’d probably enjoy whatever you’re listening to if you give him the chance :-)! Lyrics don't matter as much to him. He'd just enjoy it based off the sound.

💛What are some of Mychael's favorite scents? [Source] Top 3 would be the smell of old books, honey and (strangely enough) gasoline??? But the last one is soso rare for him he finds it exciting when he happens to catch a whiff, even if he has no idea what it is haha.

If you happen to be the type to wear perfumes/scents, he’d quickly associate the smell with you and have it be another one of his favorites :-)

💛How would Mychael react if he found a lost child in the woods? [Source] He’d be surprised for sure. His part of the woods is pretty untouched by humans, so to find one wandering this far is definitely a shock to him. If the kid was too scared to let him approach, he’d have to use a tiny fraction of his ability to calm them down, so as not to leave any side effects (younger minds are more vulnerable to it). If the kid wasn’t scared and asked if he was some sort of woodland fae/goblin creature, he’d go along with it and say he’s come to rescue them.

After making sure the kid is alright, he’d either try to find the parents straight away or bring them home if they needed food or rest. He wouldn’t dare adopt a child willy nilly, and if there was no other way, he’d probably drop them somewhere like a police or fire station (he can’t really differentiate between them, just that they respond to emergencies).

Overall he’s not opposed to being around children, just not used to it.

💛I see Mychael as a very docile and friendly creature- but in the 3rd ending of the game "Playing Pretend" left me with a doubt... Would he really be a bad guy? [Source] You’re not wrong! Mychael’s not the most violent, even if he is capable of it. In Ending 3 he just… panicked. Though don’t underestimate the things he’d resort to when he realizes how attached he’s getting to you :-)

He’s calm and composed… until he isn’t.

💛How many creatures/people has Mychael found "affected" by those mushrooms that the MC came across? [Source] You’re not the first, that’s for sure! He definitely knows about them, but finds it unnecessary to tell you (at least for now). He was quick to dismiss your doubts on how you lost consciousness, giving you an easy explanation even if he had to lie.

Most of the time he lets the incapacitated creatures be; “it’s the will of the forest,” after all. Although he does break that rule when he finds humans that’re still alive (in this case, you!) in his forest, but that’s very very rare.

💛How would Mychael act if MC introduced him to their friend? MC told their friend that Mychael wouldn't hurt them but the friend is still a little scared and weary of him. [Source] Definitely wary of them too. He kinda trusts you, but can he trust them? He’s met his fair share of humans; not a lot of them were as accepting as you. He can try to lower his guard but your friend would need to convince him themself.

💛Mychael & MC in Day 1 of the game. [Source] Mychael, as a person, is quite solitary in nature; he likes being alone and you’ll find out why. He does however desire company and he’s only realized just how pleasant having someone around can be (hence his reaction for the Bad Endings in Day 1 if you wish to leave/run away).

You grow closer to Mychael as you hang out with him and do little things that he appreciates. Example: The first thing that boosts you to immediate friend status is your willingness to accept his physical looks, something that’s never happened to him before. Little things like that mean a lot to him and motivates him to prolong your stay.

If Mychael met a more grouchy/mean MC on Day 1 he’d probably not be as attached. He’d just save you, feed you and send you home when you ask hahaha. Of course, this will change as he gets to know you better, at that stage he’ll be willing to overlook your flaws like any upstanding yandere.

💛How would Mychael react if the player character was already in a relationship with someone else? [Source] At his current attachment in Day 1 [Friend status], he’d be respectful about it! A little overprotective but mostly curious what dating and marriage is all about. He’s not familiar with it outside of whatever knowledge he happened to pick up.

Now if he’s grown obsessed developed feelings and found out afterwards though…

💛Can you date Mychael in this game? Or not? [Source] I mean that's the goal! ¯_(ツ)_/¯ If his responses in asks currently give off a platonic vibe, that's because they are.

As of Day 1, Mychael's feelings towards you are positive but mostly platonic [Here's a visual affection level chart]. His bad endings show his desperation for company rather than you reciprocating any romantic feelings.

As I update the game, his responses will most likely be more romantically-driven. The game is a slow burn after all :-) He's a yandere- but a yandere who hasn't fallen in love yet. Though I do plan on adding a platonic ending bc sometimes u just wanna kiss a bestie without any romantic feelings attached.

💛What made you think of the pet name ‘Firefly’ for MC? [Source] It honestly just came to me as I was concepting the game ;v;! Other pet names Mychael would’ve used were: turtledove, poppet and sweetpea. He would switch it up in the initial draft but sticking to one makes it more special I think.

💛What does Mychael think about femboys? [Source] He doesn’t really mind nor care how you present yourself :-0! In fact he’d find it strange you asked that at all after you explain what it means dhfjsjf

💛Does Mychael have a gender preference? [Source] Not at all! His favorite genre of human is you :-) Plus gender talk goes way over his head. He's too busy thinking about survival to mind that stuff. Anything you identify with he's absolutely okay with <3

💛How would Mychael feel about someone a lot shorter than him? [Source] He had to admit he forgot adult humans come in your size,,, he wouldn’t think much of it though! He’s just excited to make a friend :-)

💛What would Mychael's "ideal type" be? [Source] I think he’d be more attracted to gentleness, I think. Someone who is kind despite a harsh reality; willing to understand a creature like him and someone he trusts he can drop his guard around.

But even if you don’t fit that criteria, he’d still like you as long as you accept him for who he is! There’s no need to worry about changing yourself to fit his preference <3

💛How did the player get to Mychael’s home? [Source] I always imagined it as piggyback to be honest! But bridal carry, a fireman’s carry, over-the-shoulder, whatever you guys are comfortable with he’s definitely capable of <3 He may be shorter than most (Dolly’s note🌹: His height changed since this ask so maybe not anymore lol so let's change it to 'He may seem weak') but he's strong.

💛Is MC permanently affected by the mushroom ring they stepped in? How much power does Mychael hold against it? [Source] No, MC is not permanently affected by the mushroom ring they stepped in. In one of the bad endings, the influence of it over you is stronger than what Mychael can fight against, hence he releases you as he sees it as the forest already claiming you fully. He can do nothing else to save you.

That’s why he insists on you staying for dinner, and is surprised when you say yes, as he really thought he lost you already for a moment there :-) Past that choice, the mysterious ‘purple’ influence no longer affects you, as Mychael had successfully distracted you long enough for the mind-altering effects to wear off. He just needed the right thing to say to keep you grounded. Lest you wander off and end up in the ground </3

💛If we asked, would he talk to us in his own language? [Source] If he were to talk in it you wouldn’t be able to differentiate one word to another, they all sound the same hahaha.

💛Can we research what type of fae creature Mychael is? Will he be okay with it? [Source] He might be apprehensive at first, but if you ask the right questions he’d probably answer just enough to satiate your curiosity. Don’t be surprised if he leaves out certain things though, he doesn’t want you to think he’s a freak. 💔 He doubts you'd find anything in research though but who knows

💛Do you think Mychael would be a good teacher, when it comes to knitting? [Source] He’s never taught anyone before but he’d be happy to! (He’d probably be a very hands-on teacher cuz he’s bad at explaining–)

💛What if you knitted something for Mychael? [Source] If you knitted something for him he’d probably wear it/look at it multiple times throughout the day getting butterflies in his stomach.

💛If MC brought him to a secret river as a gift would he go? [Source] The thing I’d correct is Mychael would bring MC to a river instead of the other way around hahaha. MC is the poor meowmeow who got lost in the woods on Day 1. Their ass would not!! know any secret rivers

💛How would Mychael react if MC threw him a surprise party, to celebrate his birthday or to celebrate the day they both met? [Source] I think he’d love it a lot!! He’s not one to celebrate much if anything, but he’d be so happy if you threw a little surprise just for him :-) Especially knowing he gets to spend time with his favorite person in the world for such a special occasion <3

💛Is there any fun activities that Mychael would drag MC to? [Source] Oh for sure! He’d probably take you outdoors a lot and show you all his favorite spots in the forest :-)!! He’d probably bring you along to do his daily errands if you’d allow it haha

💛What would Mychael say if I were to take two slices of bread, put his head in between and sweetly ask: "what are you?" The answer lol

💛What would Mychael’s reaction be if MC tried giving him spicy food? [Source] If you try to give him a spicy dish, he’d definitely smell it first before he even tastes it. He’d just politely decline in that scenario.

💛What is his opinion if MC is the type to snore? [Source] He's definitely the kind of person to have the TV on in the room even if their not watching- just to have some noise around the house. So if MC were the type to snore… he’d probably find the sound strangely comforting? He’d find it jarring at first but grow used to it quickly.

It’s nice to hear you and know that someone is around after being alone for so long, especially when he’s up during late nights <3

💛How would Mychael feel about an MC who steals and wears his sweaters? [Source] He’d find it strange why you’d wanna steal when you can just ask– he’d also find it very endearing. Should he be concerned that you're a potential thief?? Or just worry about how cute you look?? a moral dilemma

💛Is there any type of clothing that Mychael likes to see on MC? [Source] I’d imagine he’d like clothes on MC that are more earth-toned perhaps, greens and browns that remind him of his forest and such. :-) Loose clothes are a bonus too cuz it makes you look comfy around him! i think he'd be a fan of animal-themed clothes too; pawprint socks or a fox cap or a rabbit hoodie- something like that.

💛What is Mychael’s love language? [Source] This is assuming MC and Mychael have been friends/lovers for a while; When you’re on the receiving end: Offering Gifts 🎁💖

He’s never had anyone be around as long as you have; he’s kinda new to the gifting thing but does so with a lot of enthusiasm!!

Whether it’s something he made or found, knowing he chose it for you is what makes it soso special.

He just loves the idea of being able to give something that was a part of himself and insert it into your life if that makes sense.

He also loves doing it because he believes you deserve to have nice things with all his heart :-)!

If he’s not sure what to gift you he’d rely on pretty little knickknacks he thinks you’d like but still be on the safe side; flowers, jewelry, decorations and accessories.

But if he does figure out your interests he’d do his best to accommodate! Books, toys, tools and clothes… he has his means of getting stuff he can’t make himself.

The idea of you keeping his gifts as a sign of friendship/love makes him really happy!!

Lowkey if he sees you using/wearing/displaying a gift he gave in the past he’d be purring non-stop.

When he’s on the receiving end; Words of Affirmation 💬💕

We know how he feels about his physical appearance so this is a no-brainer. His self-esteem isn’t the best :’-)

Being alone/isolated as he is, he might confuse physical affection but nothing is more clear to him than words straight from your mouth about how much you mean to him <3

At first he wonders if you truly mean what you say when you talk so positively about him, but then he slowly starts to believe it.

Do not underestimate the impact of one (1) compliment as simple as “You look good today, Mychael.” He’d remember it for at least a week.

It’s a bit of a guessing game to figure out what gets him the best. If you praise his skill at something his response would be, “Oh I guess I got good at it. Thanks, firefly :-)” but if you praise his looks and mannerisms you’ve hit the jackpot.

Blushing, stuttering, avoiding your gaze level of embarrassment.

If you’re really close friends or basically dating, he will absolutely ask for your opinion on how you feel about him from time to time, just to get reassurance from you.

Overall nothing gets him better than just hearing positive remarks from a loving source aka you :-) <3

💛How would Mychael react if we made him some lunch while he was knitting and feed it to him? The cute illustrated answer

💛How would he react to a very clingy MC? [Source] If you mean very clingy, he’d be pretty tense about it, to be honest. He’s not used to physical touch but doesn’t mind it; if you take it easy and ask permission (so he doesn’t get overwhelmed) he’d be more okay with it! Just respect him when he asks you for space every once in a while <3

(Dolly’s note🌹: I can only guess but I think this answer is if you're still in the friend status because if this applies even in the obsessed status, the below Q&A would so funny in comparison)

💛But is Mychael clingy? This guy? Clingy? Nahhh. Nothing to worry about, anon :-)/s Here's a visual of his clinginess, he's very clingy yes lol.

💛Is Mychael the jealous type? [Source] It’s rare for him to feel jealous, but I’d imagine when it does happen he’d feel it very intensely on the inside. But you’d probably be none the wiser 💔

💛How would Mychael react if we confess our feelings to him? [Source] Bold of you to assume he won’t be the one to confess first 🤨

💛Does Mychael like to be kissed? [Source] His kind arent accustomed to physical affection. Does he even know what kissing is??? Thats for me to decide and you to figure out 👀 BUT He’d love getting kisses! On the cheeks especially :-) But careful not to overstimulate him; he’s kinda like a cat when you pet ‘em too much and they get all frazzled. Kisses on the lips he's less inclined but doesn't mind em time to time. Maybe like a peck or two. And here's a gif of pampering Mychael's face with kisses <3

💛Does Mychael know about marriage customs in human civilization? [Source] He’s familiar with human marriage the same way a young kid would be; involves inviting people, dressing up and wearing rings for some reason?? How strange to go to such lengths when you could just be around that same person the rest of your life and still be the same??

He doesn’t put much significance on it personally. Unless…? 👀 💛What would Mychael do if MC took care of him while he was sick? [Source] He’s not used to asking someone to care for him, but in this state if MC offered to help he’d honestly just ask you to keep him warm too with zero assumption as to what you might think. He’s just a little too out of it to be embarrassed about it. Example of providing him warmth.

💛Would Mychael let us hug him when he’s sick or would he push us away? Although, would this make us sick? [Source] He would! I’d say he’s the most physically clingiest when he’s sick. He’s basically sleepy all the time and other than seeking warmth, he doesn’t communicate much.

And no, we can’t get sick from him and vice versa, since our bodies are different from his. So no worries about getting yourself sick when you’re around him!

💛What would Mychael do if the MC got ill? [Source] Oh he’d be worried beyond belief! He wouldn’t leave you alone for a second.

He’s not familiar with human sickness, but he’d do his best to provide whatever it is you need. Hot soup, warm blankets, he’d even risk going to get medicine for you if you ask.

-------------------------🍄🍄🍄

Some facts I didn’t add as Cheea didn’t give a direct answer to some questions, like Mychael’s family, since they’ll eventually be answered in the game <3

But I hope you enjoy this and that it may be useful to you all!

#mushroom oasis #visual novel #mushroom oasis vn #mychael #mushroom oasis mychael #info organizing

431 notes · View notes

whxre-bxby · 9 months

Note

Hi! I love your writing.

I can't get an idea/senario out of my head so if you have the time, could you please do a poly recom squad x recom reader where reader gets kidnapped by Jake and the metkayina clan as retaliation for the recoms kidnapping tuk, lo'ak and tsireya. Then they refuse to let reader go even after they got their kids back because jake want to know how they're alive and he kinda hurts/scares/threatens reader and then the recom squad come to rescue her. And when they're on base again they won't stop worrying about her and maybe some smut?

(Thank you for this idea! It had people waiting for this to release)

"Vengeance Turns To Desire"

Recoms (Quaritch/Lyle/Mansk/Lopez/Prager/Ja)x Recom Y/N

A/N: sorry for always eliminating our lady recoms. This is by far the longest fanfic I have ever written and I lost my mind while writing countless times. Eat it up.

Masterlist

Summary: Jake captures Y/N, inflicting pain on her to get answers. But the recoms refuse to leave her there so they go and rescue Y/N. Once back in safety, emotions and feelings spiral out of control.

WARNINGS: smut, ANGST, violence, blood, injuries, fluff, hurt/comfort, penetration, double-penetration, unprotected sex, voyeurism, smut with multiple people at once, blowjobs,

Word Count: 14,771 (50 pages, holy shit I know)

In the military, everything is ordered and organised. There is a structure in the daily tasks of an individual. A plan. And things are meant to go according to plan.

Today, things did not go according to plan. Everything is utter chaos.

I’m Y/N. A recom soldier, with the sole life purpose of successfully completing my assigned mission along with the rest of my squad. That mission is to hunt down and kill Jake Sully, a man who once lived among us and who, a few years back, decided to switch sides. Now, Jake is a Na’vi in an Avatar body and no longer a human.

We marines aren’t human anymore either. Our old bodies died and we are artificially made Avatars who have been given the deceased soldier’s memories. It’s why we exist.

Since we are the RDA’s front-line combat team, we were sent out into the world. To explore Pandora as fake natives and find Sully. Our mission status was progressing and reached a peak when we stumbled upon what we assumed were Jake’s kids in the forest. Unfortunately for us, we didn’t manage to keep them hostage for long. He and his partner attacked us, taking back their kids except for the human boy. The Colonel found him injured and on the ground. But he was alive, so the mission was called off for the day. At least we were able to bring back some source of information, even if not every soldier who left the RDA base returned home…

Time went by fast when one’s life is on the line. Things also got more challenging when we realised that our enemy left the shared biome we were in. So we had to continue our search and use other tactics to get information out of others. The recom team was running out of time, so violence became a favoured option. Morals were already long forgotten. It seemed as though it was either our life or theirs.

We found Sully and his family near the coastlines of Pandora, cowering away in a clan of a different kind. The Na’vi that lived here were different.

Jake introduced the RDA to the ocean Na’vi, which added them to the blacklist the RDA ran. He didn’t seem to know that he endangered all of them too.

Very soon, our mission had no structure. We were acting on instincts and instincts alone because often, we couldn’t assume what was awaiting us. Pandora often fired many cruel surprises our way.

In the end, one thing led to another and we were on a ship, fighting off the savage natives that had found us. Quaritch had three more kids that most likely belonged to Sully or at least someone close to him, handcuffed to a rail on deck. He seemed to like the hostage trick, probably hoping Sully would give up his life for theirs.

That’s what is happening right now. I’m standing on deck, along with the Colonel, Lyle, Prager, Z-Dog, Mansk, Lopez and Ja. We are all that’s left of the Deja Blu team.

I’m holding an assault rifle in my hands, keeping my eyes trained on the approaching Na’vi in the distance. No matter how unsure I feel about all of this, I have to stay composed and focused. I faintly hear the Colonel talking to Jake through the earpiece one of the kids had. He seems to be trying to lure him out on his own in exchange for the kids. Everything is finally seeming to go well. Jake is coming to us alone and for once, we are in control of the situation. Or at least that’s what we think. There’s a deadly silence on board the SeaDragon for a while. One which is abruptly ended when a Tulkun comes crashing out from the surface of the ocean, landing on the ship. The sudden action stuns everyone and causes all the Na’vi in the distance to take the opportunity of our vulnerability and attack.

My heart is pounding in my chest when I fall to the ground and see the huge whale struggle on board. My instincts scream at me to attack it, so I do. Swiftly sitting up, I raise my arms and aim them at the gigantic creature. Without a second of hesitation, my fingers hold down the trigger and I’m firing at it, soon realising its skin is unpenetrable with bullets. That doesn’t stop me from trying to find a weak spot though. Chaos breaks out as I start hearing shouts and screams around me. The rest of the team is on the other side of the Tulkun, separating me from them.

A sudden surge of panic flows through my body and my heartbeat picks up, but I continue to do what they are. Attacking the hostile animal.

But that doesn’t last very long. Its tail fin lifts into the air as it tries to move and slams down next to me, making me roll to the side to dodge it. I see it lift from the corner of my eye again before it collides with the deck once more, this time breaking the ground beneath me. In moments, I’m on my feet, trying to move away from the broken-off part of the ship but before I can even comprehend what happened, I’m thrown off board and into the water. The whale’s strong fin swung against my middle, effortlessly knocking me off my feet and causing me to be submerged in water.

My weapon swung in a different direction and I can’t see it anymore. But that isn’t my main concern at the moment. I’m running out of air and my lungs are aching, forcing me to swim up to the surface to breathe. I feel weighed down and still in shock from what just happened, but I manage.

My head breaks through the surface of the water and I gasp for air. A small sense of relief manages to prevent my heart from pounding through my skin and out of my chest. I swim in one spot for mere moments, thinking about how to get back on the ship. But in that same moment, I watch that option die out when something sharp closes around my calf and pulls me down into the ocean again. I can see how I’m being distanced from the surface and the light. A look of horror paints my face and helplessness makes me feel like I’m already drowning when I turn around to see a water Na’vi on some sea creature, pulling me after them. The animal whose head looks similar to that of a crocodile has its mouth clamped down around my leg. A small trail of blood, oozing from my injury with the speed that it’s swimming through the water. The Na’vi occasionally turns around and soon, I realise I’m surrounded by them. But they don’t let me go. The animal keeps its teeth sunk deep into the flesh of my calf. My vision starts to blur and grow darker because I’m running out of air again. But looking up, I realise how far away from the surface I am. I wouldn’t even be able to swim that in time. So naturally, everything starts to fade and I lose consciousness, assuming this is my death.

Day One:

My ears are ringing and I hear faint, muffled voices as my eyes start to open. Finally, I’m met with light once again. My lungs are calmly inhaling and exhaling unlike before and I feel myself sitting on the ground. A ground which seems very unfamiliar to me.

In front of me, I watch as my awakening seems to stir restlessness and start a commotion. The figures which I now realise are Na’vi have all stood up and backed away from me.

I groan in pain, pushing my back off the wall behind me. My hands want to come up and palm my forehead to ease me back into reality but they can’t. My movement has been restricted while I was out and only now can I feel the tight rope binding my wrists together.

The voices are talking in a language I don’t understand. Must be Na’vi. My legs are outstretched before me and my eyes stop when I properly see my wound. It’s big. The bite marks are visible and my blood has stained my skin and soaked the unusually woven floor beneath me.

Another figure walks in but my mind is too hazy after everything that has happened to properly pay attention to my surroundings. Tiredly, I let my head fall back against the woven wall, trying to focus on my breathing instead of the pain in my right leg.

“See that Quaritch? That’s right. I got one of y’er soldiers.” I hear someone say in English. My weak body responds and my ears twitch forwards. I open my eyes, looking through the small strands of hair shielding my face to see… Jake Sully.

Suddenly, my body seems to properly jolt awake and my heartbeat picks up again, pumping adrenaline through my veins. Sully had captured me.

I stare up at him in shock, finally having the strength to look around and take in my surroundings. His stare is hard and he seems to show me no mercy.

I also notice he’s holding what looks like a camera in his hand and he’s pointing it at me.

The Na’vi around me have stepped out of the camera’s frame while I was coming to my senses and now I can recognise his partner. I think her name is Neytiri. A harsh glare covers her expression.

“You know what I want.” Jake snarls, pressing the radio call button he has around his neck. He seems to be talking to Quaritch through the earpiece.

“Give me my goddamn kids otherwise I’ll kill ‘er.” Sully says and I can hear the desperation in his voice. The threat is loud and clear.

I watch helplessly as he draws a knife from the holster around his torso and walks right up to me. Instinctively, I want to move away and I struggle against the ropes. My leg moves and I whine out in pain, clenching my teeth together to stay silent. It is best to stay silent in hostage situations.

Jake crouches down next to me and points the camera at my trembling leg.

“See? I ain’t joking.” he adds, gripping my ankle and lifting my leg. I gasp, sinking my own teeth into my bottom lip. Unfortunately, that doesn’t prevent the pained whimper from leaving my mouth. I don’t want them to know I was in pain. I don’t want to seem weak.

He looks at me, taking note of my reaction before almost carelessly dropping my leg. I throw my head back and clench my eyes closed. My lips are pressed together, muffling my cry.

Jake points the video camera at my face and I glance into the lens before looking away in shame. His hand comes up and he grips my jaw, tilting my head to the side to show a wound I had on my neck before doing the same on the other side. Quaritch must have said something that made Jake smirk.

“Oh yeah? What’re you gonna do about it?” Sully adds, digging his fingers against my jaw and forcing me to look up at him.

“I want all three of ‘em back by the end of today.” Jake snarls, roughly pushing my head away and letting go of me.

I smirk. Even with all the pain and horror, I manage to be myself.

Jake notices and continues to point the lens at me.

“Damn, all three?” I ask, before nodding with a grin. I didn’t expect them to get away with our previous three hostages.

Jake glares daggers at me. “Yeah, all three.” he snarls. “And I’m gettin’ ‘em all back too.”

“That’s three lives vs. one. You kidding?” I ask, before coughing lightly. “Don’t do it.” My eyes meet the camera lens again. I was talking to Quaritch, or whoever was watching.

I hear Jake growl before he adjusts his grip on his knife and presses it against my neck. It makes me shut up but I can’t loosen my facial muscles to stop my grin. The blade is pressing into my skin uncomfortably but not harshly enough to slice through my skin.

Jake is staring into my eyes and I can tell he’s in deep thought. Nevertheless, he looks enraged. His ears are flattened all the way back and he bares his fangs when he speaks.

“She’s gonna die here, Quaritch. I’ll make sure to make it last as long as possible.” Jake hisses, keeping the knife firmly pressed against the side of my throat. His ears twitch forwards when he hears Quaritch respond.

His eyes are focused on mine but he’s listening to what the Colonel is saying on the other line. Jake presses his lips together in a frown, harshly glaring at me one last time before nodding and pulling his hand away.

I exhale deeply in relief. A breath I didn’t know I was holding. Blood lightly trickles down my neck. Jake must have broken through a layer of skin with his blade. The cut burns but it is bearable.

Jake gets up from the ground, peering down at me before shutting off the video camera and turning away.

“I want ‘em back by tonight. And if anythin’s happened to ‘em-” Jake pauses, wiping his hand over his face in stress. “I won’t hesitate to kill her.”

Once again, he firmly nods before motioning something to Neytiri. She walks up to him and they both leave after she turns and looks at me once more. Disgust and hatred were emitted through her look. It’s very clear that I am not wanted here.

As they leave, I overhear them exchange a few words in Na’vi.

“Should we get her ready for the exchange?” Neytiri asks. Jake looks at her with a pause before answering.

“No.” he mumbles, and his answer surprises her. “We can use her against them.”

His partner looks at him with wide eyes and he shrugs. “She won’t leave here alive.”

His last sentence sounds like an order. One I cannot understand.

My sense of time is gone. I don’t know whether it’s still the same day or whether I had been out for multiple days. But it doesn’t seem to matter because I know no one will tell me anyway. What is confusing me is how the Colonel and my team managed to escape that hellish chaos alive and with the kids. But I have the rest of the day to think about that now.

After a few hours, I notice it’s dark outside. There are two armed Na’vi outside the odd-looking hut I’m in, but nothing is happening. I haven’t seen Jake since the interaction we had earlier. But I felt like I was waiting for him to come and get me. From what I understood from the talk he had with Quaritch, Jake wanted to trade me against his kids. An offer which still seems stupid to me.

We had already lost half our squad and Quaritch never seemed too moved by their death. So why would my life matter to him? I’m one person. An Avatar they can grow again if they deem it necessary. They have three hostages. Kids with information about everything we need to know. I think it’s clear that I’m not going back. But despite that, I stayed awake in hopes of Jake returning to bring me back to them. I want to go back. I don’t feel ready to die here. Not when we have so much to still see on this planet. Even though Pandora is our enemy, I’m amazed by the beauty of nature every time we go out. The power the forests hold.

Day Two:

Sunlight shines through my eyelids, making it impossible for me to continue sleeping. Wait- I slept through the night. The night that I was meant to return home if the deal worked.

My body jolts awake in panic and the sudden movements pain my leg, making me tense up and freeze. I look around me to find a once again empty room. Shit. I promised myself last night I wouldn’t sleep until I return to the RDA.

Hours went by and I was still left alone in the tent-like hut. Usually, when hearing waves softly crash and distant noises of animals and people, one would find the atmosphere quite relaxing. But the silence was almost eery to me. I was left alone with my thoughts and it made me sick. My body was sore from not being able to move and my calf muscle was throbbing with pain. The wound I had gotten was left untreated and I was being neglected. Not that I expected to be taken care of. I didn’t. But actually experiencing this is different to imagining how it would be.

My thoughts wandered. Jake wasn’t back. Perhaps the trade hadn’t worked. Maybe the RDA refused to give up the kids. If that were true, it doesn’t surprise me. That’s probably why I’m still here. Quaritch must have chosen to keep them hostage over saving me. I felt miserable and abandoned but if I were in his place, I would have left me too.

Perhaps the recoms took one look at my leg and decided I was basically already dead. A wounded soldier is useless in times of war. Why bother to help me?

Day Three:

I barely slept. Even though I was exhausted, I couldn’t rest. My entire body ached from not moving. My shoulders were becoming agonisingly sore from my hands being tied behind my back and my leg had finally stopped bleeding but it was swollen. The bite marks were deep and my blood looked infected.

A Na’vi came into my room. She was from the water clan but I didn’t mind because I saw she was holding water and food. The girl looked young too and somehow oddly familiar. As if I’ve seen her before.

Of course, she wasn’t alone. A large Na’vi followed her, holding a spear. His face and chest had tribal tattoos and he stood by the doorway, watching over the girl. Most likely her father.

More people walked in and I spotted Jake between them. He walked up to me and was hesitantly followed by a few kids.

His eyes scanned me over before he nodded at the girl next to me. She put the small basket down and gave me water while Jake discussed something with the man watching over the girl.

I gulped down everything in the bottle. Finally, my throat wasn’t as dry as before.

“Recognise them?” Jake asked me, motioning to the children. The girl next to me stepped to the side and kept a ‘safe’ distance.

I look at the kids one by one. I knew two of them were his because their skin was a darker blue than the rest. But in the end, he could have many kids we don’t know about. But yes, they do look familiar. Then again, I’m really not in the right state of mind right now to be thinking about things like that.

I stay silent and return my gaze to Jake.

He smirks. “These are the kids you took.”

My eyes widen a little more and I instantly start to examine them again. He got them back?

“They’re home and safe from you monsters.”

My ears flatten back at his remark. He wasn’t wrong but I didn’t like hearing it.

“What’s your name?” he asks, but I stay silent. He doesn’t need to know that.

Jake scoffs at my reaction before kneeling down next to me and pulling my dog tag out from beneath my torn tank top.

I watch him read my name before he diverts his eyes to look at me again.

“I tricked your friends, Y/N.” Jake snarled at me malevolently. “I got what I wanted and I have you.”

My heart sinks as I hear this information.

“If they’re still alive, I can tell you right now, they’re sure as hell not coming to get you.”

I felt sick to my stomach. The feeling of helplessness when your world starts to suddenly completely fall apart makes me feel like I’m drowning. It really was all over now. I’m going to live as long as they feel like it. But this is where I will stay.

The girl reappears next to me, holding fruit in her hands. She’s peeled it and is seeming to offer it to me but Jake doesn’t let her.

“No food for her.” he tells the girl and it makes her stop her movements and retreat her hands.

Jake glances at me one last time before turning to the other man.

“We need to keep her weak.”

The man nods and soon, they’re all leaving me with an empty stomach again.

Day Four:

My head is throbbing in pain. My vision is blurry and my body is numb. This is a different kind of torture that I am now realising I won’t last much longer in.

I have started passing out every few hours from dehydration and lack of sleep. Hearing the water beneath the woven floor had me envisioning I was drowning in the ocean again. Hallucinations were not uncommon either.

The guards at the entrance to the hut have turned around multiple times when I would gasp and scream. I once thought I was drowning and the other time I saw the recoms walk in and I genuinely thought it was all over. But they weren’t real. They faded away in seconds and I was alone again.

Later that day, Jake came back along with the man he was talking to before. Neytiri and another woman from the water clan entered as well.

My eyes widened when I saw an Avatar in human clothing walk in behind Jake. I thought it could be a recom but when I looked at his face, I realised I didn’t recognise him.

About an hour earlier I had heard a helicopter outside but I wasn’t sure whether I had imagined it. Apparently not. The Avatar looked like he was from the science department. He had tech equipment with him and started setting it down on the ground.

They were talking between each other for a while and I stopped paying attention. My mind was too hazy from the pain to listen.

But I came back to my senses a little more when Jake came up to me and started his questioning. He had the video camera with him again. Perhaps he wanted to show Quaritch my suffering.

“How are you alive again?”

“Did the RDA make you?”

“Why are you after my family?”

The questions overwhelmed me. I don’t know why he thought it was a good idea to interrogate me when I’m in such a bad state. But I couldn’t focus properly.

That bothered Jake, so he used force like he knew we would too. I answered only when I really couldn’t bare the pain he was inflicting on me.

In the end, I told them our mission and why we were alive. It’s not top-secret information anyway, it was pretty obvious really. We are out for blood because he betrayed us in our past lives. What does Jake not understand about that?

The session ended with tears staining my face and blood running out of my nose. My calf resumed its bleeding after Jake had purposefully irritated the deep wound to get answers out of me. The clan leader, his wife, and Neytiri didn’t look comfortable during the torture, but they showed me no mercy. I didn’t expect them to.

It’s only natural for them to hate me for what I am and for what I was.

Day Five:

I don’t feel alive anymore. I had been given more water but my body was weak. Nothing feels real to me and I’m surprised I’m still hanging on. I don’t have much to live for, how come I’m still here?

But I realise something is off today. The village isn’t calm. There’s a loud commotion outside. Big splashes of water and occasional shouting. It keeps me awake.

A little while later, a few Na’vi come into my tent but they pay me no attention. Usually, the people are wary of me but to these two, I don’t even exist. They seem to be in a hurry as they gather a few of their belongings. I watch them roll up mats and grab a few things before jogging back outside. Were they going somewhere?

This continued for what felt like a few hours until I noticed the noise slowly start to die down. The noises of animals gathering at the shore were heard. After a while, there was no noise anymore. I was left in complete silence.

Hours went by and there was just… nothing.

I thought that perhaps I was hallucinating about being alone. Or maybe I was dead and this is what I get after life. Neverending, loud silence.

I feel disconnected from the world. Like I can’t keep up because I don’t know what is happening. I can’t move and I feel so utterly helpless it breaks me. I feel disconnected from life.

I start grieving for myself. Remembering the gift of freedom I had before. Before I was restricted of almost all my movement.

I’m able to see the sun slowly set outside. My cramped-up body is slowly losing its power as the daylight outside dims. Everything hurts. My mouth is dry, my leg is putting me in agony and my breathing becomes heavy. As if there were a weight on my chest. My neck hurts from not being able to rest, my back hurts from not being able to stretch or readjust its posture and I can’t feel my tail. It’s all too much and my vision starts to black out once more. My completely numb body falls to the side and I lose consciousness.

The village has been abandoned by the clan. And they have left you alone with it. All huts are empty and there is no movement except for the small waves washing up on the coast.

To them, you were not worthy of life. You knew that but having to bare their treatment was worse.

Why they left, you do not know. But you’re too weak to worry about it. Your body is trying its best to keep you alive for as long as possible, but it is not doing well. You have not been nourishing it as well as you usually do and the sudden change has weakened your immune system. Your mentality and emotional strength are equally at a low because abandonment is not easy to deal with. There seems to be nothing keeping you in this world any longer. Quite frankly, you’re not sure whether those who you wish to see once more are even still breathing. Sully mentioned they had been tricked and could be dead. Perhaps you should join them, to escape this dreadful reality you’re stuck in.

What you do not know, is that the clan and the Sully’s fled for a reason. This whole time they had been documenting your suffering and sending it to the RDA, in hopes of being able to form some type of peace treaty. But seeing your treatment had the surviving recoms feeling furious.

The ambush Jake had set up on them to get the kids back had been seriously dangerous. Zdinarsk took a bad hit and in the end, the squad had to leave her lifeless body behind, as they had done with the others.

Everyone else survived.

When the recoms lost you on deck, many thought you were dead. It pained them because, to them, you were the brightest of them all. You of course never knew this, but you managed to keep the team’s spirit uplifted at all times. As humans, they had always had a special connection with you. A few new soldiers joined the recoms but the soldiers that were alive now you knew for a longer time. The Colonel included. You’re their youngest team member and they have always been protective of you. To the recoms, they wouldn’t be a team without you. You had brought them together. In the beginning, you were all strangers. You only knew Lyle from boot camp. And gradually, you unintentionally helped bring everyone closer. It was who you were and they admired you for it.

Seeing that you were alive gave them a huge relief but when they realised what hands you had landed in, it horrified them.

Quaritch was ready to fully arm his team and walk out to find you the second his interaction with Sully ended.

Ardmore prevented that from happening and Quaritch knew he had to listen to her. Instead, they prepared for the handover. Secretly of course, because the General would not agree to trade 3 hostages with valuable information against one wounded soldier.

They saw you in trouble so instantly, their mission objective changed. Screw Sully, he can wait. They had to get you back.

The full five days were spent planning what to do because the recoms panicked when they realised they weren’t getting you back from Jake. He had set up a trap for them which they fell into, due to their tunnel vision for you.

Now, they didn’t have a plan but they have vengeance, rage and fury. Enough of it to pump adrenaline through their bodies and make them dare to walk all the way to find you.

I didn’t plan on waking up again but hey, that’s not something I can control right? My eyes squint in irritation as my pupils are strained, trying to adapt to the sudden change of lighting. Light? It was meant to be dark. The sun had just set.

Confusion once again revives my body and I properly look around. My weak body lays on its side but my head manages to lift up. Why the hell is it so goddamn bright when the sky outside is dark?

A strong smell fills my nostrils, making me scrunch up my sensitive nose.

Smoke.

I’m inhaling smoke. One breath after the other it starts to cloud the hut I’m in, but I can’t move. My ears twitch and I hear something cracking to my left. Like wood breaking and falling. My eyes turn to look where the noise came from and I see the hole that has formed in the wall of the woven tent I’m in. It’s growing bigger and the floor is slowly breaking away. Outlining it are small flames, keeping the dry fabric ignited.

Fire.

The village is burning. And I’m in it. Why and how it’s burning I don’t know but the smoke is clouding my vision and filling my lungs, making me think this has to be my end. In complete defeat, I drop my head again, hoping to evade the polluting grey cloud but it doesn’t help. The need to cough clogs my throat but I’m too weak to inhale a big enough breath to be able to cough. So I just resume my position, waiting for everything to end.

You don’t move. You can’t. You’re wrists are still tied behind your back and your leg is still injured. There is no escape for you. You’re just hoping the smoke will finish you off before the flames reach you.

Outside your hut, loud shouts of orders are to be heard. But your ears do not pick up on them.

The fire has been set purposefully out of spite for what had been done to you. But the ones responsible for it, do not know you are still there. Once things started burning, orders were given to search the huts for anything and anyone. Best case scenario: you.

The smoke had knocked you out again because you weren’t receiving enough air. Time is running out fast.

Hut after hut, the recombinants find nothing, quickly running to the next one before the fire reaches it. The one you are in is on the far end of the village, so as not to inconvenience the previous inhabitants. You were a threat and they didn’t want you in the centre of it all. After all, you might bring them bad luck.

Everyone was busy, desperately hoping to find you but also dreading to find you in flames and blood.

Just before your roof was going to collapse on you, one soldier was fortunate enough to run past your hut and glance inside.

Lopez’s bare feet skidded over the woven fabric that the village was built with. It was dry and able to burn fast, so they all had to hurry.

He’s running from house to house, looking inside only to find abandoned objects and some furniture. His hope is slowly dying out as he starts to reach the edge of the coastal village. Lopez’s heart is beating fast and he feels dread weigh down his heart. What if they are too late? He should have paid attention to where you were on the ship. Not let you out of his sight. Then this would have never happened.

He’s starting to panic again, just like when he saw you crying on the screen.

Finally, he reached your hut. It looked just like any other hut and when he glanced inside all he saw was smoke. It was close to collapsing in on itself and Lopez was about to go and run to the next one when he saw a faint figure on the ground. It made him stop dead in his tracks and a soft breeze managed to clear the smoke from his view for a few seconds.

There you were.

Lying motionless on the ground.

His heart sank and everything seemed to stop for a few seconds before he was brought back to reality by the flames nearing you and the cracking of the roof above you. Without spending another second thinking, Lopez hurled his body forward, running straight up to you. He held his breath, examining you with wide eyes while his hands moved you around to see if you were alive. You gave him no reaction. He was ready to scoop you up but he quickly realised you were tied to a post which was attached to the burning wall.

Such cruel handling to such a beautiful soul, he thought.

He was quick to try and rip the rope but it wasn’t working. Lopez cursed himself for losing his dagger.

Luckily, Lyle, who was also searching houses, saw Lopez run into the smoke. He hasn’t seen him come out. It meant that either he had to go help his fellow soldier in case something had happened or perhaps, Lopez had found something.

Lyle reached the entrance of the hut, seeing nothing but a hunched-over figure. Recognising it as Lopez, he quickly entered and equally held his breath in the smoke. Both their ears were pinned back in tension and once Lyle saw you on the ground, he fell to his knees in an attempt to help you. He saw Lopez fighting the coarse rope and swiftly reached for his dagger, slicing through it to finally free you. No words were spoken, they knew what to do.

Without hesitation, Lopez quickly slid an arm behind your back and one under the legs, lifting you into the air as he got up. Lyle quickly lead the way, flinching when he saw the roof start to break. Both men are desperate to help you out of here so they run, with you in Lopez’s arms. Finally exiting the hut, they can breathe again but they don’t stop. Just as they start to return, the entire hut collapses in on itself. They found you just in time.

All other soldiers have been ordered to get off the burning ground and back onto the sand. They were gathered on the beach and the Colonel was looking for Lopez and Lyle. A soldier called out that he spotted them and the whole team turned to see them running with a body in one’s hands.

Immediately, all senses and attention were spiked. Was it you?

Lyle called out that they had you and a few soldiers dropped their things to go and help them where as the Colonel stayed put. The news overwhelmed him with the long-needed feeling of relief and he just stared at them, watching his highly trained marines carefully transport you to them. But there was one problem. You weren’t awake…

My head buzzed in pain from a mild headache I was getting while resting. But suddenly, as my senses return to me, everything feels different. I’m blinded by a bright white light as I once again, open my eyes. Am I dead?

I squint and the white light is above me. Yep, I’m dead. Heaven or hell, who cares. I’m not where I was and that’s all that really matters to me right now.

Ready to close my eyes again, my other senses heightened. With my vision gone, I can focus on my hearing and smell. I smell disinfectant and hear a constant beeping which is probably what is giving me my headache. It’s coming from behind me and I open my eyes, wanting to hit whatever it was.

Suddenly, the light is no longer blinding me and I recognise what looks to be a heart monitor.

A gasp is emitted on my right and I flinch, looking at the figure with half-lidded and tired eyes.

“Y/N! You’re awake!” The voice shouts in excitement. I recognise Prager and my eyes start to tear up.

I still had no idea what was happening but I was so happy to not be alone anymore.

Prager is barely sitting on his chair now that he seems to have placed next to my bed. He’s too happy for that. Next to him, Mansk is slowly lifting his head from his palm. The sudden commotion must have woken him up.

He looks at Prager who is holding my hand and when he notices I’m awake, his eyes widen in surprise. It starts to load into Mansk’s head that I’m alive and he sits up, leaning over me.

I’m very overwhelmed with everything around me.

“You’re dead too?” I mumble, suddenly coughing a little. A smoky aftertaste is left lingering on my tongue.

Prager tilts his head in confusion.

“Y/N, you’re alive.” he says, smiling again.

I shake my head. “No-” I say, pointing to me. “I’m dead.”

Prager chuckles at your existential confusion. He’s too overjoyed that your back he gets up and runs to the door.

“Colonel, Y/N’s awake!” he shouts through the hallway, standing in the frame of the door.

Mansk scoots closer, seeming to be in disbelief that I’m alive. He’s examining me, making sure I’m okay while now also comfortingly holding my hand.

(click here to see a picture I drew of this scene)

Only now do I realise where I am. I’m laying in a hospital bed in what looks like it could be the RDA’s medical centre. The recoms have their own hospital because the bodies are different.

There is in fact a heart monitor next to me and I have cannula tubes inserted into my lower arm and hand which are connected to an IV drip bag. It’s clear and filled with a saline solution. Probably best to cure my dehydration. I can feel a bandage around my calf. Finally, the wound must have been taken care of.

“How are you feeling?” Mansk asks. His ears are perked forward, giving me all his attention.

I slowly tilt my head back to face him.

“Like shit.” I mutter, raising my hand impaled by small, clear tubes and my bandaged leg to emphasize my point. He drops his head and smiles.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” he replies. But his smile is comforting. He seems to know that I must be doing better if I can curse and joke around.

Prager steps back into the room, allowing the Colonel to come in. Quaritch was out of breath when he walked in, his eyes never leaving me. He came to a stop in front of my bed. Behind him, the rest of the remaining team came in. Lyle, Lopez, and Ja stood behind their superior and their wide eyes watched our interaction.

“Y/N…” Quaritch breathes out as I look up to meet his gaze. He seemed relieved but his eyes showed me he was tormented with guilt.

“I’m so sorry.”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. Why was he sorry?

“Sorry? Why?”

Quaritch looks disappointed in himself, and his eyes flicker down and away from mine to stare at the pale covers of the bed.

“I should have been watching out for you. It’s my fault.”

My ears droop at the news. Sure, he was our Colonel and was in charge of us all, but it’s not his fault.

“Don’t say that.” I reply, not wanting him to feel let down by himself. “It’s not true.”

Your words are spoken softly as if you are trying to comfort him. He notices your tone, once again being reminded why you’re so special to him and the team. Helping others even at your worst. A great quality which will never cease to amaze him.

“We thought we lost you.” His saddened eyes meet mine again.

I smile, appreciating him showing me his caring side. Something Quaritch never did.

“Don’t get me emotional here, Colonel.” I chuckle before abruptly coughing again. “I don’t have enough water in my body to cry.”

A grin forms on my lips and my joking attitude makes him lightly chuckle. The others smile.

They spend the next few hours with you, talking to you about things and letting you get everything off your chest. You told them what happened from the very beginning to the very end. It made them furious but at least you were safe now. While listening, Quaritch had his ears pinned back and was gritting his teeth. Mansk couldn’t keep his leg still and was tensely cracking his knuckles and pressing his fingers into fists. Everyone was on edge when you described what Jake had done to you. They wanted to go and end him even more now but no one would risk the same thing happening again.

For the next few days, you were getting their full-time princess treatment. Obviously, they still had to work. This wasn’t some perfect fantasy where they would spend all their time with you and watch movies. It didn’t work that way. The RDA had to keep running and they were needed. But you were not forgotten.

They would each stop by every day, taking turns to make sure you were alright. While you still felt very weak, your body started healing and your strength was slowly returning. It was a miracle. One you would have never imagined could happen. Not after you thought you were going to die multiple times. Not even after you were ready to face death the last time. This job, or this life, was not for the weak.

Soon enough, I was slowly returning to my normal self. The doctors let me go after a week but I was still not allowed to participate in extremely physical activities like working out. Typical things for Marines. I just hope that I won’t forget how to do things once I’m really back.

One might think that moving around the facility during the day was the toughest part for me. Well, that’s not true. It was a struggle but what I was really battling with were the nights. Whenever I close my eyes, my mind starts remembering and picturing everything that has happened to me over the past few days. Sleeping in the hospital was dreadful. I think that’s why they let me out early. So that I could properly rest again.

With half of the original recom team gone, the dorms which we slept in were reduced in size. We were transferred to a shared room for the seven of us. The Colonel included. His private room was going to be used for something else. There would have been lots of complaining from his side if it weren’t for my sleep paranoia. I was going to share a room with them from now on and it relieved me. It meant that I wouldn’t have to sit through the night alone anymore and stare into the dark. I could perhaps even sleep peacefully.

The days went by quickly for me because I wasn’t assigned any tasks. I feel like I’m just wasting my time but Quaritch tells me it’s a part of the healing process.

The lights were shut off again and the room went dark. Normally, my heart would start racing but I could hear the soft breathing of Lyle behind me and Mansk on my left. We had our own beds, but even they were pretty close together. The Colonel slept across the room from me.

Surprisingly, I managed to fall asleep fairly quickly. Sleeping in one room with 6 fully grown marine men on your side is a pretty comforting thought for me. I knew them well and trusted each of them.

But once asleep, it didn’t take long for the traumatising memories to return. I dreamt that I was tied down again, stuck in the hut full of smoke. I could remember the exact pain in every area of my body and the aftertaste of the smoke in my lungs. But this time, nobody was there to get me out. The fire neared me rapidly and soon, the flames engulfed me. Out of fear, I woke up.

Quickly, I sat up from my previous laying position, breathing heavily as if I had been running. A sweat droplet ran down my forehead while my wide eyes saw that I wasn’t back there, but still safe in our room.

I heard a bed creak next to me and turned around, flinching away when I saw a figure sitting on the bed.

“Y/N, it’s okay. It’s me.” I hear Lyle say. My eyes close and I let out a relieved sigh.

“Sorry for waking you.” I whisper, flattening my ears back.

“Don’t be, I wanna help.” He softly replies, walking to the edge of my bed. I look up at him and even in the dark, I can see his smile. Our new eyes really were something.

“Scoot over.” he whispers, gently taking hold of my blanket and lifting a corner. We knew each other well enough to know our boundaries. This was completely fine.

“The bed’s small. You won’t sleep well.” I warn him, still listening to what he said.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” he mumbles, slowly getting under the covers with me. “Just want you to feel better.”

I smile at him, before laying my head back against the pillow. “Thanks.”

Lyle loosely drapes his arm around my waist, pulling himself closer to me so that he won’t fall off the edge of the mattress. His hand feels the bare skin of my hip and he stops. His eyebrows furrow and he lets me go, using the same hand to lift the blanket.

“What are you even wearin’?” he asks. I groan against the pillow. I had sleep shorts and a comfortable sleep top on. It looked like a sports bra but it was actually cozy.

“It’s warm. And this is comfortable.” I mumble, not bothering to open my eyes.

“It’s cold.” Lyle corrects me, placing his arm back over me and pressing himself against my back. “But you’re warm.”

“Hot.” I smirk, nudging his foot with mine before closing my eyes again. He chuckles lightly and we go silent in an attempt to sleep again.

Unfortunately, that attempt turns out to be miserable because Lyle won’t stop moving around. His body twitches and he keeps readjusting his position.

Then the inevitable happens. I feel something semi-hard against my ass. With the dirty mind Lyle taught me to have, my eyes shoot open and I hold my breath for a second. To see if it really is what I think it is, I push back against it.

Lyle sharply inhales a breath and I huff out a sigh.

“You’re kidding.” I whisper to him unimpressed, turning my head to look at him from the corner of my eye.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-” he stutters, withdrawing his arm from me again.

“This is your help? Getting all worked up?” I ask with a chuckle and the intention to make fun of him so that he would joke back. It surprised me that he was getting hard around me. I never knew he thought of me in that way.

He doesn’t respond so I fully turn around to face him. Lyle's ears are flattened back and he looks not just embarrassed but regretful and ashamed.

“Lyle, I’m joking.” I say, noticing his expression.

“I don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable.” he whispers to me. Lyle glances to his bed and I notice that he’s thinking about getting up.

“Don’t you dare. I was comfortable.” I whisper-shout at him. He turns his head back to me, watching my moves to understand my reaction.

I turn around and lay back down, in an attempt to show him I wasn’t weirded out. The situation has my heart beating faster in my chest. Probably in excitement. I don’t think my steps through. All I know is that I felt comfortable and safe with him and I wanted to return to the position we were just in.

I lay still but my eyes are open and I wait for him to lay down again. Luckily, Lyle gives in and lowers himself back down. His chest presses up against my back once more and he keeps his arm on his side. He seems unsure whether to put it back so I gently reach behind me and pull it over my waist again, hugging his forearm against my chest.

Within seconds, I feel his tense body melt against me and I’m comfortable again. He hums behind my head and I close my eyes.

But now I can’t stop thinking about what could happen. I know Lyle still has his problem but he’s stuck here with me and can’t really sort it out. In a way, I feel bad for him. But only then do I realise, that his presence had me feeling warmer and more jumpy than usual.

His heavy, strong body was pressed right up against mine. There was no way he didn’t feel how warm I’m getting. Questions seem to slowly answer themselves when Lyle shifts again.

His arm tightens around my waist and he gently pulls my hips up against his. I don’t move, letting him set the pose. He holds me tightly against him now and my ass is pressed against his now hard erection.

I don’t know what to do but I’m no longer thinking about my actions. I just do them. My head turns to the side again to look at him. I hear him smirk and then suddenly, Lyle presses his face against the side of my neck, nuzzling his nose into my skin. This is new. All of this. Lyle and I have never been this physical.

“Lyle?” I ask, not sure what I’m asking or what I expect to hear as a response.

“I thought I lost you, Buttercup.” he mumbles against my skin. His other arm pushes through underneath me and he’s wrapped both his arms around me now.

I gasp when I feel his warm lips against my skin. Lyle starts pressing gentle kisses on my neck before he licks a small stripe and then catches the skin between his teeth.

“Missed you so much,” he whispers, moving up so that he’s now hovering over me. He kisses my cheek and I look up at him with doe eyes. He’s being so affectionate it’s making me melt. The light speckles on our skin illuminate our bodies and I see mine in the reflection of his eyes. We stare at each other for a few long seconds before he starts to slowly lean down. His eyes flicker between mine and my lips and I let it happen. There was nothing wrong with this and no reason to stop. I missed him too.

Our lips meet and Lyle immediately starts to passionately kiss me. I sigh at the pleasant feeling, lifting my hand to caress the back of his head. Tracing my hand over his skin, I stop at his shoulders and feel the muscles flexing while he’s holding himself up. Lyle’s physique always looked good to me. Having his weight on me felt even better.

“Let me show you how much I missed you.” he whisper after we pull away. He’s watching me, waiting for my reaction. I slowly nod and almost instantly, the gap between our lips is closed again. But this time, the kiss is more heated and Lyle seems more desperate.

My mind is hazy from my lack of sleep and sudden affection. My eyes flutter closed with every kiss and touch he gives me that time seems to speed by. Something I hate because I wish I could prolong this moment with Lyle.

His hands are caressing my chest and he glances at me for permission while letting his fingertips linger on the fabric of my top. This time I nod eagerly and Lyle listens, gently pulling the top over my head. He groans, letting his eyes scan me before quickly moving on to my shorts. I lift my hips and it encourages him to slip them down my legs, leaving me bare before him.

“You’ve always been so pretty.” he praised me, whispering the words into my ear. “Thought I’d never be able to tell you.”

“Stop, you’re making me feel special.” I grin, helping him pull his shirt off.

Lyle chuckles softly. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.” he whispers his promises into my ear.

I smile, embracing him as he lowers himself back down. Suddenly, it seems like we’d both been touch starved and we couldn’t let each other go. I don’t know whether this is love or lust. Somewhere in between but we have a deep connection that’s igniting my skin with warmth.

Lyle stripped himself as well and he’s kissing down my chest. Our bodies are hidden under the blanket in case anyone turns the light on. But we were quiet enough not to wake others.

I open my legs, wrapping them around his waist and pulling him against me. I feel his aching hard cock press up against my bare pussy which was throbbing and becoming wet. Lyle’s body shudders in anticipation at the close touch and he can’t help but slowly grind himself against my folds. I bite my lip, exhaling shakily which his ears pick up on.

“Please-” I whisper, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

“You don’t need to beg, baby. Anythin’ for you.” he softly replies, gently nibbling my ear before adjusting his hips to mine.

I feel the tip of his dick press against my entrance, carefully applying pressure to not overwhelm me all at once.

I nod up at him, and his lips part in admiration when he sees my lust-filled and half-lidded eyes staring up at him.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise.” He whispers to me, knowing I’m still not up to my full health. I hum in response, feeling too blown away to form words already.

Lyle starts to gently roll his hips forward, thereby pushing himself into you. His mouth slowly drops open in pleasure, relishing in the way you’re squeezing him. The intrusion would normally make you tense up but you trust Lyle so much, you don’t stop him. Knowing he would never do anything to hurt you, you lay back and focus on relaxing yourself for him. Finally feeling so safe and good was such a contrast to how you felt a week ago. You needed this just as much as he did.

He blamed himself for what happened just like everyone else did. Now, he wanted to apologise and make up for it. Because he missed your presence so incredibly much before, he couldn’t get enough of it now.

Lyle finally bottomed out and he dropped his head against your shoulder in pleasure. Never had he felt this close to you, but he loved it. Even with all his built-up lust, his main priority is you.

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, and suddenly Lyle already seems out of breath.

“Yeah, m’ fine.” I say and reassuringly tap his shoulder.

He gives me a small nod. Taking one of my hands Lyle carefully interwines our fingers and then presses our connected hands against the pillow next to my head. I sigh as he gently pulls out, pushing back in as carefully as he did the first time. He does this until he feels that I have relaxed more. Once Lyle starts to slowly pick up the pace, the movement inside me is feeling pleasurable. I start breathing heavily. Listening to Lyle’s uneven breathing and watching his lustful expression is really turning me on, making my pussy almost flutter around him.

I gasp when his tip hits a particularly good spot inside me. It makes me instinctively clench my legs around him and roll my hips upwards.

“That good?” Lyle teases with a grin, noticing my body’s response.

“Shit- Lyle…” I sigh, clenching my fingers down against his hand and raising my free hand to hold on to the pillow. I needed to dig my fingers into something.

Lyle seemed to not like that I wasn’t touching him and he thrust into me sharply, making my body jolt upwards. I look at him with wide eyes before resting my free hand on his shoulders. The pleasure is building up inside me, making me curl my toes and dig my nails into his back.

Lyle growls with a grin, continuing what he’s doing. He drops his head in the crook of my neck, starting to suck and gently bite down on my skin. Probably wanting to leave hickeys. I’m not going to stop him.

He didn’t speed up but he angled his hips in a way that sent shivers down my spine and made me arch my back off the bed.

“Lyle-” I whisper “I’m close.” My breathing is heavy and my words are barely heard but he catches them in time.

“You doin’ so well f’ere me, baby. So fuckin’ good.” he groans, resuming to nibble on my neck and collarbone.

My mouth drops open in bliss and I’m gasping and whimpering beneath Lyle.

He dips his head down once more with a smug smile, kissing me to keep us both quiet as our orgasms approach. It’s the best way to shut me up.

His thrusts deepen and I feel his abdomen nudge my clit every time he bottoms out. It’s enough to send me over the edge. My mouth hangs open again but Lyle continues to kiss me, muffling my silent moan. Not once do his movements falter. He rides out my orgasm until my legs stop clamping down around him.

“Where do you want it?” he asks between heavy breaths, looking at me with desperate eyes because he can’t hold it back.

“In me.” I whisper, pressing the side of my face against his. I hear him let out a muffled moan, pressing his lips together to not be too loud.

I missed him and everything normal so much, I needed this feeling of closeness. I was about to die a few days back so I really didn’t mind.

I gather my breath and Lyle speeds up his thrusts to push himself over the edge. To help him, I open my legs wider to give him better access. The next thrust makes him growl in pleasure and within seconds, his body spasms. Lyle bites down onto my shoulder, holding me down with both his arms and placing his body weight on me while he rams himself as deep inside my pussy as possible and shoots his cum inside me. He holds me down, not letting me move until he’s done.

Once he’s emptied his balls inside me, his grip on me loosens and we lock eyes once more.

Slowly, I lift my hand and cup his cheek. The small act of affection makes him smile softly and he presses his forehead against mine, closing his eyes to enjoy the moment. I smile up at him, unable to contain my happiness. I really liked him and I was happy this happened between us.

Lyle grinned down at me, seeming to read my thoughts. I pulled him in for a quick peck on the lips and then he slowly lifted himself up, pulling out. His hands traced my body as he prepared to lay back down next to me.

“So pretty. You’re mine baby.” he says, leaning down about to rest next to me once more before his movements stop.

“Don’t know about that, Corporal.” Said a voice from behind us. It spoke louder than we did and I immediately recognised it to be the Colonel. Quaritch was awake and had probably heard everything.

I gasp and Lyle freezes, staring at me for a second before sighing. He would have been surprised if you both wouldn’t have woken anyone up.

Quaritch walks up to my bed, glancing at Lyle before once again fixating his gaze on me. My hands are gripping onto the edge of the blanket, holding it above my chest. The Colonel is my superior and my face flushes in embarrassment in response to being caught doing that.

“Didn’t know you’d be this temptin’ sweet’eart.” He grinned, flashing his fangs. Quaritch was a bold man not afraid of judgement.

“I’m sorry sir, I-”

“Almost irresistible.” he mutters under his breath, making me stop mid-sentence.

Lyle is next to me, silently watching the situation unfold. He knows the Colonel well and is aware that he isn’t just having you to himself tonight.

Quaritch once again glances at Lyle and his gaze is more of a warning sign now. Lyle takes the hint, reaching for his sweatpants before moving off the bed. He looks down at me in a way to make sure I’m doing okay. I was surprised by the Colonel’s forwardness but Lyle was making sure I’m not uncomfortable. I know that if he would feel like I’m in danger, he would do absolutely everything in his power to protect me from that.

But it was Quaritch in the room with us. Definitely no stranger. I trusted Quaritch as well, I just had to be more respectful and presentable around him because he was a high-ranking officer.

“I was ready to kill Jake the second I’d see him.” Quaritch says, continuing to peer down at me. “Rip ‘im open and burn his body.”

If this is how Quaritch dirty talks then someone help me.

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you, darlin’. I can promise you that with my life.”

His words are deep and while processing them, he steps closer. Quaritch sits down on the bed so that we are at eye level.

“I want ‘te make it up to you.” he says, gazing deeply into my eyes.

I watch him and his words send a shiver down my spine. Quaritch is very much attractive but he is also so much more intimidating than Lyle. I feel nervous being so exposed around him but something about the way he is so gentle with me and the soft look on his face makes me want this to happen.

“You trust me?” Quaritch asks. He looks so genuine and so real. As if he’d left the Colonel sleeping and what I’m seeing in front of me is just him as Miles.

“Yes.” I whisper, giving him a light nod. A small smile spreads across his lips. His large hand reaches up to my face and he twirls a small strand of hair that came loose around his fingers before gently tucking it behind my ear. I can’t tear my wide eyes from his. The amazement and surprise that this is happening is still astounding me.

“I won’t let you down.” he softly says, moving closer to me. “Never again.”

With that, he firmly presses his lips against mine, pulling my face to his.

I accept, letting my body relax against his.

Quaritch’s hands are on me, pulling me closer to him and within a matter of seconds, he’s hooked his palms under my thighs and has managed to tug me onto his lap. He was wearing nothing but his pants and I enjoyed the warm skin-to-skin contact our chests have.

The Colonel must have been watching or listening to Lyle and me because I felt his fully erect dick under me. It made me lose my mind. My fucking Colonel, the person I always look up to seems to have it bad for me.

His fingers dig into my hips and he presses me down against him, pulling away from the kiss and growling. I gasp, letting my eyes flutter closed while he grabs my queue, tugging my head back to expose my neck. His lips attach themselves to my neck as a small distraction while his other hand reaches between us and pushes down his pants.

He’s sucking and nibbling the skin of my neck, making me arch myself into him at the pleasant feeling. I’m not surprised that the Colonel is so skilled. A man of that age has a lot of experience. I just never thought I would be on the receiving end of it.

He pushes his pants down to his mid-thigh, far enough to free his aching cock from the restraints of the fabric. Once again, he forces my hips closer against his, pressing my already wet pussy against the sheath of his length. It’s warm and at this point, my core is too. Our bodies radiate heat while our senses are flooded with desire and lust.

His eyes seem to have turned a shade darker. Miles looks animalistic. His gaze is predatory, showing me his hunger and thirst for more. It doesn’t scare me though. He’s deeply buried in the moment but it’s still him who I trust.

His needs seem to be screaming at him and without further ado, both his hands latch themselves to my sides, lifting me up a little. I’m supporting myself by standing on my knees but it seems like Quaritch still wants full control, despite our position.

I feel his tip against my entrance. But this time mine and Lyle’s cum is slowly dripping out and onto him, covering his throbbing erection.

When I look up at him, Miles is grinning. There’s something so dirty about all of this but it’s just exciting me more. My thoughts are interrupted when Quaritch stops holding me up, guiding me down him until I’m fully seated on his lap again with him buried deep inside my pussy.

“F-fuck…” he curses, hissing the words through his teeth. “I knew you’d feel amazing.”

His whisper makes me shudder in anticipation. At this point, I didn’t even want this for my own pleasure. It felt great, but pleasing the Colonel was better.

He started to rock my hips against him, before eventually lifting and sinking my hips up and down him. Watching his expression relax and tense up in pleasure and listening to his grunts and pants was all I really wanted.

Perhaps I had missed him so much too, that I just wanted to please him and feel him close to me.

His pace grew harder. Even though Quaritch cares about me just as much as Lyle does, he isn’t as gentle. Only now do I realise how thankful I am that Lyle went slow with me. I would be in pain if he wouldn’t have been as careful.

“Miles-” I gasp in shock when I feel what I think is another orgasm approaching. This hasn’t happened before. I thought I wouldn’t be able to cum so quickly after an orgasm but it seems that Quaritch really can work magic.

“Come on baby, don’t hold back on me.” he grunts, enthusiastically bucking his hips up to meet mine. I hold on to his shoulders for balance, needing something to ground me through my bliss. It was slowly becoming too much.

Suddenly, his hand reaches between us and starts rubbing circles around my clit, occasionally pressing down on it and applying the right amount of pressure. I whimper, closing my eyes while my hips stutter in their place.

“It’s okay, I got you.” he whispers, pressing the side of his face against my neck while he continues to spear me down onto him. The light suddenly turns on, lighting up the entire room but we’re both too absent-minded at the moment to care.

Within seconds, I’m cumming around him. My pussy clenches in a way that makes Miles hiss and my knees go weak, no longer supporting my trembling legs, He curses before thrusting me down him as far as possible and spilling himself into me. His arm is snaked around my waist supportively, holding me to him as our orgasms rip through our bodies.

“There you go.” he coos into my ear, slowly stilling my hips and just holding me while both of us pant for air.

I cover my eyes, squinting from the sudden illumination coming from the lamp.

“Sorry.” I hear Lyle chuckle and I open my eyes to look at him. “Wanted to see your face.”

I just nod weakly, resting my head on Quaritch’s shoulder. I inhale his strong, musky scent and it comforts me, seeming to make all my worries go away. His arms were still cradling me and I could have fallen asleep like this. But it seems that others could not.

“How you doin’, sweetheart?” Miles asks, carefully letting me go and pulling away so that he could look at me again. My eyes are half-lidded again but not from lust, from sleepiness.

“Tired.” I mumble, dropping my head flimsily.

“Can you go again?”

His words make my mind halt for a few seconds. I look up at him in confusion. Again?

He reads my expression before nodding his head, motioning to something behind me. I slowly turn around and with the light on, I see Mansk and Lopez are awake. Ja and Prager are awake too, but Mansk and Lopez are closer to us. They’re looking at me the way Quaritch looked at me when I was still with Lyle.

Lopez is standing and Mansk has moved off his bed. Quaritch caresses my waist before gently moving me off of him. I stare at him with wide eyes and he smiles.

“You’ll be okay. I know you can take it.” he says, slowly getting up. Quaritch does know me well enough to know my limits. Not sexual limits, just physical limits, especially in the gym. But it seems as though that has some similarity to this.

Suddenly, another bed is pushed together against mine by Lopez. Mansk is now standing next to me with his eyes on me.

“Hey princess,” he smirks and I swallow nervously. His smile widens and he looks up at Lopez before pulling his own tank top over his head.

“Don’t worry, baby.” Lopez coos, settling down on the now double bed.

“We’re gonna take real good care of you.” Mansk adds, sitting next to me. His arms tangle around me and he nuzzles his nose against my cheek, inhaling deeply.

“Ya smell so good.” he purrs and I just weakly lean against him.

Mansk and Lopez are both entranced by your scent. It’s sweet and lures them to you. But they can smell Lyle and Quaritch on you. Naturally, their instincts tell them to get rid of that smell and replace it with their own.

All the recoms are even more protective of you now than ever before. Not only because of what happened to you previously but also because you are the only female in the group now. You’re all that they really have now and can protect.

“I’m goin’ first.” Mansk tells Lopez who clearly has an issue with that.

“No fuckin’ way, I’m not waitin’ anymore. Been awake since the beginning, I can’t just fuckin’ watch again.” Lopez protests, making my ears perk up.

He’s been awake since the beginning? Maybe Lyle and I really need to learn to be more stealthy. Or not, this isn’t such a bad outcome either.

Lopez lays down, reaching for me and pulling me on top of him. I don’t bother to resist. Why would I?

Mansk doesn’t let Lopez take me away that quickly and within seconds, he’s behind me.

I’m on all fours, watching them and hoping they don’t start tugging me back and forth.

Behind my back, Mansk and Lopez exchange looks and scan the position we’re all currently in. Lopez grins up at him before directing his attention back to me.

“Hey, mami.” he smirks, running his thumb over my lips. I stare down at him and my partly fucked out expression has him grinning.

“We’re gonna try something, yeah?” he asks, and I just stare at him with confusion. I’m not even embarrassed about being bare in front of them all, so I can’t protest, I just listen and go with whatever they say.

“Give ‘er a safeword.” Mansk says behind me. His large hands are gently skimming the curves of my hips and ass before one wraps around my tail, moving it up to fully expose me to him.

“Say ‘red’ when you’re at your limit, okay baby?” Lopez explains, watching me with a devilish grin as I nod.

“Okay.” I whisper and he nods up at Mansk. Whatever they are planning, I assume it won’t be easy for me to take so I try to distract myself. Perfect, right in front of me. I examine Lopez’s tattooed chest of his toned body laying beneath me. I raise a hand and start gently outlining the inked words under his skin.

Lopez and Mansk are shuffling beneath and behind me. My distraction causes me to not notice them remove their pants. Lopez however feels the small touch and smiles up at me.

“You’re so cute, mami.” He whispers, making me lock eyes with him again. “Promise to make you feel good.”

I nod and he looks behind me again. They’re moving my hips and legs to try to position me correctly while I once again stare at Lopez’s tattoos.

There’s a pressure being applied against my core again, but now it feels normal to me I don’t even turn around to see what exactly they are doing.

Lopez’s hand comes up and gently wraps around my throat, holding me in place. I lean into his touch, letting myself be fully at their mercy.

Suddenly, I feel what I think is one of them push themselves inside me. I gasp, eyes shooting wide when I feel the burning stretch of my walls adjusting. My breath seems to get caught in my throat.

“Nnhgh-” I whine, clamping my teeth tightly shut and squeezing my eyes closed.

“Fuckk,” Mansk breathily exhales, steadying himself against my ass.

Lopez’s ears are strained back, his fangs are bared and his eyebrows furrowed in bliss. The realisation hits me. Both of them are inside me at the same time.

“Shit- you’re so tight baby.” he groans, placing his free hand on my waist and squeezing my flesh. Mansk is holding my lower hip and tail.

I’m struggling to breathe. My arms spread wider to the sides to support me in case they start moving. I ball my fingers into fists around the bedsheets, trying to deal with the pain.

“Give ‘er a minute.” I hear Quaritch tell them. He must be watching my expression. I see Lopez nod and I assume Mansk does the same. They weren’t planning on moving without your permission anyway.

My head drops and I calm my breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeply. It burned, causing tears to prick in the corners of my eyes. Mansk is gently rubbing soothing circles onto my belly while being hunched over me.

After a few minutes of that and Lopez whispering soft praises and compliments to me, the stretch is gone.

“It’s- better now.” I say with a small sob which I quickly swallow down so that it goes unheard. They trust my judgement, exchanging looks before my hips are nudged forward and they pull out, leaving just a little of their dicks inside.

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, steadying myself on the mattress above Lopez once again before they thrust back in, in synch.

They share their rhythm, making sure to go slower to not overwhelm me. But I’m already overwhelmed. My core is throbbing from overstimulation and my eyes are tearing up.

But their touches are gentle. Their hands do not fail to pleasingly caress my body while they thrust into me. My hair is moved to the side to reveal the side of my neck that hasn’t been marked by either Lyle or Quaritch. Lopez presses his tongue against my pulse point before gently sucking his own hickeys into my skin.

Mansk groans behind me, letting his head fall back. I feel so stuffed, I know that if I even manage to have another orgasm, it will come quickly because they are reaching spots I never knew I had.

“Fuck, princess you feel so good.” Mansk praises me. “Doin’ so well.”

I whimper in response, feeling glad I can please them at least. This is turning into one big love-making session. I missed everyone so much and seems they did too, we just can’t get enough of each other.

“Shit- ‘m not gonna last-” Lopez growls. It must feel tighter than usual for them.

My body is being nudged forwards with every thrust.

“Come on, mami. Cum for us.” Lopez encourages me.

“I- I can’t,” I whine, feeling a tear spill from my eyes. Lopez wipes it away, holding my cheek to support my lolling head.

“You can do it, one more.” he whispers breathlessly into my ear. Under me, he starts to roll his hips so that they grind against my clit with every thrust. I whimper, instinctively pushing back against them which makes Mansk growl.

Their thrusts are more sloppy and desperate, signalling they must be close. Lopez doesn’t stop his rhythm and soon I’m on the edge of my third orgasm.

“I’m gonna-” I gasp “I’m gonna cum-”

“Fuckin’ right, let go, mami.” he grunts.

My moans spur them on and in seconds my entire body is shaking once more. The way my walls hug them makes it almost impossible for Mansk and Lopez to move and their both goners too.

“Grippin’ me so well, baby.” Mansk hisses, digging his fingers into my hips.

I’m seeing stars and my vision blacks out as I feel both men shoot their thick ropes of cum deep inside me, once again filling me up.

At this point, I’m panting again and my arms give out. I slowly go limp against Lopez, laying on top of him. Behind me, Mansk pulls out to ease me from the overstimulation. Lopez then follows and I’m wondering whether I’ve lost the senses in my legs. They won’t stop trembling.

“Holy shit.” Lopez mumbles, patting my back while my non-functioning body is close to either falling asleep or passing out again.

“That deserves a fuckin’ reward.” Lyle says, sitting on his bed.

“I’ll give ‘er a reward.” Ja says. His voice comes from somewhere behind me. My tail stops swaying as I replay the words in my head. I lift myself up a little and look at Lopez, then at Quaritch.

“You said one more.” I whine in protest to Lopez who looks at me apologetically. He himself then looks at Quaritch, seeming unsure whether I can actually manage another round.

Quaritch doesn’t say or do anything, leaving it up to me to decide.

“Only if you want to, Y/N.” Prager says, coming around to the head of the bed while Lopez slowly lifts me off of him. He looks at Ja who nods in agreement.

“I feel like such a slut.” I say, cupping my face in embarrassment and shame. I have never had intercourse with this many people right after the other.

“Don’t. You’re perfect.” Prager says, lowering himself onto the bed in front of me.

“Unless you’re into that. Then do.” Lopez jokes, biting his tongue and playfully slapping my thigh before getting up.

Mansk smirks and Ja chuckles.

“Can you go one last time?” Prager asks. He was such a sweet person. Even before, he would always check up on me, for example when it seemed like I was struggling in training.

I wanted to please him and Ja too.

I nod slowly, wiping a previously shed tear from my face. “Yeah. Just- please be gentle.” I ask him and Ja. Both men nod and Ja grins, taking his position behind me.

“Sure thing, baby.” Prager smiles. My head is spinning a little but I manage to hear them push down their pants. To my surprise, Prager stays in front of me.

I look up at him and he gently parts my lips with his thumb. Oh. Sure. Hopefully, I won’t choke and die.

“Watch the fangs.” I softly say, my voice a little raspy from the moaning. Prager nods, tracing one of my fangs with his finger before tilting my chin upwards to him. Ja is already covering himself in all the mixed cum from before, lubricating his member for easier access. It’s not really necessary because I’m stretched out for today but I’m letting him do whatever.

I open my mouth for Prager and let him just use my head and hold my jaw open. I’m barely strong enough to continue standing on all fours. Luckily, Ja tucks his arm under my waist to hold me up while the other presses down against the bed. His hips roll forwards and with a loud squelching sound, he pushes in.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby. What’d they do to ya?” Ja huffs out a light laugh, watching the cum flow out as he replaces the empty space inside me with his dick.

“A better job than whatever you’re doin’.” Quaritch fires back. Prager chuckles, knowing he’s referring to the way Ja was covering himself in slick just moments before. Ja huffs in annoyance before returning his attention to me. His thrusts are a little harder again and I want to say something but my mouth is filled with Prager’s dick. He’s gripping a handful of hair around my queue to lift my mouth off his dick and push me back on it. I fight back any need to choke or cough and relax my body as much as possible, letting them use me any way they wanted. Perhaps, things went by quickly because my mind is so hazed and I’m so fucked out.

Just to add the cherry on top, I hollow my cheeks around Prager’s member, creating a suction that has his hips stuttering. To give something to Ja, I arch my back against him, spreading my legs open a little more to help him out. Both of them are grunting while my moans and whimpers are muffled. I can feel the cum dripping down my inner thighs. It spreads onto Ja’s every time he bottoms out and lets his skin slap against mine.

I’m surprised with how I’m managing things and I plan on just having them finish but then Ja starts to rub his fingers between my dripping folds. He moves them with the same rhythm he’s thrusting into me with and my eyes go wide. I flinch away from his touch because the oversensitivity is completely making me tremble again.

“We promise, this is the last one baby. Just one more time.” Ja whispers, speeding up his own pistoning hips.

I close my teary eyes, inhaling deeply through my nose to stay composed.

“Just for us-” he grunts. I’m not sure whether he expects me to nod or give him a thumbs up, but quite frankly, I am incapable of doing either at the moment. I just take it, knowing this is the last round.

He continues his rapid thrusts. Ja would have never thought he would see you like this. Everyone is on the same page about that. You all knew each other well but no one saw this coming. It just happened in the heat of the moment. That doesn’t mean, many haven’t fantasised about being with you before though. They definitely have.

Prager bites down on his lip to muffle his moan while I swirl my tongue along the base of his dick.

“Shit-” he whines, dropping his head back in bliss. His body tenses and he thrusts his hips forward into my mouth as far as possible before spilling his load down my throat.

Behind me, Ja slapped my ass which made me jolt forward and swallow down more of Prager’s length. I suckled on his dick while he came, making sure to ‘milk’ him dry, which made him shudder. Prager’s moan helped send me over the edge and I couldn’t believe I was cumming again.

Ja pulled me closer to him by the base of my tail, forcing himself as deep into my pussy as he can go before he himself finally experiences his orgasm.

The squelching and slapping sounds finally died down as they gathered their breath. Prager pulled out, holding my cheek in his palm to let me breathe properly too. Ja mimics his movements, removing himself from inside me. Both men gather themselves and return to their senses while I just collapse onto the bed, falling sideways against the mattress.

“Ah, shit. There she goes.” Lyle chuckles, but he quickly stands up to come to my aid.

I groan in a low voice, feeling how all my limbs go weak.

“How ‘bout one more round?” Lyle asks, a shit-eating grin on his face.

I look up at him in disbelief. “You’re fucking kidding.” I warn, knowing I cannot even move right now.

He chuckles again. “I’m only messin’ with ya.”

“Not funny. I think I need to go back to the hospital.” I grumble, curling my legs against my chest and rolling over to my side.

“You did so well, darlin’. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.” Quaritch adds, standing next to Lyle and peering down at my weak self.

Mansk had gone to wet a warm cloth and he’s back now, carefully parting my legs to clean up the mess that was made. I let him roll me on my back to clean my thighs too. He smiles at me before passing the cloth to Ja who needs it too.

Lyle reaches for my clothes and with the help of Lopez, they put them back on me.

“Thank you.” I mumble while leaning against Lyle.

“Geez, no need to thank for this. What you did is something worth thankin’ for.” he grins, sitting me up slowly.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Quaritch says, bending over to pick me up. He holds me bridal style against his chest and I just hand there. My eyes are closing, so I don’t pay attention to where he is carrying but I remember my bed being on the other side of the room.

The other recoms stare as the Colonel carries you to his bed.

“That’s where she’s sleeping?” Ja asks.

“Yeah. Problem?” Quaritch responds, lightly snapping again.

“Not if it’s only tonight.”

Quaritch frowns at Ja before answering. “We’ll switch every night.”

No one complained about that rule. Everyone was tired and so we went to bed. I was already fast asleep when Quaritch lay down with me, resting me on his chest to ensure I wouldn’t wake up with another nightmare. The lights went off but I knew nothing bad could happen to me. Not with them.

(Writing this used up all my mental energy, I need a nap rn. Let me know if you liked it! If you spot any spelling mistakes, feel free to point them out and I will correct them)

Tag List: @ken-dala @ikranwings @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @numarusworld @number1gal @jatwow

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