#hopefully i can post chapter 7 in the next few days

[plasticfangtastic]

American Royalty. Ch. 6

A Homelander x F!Reader and Dadlander fanfic

A/N: sorry for the wait lads, sadly I've had to put my other fic on hiatus (bcuz am overwhelmed irl from work and writing) but bcuz of that I'll be able to post this with more frequency. If you're interested in being in the taglist plz drop a comment with a request! Thanks to everybody who reads this work, you guys are awesome! also my masterlist doesn't have anymore space so I'll be making a list for this series soon, here's the previous chapter:

Tags: mild gore, angst, slow burn, fluff, oc characther, child neglect, dadlander, romance, toxic relationship.

Chapter Six

Loaded weapon.

Heavy puddles splashed all accross the floor under hundreds of steps, people panicked and yelled in fear as water burst in violent streams and the foundation of the wall eager to crumble. The dog had lost its professional cool barking madly as his owner tried to leave fast enough. Water pushing people and bodies crashing against the ground, Homelander was the first to notice the strain on her face as she tried to contain another sneeze, he looked at the mutt.

“GET THAT FUCKING RAT AWAY FROM HERE!!” He screamed, his eyes a bright red as he puffed his chest, the woman panicked picking her dog in a single swoop rushing out, splashing loudy and crying.

Behind him Helena held the flood, her arms held before her, creating a thick translucennt blue lit wall separating the thousands of gallons and the room, her body pushed back but she kept pushing forward, glass, debris and fish floating in front of her, the wall rippling around individual points, her face ready to sneeze, she was hurting, growing hot and red.

“Stop that! I'll get you out of here! Ryan!” He looks around trying to find his son in the diminishing crowd.

“The fishies!! I won’t kill the fishies!!” She cried.

“Fuck!” He cursed deciding between picking her by force and letting the chaos worsen or allowing her to continue– Y/N get Ryan, I’ll evacuate these people… can’t fucking believe I have to call Deep!!” He looked at Helena then back at you as you ran fidgeting with your bag– can… can she?”

You ignored him, splashing past him with a prescription blister.

“Is okay Helena, baby… open your mouth.”

She swallowed dried.

“She can hold it! Now do your hero shit!” You shouted at him.

The police and Vought came down, your schedule had been overridden and made irrelevant but you were glad both kids were okay, you both stayed there until the aquarium’s staff and the Deep had taken care of the fish as Helena refused to let the surviving fishes get injured, Homelander had been left in awe watching her eyes blinked a dozen shades of blue as she built stairs out of her own psionic wall for the rescuers to work with ease, getting an idea of how her powers functioned.

Smaller fishes and debri floated under the stairs, she adjusted the height of the wall to let people in, modifying for every request the teams had, as specialist vacuums pumped the water out, the outside was so loud with news vans, police and fire department doing their work, but she never broke concentration.

He had forced Deep to reassure her that the fishes were okay and weren’t angry at her, and Kevin wasn’t stupid enough to question anything about what was happening, he looked at the little girl and talked to her, turning to his freshwater friends to exchanged messages as the girl was filled with guilt and remorse, trying not to cry as to not lose her concentration.

Homelander felt prideful as he watched her work, until the moon was out and she could finally rest.

She passed out the moment the wall came down, after most of the water had been drained, she dropped instantly– Homelander caught her, his sight softening as he lifted her closely.

Ryan watched him with confusion as he carried this stranger in one arm so carefully, tucking her head into the crook of his neck, letting his chin drop against her head, to catch a whiff of her coconut shampoo.

“Is she alright?” Ryan asked, pushing her draping arm towards her stomach.

“I don’t know.” He looked at you, not wanting to hand her back– care to explain.”

“She must’ve turned off her radar… Helena is severely allergic to dogs. She can sneeze no problem” You lifted her sleeves not caring about how close you were to Homelander, her arm was covered in old darkened spots, from years of scratching, fresh hives and red streaks had settled even with the medication– but she can’t be around dogs… thank god she didn’t have an asthma attack.”

You stroke her hair checking for hives, around her neck.

“That’s why I couldn’t stay at friends for long…” You took her from him, he tried not to protest as you tore him apart– her babysitter had a mini poodle… and that was fine even if it gave her hives from time to time… she was getting better… it's my fault I didn’t check if she took her meds today.”

Homelander absorbed the information.

Some fish died and hundreds of thousands of dollars in damages had been incurred but Vought would covered it all, his only nuisance was Ashley that had come down to the scene, she tucked her chin down as she approached him wearily, she had never expected to get such a call from Homelander earlier in the day, making her panic that this had been serious and maybe news worthy.

Seeing him in human clothes was a first, he didn’t look any more approachable than before, Homelander looked at her with annoyance demanding her to ‘spit it out already’ without words.

“Everything is under control as you asked! The aquarium holds no ill-will, and Deep has reassured me… multiple times.” She signed– minimal fish lives were lost and all the fish are not holding any grudges. There’s just one probl—

“What!!?” he yelled.

“The kid!” she jumped trying to hide behind thin air– We… for insurance purposes we need her information.”

Ashley gave you and Homelander a second look, looking at his display of stealth wealth, at Ryan and the ketchup stain on his collar, at your tired look, how severely underdressed compared to him yet still trying to look stylish in your turtleneck, skinny jeans and indoor sneakers then finally at the little girl whom he had made such strange demands for, that her mouth made an ‘O’ shape. 

This was a date.

A date she was interrupting.

“You know what, sir. I’ll handle it all… you can just go and escort these civilians, we can talk about the details tomorrow when everything has calmed down.” She said knowing that a migraine was incoming– is that okay?”

She looked at you instead, trying to decipher who you were.

“I work for Homelander. Am one of his personal cooks… all my contact information– you blurted.

You looked down holding Helena tightly.

“Is okay darling! Just swing by when you come back from work and we can do all the ugly paperwork then. Is that okay?” If she squinted any harder she might go blind as she interrupted you, she smiled stroking your shoulder– just make sure this little bundle is feeling better in the morning. You know where my office is?” 

“Yes, Ms. Barrett… I don’t have to go to HR? or CM?” Your cheeks reddened, yet feeling somewhat relieved.

She gives Homelander a nervous look then back at you with plastic confidence.

“Is fine! We deal with so many little kids… lots of parents have gone thru the same thing.”

“I broke Ashley’s door the other week,” said Ryan nervously.

She nodded with half closed eyes, already stroking the kid’s hair to reassure him it was fine.

“Go get some rest, will you– am just gonna go over there and see what the Deep’s doing”

She could really speed up in those heels, not wanting to persue this any further just glad everything seemed fine.

You expected to part from him at this point, but he escorted you back to your car. His excuse was to keep the reporter or police from harassing you. The long walk was filled with awkward silence, interrupted by Ryan here and there who realized that he could never quite get that dog, if Helena was around.

The kid wasn’t stupid, he had catched his father kissing you earlier, nervous to ask the little girl if she knew what was taking place behind them, and even if he hadn’t he could see in the way he looked at you– that there was something different about you, and in the way he clung to her that made a knot in his throat grow bigger.

Ashley stared at her computer screen as other members of Crisis Management delivered the news, Analytics had removed the videos but they were still circulating, Homelander couldn’t catch a break as he sat in Ashley’s couch looking at the scene, some chump had been recording his trip when it all took place, the accidental power release and Homelander’s violent outburst. It was all too fresh since the sham trial, even if he had left the courtroom with clean hands, there were people waiting for bones to tear him apart, especially when nobody understood why he had lost his cool and nearly lasered down an emotional support dog.

“She’s severely allergic… takes arbinoxa and clarinex for it, even gets asthma on the worse times.” He rested his eyes under his glove, he had skipped sleep and gotten her medical files instead– she couldn’t control her powers– fuck I might need to get her immunotheraphy…” He mumbled.

Homelander had spent the night researching how to help her, reading countless websites and pestering the lab rats downstairs for information. He could in theory provide Helena with help but her skin proved problematic.

“Y’all get the fuck out I need to speak to this idiot!” He hit his arm rest.

The team left without question, Ashley crying after them internally as she foound herself in the same room with a predator.

“Everything okay? The videos we can–

“Tell the media that it was a fucking allergic reaction, keep her ‘anonymous’ understand!! I don’t want anybody knowing who the fuck she is” He snapped– It was an accident!”

He stood up heading straight for her shiny new desk.

“... Helena L/N is my daughter. You know our little issue downstairs in the writer’s room?” She nodded absentmindedly trying to process his revelation– I want her mother to pretend to be Ryan’s… they are both siblings so it's an easy sell.”

“She looks nothing like you.” Ashley’s voice was so low it was barely a peep.

“She’s mine… I triple checked… we can just say genetics are weird– god I already had this conversation! I just need to smooth some things here and there, but she cannot get in trouble! Not my daughter!-- and if the people wanna guess why I reacted like that… well tell them that that fucking mutt being there could’ve hurt people! There were tanks all around us...” Homelander sat across from her, his whole body exhausted a rare sight admittedly, somethign that intrigued Ashley– give that to the team but keep it on a waterproof seal, capiche?”

Ashley bit her lips nervously as she began to process his revelations, this was the odd 2nd penny she received from Homelander, already wondering if this promiscuous bastard had more children spread around, she made a mental note to double check any surviving laids to make sure Vought wouldn’t be hit with an embarrassing child support suit out of the blue. 

“And the mom…?” She looked at her notes– Y/N is she going to be a problem?”

“Look at you all serious.” Her sober expression gained some color, she might now sit higher on the ladder but he was still top dog, maybe it was the brand new plaque on her door or the view on 82 giving her attitude but she was no Edgar or Stillwell– careful with that tone.”

Ryan was a sweet boy, she had grown fond of him, the boy was as if all of his father’s humanity had been spat out and condensed into one innocent child, she had grown to like being called ‘miss Ashley’ and ‘auntie’– she was also aware that the kid had kept her alive on the occasion without noticing… so all those good things came with a price and that was that Homelander now had nothing left to give to mortals like her. She stiffen her back as her skin grew blotchy.

“I’ll have a team do a background check just to be cautious… I’m sure she’ll be a team player.” She forces a confident expression– she looks perfect for the role.”

He got up with a grin.

You headed downstairs to pick up your kid, as Ashley had promised nothing big had come out of it, you were given a business card and a registration application package-- you had missed a lot of paperwork by skirting on the edge of their radars, it seems. You walked mindlessly, your back aching and your feet sore, you couldn’t wait to get takeout and have some mocktails with your kid, when you were spotted.

A man you had never seen before pulled your shoulder gently, he had the nicest shoes you ever seen, you looked at his clothes and it was all sharp and smart casual and probably expensive.

“Hi. You must be Helena’s mom, right?” he asked far too casually to not feel threatening– I'm Nigel, Elmo’s dad.”

You turned pale.

“Nice to meet you… I’m Y/N… our kids are friends!" Your voice slightly shaky-- Sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier!” You stretched your hand, forcing the best customer service voice you could muster– how may I help you?”

“Well… my little prince is finally showing interest in being a supe and he drew this yesterday” He took a folded drawing from his jacket– It seems our kids are making big plans together. I work in hero management so if this is something you’re interested in, give me a call.”

He wasn’t actually pleased, he sounded as if Helena had thwarted some grand vision– at least this wasn’t about your kids' numerous crimes together, with yours as the mastermind.

You took the page seeing a crude drawing of a little asian boy and what you assumed was Helena, their names drawn in crayon “Phantasma and Poltergeist” wearing matching black, white and red suits, your daughter in a mostly black-red suit with red gloves and boots and him in the white-red suit with black gloves and boots. It was crude but you could see the vision.

“We had some names but… it's catchy” He said mildly annoyed– your daughter is very cute, they could make a great tag-team, there is actually not that much competition at the moment.”

“I’ll talk to her and see what she wants but I can take your business card… I actually don’t have a caseworker for Helena, we weren’t really going to pursue this but she seems to be warming up to the idea.”

“Your husband wasn’t down for it?”  He seemed to want to coax information out of you.

“I am single… it's complicated.” He cringed but joined you as you walked towards the daycare entrance– Is it expensive to make a suit?”

He spoke to you of the basics, of the initial investment costs, and the importance of design and branding, he was over the moon that Elmo understood color theory. He told you about how he and his husband Sven adopted Elmo from Korea when he was five months old and you told him how you been a single mom since the start. You both shared bite-sized throwaway stories of dealing with kids with powers and all the broken stuff one had to clean up over the years.

The usually manic carer looked at you with horror as she spoke with two security officers with tears in her eyes, as you opened the doors.

“What did she do now?” You said already drained, already preparing yourself for asking Homelander to help you keep her in OSCH.

“Are you Mr. Cripple and Ms. L/N?” Asked the security officer– "you need to come with us.”

You both panicked but the people gave you no answers, as you were forcible escourted to an area that only Nigel seemed to be familiar with, the thick cement walls of the lower floors made you more than uneasy, even the air tasted stale, both of your kids had been locked in 42D, had those guns not been loaded you would’ve made a scene.

A man neither of you had met before, awaited you in a separate room– A prison cell with a unwelcoming little set-up.

The man looked up from his files offering you both to sit, obeying purely out of fear without protest or sound.

“Ms. L/N how much do you think a vial of compound V cost?” he asked with a menacing tone.

You looked at Nigel who had no reply.

“Did my daughter do something…?” 

“She did something indeed” The man in his serious black clothes who was probably one of the heads of security played you both normal and thermal camera CCTV footage, they didn’t look to be in the room at first until the filter was on, she kept to the corner and only moved to touch stuff after making them invisible.

You could see Helena scribbling on a notepad while fidgeting with the hi-tech equipment in the meantime Elmo sat keeping eye out or just bored out of his mind, exploiting his powers to go in and out at random hours during her care times, the footage compilations of at least one week’s worth of this nonsense.  

The scene culminating with her taking a whole dozen bottles.

“You think my daughter is selling V in the playground!?” You shouted.

“My son has nothing to do with that miscreant!”

“I will have to agree. I doubt he knows what’s happening” You squeezed your fist– I understand she’s done something wrong, but did you just put my seven year old and her friend in jail!?”

“Your daughter is a super. We are just taking the necessary precautions.” He defended his actions.

“My daughter could break out of that cell and she choses not to… you are overreacting!” Your nails dig into your skin, your legs jittery.

“I would argue that makes her more dangerous…” The man looked serious– We are waiting for some people from legal–

The door was ripped apart from its hinges, scrunched and folded, as he tried to speak.

You jumped under the table.

Homelander stood in the wreckage, concrete dust covering his hair and like thunder in a storm his eyes glowed violently like lighting, he lifted his hand and demanded the man’s attention with a wag of his finger, the man stumbled out of his seat as you and Nigel cowered inside.

There was no screaming, just an unbearable silence and faraway steps approaching-- then the sound of a skipping pebble echoing across the hall.

“Congratulations on the promotion, wank stain” Homelander spoke to one of the men that had come– you better pray that my Helena doesn’t have a single scratch.” He growled quite literally growled.

You emerged from beneath, taking meek weary steps towards the exit.

You were on the other side of those eyes, your chest palpitating, your skin tight, it felt as if you could be suffocating on clean air.

As you saw the rage in his face, a part of you that had been left abandoned clench, to see him irate on your behalf, for him to have hurt somebody for your child, it made you blush.

Just how fucked up were you? You shouldn’t find him handsome as he licked a callous splatter of blood off his lip.

But there he was looking at you with those piercing eyes, that you remembered he never was anything but a beautiful and untouchable beast you once tamed.

taglist-- @immyowndefender @fromforeigntofamiliarity @demodemo909

[thatsbelievable]

A Message From the That’s Believable Guy

Hey, it’s me! The THAT’S BELIEVABLE guy! The one who writes all this stuff. I’ve been doing it now for about 8 years, give or take. Posting 7 times a day, every day. I’m grateful to everyone who takes a few seconds out of their day to read the nonsense I write. Thank you.

THAT’S BELIEVABLE is, was, and will remain free. So, in order to pay bills and buy clothes and food for my kids, I write other stuff for money. Most of those projects are work-for-hire, meaning, I don’t own the characters. I love working on these projects, because it’s fun to write stories with Spider-Man, Lilo and Stitch, you name it.

Then there are other things I write that aren’t work-for-hire — projects that I own (or share the copyright with an artist). One such project is THE MONSTROUS ADVENTURES OF MUMMY MAN AND WAFFLES. It’s a spooky humor middle-grade book I wrote, and that artist Robb Mommaerts illustrated. This is a story that has been zipping around my brain for nearly a decade, based on my childhood (and well, let’s face it, adult) love of classic horror movies.

MUMMY MAN means the world to me, and I couldn’t be more thrilled that HarperCollins actually published the book! And guess what? There’s a Book 2 coming next year!

But I want to create even more MUMMY MAN adventures. In order to do that, I need people to read Book 1 — The Monstrous Adventures of Mummy Man and Waffles. You can get your own copy at the links below (including autographed copies from Books of Wonder). You can also ask your local library to order a copy for you to read! Believe me, I know it’s not always in our budget to buy books. I’m often in the same boat. That’s why libraries are so important. Publishers count library sales, too! If MUMMY MAN does well in libraries, that can help move the needle! (Plus, librarians are cool.)

If you’ve made it this far, thank you very much for reading this. For reading That’s Believable. And hopefully, for being interested enough to get a copy of MUMMY MAN from a bookseller or your library.

Oh, and guess what? You can read a few chapters of MUMMY MAN for FREE, HERE!!

We now return you to our usual nonsense.

Get MUMMY MAN HERE!

Get an AUTOGRAPHED COPY HERE!

READ THE NAMES OF 33 BATS HERE!

[mphoenix-7]

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 7: The Cabin: Day 3

Summary: What starts out as a peaceful morning quickly turns steamy after an argument.

Word Count: 9,565

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, angst, strong language, arguing, smut, p in v, rough sex, hate sex, unprotected sex, fingering

A/N: Yeah, you read the warnings right. It’s time. When I tell you this chapter took days to write 😭 different parts got rewritten like four times. The final product is nothing like the drafts. Even editing it there was stuff added, and I got to the point where I just needed to stop and post it. Please enjoy!

Masterlist | <- Previous | Next ->

Bitter Allies • Part 7

The storm settled down about thirty minutes after you and Soap ate. It still continued to rain, but the thunder was moving off into the distance, and the wind had stopped completely. You were still forced to stay inside, but at least the worst of the storm had passed. You could look for the damages done tomorrow.

Soap laid down after he finished eating and just rested. You didn't say anything more to each other about his episode, and you didn't expect him to open up. It was a little different for everyone, but sometimes talking about it made it worse. With nothing better to do, you also laid down. The sound of the rain falling softly outside was eventually enough to lull you into sleep. 

The next morning, you'd gotten up super earlier. Given the fact you probably went to sleep around 1900 (or 7 pm) that made sense. Soap was still asleep when you got up. He was sleeping on his back, an opened black journal balanced on his chest, and a pencil still in his hand. His arms were bare, meaning sometime last night he'd probably stripped down to his underwear again.

Leaving him be, you got up and decide to see what the damages were from last night's storm. You moved both rocks away from the doors then went out the back door, closer to the lake.

There were tiny sticks everywhere in the back. Once they dried out, they'd be great for the wood stove inside. A few larger branches were also scattered about. The one that caused the loud scrapping noise last night had just barely missed the outhouse, and its limbs were propped right up against the side of the cabin. If it'd fallen a few inches closer, it would have hit the roof. You hate to think about what would have happened if it had.

Hopefully this was the last of the rain for a while. You weren't sure if you could take another storm, and shockingly, not because of Soap. Honestly it hadn't been the absolute worst thing to be trapped inside with the Scot. It'd mostly just been boring. But then again Soap had been out of it most of the night because of the episode he had. You had feeling things would have ended in a shouting contest if he hadn't. Regardless, you didn't want that or for him to get triggered by another thunderstorm.

Luckily, the sun was out, birds were singing, and there wasn't a raincloud in sight. It was beautiful out, and you wanted to enjoy the morning. You hadn't had the chance to go on a walk or a run yet. It would be nice to start off your morning positive for once, unlike the last few days.

To be expected after a storm, it was fairly muddy, puddles of water everywhere. The lake had also risen quite a bit with the new water level came right up to the tree where Soap had been sitting yesterday. So a walk along the shore wasn't going to be possible, but you could handle a little mud in the woods. Heading back inside to the bedroom, you make the decision to go on a nice walk around the woods.

Soap is still asleep on his cot, his brows pinched together slightly, and his book still balanced on his chest. The pencil had slipped from his hand though and now just lay beside him. You move around the room as silently as you can, grabbing the things you need and trying not to wake him in the process. He'd make a sound every now and then, but he never woke up.

Once you were ready, you pause at the bedroom door and look over to his sleeping form. You were debating if you should wake him up to let him know you were going. He hadn't given you that courtesy before. Maybe it was time for a little payback. Time for him to wake up and not know where you are. Odds are though, you'd be back before he's even up. Or he simply wouldn't care.

With that in mind, you gently shut the bedroom door, and head off for your walk.

***

For the first time since arriving to the cabin with Soap, you finally feel some of the stress melting away as you walk through nature. It smells like dirt and rain, and it's absolutely perfect. Even the tension is your shoulders seems to be easing up a bit as well.

You're not sure how long you've been gone. There was no way to keep track of time. At some point though, you decide to turn around and start head back the way you came. You didn't want to go too far from the cabin in case you got lost.

As you're stepping over a fallen tree you used as a landmark to let you know you are heading in the right direction, you hear some rustling coming from some densely packed foliage behind you. You pause for a moment, watching the now still bush. Just as you're about to brush it off as nothing, you swear you hear a growl or a grunt. Adrenaline floods your system, triggering your fight or flight instincts. In this case, you go with the ladder reflex.

Jumping off the falling tree trunk, you start to walk with a quicker pace, trying to distance yourself from whatever you heard. The thought of it being a bear or a mountain lion crossing your mind, making a new fear run down your spine. Sure, you were highly trained in stuff like hand-to-hand, but your expertise was in protecting yourself against humans and maybe dogs, not wild animals. If you had a gun, then yes, you could absolutely take on a wild animal, but you didn't even so much as have a knife on your person to defend yourself with.

As you walk, you keep looking back over your shoulder, though you never see anything. While you are distracted and not looking where you're going, you suddenly step in something squishy. Stopping and looking down, you discover you've stepped in what is probably bear poop. A big fresh pile.

You gag a bit and remove your foot, trying to desperately kick and wipe it off on the foliage and nearby trees. The shit on your shoe distracts you momentarily from the thing you'd been trying to get away from. It's when you hear more of the rustling and sniffing sounds that your blood runs cold.

You look around again, still not seeing anything. The greenery around you is far too dense to get a good view. You know you have to get away, but not knowing what the threat was is really beginning to freak you out.

Forgetting about your soiled shoe, you start to walk again, trying to fight the urge to run. Rationally, you knew that could cause whatever it is that's following you to start chasing you. You just want to be back in the safety of the cabin with Soap. Why didn't you bring one of the flares or the knife? It was just a pocket knife, but it would have been better than nothing. 

Once some distance has been made, you pause and listen to see if you're safe. You can still hear the soft low rumbles and the shuffling of leaves like something is tracking you. Soon enough, you can't help it anymore; you start to run. You've got to be almost back by now. Surely you can just outrun whatever it is.

It's hard to listen for anything chasing you while you're running, but every time you look behind you, you don't see anything. The bushes are moving, but you can't tell if it's cause you just slammed through them or if you're really being chased. Not wanting to know the answer, you don't dare to stop until you see the cabin.

Relief floods your system when you see the clearing that houses the cabin. The moment you cross the thresh hold, you expect to feel safe. However you don't. You look back towards where you just came from and watch for any signs that the mystery animal is still following you. There isn't any movement or sounds, only the labored sounds of your breath from running. Slowly, you start to back up towards the cabin, senses heightened.

When your back hits something solid, hands grabbing you, you don't process immediately that it's just Soap. Your mind is still in survival mode. You scream and start trying to fight, getting a few angry and surprised sounds out of the Scot.

"Oof-! Steaming fucking Jesus, States!"

Soap had gotten up shortly after you left. When he couldn't find you, he'd assumed you were out in the woods somewhere and just went about his morning. He also surveyed the damages and decided to pick up sticks until you came back.

When he heard a ton of rustling on one side of the cabin, he went to check it out, and there you were. Your back was to him and you were taking slow steps towards him. You'd been about to run into him, and all he did was put his hands up to stop you, and then you started attacking him.

"What the fuck has gotten into you!?" He grabs your wrists, and you're quick to stop trying to hit him once you come to your senses. You look into his eyes, then hear the sound of the leafs rustle again. Your gaze snaps back to the tree line.

"Something was following me. I-I think it was a bear. I ran all the way back." You find yourself pressing back into Soap. His hands move from your gripping your wrists to holding your sides by your ribs once you turn.

You don't notice it, but Soap stares down at you for a second as you huddle against him. His eyes are softened and filled with concern before turning hard as he scans the woods, looking for this bear. He keeps holding you, keeping your smaller frame close to him. You can feel his hold on you tighten a bit, almost protectively.

As he does, without even fully realizing it yourself, you're starting to relax into his hold. Your body is naturally pulling towards him. He's warm and feels like safety. It's when the fear in the pit of your stomach is replaced with butterflies that you notice all these feelings. You try to tell yourself it's just remnants of adrenaline.

When there's a little more rustling, Soap starts to wordlessly move. His hands drift to your hips, and he moves around you. "Stay here." He mutters to you, walking to the tree line, picking up a big stick along the way for protection.

"Soap, wait! What are you doing?" You really don't want to see him get mauled by a wild animal, but there's not much you can do to stop him aside from pick up a stick for yourself and try to help.

Soap pauses to listen carefully for any movement or signs of danger before poking the stick into the green shrubs in an attempt to startle whatever is in there. You tense up as he does, hands gripping your stick tightly, prepared to fight whatever it is he startles.

A little squeak comes from the bush, and Soap watches as a two squirrels dart back into the woods and up a tree. It causes a laugh to bubble in his chest, one he tries to stop, but soon, his hands are on his knees, and he is laughing at you. All you can do is stand there and glare at him, dropping your stick. It makes a dull thump as it hits the ground.

"It was just a few wee fucking cons! You were running from a squirrel!" He laughs, making your cheeks turn a deep shade of red. You're were not too fond of being laughed at.

"I wasn't running from a squirrel!! I heard growling and-"

Soap is still laughing at you. Any "butterflies" you might have had when he held you were crushed immediately. You hadn't been running from a squirrel. Whatever it was had been big and had a deep growl.

"It was a bear! I swear. I even stepped in its shit!" You motion down to your boot, which just looked muddy, but you knew better. "There was at least one nearby!" This just makes Soap laugh even harder.

"You stepped in bear shite too? Oh, that's too fucking good. I bet that fucking sucks." You don't feel like he's sympathizing with you at all. "Have fun cleaning that mess up. Let me know if you need me to scare off anymore angry, growling squirrels, eh lass?"

Your face is getting red with anger and embarrassment more and more by the second. "Stop laughing at me, you fucking dick! I know what I heard!" You shout at him. It had to have been a bear.

Soap sighs as he finally calms down a little, wiping his eyes like he's wiping away tears. His amused express is at restarting to grow a little irritated with your continued claims about the bear. "Oh quit your fussing! There's no bear here, so just pull that stick from out of your ass and calm down."

"How about you stop acting like I'm stupid! Like I'm making it all up, or I'm some paranoid idiot! Even if it was nothing, it still felt like I was being chased."

Soap rolls his eyes, huffing a little. "States, seriously, you're fine so let it go. Stop acting like a wee little girl and start acting like you're a grown ass woman in the military. Go inside, calm down a bit, and come help me pick up sticks."

You roll your eyes at him. You know what you heard. You know how you felt. He could say you got scared by squirrels, but you knew better.

"Go fuck yourself, Soap. I'm not helping you with shit. I'm hungry. I'm going to make food." You grumble, leaving him and stomping towards the cabin.

"Make me some too, aye?!" He calls after you. He was insufferable. You still have four more days of this. The third wasn't even close to being over.

"No!" You shout back, getting a scoff from him.

"Brat." He mutters under his breath as he watches you disappear around the side of the cabin.

You retreat to the cabin, kicking your poop covered shoe off by the door outside before you went in. You'd had enough of being in the woods for today. Outside for that matter. You were certain there was a bear out there somewhere, and you weren't looking to run into it again. If possible, you were content to stay inside and read the rest of the day.

You search around a little bit for something good to eat, eventually settling on making some eggs. Putting a log and a few sticks in the stove, you get a fire going. You set the only frying pan you had on the stove top and wait for it to heat up. Once it does, you take out the eggs and flip the carton open.

Before you can grab one, a scratching sound near the front door makes you jump. You're tense for only a few seconds before huffing and relaxing. It had to just be Soap messing with you.

"Fuck off, MacTavish!" You shout, trying to go back to your cooking, but it keeps happening. Sighing in annoyance, you storm over to the front door. "Soap, I swear, I'm going to kill you if you keep it up!" You shout angrily, pushing the door open, but not seeing any sign on the Scot.

You venture outside a little more, but you don't see him anywhere. What if he wasn't the one messing with you? What if it was the animal from earlier? An uneasy feeling settles over you.

"Soap?" You call out softly, but you get no reply. You even try to peak around the cabin to see if he was hiding by the sides. When you don't spot him, you begin to feel more on edge. Groaning in frustration, telling yourself not to worry, you head back inside.

You pick up the egg carton and try to resume your cooking, though you're still tense and on edge. You'd just managed to pop the lid on the eggs open when Soap comes bolting out of the bedroom. He's making a big scene, growling and snarling, almost like he's pretending to be a bear.

The second he does, your heart is leaping into your throat and you scream. Adrenaline surges through you as you instinctively use the thing in your hand as a weapon. Soap is pretty much right behind you by then, and your muscles react faster than your mind can process. You smash the small paper carton into his chest with all your might, the impact causing most of eggs to burst out of their shells, yolks splattering across his shirt and dripping onto the floor.

Soap stumbles back a step, a mixture of surprise, shock, and anger prominent on his features as he looks down at his shirt. As he does, the box falls to the ground. Any eggs that hadn't broken certainly did as it hit the hard wooden floor.

Your body is buzzing, and your heart is hammering in your chest as you look down at the carton, equally shocked. All of your eggs are gone. Meanwhile, Soap is standing there mirroring your expression. His jaw is dropped, and his clean shirt is splattered with a generous dose of raw eggs. You both stand in stunned silence, until all hell breaks loose.

"Jesus, States!" Soap exclaims, wiping the yolky mess off his chest and onto the floor. "Why the fuck would you do that?! Why did you toss the whole damn carton at me!? That's literally the best fucking thing we have to eat!"

You're in shock. He's really going to get mad at you?

"You're joking right now?" You inquire, raising your eyebrows at him. "Tell me you are joking! You're gonna get mad at me when you're the one who fucking just scared the shit out of me!?"

"I didn't think you'd freak the fuck out and throw all our fucking eggs at me!"

"I didn't think you'd be acting like a child and trying to pull a pathetic prank on me! You scared me for no fucking reason!"

"Oh for the love of God, woman," he growls. "Get a sense of humor! It'd do you some good. Now we have no eggs and my shirt is fucking ruined! I only brought four pairs! I don't have a washing machine or an endless supply of shirts at my disposal!"

"You'd still have a clean shirt if you weren't such a jerk!" You shout back, hands clenching into fists at your sides.

"It was a bloody joke! What about you? Thought you were supposed to be a field specialist. Couldn't hear me coming? Didn't know something was up? Are you that fucking bad at your job?" Soap was pissed at this point to be taking jabs at your line of work.

You laugh, the sound lacking any amusement. All that was there was pure rage and spite. "The hell did you say? I'm not good at my job?" You ask lowly. "I reacted like anyone would when they're scared out of their mind! Forgive me for assuming I wouldn't have to be on guard around someone who is on the same team as me!"

"Ah, don't start with that shite again." He grumbles, rolling his eyes and beginning to walk away.

"Don't you dare fucking walk away from me, MacTavish! I'm not done with you!" You follow after him, moving to block his path. He's trying to head into the bedroom.

Soap glares down at you as you stand in his way. His chest was rising and falling in heavy breaths. "I'd fucking like to get a clean shirt," he growls, gesturing to his chest, still smeared with the remnants of the eggs. "So move."

He doesn't give you a chance to move on your own. He pushes you back into the bedroom and off to the right side of the room where your cot is, simmering in anger.

God, he was so livid. He just wanted to get his shirt and get out of this cabin before he did something he'd regret. Tension had been building rapidly between you since day one. Ghost's words had been haunting him for the last three days, and it was all he'd been able to think about.

You two just need to fuck and get it out of your system.

"Don't push me!" You growl, shoving Soap's hands off you even as he's retracing them.

"Then get the fuck away from me! Leave!" Soap shouts, ripping his shirt off over his head and throwing it to the ground.

"Really? You're telling me to leave when you're the one who started this?!"

"Yeah, I am! So fuck off!" He seethes, storming over to your shared dresser and pulling out a clean shirt for himself.

He doesn't wait to put the shirt on, instead just making a break for the door. You're far too upset to just let him leave though. Moving fast, you block the doorway again, a hand on each side of the frame, trapping Soap inside. Though he could easily plow right through you if he wanted, he just glares down at you.

"Get out of the way, States."

"You know, maybe if you were a better teammate we wouldn't be in this mess! It's your fault we're in this damn cabin anyway!" You point a finger at him, poking him in the chest and adding to his annoyance.

The second you poke him, he snaps. He was so fucking done with this. His patience was hanging by a thin thread, and you just cut it with a knife. In a flash, he grabs your wrist, twisting it so that your finger is pulled away from his chest. His grip was firm, but not painful as he forces you to walk backwards into the kitchen. He glares at you, his blue eyes icy and filled with anger.

"You know what, States?!" He barks, his voice deep and filled with venom. "You think you're so bloody perfect, don't you? Well, let me tell you something, you're not! You mess up all the fucking time! Just like how you messed up in Naryn!"

He moves closer, his face inches from yours. You could feel his hot breath against your skin, see the fury burning in his eyes. Your chest as heaving as you stare up at him.

"Why do hate me so damn much! Tell me, Soap. What did I ever do, that from day one, I became the one person you're ever an asshole to?!" You shout back at him, making him groan and roll his eyes.

"I'm not doing this right now." He growls, releasing your wrist and turning to retreat, but you want answers. You follow right after him and block his exit yet again, making his fists clench as his sides.

"No! You're going to answer me!"

"States."

"Why do you hate me?!"

"Move."

"Or what?" You challenge, not aware how close Soap is to snapping. Your eyes are locked on each other, each refusing to look away.

You're both breathing heavily, and the tension in the cabin is building to a very unstable level the longer you hold eye contact. The very thin string that's been keeping you apart is slowly breaking, snapping slowly until there's just the most fragile thread holding everything together.

Then Soap looks down at your lips, his eyes the knife that makes it all come shattering apart. Before he could think twice, before he can rationalize it, he grabs your face, leans down, and captures your lips with his in a rough, angry kiss. It was spontaneous, impulsive, and probably a terrible idea. But in that moment, he didn't give a damn.

You stand there in shock.

He's kissing you.... Soap MacTavish was kissing you....

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was rough. All teeth and tongue and force.

It was confusing. It made your head spin, making you feel instantly dizzy. But you didn't want to pull away.

You hesitate only for a moment before grabbing his head in both of your hands and pulling his lips harder against yours. Your body presses right up against his as you meet each of his kisses with a fury of your own.

Soap is taken aback by your response. He fully expected you to pull back, slap him, yell at him. But instead, your hands are tangling in his short hair, pulling him in closer.

Well, fuck.

He deepens the kiss, his hands slipping down to circle your waist, pulling you flush against him, your arms circling his neck, keeping his lips on yours. You could feel the heat radiating off him, your chest pressed against his, your nails digging into his scalp. It was intoxicating, maddening, and thrilling.

Your mind was a whirlwind of confusion, anger, and desire. You bite down on his lip and barely register the small, primal sound of satisfaction that rumbles in Soap's throat as you do. His hands move from pressing you against him to gripping your hips. With a grunt, Soap is pushing you back against the closest wall he can find. Your lips pop apart for just a second before he's smashing his back against yours.

He pins you against the wall with his body while your hands eagerly run down his chest and torso. Every time he moves, his muscle flex under his skin. You can’t take your hands off him.

His hands can’t seem to help exploring either. They restlessly roam every inch of you he can touch. Eventually, his hands find the hem of your shirt, and he wastes no time in getting the chance to feel the soft skin of your torso.

The thin fabric of your shirt offers little resistance as he slips his hands underneath it. You feel his roughened fingertips trace up your sides, moving until he reaches your breasts. He cups both of your breasts through your bra, giving them a firm squeeze before gently kneading them. You gasp against his lips, a soft, needy whine leaving you.

Oh hell...

Soap is in deep now. He doesn't care about the consequences, about what this might mean for you both. At this moment, all he wants is you.

"States," he murmurs against your lips, his voice hoarse with desire. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you open your eyes as your lips part a little.

He's still so close to you, his breath coming out in hot huffs against your lips and mixing with your own. His eyes are locked onto yours, his gaze darkened and pupils blown. Like he’s a starved man staring down an animal he wants to devour. It’s almost too intense. Your eyes leave his, flicking down to his lips for a second. They’re red and glossy from your intense make out. You’re sure yours look the same to him.

You don’t get to admire his swollen lips for long. The moment you break eye contact, he strikes. His lips are back on yours, a deep groan leaving him when you instantly return his kiss.

His hands have left your breasts, quickly trailing down your body to grope your plump round ass. He gives both cheeks a firm squeeze, pulling you away from the wall just a bit. One hand moves up to the curve of your spine, the other staying on your butt cheek. He then grinds his hips against you, pulling you tight against him as he does.

You moan at the friction, able to feel him through his pants. He's getting hard right against your thigh as he shamelessly squishes you into his growing erection. His hips are gently humping into you, and you want to move too, but he’s holding you far too tightly.

You didn't think you'd ever be in this position. Kissing, let alone dry humping, on Soap MacTavish. Yet here you are, locking lips with him in some kind of sick, hate filled dance.

Not able to move much, you move a hand to the back of Soap’s neck and gently, but firmly, dragging your nails from the base of his skull to the side of his neck. It pulls a shuddery moan from him and makes his hips lose their rhythm.

Soap suddenly pulls away a little, slamming you back against the wall once more. You grunt as he does, pain radiating up your back. With how much he was slamming you around, you were gonna be so bruised tomorrow.

"You fucker." You growl, hands moving to grab his hips as he presses them back into you. He starts to grind once more, a deep chuckle emitting from him.

"You deserved that one." He says, voice almost shaky with lust.

"The hell did I do?" You ask breathily as he leans back in, kissing at the side of your throat. He trails the wet sloppy kisses right up to your ear, his breath hot and voice husky as he offers up an answer.

"You've been driving me fucking mad for six months." He growls lowly, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.

You moan softly, his words making the throbbing between your legs so much worse. You press them together, but it doesn’t little to stop the ache.

Soap starts to trail his kisses urgently back down your knee, teeth dragging and lips making delicate popping sounds as he sucks a few marks here and there. You moan quietly into his ear, placing a hand on the back of his head as your eyes flutter shut.

Suddenly, he bites down, rather hard, making you gasp and wince. It hurt like hell, but also ignited some hidden pleasure you hadn’t known existed.

“Ahhh, fuck!” You moan, legs buckling, nails digging into Soap’s shoulder to keep yourself from falling.

Soap grabs your hips before you can fall, slotting one of his own thighs between yours. He begins to gently rock you against him, soothing that ache with each rub against his flexed muscle. It pulls a satisfied moan from your lips as he grins at you.

"Oh, there you go, lass." He mumbles, leaning in to kiss at the spot he’d bitten. "That feel better? You like that?"

"Ass." You sigh, gripping his arms as you shamelessly start grind on his thigh to get some relief.

He chuckles at your remark, his teeth nipping at your jawline. "Such a brat. You drive me fucking mad, States, you know that?" He growls, his voice low and lustful.

"Yeah, you don't exactly make me sane either." You growl right back at him, making him laugh deeply.

He removes his thigh completely then, making you whimper at the loss. Your legs instantly buckle again, hands holding onto Soap to keep yourself upright. His hands move to your hips almost instantly, steading you and pressing you back against the wall.

"I can't wait to fuck that sense back into you." His lips collide with yours once more in a bruising kiss. It's dizzying the way he kisses you. And when he bites your lip, making you hiss, and he grins about it. Oh you hated him. Cocky bastard.

His hands move from pinning your hips to the wall, to tracing alone the hemline of your pants. As he is kissing you, he starts to unbutton your pants and yank them down. They only make it to your mid thigh before getting stuck. He growls against your lips, muttering something about you, "always being so fucking difficult."

Your mind is too fuzzy to realize what Soap is doing until he's doing it. Your body jerks, and you gasp when you hear the sound of your pants ripping. Your eyes fly open, and you give him a rough shove to view the damage he's done. The seam right between your legs has been torn almost completely in half.

Your jaw drops as you stare down at your pants in shock. You don’t even realize that his arms are snaking around behind you to finish the job. When he gives it another forcible rip, you snap.

"Oh my God! Soap! Are you serious right now?!" You shout at him, the brain fog of sex clearing up quickly. You can't believe he's just destroyed your pants.

"You ruin my shirt, I ruin your pants. Maybe you can use these as rags when you clean up those eggs."

"Like hell I'm not! You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to be the one cleaning that up. They wouldn't be there in the first place if you hadn't scared me!"

"Yeah, but you're still the one who threw them."

"I can't help it if my fucking reflexes are triggered! If I clean it up, I'm cleaning it with your clothes, you bast- ahh~" You try to threaten him, but your words are cut short when his fingers find your clit. His thumb has slipped under your panties and is rubbing quick little circled right onto the sensitive thing.

Soap laughs as your words trail off, slowly backing you against the wall as you turn to putty under his touch.

"Oh, steaming Jesus... you're already fucking soaked for me." He growls out, eyes training on where his thumb is moving in your underwear before turning his attention back to you. "You that desperate to get your hands on my clothes, sweetheart?"

You huff at his accusation. "That's not what I said, and you know it." You say through clenched teeth, mind melting. "Your clothes smell like shit anyway. Little egg wouldn't hurt."

His hand shifts slightly then, and his middle finger prodding around just slightly before finding your slick entrance. It takes nothing for his finger to push into your velvety walls. He doesn't even give you a second to adjust to the feeling of his finger inside you. He's thrusting it in and out of you, using his palm to keep a steady pressure on your clit. 

"N... nah..." you try to talk but couldn't get the words out. The pleasure is so sudden, and when Soap hits that one spot, you don't even want to try to argue with him anymore.

"This all it take to get you to shut up?" Soap growls, his free hand gripping your hips tightly to keep you from moving. "Huh, States? Just needed someone to finger you real good? To fuck some manners into you?"

"Fuck. You..."

Your nails are digging into his forearms as his hand picks up speed, palm now slapping against your clit with each thrust of his fingers. You can feel the pleasure inside you, building and building. Like a faucet dripping into a bucket where the water is beading up at the rim, so close to breaking and pouring over the edge.

And you might have let yourself come if it weren't Soap who was the one trying to make you go over the edge. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of coming so soon, so easily on his just his fingers. Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a long moan, trying desperately to hold on.

"Fuck, States," Soap growls, able to see just how close you are to giving in. He slows down enough to allow his thumb to find your clit once more, rubbing it in slow, hard circles to change up the pace. He wants to hear you moan, to see you lose control.

"Still think you won't clean it up?" He asked, smirking as your glare turns into your rolling your eyes back as he presses his finger right into the place he knew had been making you squeeze down on his finger. Your hips instantly buck against his hand when he does, telling him he had the right spot.

Shifting slightly so his hip is pinning your leg, he brings his now free hand to your throat, which makes you tense a bit. Your breath hitches, expecting him to squeeze and close your airway, but he's holding it gently, not squeezing. Leaning in, he starts to kiss at your lips again, slower this time, but still just as rough and mean.

His finger has stilled now, buried as deep as he can go. He starts to slowly stroke at the spongy tissue, curling his finger against the same spot over and over. He swallows every moan that leaves your lips, pressing himself harder against you when you fight for control by bucking your hips.

"If you promise to be a good girl," he speaks against your lips between harsh slow kisses. "And clean up the mess you made, then I'll let you come." He gives you a few more kisses, not letting you answer immediately. "You gonna be a good girl for me, States? You gonna shut the fuck up, listen, and do what I tell you to?"

He's looking right into your eyes, his hand still on your neck to keep your gaze on him. You were so tired of Soap having all the control. Tired of not being able to get a word in because he had his hands all over you. You growl at him, which just makes him grin.

In an attempt to level the playing field, you reach down to the now very prominent tent in his pants and grip him hard. Needless to say, you're very happy you'd been making eye contact with him when you do. It wipes the grin right off his face.

"Ahh, fuck!" Soap lips part as he lets out a strangled groan, eyes rolling back ever so slightly. His hips buck hard against your hand as you grip him, and he curses.

He feels a lot bigger than what you'd seen when you accidentally walked in on him naked. Then again, he also hadn't been fully erect then. His cock felt hot, heavy, and throbbing now.

His hand leaves your neck to grab at your wrist, gripping it, but not moving it, as you start to rub your palm against his bulge. He watches the action for a little bit, panting heavily, before turning his focus back on you. His hand starts to move again, thrusting into you in time with your rubbing.

Not one to let Soap of all people win, you start to unbutton his pants and reach down into his underwear to pull his rock hard cock free. Soap hisses as you do, and you can tell why the second he springs free. The tip of his cock is an angry red color. It shimmers slightly from the puddle of precum it's been sitting in while in his underwear, and another bead of it was already forming on the slit, getting ready to form into a little droplet and drip down.

Wasting no time, you get to work, stoking up and down his length, working the precum down his entire shaft. Once he's more slick, you start pumping him furiously, stopping every now and then to let your thumb focus on rubbing the sensitive skin under his tip.

And Soap is fucking loving it. He groans heavily, leaning forward and resting his forehead against your shoulder. "Oh fucking hell, lass. That's it..." He breathes, his hand now slamming back into your pussy in quick thrusts.

"I'm not cleaning up shit." You seethe, voice just above a whisper. Your disobedience earns yourself a stinging bit to the junction where your neck meets your shoulder. Soap's teeth dig into the soft flesh, and you moan out, a mix of pleasure and pain, right into Soap's ear.

The moans sets something off in Soap. He has to have you. Right here, right now. Nothing else mattered. He needed to feel you clamping down on him. He wanted to rid himself of all the tension from the past three days, clear his mind from the anger, burn it off by fucking you. He wants to make you feel good, feel pain, make you scream his name. And he will.

"You don't want to play nice?" He asks, pulling his hand free from your underwear and yanking your hand away from his cock. "Don't want to take responsibility still? Well that's fucking fine, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you so stupid you won't be able to form a single thought let along clean."

You have a retort, but you yelp before you can get it out. You're not sure how he does it, but in a quick movement, Soap has grabbed your legs, wrapped them around his hips, and has you up off the floor. His cock is now resting right in the crease of your ass, your back is still pinned against the wall, and your arms quickly circle his neck for support. The last thing he does is adjust his grip on you, both hands moving to support your ass.

"Doubtful." You egg him on, making him pause to look at you. "You couldn't even make me come on your fingers. What makes you think your cock will be any better?"

Soap glares at you, a snarl forming on his face. "I could've made you come on my fingers, but I'd rather feel you come around my cock."

You rolls your eyes at him. "Bet you'll come before I do."

The glare on his face morphed into a grin that spread slowly onto his face. His member twitches against your ass, and you almost wish you hadn't said what you just said. It was a challenge now, and Soap loved proving you wrong.

"Really?" He snarled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He shifts you around in his arms, cock dragging along your ass as he pulls his hips back. His tip leaves a cool wet trail. "Let's see if you still think that when you're coming around my cock." You feel the push of his velvety, hot tip as it drags through your folds, lining himself up. "You better brace yourself." He warns, his tone dark and dangerous.

"You better not-”

He pushes into you then. A single, quick thrust of his hips, and his thick length is splitting you in half, filling you completely. You throw your head back against the wall, your breath getting caught in your lungs. Even as slick as you are, it's by no means painless. The sudden intrusion makes your entire body tense as it tries to accommodate him.

"Breathe, States." He instructs, thumbs rubbing circles onto your thighs. At least has the decency to pause for a moment and slowly work his cock the rest of the way into you instead of just ramming you again. By simply lifting your legs a little further up on his hips, you finish sliding down onto him.

His hips are flush with yours, your clit just kissing his hair covered pelvis. You sigh and gasp when your clit meets up with him, the bud still very sensitive. Soap takes a moment to rock you against him, giving your clit a little more stimulation.

"There bonnie. That's better isn't it?" He moans, the gentle rocking feeling good for him too. "Ohh fuck.." He sighs, pressing his forehead to the side of your neck. "You’re so tight."

"That fucking hurt, you fucking ass." You curse him when your breathing finally evens out a bit. That's Soap cue you're ready for more.

"Oh, you're fine. It'll feel good." He readjusts his grip, moving his hands to your thighs, preparing for the harsh fuck he's about to give you.

He wastes no time, dragging his hips back, only leaving his tip inside you, before snapping up into you, starting a brutal pace. You groan loudly, throwing your head back as he slams into you. Each thrust creates a smacking sound as his hips collide with yours. You grip his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his shoulders and clenching your teeth as you wait for the drag of his cock to feel good.

Soap is already enjoying himself, moaning and panting against your neck. "I'm going to ruin you, States.." He breathes against your skin, his voice a low growl. "Feels so fucking good..."

Then it's like a switch has been flipped. The drag of his cock goes from a dull ache to feeling incredible. He's hitting something in you that's taking your breath away in the best possible way. Once the pleasure starts, there is no more holding back.

A moan tore through your vocal cords, head falling back against the wood behind you. Your walls burn as they stretch and flutter, seeming to form perfectly around his cock. The second Soap has you moaning, he goes harder. His hips piston up into you, making your back slam against the wall. It's probably going to make you so sore later, but fuck you don’t care right now.

Soap is starting to sweat already from his efforts. It's also hot in the cabin. Normally he props the doors open during the day for air flow, but he's not about to stop to do that now. He doesn't want to stop. He doesn't want to look away from you. His eyes stay locked on your face the whole time. Your eyes are shut, your mouth hanging out as moan after moan pour from your lips.

He was out of his mind. Fuck Ghost for always being right. Fuck him for putting this idea in his head.

"Ahhh.. Soap!" You moaning his name is almost his undoing. His hips stutter, and he has to focus on not finishing right then and there. His needs to get you off. Now.

Moving his fingers back your clit, he starts to frantically rub your little nub, making you cry out. Fire is coursing through you, everything is wound too tight.

"Come on, States,” he pants, “That's it. I know you're close, lass. I can feel you fucking trying to milk me. Just let go for me. I know you want to." He coaxes, his voice a low growl.

"Fuck!" You curse, his dirty talk really starting to drive you towards the edge. Your legs are shaking as they lock around him, your clit is burning as he continues to rub it. Harsh slaps filled the cabin as Soap's hips continue to met yours, squishing sounds echoing as his cock penetrates you over and over and over again.

"Come for me lass." Soap commands, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. “Come for me right now.”

"I... fucking.. hate you. So damn much." You growl, tears gathering in your eyes from the intense orgasm about your hit. And then you come, relief flooding your veins. All the tension eases up, all your stress is gone. Melting away as each pump of Soap's cock drags out the waves of pleasure.

"Yeah, scream it louder!” Soap pants, pushing harder, slamming you down on him. “There you fucking go. That's it! That's fucking.. Fuck, States!"

Soap feels your walls act like a vice around his member. One squeeze from you is all it takes to drag him towards his own finish. He needed to feel his own release, to feel himself come undone inside you.

As you start to come off your high, Soap is desperately chasing his own, ignoring how your body is starting to relax. He thrusts harder, faster, fingers digging into your flesh as he holds you up.

All you can do is grab his shoulders and hold on for dear life as he buries his face into your shoulder, his stubble ticking you. Your walls are still fluttering in aftershocks, moans and heavy breaths still pouring your lips as Soap fucks you.

Soap is close, you can tell. His breath hitches, his body tensing as he nears his own climax. His thrusts became more erratic, more desperate. He could feel it building, the pleasure coiling in his stomach, ready to explode. With one last hard thrust, he comes, shooting his load deep inside you.

He groans heavily into your ear, his cock twitching as the hot ropes of his come paint your insides. He’s finished after three more thrusts, his body shuddering as he pushes into overstimulation. He keeps his forehead against your shoulder, panting heavily while he recovers. He can still feel your walls fluttering around him, could still feel the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You cling to him, his hold on you just as tight as the waves of pleasure start to fade for you both. Now that your mind is no longer foggy with lust, something heavy settles in your gut.

What the hell you've just done…

"Fuck," Soap curses, his voice raspy and hoarse.

You feel him shift his hips, allowing his softening member to slip out of you, making you wince. He all but drops your legs, letting them fall from around his waist. You wobble as you try to find your footing, and he pushes you to lean against the wall before taking a step back himself.

You cling to the wall as your shared release begins to drip out of you, running down your thighs and splattering onto the floor. You're panting, as is Soap, as you both try to rationalize what's just happened. Dread and regret settle in the pit of your stomach.

Soap tucks himself back into his pants and runs a hand over his face, looking anywhere but at you. You feel so fragile in this moment as you watch him, waiting for his next move.

"Soap?" You whisper, desperate for him to say something. To talk about what just happened, to tell you what this means. But as Soap looks at you, his eyes harden.

"Go clean yourself up. And all that too while you're at it." He points to the eggs and to the floor under you, his voice cold and distance. He turns to leave, shoving the cabin door open and going God knows where.

Your voice catches in your throat, hurt by his words. You want to stop him, run after him, but you can't. You're in shock, your legs are weak, and you're starting to realize just how much you fucked up.

One second you're in an intense argument with Soap, the next you're fucking each other raw. And now you’re all alone, wondering what hell you just did.

***

Soap needed air. Now. He just made the biggest mistake of his life, and you're looking at him with the most scared and confused eyes. Wondering so many things, things he doesn't have answers for.

"Go clean yourself up. And all that too while you're at it." He tells you. He knows there's no reason to treat you this way. Especially since he's the one who initiated sex with you, but he's so mad at himself right now. Mad for letting himself give in. And even worse, now you look hurt.

He needs air. 

Soap rushes outside, shoving the door firmly like it purposely got in his way. He stands on the porch, running his hands over his face. Trying to calm down. He just needs to breathe for a minute.

Ghost was right about one thing. The orgasm you just pulled from him did release all his tension. Like it was as simple as cutting a single thread. The thing he neglected to tell him was that after all that tension and stress was released, a different kind of tense would creep in.

Actually Soap supposed he was 100% right. Ghost never did say a thing about what it would be like after.

Fuck Ghost…

Soap wants to run. To leave and never come back. But as much as he can't stand you, Soap can't bring himself to leave. Not after your first night together, not after seeing how scared you got. No, as much as he wants to, you are still his squadmate. No man left behind. He can't leave anyone else behind...

However, he is equally aware that he needs time to himself to process everything. Work through some stuff in his head before you talks to you. He should at least help you clean up though. What kind of a guy would he be if he just fucked a girl and left her to clean up the mess. He was already planning on leaving for a few hours to clear his head, he might as well make sure you're somewhat ok before he goes. So you won’t be so stressed.

Sighing, hoping this will just blow over, that somehow you'll never to talk about it, he turns to go back into the cabin.

***

After about a minute of clinging onto the wall, you find enough strength to move. The first thing you do is wiggle out of your destroyed pants and use them to wipe between your legs. Your underwear was still on, but you want to change into a fresh pair. A lot of your arousal had stained them and some of Soap's come had gotten on them when he pulled out.

Once you're clothed again, you make your way back into the kitchen and look down at the white and clear stains on the floor. You want to clean up that stain before anything else. Wipe away the evidence of your coupling. However, you know it's not going to do much. The soreness between your legs is a constant reminder of what happened.

You kneel down, and right as you're about to grab your pants and use them to mop up the mixture of your and Soap's release, the door opens again. You're frozen as Soap walks through, his eyes on you at first. An awkward tension fills the space, and you look away from him, picking at one of the loose strings on your destroyed pants.

Soap finally moves, stepping past you to get to the bedroom and coming out a second later with his egg covered shirt. He kneels down in front of you and uses the sleeve of his shirt to start wiping up the cum stain. Once it's mostly gone, aside from the dampness causing the wood to be two different shades, he moves on to pick the eggs box up and takes it outside.

You get up and start to clean up the eggs while he's gone, knowing you're going to have to talk about what happened sooner or later. You couldn't just fuck each other and act like nothing happened. Especially with the history you and Soap had.

When Soap comes back, you find yourself tensing up once more, the awkward air returning. He pauses in the doorway, but you can't bring yourself to look up him. Eventually, he joins you on the floor, helping you mop up the eggs.

Once the area is clean, or mostly clean (the eggs left a residue), you finally look up at Soap. You open your mouth, wanting to talk to him about everything, but he speaks first.

"I'm gonna head out for a bit. Few hours." He says, moving to stand up.

You want to run after him, tell him to stay so you can talk things out, but a part of you is too ashamed to go after him. You felt like you'd already lost your dignity and running after him would just make you feel even more pathetic.

“Ok…”

You let him leave, the creak of the front door sealing the decision. The moment the door closes, a wave of anguish crashes over you. Now that he's gone, you can finally let the tears fall. The confusion, the anger at yourself, the regret, the shame—all of it eats at you until you're exhausted. You bury your face in your hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Soap is gone for hours again. It's getting dark, but you can't bring yourself to care as much as you did the first time. Having some time away from him to cry and work out the emotions was actually kind of nice. But the loneliness creeps in, wrapping around you like a cold, suffocating blanket. You curl up on your cot, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to find some semblance of comfort.

By the time Soap does come back, you're already in your cot, eyes shut but not sleeping. You hear the front door open and close, hear his footsteps come to the bedroom door and wait outside, hear the door slowly push open, and you can image him peeking inside.

"States?" He asks in a really soft voice. You don't answer him.

He comes into the room, and you feel like he's looking at your sleeping form, but you don't dare open your eyes to check. You hear him sigh, and then he starts to quietly move about the room, getting himself ready for bed.

When he finally crawls into his cot, the silence settles heavily over the room. And once it's silent again, you have to bite your lip to keep from crying.

[mama2bears]

Starting Over Again Chapter 8

Warnings: Sexual content - not too much detail, (ONLY FOR 18+), Talk of bruises/injury, sharing shower, nakedness

A/N: Sorry for the delay in updated. Been busy with work. Next chapter will be the last chapter. I already have it finished and just need to do some editing on it. Hopefully I will have it posted later today or tomorrow. Enjoy!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 8

“So what is everyone doing today,” Tyler asked, taking a seat next to you at the table. Most of the team had already finished their breakfast.

“Dani and I have claimed the gaming system.” Boone stated, “but if anyone wants to join us..we can split into teams!”

“I want to send up the drone, get some shots of the area.” Lily said.

“I am going fishing!” Dexter added with a smile. “I see there's a pier a few miles down the road. Maybe I can bring some fish back for dinner.”

Everyone cheered at that idea and started clearing the table to go about their day.

“What about you?” Tyler looked at you with a soft smile, “What would you like to do today?”

“Stroll on the beach, collect seashells, play in the waves a little.” you smile.

“And build a sand castle.” Tyler added with a grin. “Let's do it!”

“Really?” you asked, “You don't think it's boring or stupid or anything?”

“Darling, I'd do anything with you, and to be honest, that sounds like the perfect day.”

“Hey, Y/N..come with me to the RV for a minute?” Lily asked.

“Sure.” you stand and place a hand on Tyler's shoulder and a light kiss on his cheek, “I'll be back in a minute.”

“Okay.” he squeezed your hand and watches as you walked away, lost in thought.

“Earth to Tyler...” Boone was saying.

“Huh? What?” Tyler looked at his friend.

“I said Dani and I are going to grill some burgers for lunch. Lily is coming back for lunch, but Dexter said he wants to grab a sandwich or something at the prier. I was asking what you and Y/N are doing for lunch so we know how many burgers to grill.” Boone grinned, “But you weren't paying any attention to me.”

“Sorry.” Tyler apologized. “We'll probably come back here for lunch. We are just going to be right down there.” he motioned to a stretch of beach that was just out the front door.

“So...I hear you and Tyler are spending the day at the beach,” Lily flashed a smile, leading you into the RV. She rummaged though some boxes and pulled out a bright red bikini. “Here, you can have this...go knock his socks off.”

“Oh..I don't..I don't know about that.” You blushed.

“Girl...go for it!” she winked. “You can even change in here and just completely surprise him once you are there.”

“Thank you.” You smile ducking into the tiny RV bathroom and replacing your bra and underwear with the bikini before slipping a dress back on.

A few minutes later you and Lily come back in the house laughing, causing Tyler to raise an eyebrow, “What's so funny?” he looked at you confused.

“You'll find out later.” you wink at him and Lily giggles.

As everyone parts ways to go about their day, Tyler collects a blanket and you got a few towels before heading down to the beach.

You loved the feeling of the shifting sand under your feet. You know as the sun rises and the temperature heats up the sand will soon become hot, but now, in the early morning hours, it was a just starting to warm up from the cool night air.

“You okay?” you asked, grabbing Tyler's hand as he stumbled and grabbed his leg.

“Yeah, I am fine. Just lost my footing a little.” he gave you a smile, not wanting to ruin this perfect day. Truth was, he would be okay once they got off of the shifting sand, but right now, it was hell on his leg.

You grab his hand and squeeze it tightly, “We can go back if you want.” you offer.

“Never.” he smiled, “I am looking forward to giving you the date you deserve.”

Gradually you both make your way down close to the water's edge and lay the blanket down, tucking the corners into the sand and laying the towels out.

“How are you feeling?” Tyler asks, gently placing a hand on your left side.

“Sore, but okay.” you give a smile, “How about you?”

“Nothing that a little time at the beach won't fix.” he pulls you into a kiss, then takes your hand, “How about we go for a little walk, look for those shells you wanted to find?” he asked, “I hear first thing in the morning is the best time.”

“Well, actually....the best time for shells is after a storm. More shells wash ashore during a storm...but morning would be second best.” you grin as you two walk along the shore line, the waves washing over your feet.

“Oh there's one!” you see a big conch shell rolling in the waves.

“I got it.” Tyler reached for the shell as the waves pulled it just out of his reach.

“Ah, you missed it!” You hurry and reach down to try and catch the shell, only to have the waves pull it out father.

“Oh, well...maybe we'll find another one.” you give in, a hint of disappointment in your voice.

“I'm getting you that shell.” Tyler chased the shell further out into deeper water and made another grab for it, losing his balance and falling into a wave, his head disappearing under the wave for a moment.

“TYLER!” You screamed, “you okay?”

“I got the shell!” He grinned, holding it up.

You push though the waves and run out to the waist deep water where he was and grabbed his arm, “Oh my God, Tyler, are you okay?” you practically were yelling at him.

“Yeah, I am okay. The wave gave me a softer landing.”

“You scared me to death.” you grab his hand and help him stand, “I was afraid you hurt your ribs again falling.”

“I am okay.” he confirmed handing you the shell, “for my beautiful lady.”

“Thank you.” you kiss him softly and hold his hand back to shore. Tyler stops at the blankets and slides his wet pants off, revealing a pair of dark blue swim trunks, then he tried to pull his shirt up over his head grimacing in pain. “What's wrong?” you ask concerned.

“I am trying to get this shirt off.” he sighed, “but it's wet and sticking.” he gasped.

“Here, let me help.” you help him pull the shirt over his head and your eyes immediately go to the bruises covering his back and chest. You carefully run your hand over his chest “I am so sorry.” you whisper.

“Darling, there's nothing to be sorry for. I would rather deal with this pain and these injuries then see you get hurt.” he leaned over and placed a tender kiss on your lips, “I owe you my life. You saved my life that night.” he whispered, “I'll never forget that.”

“You saved my life that night as well.” you whisper.

“And I'd do it all over again.” he leaned in closer to you and captured your lips in a long slow deep kiss.

“Do you need to go back to the house and change?” he asked.

You smile at him, stepping back a few paces, “No...I think I'll change here.” you slide your dress up over your head, revealing the red bikini and heard Tyler suck in a breath.

“Wow...” he whispers.

“You like?” you asked.

“No...” Tyler shook his head, “I don't like it.”

“Oh...” you look a bit taken back.

“I love it!” he grinned, pulling you towards him for a kiss.

You grimace and he pulls back, “Sorry...I didn't mean to hurt you.” he leans over to look at the stab wound, “Is it bothering you?” he asked, softly.

“Little..but not bad.”

Tyler carefully runs his hand down your side and then he notices all the bruises and scars running across your stomach and up your back. “My God, Y/N...I didn't know it was this bad.” anger flashed in his eyes. “He did all this to you?” he asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, but let's not talk about him, okay?”

“Alright, Darling.” he kissed her softly. “What shall we do next?”

“Take a mid morning nap on the beach?” you grin, sitting down on the blanket and stretching out. At least a little rest.

Your side was starting to bother you, and you were sure Tyler was in pain by the look on his face, even if he denied it.

“Sounds good to me.” you laid down next to you and wrapped his arms around you. As you were staring out across the ocean, he was looking at you with a grin.

“What?” you turn towards him with a smile, catching him staring at you out the corner of your eye.

“You're just so beautiful.” he whispered, kissing your lips softly, trailing his lips from your mouth, down your neck.

“Tyler...” you moan as he tenderly brushes his hand across your stomach and pausing at your bikini top.

“Want me to stop?” he asked, desire deep in his eyes.

“What if someone sees us?” you ask.

He glanced up towards the house, “We are far enough down the beach. They can't see us from the house and no one else is around. “Hold on.” he held you close to him and rolled off the blanket, laying directly on the sand and the blanket now covering you. “Better?”

You nod, “Yeah, but we shouldn't be doing this, not with your broken ribs.”

“My hands aren't broken.” he grins, pressing his lips firmly against yours in a long deep kiss. “If you want me to stop, tell me now.” he moaned, ducking his head under the blanket to remove the bikini top.

“Don't stop...”you moaned, feeling his lips and hands caressing your body.

* * * * *

“Hey Boone!” Dani called, looking at her phone.

“What's up?”

“I was just checking our YouTube feed. Someone posted videos and photos of us leaving the hotel and picking up Ty and Y/N at the hospital.”

“Yeah..we got about a million followers. They probably were interested in how T was doing. We never did update them.”

“Maybe...” Dani said thinking, “But they keep asking questions about our whereabouts. It just doesn't seem right to me. Our fans know we are chasing the storms, and if we aren't, that's our private time. They don't ask a lot about where we are if we aren't chasing. This person has posted several times a day.”

“You're right. That is suspicious.” Boone frowned. “Has anyone said anything about us being down here?”

“No. Everyone just assumes that we went back to Arkansas to rest up for a bit.” Dani informed him.

“Good.” Boone nodded.

“Should we tell Tyler?”

“No, that's just going to cause a lot of worry for no reason. As long as no one suspects we are here, then let's not worry them about it.”

Dani agreed, “I'll keep an eye on it and make sure no one discloses our whereabouts if they do see us.”

“Maybe I should do a quick video, give people a heads up?” Boone suggested.

“Yeah...good idea.”

Boone fixed his phone and made sure nothing was in the background to give away his whereabouts and then began, “Hey Hey fan base! I know we have been flying under the radar lately, but as you know, a lot has happened in a short amount of time. Listen, I need ya help. One of our team members has a crazy guy after them. It's personal business and I don't want to get into details, but we haven't had much luck with the police. That's why we've been laying low. Tyler and the team are all doing good, but listen, if you do happen to see us out and about anywhere, please don't disclose our location...for the sake of the team. We'll update you when this situation has been solved. Thank you fans! We love you!”

The sound of the door opening caused them to look up. Boone smiled, seeing Tyler and Y/N come though the door, hand in hand. Both of their hair was ruffled and they were covered in sand, breathing hard with their faces were flushed.

“Hey guys, I am just about to start the burgers.” Boone called, trying his best not to look at the couple. He wanted to say something smart, but he also didn't want to embarrass either of them.

“Yeah, I bet they've worked up an appetite.” Dani giggled.

“We are hungry.” Tyler shot them a look, “Thanks Boone. We're going to take a shower and then we'll be out.”

“Hmm hmm...no problem.” Boone held his laughter in until Tyler and Y/N had went into their room.

“Whoa boy, I bet they're going to have an active week.” he giggled and Dani playfully slapped his head, “Oh hush! What if they hear you!”

“I'll start the shower for us.” Tyler states, kissing you softly, “You wanna head back down to the beach or stay here?”

“Right now that bed is looking awfully inviting. I vote we stay here and watch a movie after lunch.” she said.

“That sounds like the perfect ending to a perfect day.”

You pull out your pajamas and a pair of shorts for Tyler before meeting him in the bathroom. He had already stripped down and was getting in the shower when he extended his hand towards you, “Join me?” he asks.

You let the bikini fall to the floor and enter the shower, where Tyler pulls you into another long slow kiss. He runs his hands slowly over your body, kissing every scar and every bruise as if he could kiss away the hurt.

“You're beautiful and I love you so much.” he muttered against your skin, moving his lips up to your neck and reclaiming your lips as his own.

Boone, Dani and Lily were already eating the burgers by the time you and Tyler finally emerged from the bedroom. All three of them passed knowing looks.

“Your burgers are over there by the grill. We did save you some.” Boone smiled.

“Oh, and don't worry about anything that might of happened on the beach today.” Lily grinned, “I didn't fly my drone over that way.”

“Oh my God, we didn't think of that!” you muttered into Tyler's ear and he laughed.

“So...um...how's the water?” Boone asked as you guys sat down with the burgers.

“Perfect.” you say.

“Well, it was a bit salty.” Tyler grinned.

“And there was a shark.” you grinned, looking over at Tyler.

“I bet that shark's name was Tyler, wasn't it?” Dani laughed and the rest of the team joined in.

“Yeah..it was...it was.” you blushed.

Once lunch was finished, Tyler stood and took your plate and his into the kitchen. “Y/N and I are going to lay down for a bit and watch a movie. When Dexter gets back, tell him we expect fish for dinner!”

“I'll help make something. Don't worry.” you tell Dani and Lily as Tyler leads you into the bedroom.

“What movie?” he asked.

“I don't care.” you crawl into bed and snuggle down into the warm covers and soft pillows.

“Okay.” Tyler flips on Pet Sematary.

You pull the covers up over your head and hide, “That's going to terrify me! The original scared me!”

“Nothing to be scared of when you got me here, Darling.” he crawls into bed next to you and holds you tight. “I think we need to put this day on repeat for the rest of the week,” he whispered, kissing you softly.

“I wouldn't complain about that.” you sigh, snuggling into his side a little closer as the movie began.

Chapter 9 (Final Chapter)

Tag List

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[mylovelies-docx]

Sorry, I Love You - Part 8

I apologize for not posting last week. How about this longer chapter to make up for it?

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: First day of HYDRA work, social gatherings

Word Count: 2,270

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6][Part 7]

The next morning dawned bright and chilly. You only know this because you happened to pass by a window covered in frost on your way to one of the HYDRA labs within the facility. 

Your first few hours on site had you running through various tests and exams to study your mental capacity and knowledge on the interest that HYDRA holds in the biology field. There was nothing shocking or unexpected that your new supervisors asked you, but the implications of what they expect from you sends shivers down your spine. You studied and memorized and read for weeks in preparation for this assignment last year, and you’re so glad that your brain retains this kind of information like a sponge – you’d have been disposed of on the spot if your background hadn’t checked out.

But now you’ve ‘officially’ joined HYDRA. The thought leaves a bad taste in your mouth, but you wash it down with the knowledge that what you’re doing is going to help the world by eliminating whatever disgusting and horrible work is being done here.

The plan is to spend as much time as it takes to gain HYDRA’s confidence in your abilities and allow you access to the higher level projects – the world-ending projects. This could take weeks. Or months. Hopefully not years? Being Bucky’s sister for that long would drive you insane.

“You,” a scientist snaps from behind their desk as you pass their open office door. You stop in your tracks and peer into the dingy office, noticing scuff marks and mysterious stains on the floor. The man’s desk has every square inch covered in files and papers. So much so that there is a noticeable curvature on the desktop, the cheap material unable to handle the amount of weight it has been subjected to over the years.

“Yes, sir?” you inquire.

He refuses to look up from his work, instead opting to dangle a set of keys from his fingers in your direction. “Go and grab the files for project 0B276HG21 in storage room C.”

Repeating the string of numbers and letters in your head, you take the keys from his outstretched hand and make your way to the storage room. There are so many rooms within the facility that you would be lost without the information your informant sent the team. But even with it, the facility has undergone changes since the last facility plans were uploaded, so you run into dead ends where there should be access doors.

You can only hope that your experience and knowledge will allow you to work your way up quickly – you don’t know how long you can stand to be a lackey. You roll your eyes at the errands you’ve had to run so far, but you know that the new person never gets given the big jobs on the first day.

And so the rest of the shift passes in the same manner and you arrive back at your and Bucky’s house with little energy and even less information.

“Don’t worry about it, doll,” Bucky reassures. “Slow and steady wins the race, right?”

“That’s such a stupid fable,” you grumble. “The hare would have won if it didn’t have such an inflated ego.”

Bucky grins at your disgruntled face before you flop your head backwards to rest. You release a sigh and relax further into the couch where you collapsed after walking in the front door, relieved to smell dinner simmering away on the stove since you arrived home later than expected and hadn’t had the opportunity to grab lunch. 

You tilt your head and watch as Bucky shuffles around the kitchen. He’s long since showered after his time at the repair shop: his hair nearly dry and the strands sticking out in a way that you know he tousled it with his towel and let it finish air drying. The new shorter strands allowed for the minimal work to pay off in dividends because it was damn near impossible to remember how soft his hair used to be and not be able to run your fingers through it now. 

Your fingers itch to reach out, but you grip the cushion instead. No one said that this would be easy. Well, no one has said it’d be anything because Nat’s mission has her radio silent and Wanda is busy spending time with Vis for you to complain about your one-sided love with someone who doesn’t know the feeling. You know that if they knew what was happening right now, they’d be plying you with ideas on how to survive this mission with minimal heartbreak.

“The food is done,” Bucky says as he gathers plates and utensils to set the table. “Are you coming in here or do you want me to bring you a bowl?”

Unfortunately, your best friends aren’t available to provide their wisdom, so here you are: suffering in silence with no outlet. 

“I’ll be there in a second,” you respond. You unclench your fist from the couch’s fabric and stretch out your stiff fingers. Rising from your seat, you make your way into the kitchen and take a seat at the table as Bucky brings the pot over from the stove. You stare intently into the soup as Bucky ladles it into a bowl and sets it in front of you.

“Did something happen today?” he questions with a worried expression.

“You know HYDRA,” you tiredly reply. Looking up into his eyes for the first time this evening, you see the crease between his brows and mentally slap yourself. “I’m fine, Bucky. They don’t have me working on anything specific yet.”

“I know,” he says, “but just be careful with those people, okay?”

You smile up at him and nod your head, your heart squeezing in your chest.

You’re both silent through dinner with the exception of your compliments on Bucky’s cooking. It’s hard to clear the air after bringing up HYDRA and their actions, even in the vaguest way.

***

The week stretches on for an eternity, but eventually Saturday rolls around and you and Bucky prepare to meet the neighborhood.

You arrive at the restaurant right on time. Light pours from the windows and the snow on the ground glistens gold. As soon as you open the car door, you hear laughter and chatter forcing their way through the walls.

“I hate entering a party where everybody is already best friends with each other and then you’re left standing there like a loner,” you decry, already dreading the feeling of ‘otherness’ you will be experiencing in a few short moments.

“You’re not a loner,” Bucky laughs. “You make friends as easily as breathing.”

“Not true,” you counter. “I can make ‘friends’ with strangers, but it’s never anything real. I’m a spy, remember? It’s literally life or death to get people to like me.”

“Trust me, doll,” Bucky says as he looks intently at you from across the car. “People can’t help but love you.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you hope the light from the restaurant isn’t bright enough to reveal them to Bucky. The feelings squirming around in your stomach feel suspiciously like hope, and you can’t have that. You deflect any seriousness by laughing off Bucky’s comment.

“Tell that to all the people I’ve thrown in prison.”

Bucky calls your name with some disappointment and a slight frown on his face. You shrug your shoulders and motion towards the entrance. “It’s time to head inside. Come on.” 

You walk away from him and lead the way into the building. Upon opening the door, a blast of warm, humid air hits you. The smell of beer and sweat sweeps up your nostrils, and the interior design reminds you more of a local dive bar than a restaurant. But everyone is laughing and having a good time, so you plaster a smile on your face and look around for the Gretens.

You see Christopher speaking to a short, skinny man, deep in conversation and barely acknowledging anyone else. Tessa stands in a corner surrounded by three other women, all of them laughing and having a good time. Bucky walks up behind you as you stand in the doorway and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Divide and conquer?” he asks. You nod your head and make your way over to the group of women.

When you’re within ten feet of her, Tessa notices you. She beams at you and raises her hand to usher you closer. 

“Ladies!” Tessa introduces. “Meet our newest neighbor!”

A round of introductions follows and you can’t help but admire how blatantly obvious these women are about their curiosity.  Tessa seems to have already told them everything she knows about you, but they have to ask their own questions. 

“And where’s that brother of yours?” one of them asks. “Tessa’s told us how handsome he is! I’ve got a daughter I’ve been trying to get out of the house for ages.”

You laugh through the twist of your guts, replying merrily, “Oh, I’m sure he’d appreciate the introduction.”

Before the woman can demand a personal introduction, Tessa interrupts when the entrance opens once again and lets in a blast of cold air.

“Petre!” She performs the same waving hand motion that brought you over earlier to the new arrival. “Come here!”

Glancing back, you see a tall man with dark hair and dark eyes making his way over to you. He stops in front of Tessa and wraps her in a quick hug.

“This is my son, Petre. Petre, this is our neighbor.”

Petre greets you warmly. “Hello, it’s nice to finally meet you. My mother hasn’t stopped talking about you since you moved in.”

You giggle when Tessa pats his arm roughly and shake his proffered hand. His skin is warm and dry, the skin on the back of his knuckles chapped from the winter weather. Tessa not-so-subtly draws the other women away from you and Petre and into another conversation, leaving you to speak with each other.

“Your mother seems to think we’d make a good pair,” you comment with a glance over at her.

“Ah, yes,” Petre says while fiddling with his shirt sleeves. “She’s been introducing me to every woman of marrying age. I think she’s afraid I’ll end up alone.”

You can’t help but laugh at his deprecating tone of voice. “We’re young – we’ve still got time.”

“Try telling her that,” he responds. “Being 30 and unmarried is one of the worst things you can be in her eyes.”

You chat with Petre between introductions for the next couple of hours. He sticks close by his mother which keeps him close to you, as Tessa demands everyone that walks by to greet you. Countless faces come and go, but there seems to be someone missing.

You turn to Tessa when the party seems to be winding down and a few people have started to leave. “Where’s your daughter?” you question.

“Kerri and Chrissie are right over there,” she nods, indicating the two young women in a cluster a few feet from you.

“Yes, I remember them from a little while ago. Where’s your other daughter? Sasha?”

At this, Tessa’s face drops and Petre looks at her worriedly. He places his arm around his mother’s shoulders and brings her into his side. “She’s not well,” Petre answers for his mother. “She has been sick for a while now.”

“Oh. Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s – it’s alright,” Tessa responds with a sorrowful smile. “She’s at home. Resting.”

“Well I hope she gets better soon,” you reply hopefully. Petre and Tessa nod tersely before steering the conversation off to something else.

It isn’t long after that when you feel Bucky sidle up next to you. He places his hand on your upper arm and pulls you closer into his side. “You ready to go?” he questions.

You hum and say your goodbyes to the people standing around you, promising to come out with Tessa to more gatherings. You and Bucky make your way back out into the cold night, the moon full and bright in the sky.

The car doors close behind you and Bucky starts the engine. You rumble along the road for a few minutes before Bucky says anything.

“Who were you talking to all night?” he asks you.

“Ah.” You sigh. “That was Tessa’s eldest son. The one she mentioned at dinner.”

“And?” he prompts.

“And…?”

“You were with him all night – what was he like? Anything seem off with him?”

You’re not exactly sure what Bucky is getting at, as he’d been talking with a couple of the same people throughout the night as well. “Well no, but it’s not like I could dig any deeper than surface level with so many people coming in and out of the conversation.”

Bucky hums noncommittally. You furrow your brow, but brush it off. “Did you find anything out from Christopher?”

“Not really. I did notice that one of his daughters wasn’t there tonight. Sarah?”

“Sasha,” you correct. “And no, I asked about her, as well. Petre and Tessa seemed really bothered when I brought her up: apparently she’s been pretty sick lately.”

“How sick?” Bucky asks.

“I’m not sure. It didn’t seem like they wanted to talk about it, though.”

“You think she’s been sick enough to require hospital stays?” he proposes, leading the conversation towards what could have possibly happened to the family’s financials that has lead to their worn down clothing and home.

“It’s worth looking into, isn’t it?”

Part 9

@jackiehollanderr @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshine @happinessinthebeing @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze @marvelogic @kaz11283

[tieronecrush]

hot & heavy

chapter six: remember when

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 7.3k

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced/virgin reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, mariposa, etc.), polite southern manners (use of sir & ma’am), feeling familial and self-pressure, undefined relationship, mutual masturbation, voyuerism, dirty talk, likely poor spanish grammar, pining joel

One month. Four weeks. Thirty days. 720 hours. 43,200 minutes. 2,592,000 seconds.

No matter what you convert the time to, it doesn’t change the bone-deep ache that you have felt since you found out your start date for your new job in Boston. No matter how you frame it, you will still be living next to Joel for that long before you can put thousands of miles between you two and hopefully, hopefully, have the space you need to get over him.

Three hours and a few hundred miles was not enough. All year you itched to dial his number, to message him, to come to visit your parents for the weekend to catch a glimpse of him or even a short conversation about the weather or the neighborhood.

It was getting pathetic at a certain point, so you deleted his number.

Of course, not before scratching it into a Post-It note that lives in your wallet now.

You knew yourself too well to think that you wouldn’t want it, or need it, one day.

The temptation to reach out grew like a weed the closer it got to move-out day. Maybe he would want to hear from you that you’ll be home, even for a short while, you thought. Sure, your parents have probably mentioned it in passing by now, but is he hurt that you didn’t tell him yourself?

Who are you kidding? He never called, never messaged. Never answered when you did. That night at his house was the last you heard from him.

There were small updates about Sarah from your mom, and mentions of Joel coming over to watch a Texans game from your dad. Whenever you heard his name, your stomach lurched as if jerking back like a sudden, harsh break in a car. Palms sweaty, mind weighed with memories of your summer with him, all of it crashing down into the same heartbreak you felt that final night.

How could he do that after you told him you loved him?

He never said he didn’t feel the same way.

“You alright there, Kiddo? Spaced out there for a good while,” your dad is sitting across from you on the deck, empty dinner plates in front of you while your mom ran inside to grab dessert, “Something on your mind?”

Your vision focuses again, your practiced smile stretching across your face as you nod.

“I’m good, Dad. Just tired from the drive today. And glad to be home, even for a bit.”

“We’re really happy you wanted to stay at home for a bit, too. And I wanna say how proud of you we are, sweet pea. Always knew you were gonna go off somewhere that moves just as fast as you do,” he beams at you, a glistening in his eyes before he turns away, nodding towards the Miller house.

“You heard anything from Joel about babysittin’ while you’re in town? That little Sarah of his asks about you just about every time we see her.”

That pulls a genuine smile to your face, smoothing over the cracks in your heart as the early summer heat relaxes your muscles. Truth is, you would 100% nanny Sarah again if Joel needed the help. She became like a little best friend of yours after spending nearly every day of the summer last year with her. You missed her probably as much as you missed Joel while you were away.

“He hasn’t asked me, but I haven’t seen him since getting back this afternoon. Maybe I’ll try to catch him tomorrow when he gets off work.”

“Oh! Y’know what? He’s gonna be coming over here tomorrow night, you could catch up with little Sarah then. I mentioned you coming home and got to talkin’ to him about all the flowers and vegetables you planted last year and how those damn rabbits kept gettin’ at them, so he offered to come over and help me build some raised beds for you to replant everything in, sweet pea.”

“Joel offered to do that? You’re not paying him?”

“Nope, not a cent. I offered about ten times and he refused each one. Nice guy, that Miller.”

“Yeah…yeah he is a nice guy.”

The rest of the evening you spend on the deck with your parents, talking about what’s been happening in the neighborhood and with family friends. Your brother is meant to be back home at the weekend, having one more final to take at the end of the week before he can fly home for the summer. Once your mom and dad have resigned for the night, you sit out a bit longer and stargaze, enthralled with the vast night sky and shining moon.

It’ll be the same moon you see when you’re a couple of thousand miles away, but it won’t ever be as decorated with stars as you can see now.

The moon and stars aren’t the only things that you think about as you sit under the midnight sky. The conversation with your dad comes back around, replaying the short moment when he said Joel wanted to do something for you, free of charge.

Sure, he might have thought it the neighborly thing to do, but you can’t help but smile at the thought that Joel volunteered himself to do it. Maybe he wanted to see you as much as you wanted to see him.

Nothing could come of this summer though, of this month, even if there were still sparks between you two. You were leaving. Unsure of when you were going to be back. There were no Spring Breaks or Thanksgiving weeks off you could plan for, and your parents had already decided this year’s Christmas was to be spent at your grandparents’ in Wisconsin. You had no plans to be back home soon after moving, and even if you did, a long distance that far rarely works out.

He didn’t even want to make a go of it when you were at school, why would he try when you’re contracted there for at least a year, likely going to be much longer as you gain the experience you craved of being away from Austin and living a big city life?

Unfurling yourself from the deck chair, you shuffle inside and upstairs quietly; the door closes with a soft click behind you, and relief percolates through your body as your eyes adjust to the golden lamplight of your bedroom. There are boxes of your things from school around, not to be unpacked until they’re moved across the country to the Northeast. Your suitcase is flung open on the ground, clothes rummaged through to find something fresh to wear after your shower earlier that day. You approach the luggage again, culling through the mess of fabric to find something to wear to sleep.

Turning toward your bed to climb in, a light in Joel’s window across the way catches your eye. Being back in your room, staring at the single-lit window of the Miller home, crumbles the resolve you had been grasping onto. Memories of waiting for him to retire to his room every night before that first kiss. The image of him standing at the window after he had made you come the first time while you watched him work his fist in quick strokes. His face as he came, playing over and over in your brain with his handprint breaking up the foggy glass. Aching desire heats your core, arousal flooding between your thighs as your body begs for something, anything to relieve itself.

You climb in bed, touching yourself to the thought of him, of your Joel from last summer, picturing him with his head between your legs or his steady, hard thrusts that you branded into your brain. Laid out on top of your bedding, your fingers circle around your clit and spread your wetness on your fingers, and you’re reminded of each time you have found yourself in this position before. This had been the scene in your college bedroom frequently, picturing Joel over you, under you. When you were brave, or drunk enough, to have hookups this year, you caught yourself drifting to the image of him when you closed your eyes. It never felt the same as with him, never as full, never as satisfying.

And at this moment, your fingers thrusting in and out of you weren’t coming even close to any touch of Joel’s on you.

Little did you know, once you settled on your bed and closed your eyes to attempt to see and hear and feel him, Joel came back from grabbing a glass of water downstairs and glanced out his window when he saw a new light on that wasn’t there minutes ago.

His gaze trained on the sliver of you through the opening of your sheer curtains, bare legs with your t-shirt pulled up over your braless chest, and hand beyond the waistband of your underwear. He nearly drops the glass at the sight, his boxers beginning to tent as his blood rushes down. Rolling his shoulders back, he tries to alleviate the tightness that grips them, his arm coming down too quickly and forcefully setting the glass next to his bed. The amp clicks off to cloak him in darkness, to disguise himself as he finds his usual spot from last summer sitting in front of the window with the perfect view of you. Tugging his boxers down just enough to free his stiffening cock, he spits lewdly on his hand, wasting no time with the view he’d got — that he has been dreaming of having again. He fucks himself with his fist, attempting to keep the pace he sees your hand moving at and talking to himself as he has before when he sits in bed thinking about you with his hand around his dick.

The sensation isn’t anywhere close to what he remembers of you, how he felt like you were made as a flawless match for him to fit into. Never had it felt like it did with you last summer, even the one time he had you completely and unabashed was enough to ruin him for the whole time you were away. Nights off on the weekends, while Sarah was at her mom’s, he’d go out with Tommy or some old friends from work. Women would chat him up, he had no idea what they saw in him, but it happened. And no matter how forward they were with him, he could never bring himself to close the deal. No one had been in his bed since you’d stayed the night, no one else had touched him since you.

And with you back, only a mere fifty feet away pleasuring yourself, he was reminded exactly why no one lived up to you. Watching your face as you worked yourself up to bliss, your soft, curved body laid out for him to devour, even without you knowing.

Maybe you did know. You did last year.

He’s brought himself close, so fucking close but he waits, holding out until he sees that face that occupied his mind every time he found himself in this same position.

Filth flows out of his mouth with an attempt to read your lips as they move along with your hand in your panties.

“Missed seein’ you so much, pretty girl. Look so good laid out on your bed…”

None the wiser to what the other was saying, the two of you were talking as if you were together while you both touched yourselves to the image of each other.

“Oh my god, Joel…Missed you so much fucking much…”

“Remember what I did the last time we were in that bed? Had you coming on my fingers, all over my mouth.”

“Thought about you all the time, Joel. Every time I touched myself, even when someone else touched me.”

“Such a naughty girl. Eres una chica muy mala (You are a very naughty girl). Mi diablita…Fuck, got me so fuckin’ close watching you, darlin’.”

“Never felt as good as it did with you…I was fucking pissed that you made my first time that fucking good. Set the bar way too high…”

“Never goin’ to forget those sweet little sounds you made for me. Es música para mis oídos incluso ahora, mi Mariposa. (It is music to my ears even now, my butterfly.)”

“Fuckfuckfuck, please, Joel. Please let me come…”

“Are you going to be my polite Southern belle like last summer? Gonna ask for things nicely if I get to touch you again? You know what that does to me, Mariposa.”

“Please, please may I come, sir?”

“Dámelo, dámelo. Carajo! Podrías por favor acabarme adentro? Por favor, mi cielito? (Give it to me, give it to me. Fuck! Will you please let me come inside? Please, my little heaven?)”

Joel’s head rolls back once he watches your body seize up, your own jaw falling open as you moan. With both yours and his own window open, he can hear the faintest echo of you finishing, and he swears he hears his name mixed into the sounds. His eyes squeeze shut as his cock twitches in his hand, ropes of his warm come coating his fingers as he slows his strokes and catches his breath.

As his head falls forward, he sees you sit up on your bed and glance his way, heart rate immediately picking up again as he sees a pout on your lips.

He really fucking missed you. And you’re leaving again. Across the country.

This month, he wants to spend every second he can get with you. He just hopes that you feel the same way.

The day after, he spent every minute from when he got home til the sun went down helping your dad build the raised garden beds. You had one conversation that was barely a couple of minutes, thankfully alone, before Sarah pulled your attention away and your dad dragged Joel down from the deck to the yard.

“Hey, Joel. Nice to see you again.”

He was pretty sure it was only a nicety that you greeted him, your voice smooth and higher-pitched than you normally talk around him, like the one you use around your elderly neighbors or when he’s seen you on the phone with people outside of your family. It stings a bit, that you’ve put up that wall again around him.

“Glad to have you back, Mariposa. How’ve you been?”

Your gaze darts from him to your feet when he uses your nickname. Arms crossed over your chest, bottom lip worked with your teeth.

He desperately wants to reach out and run his thumb to release your lip, to use his hands to wrap your arms around him.

“Fine, yeah. Been fine…um, how about you? How are you and Sarah?”

“Sarah’s been great. School was good for her this year. No problems with other kids like before, made some new friends. Her report cards were filled with ‘a pleasure to have in class.’ Only got one ‘sometimes is a distraction to other students.’”

Your laugh lifts the corners of his mouth into a genuine smile. God, he missed that sound.

“I can definitely relate to getting those remarks. She’s much more social than I was though, so I can't say I ever got ‘is a distraction’.”

“She is quite the talkative little one, definitely doesn’t get it from me.”

“Definitely not. She’s got your sense of humor though,” you remark as you knock your closed fist gently against his shoulder, dropping it back towards you when his own hand catches it. He holds it in his for a moment, unfurling your fingers to hook your index with his.

“How’re really doin’, Mariposa?” His finger squeezes yours, looking up from your hands loosely joined to meet your eyes.

It’s quiet for a moment; he watches as you search his face, mouth downturned into a soft pout.

“I guess it’s a little — I don’t know…How are you doing really?”

He laughs sadly, shaking his head as he replies lowly, “Haven’t been great, I’ll be honest. I mean, myself. Work’s picked up — I hired a couple more people ‘sides Tommy. Sarah is doing awesome. Should be over the moon…But, just feel like something’s missin’.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I really—”

You get cut off when Sarah rushes out from inside with your mom on her tail. Joel drops your finger from his, standing up straighter and grinning when Sarah runs right over to you. She pulls you away from Joel, talking your ear off about the school year. The reunion of you two warms his heart, but there’s that aching feeling in his chest still as his thoughts spiral about what you were going to say.

That winding path of thought continued the whole build, glancing over his shoulder every so often to look at you playing happily with Sarah.

After that night, he found little ways to attempt to get you alone again, every time interrupted.

He’d wandered over one evening when you were replanting everything into the garden beds, about to call out to you when your mom came down from the deck to help you out. He was already halfway between your yard and his, so he had to commit to walking over and making small talk about summer produce.

Another time, at the weekend, he’d been spending the afternoon sitting out on his own deck, waiting for Tommy to come over to grill out. Sarah was at her mom’s, so it was only him at home. You were laid out on the hammock in the grassy area of your garden, half in the sun and half in the shade as you swayed side to side slowly. There was a book in your hands, he couldn’t quite make out the title, but when you walked inside, leaving your book to come back for, he’d hopped up quickly and plucked a wildflower from his freshly mulched beds, laying it over your novel and taking note of what you were reading. He’d awkwardly waited a few moments for you to return, but before you could, he heard Tommy pull into his driveway.

The next day on his way to work, he made a stop after dropping off Sarah at the bookstore to pick up his own copy of what you were reading.

The latest time he tried and failed to get you alone was arguably the closest he came to having another conversation with you and arguably the most adorable interruption.

Joel had spent an afternoon hanging a tire swing for Sarah in the backyard while she was out with her Uncle Tommy. It was a surprise for her, something she had been begging for since seeing it in one of the shows she was watching these days. As Joel was finishing up, you walked down the stairs and waved at him on his ladder next to the tree. He called out to you with your name, asking you to come over to help with a favor.

You made your way across the lawns, smiling growing when the tire swing comes into full view.

“You did this yourself? I would have helped you.”

Joel chuckled as he climbed down the ladder and met you next to the swing, a playfully creased brow looking at you incredulously.

“Darlin’, you are very sweet but gotta be honest with you — I think I would end up doin’ it all myself anyways.”

You feign offense, a hand up to your chest as you gasp, “That is so not true! I would help. You would be the control freak you are and not let me do anything.”

His eyes narrow at you as you look at him smugly, shaking his head as he breaks into a quiet laugh again.

“Got me there,” he pats the rubber of the tire, nodding his head toward it, “I’m asking for your help now. Gotta test this thing, you wanna try it?”

“And break my neck potentially?”

“Oh, c’mon. Thought you would wanna be a part of the fun,” he grins and looks at the swing before turning back to you, “Does this make you feel better about swinging on it?”

Joel climbs onto the bottom end of the round tire, feet holding himself up and bouncing his knees to test the strength of the knot and rope.

“Actually, yes. Move it, Miller.”

He happily gets off of the swing, offering you a hand to help you up. You slide toward the side he’s standing on, his hands reaching out quickly to hold your thigh steady and push you back up the swing. His touch lingers on your smooth skin, fingertips dancing along and creating goosebumps in their wake. Finally, he brings his hand to your hip and meets your eyes, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Y’know what we were talkin’ about the other day?”

“Yeah? You mean when I was asking how you were doing?”

“Mhmm…I, um, I wanted to tell you that I missed you. And I know it’s really fucking selfish to say it cause I’m the one that asked to leave it all behind at the end of the summer but…I really missed you, mi Mariposa.”

“Joel, I—I don’t really know what to say. I did mi—”

“Daddy! Is that a tire swing? That’s so cool!”

Sarah speeds down the steps and across the grass to the tree in the corner of the lot. Joel’s hands leave you to scoop her up and sit her on his hip, easily carrying her despite how much she’s growing.

“It is indeed. All for you, Bug,” he smiles widely, nodding toward it with you still sitting there, “You wanna try it with Mariposa, mija?”

“Yes! Yes, please!” Sarah reaches out for the rope and Joel sets her on your lap facing you. Sarah wraps her legs around you, holding tightly onto the rope. You look at Joel, the faintest smile tugging at your lips over the interruption as Sarah looks back over her shoulder, grinning wildly.

“Give us a push, Daddy!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a salute and a chuckle. Placed on either side of your thighs where you’re sat on the swing, Joel’s fingers brush against your exposed skin and the hem of your frayed denim shorts. He watches as goosebumps raise on your skin, biting back a smirk as he starts to walk the swing forward with a push, jumping out of the way as he lets go. Sarah giggles loudly and you laugh along with her, throwing your head back as the breeze rustles the leaves above you, rays of soft evening sunshine peeking through the branches and dancing across the two of you.

It is an absolute vision, seeing his two favorite girls having fun together, and it’s an interruption he was glad to have.

“Sarah, mija, we live in Texas. Disney World is about eighteen hours away, even if we did leave right this minute it would take a very long time to get there. And I have to work, Bug. Maybe we can plan something for next year, alright? ” Joel is crouched in front of Sarah, her brows knitted together and arms crossed with an angry pout on her face.

“But Emily’s family is going today and we wanted to go together! Next year is so far away,” she whines with a stomp of her foot, and Joel resigns with a sigh.

“I understand that you wanted to go when Emily was going. But we can’t just pick up and go, Bug. Takes a lot of planning — I would have to find us someplace to sleep, get tickets, pack up suitcases for us. I can’t do it in one day by myself, mija. I promise I will take you,” he brushes her curls out of her face and gives her an apologetic smile, “How about I plan a trip to the beach for us for the end of summer? That would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t wanna go to the beach! We go all the time, I wanna go to Disney! And see Mickey and Minnie and Ariel and Jasmine.”

“Well, I’m sorry, mija, but it can’t happen this summer.”

Sarah stomps again, turning on her heel and running upstairs as she shouts behind her, “That’s not fair! You’re being mean, Daddy!”

Her tiny frame pushes hard to slam her door close. Joel stays at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing his hands over his face with a deep sigh. He hates disappointing his daughter, but there is no way he could swing a trip this summer. With business picking up, he needs to be around more than ever. It would be a struggle to take time off to go to the beach even, but he makes a note to plan for something at the end of the summer to get some time with Sarah before the school year.

He returns to the kitchen, continuing to clean up from lunch and making the grocery list to get the shopping done tomorrow morning. It’s been about thirty minutes of Sarah moping in her room, and he decides to attempt to mend the rift with a promise of ice cream later tonight after dinner.

Joel climbs the stairs and knocks on Sarah’s door, calling out for her, “Mija? Can I come in?”

Silence.

She must still be upset if she’s ignoring him.

“I’m sorry we can’t go to Disney, Bug…I’m gonna come in, okay?” He twists the knob and pushes the door open, eyes finding her bed where he expected her to be laying. She’s not there.

His eyes comb the rest of her room, and she’s not anywhere.

Inside his chest, his heart rate starts to pick up in a simmering panic. Moving quickly, he checks under her bed and in the closet, two of her hide-and-seek spots. Nothing again.

“Sarah? Where are you, mija?”

He continues to call out her name as he searches upstairs in his own room, the guest room, and the bathroom.

She is nowhere.

And she’s not anywhere in the rest of the house either.

He is officially in a full-on panic now, reaching for his cell phone in his pocket and dialing Tommy’s number, asking him to come over and help him find her.

He can’t bear to wait as long as it takes Tommy to get over to the house, and he knows he needs help with the way his brain is going to the worst-case scenario. He attempts to take deep breaths to calm himself as he grabs his keys and slips on his shoes, jogging across his front lawn and to your front door. He knocks and rings the bell, hands shaking with worry as he prays that you’re home and that you answer the door.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming. Christ, who the hell is ringing the bell like that?” you grumble to yourself as you pad across the tile in the entryway, brushing your hair back behind your ears and unlocking the deadbolt to pull the door open.

On your porch is Joel who turns at the sound of the threshold opening, eyes filled with dreadful frenzy. His foot taps quickly on the wood underneath it, keys jingling in his hands as he shakes all over.

“Hey, Joel. What’s going on?” Your eyes softened with concern, standing up straight as you wait for his answer.

“Have you, um, have you seen Sarah? She was just at home with me twenty minutes ago, but she wasn’t happy with me telling her we couldn’t go to Disney today to meet her friend’s family so she went up to her room and when I went to go check on her, she wasn’t there and wasn’t anywhere in the house and—”

Reaching out your hand, you squeeze his bicep to cut him off. Your hand rubs up and down as you speak calmly.

“It’s alright. We’ll find her. Gimme two seconds, just gotta go shut off the oven and get some shoes on, okay?”

“Okay, yeah. Thank you.”

You give his arm a gentle pat and nod shortly, a tight but comforting smile on your face.

“Don’t worry. She’s around here, and we’ll find her in no time.”

He nods over and over as if trying to let the words sink in. You feel tethered to him, painfully pulling away from him in this state to run to the back of the house and shut off the oven, taking out the banana bread you were making. Running back up front, you slip into sandals and grab your keys off the table in the entry, closing the door behind you. You lay a hand on Joel’s shoulder, rubbing slow circles as you lay out a plan with him.

“I can start walking through yards to see if I can spot her. Do you wanna stay at home in case she comes back?”

“No, no, Tommy’s on his way over, he can wait there when he gets here. I don’t think I could just sit there right now,” his hands move up to cover his face, pulling down on the skin as he curses to himself.

“Joel, hey, it’s okay. It’ll be alright,” you squeeze your arms around him in a brief hug, standing back and pulling his hands from his face to look him in his glossy eyes.

“Think you can drive right now?” he nods in response before you continue, “Alright, you hop in your truck. Start driving all the streets in the neighborhood. I’ll walk everyone’s backyards to see if she slipped into anyone’s gardens or something, okay? Sound like a plan?”

“Yeah, yeah. I can do that,” he nods repeatedly again, standing frozen on your porch out of fear. You walk him over to his car, waiting in his driveway as he reverses out, pulling away down the street and driving at a snail’s pace while he moves his head back and forth to search for her.

Starting with your neighbor’s house on the other side of the Millers’, you stalk through the yards, calling out Sarah’s name and asking anyone who’s outside if they’ve seen her. You’ve made an entire loop in another thirty minutes through your street and the immediately surrounding streets, with no sight of Sarah. You make your way back towards your own house to start another loop, popping into your backyard on the off chance she made it there without you noticing during your search.

Next to the flowers in your raised beds, you see a mop of kinky curls and a bright blue t-shirt with a Rocket Power backpack slung over her shoulders. Relief settles in your stomach and you immediately pull out your phone, dialing the number you had added back into your contacts after that first conversation with him this summer.

“Hey, did you find her?” It’s the fastest he’s ever spoken to you, and it makes your heart rate pick up again with the amount of alarm that is laced in his voice.

You speak calmly, trying to placate any more anxiety, “Looking at her as we speak. She’s in my backyard. I’ll keep her here until you get back.”

He gives you another thank you before hanging up, your cell phone returned to your pocket as you walk over to the youngest Miller.

“Hey, Sare-Bear. What’re you doing out here, sweet pea?” You approach her with a genuine smile, kneeling down next to her as she stands at the boxes her dad built for you. His small fingers brush over some flowering buds, shrugging and looking over at you.

“Hi, Posey. I wanted to come and see your pretty flowers,” you reach a hand up and rub her back soothingly, nodding slowly in understanding.

“They are pretty, aren’t they? Your dad was so kind to build these for me so that the bunnies don’t eat them all,” you look over at her, her own stare still focused on the plants in front of her, “Does your dad know you came over here, Sarah?”

She looks over at you quickly, guilt painted across her face. She shakes her head in a silent answer, and you nod back.

“I figured…He told me you ran away after you got upset. What happened, sweet pea?” you maneuver to sit cross-legged on the grass, and Sarah immediately sits in your lap still facing the flower beds. She shrugs and plays with the bracelet on your wrist before answering.

“My best friend Emily is at Disney World with her family and I asked Daddy if we could go today to meet them cause I really wanna go with her. He said we couldn’t and that I would have to wait until next year to go to Disney,” she pouts and curls up into you, reaching to pull out a blade of grass from the ground to toy with in her hands.

Your arms wrap around her and rub her back, “That is really frustrating. I understand why you got upset, sweet pea. Sometimes it really stinks that you can’t do everything your friends do. But, if there’s one thing I know about your dad, is that he would do anything for you that he could. It would be really tough for him to take off work so last minute and be able to get you guys there. He would do it if he could, Sare-Bear. I know he would.”

“And if you two plan a trip for next summer, your dad can make sure you get to go all the places in the park you wanna go. And he could find a hotel with a pool. Oh, and you could make a plan to meet all your favorite characters. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

She starts to smile wider in your lap, nodding quickly, “I want you to come with us. I think my daddy would like that, too. He always talks about you..” She trails off into a ramble about her favorite characters as you sit there and listen, thinking about the off-handed comment about Joel talking about you.

Joel pulls the key out of the ignition after parking the truck in his driveway, jumping out of the car and leaving the door wide open as he runs around the side of his house to yours. Displeasure laminates over him, buzzing his nerves as his steps bound heavy underneath him. He stands in the middle of the grass, looking at you two from behind with Sarah curled up on your lap. She’s giggling and listening to you speak about something, a flower pruned off of its stalk and handed to his daughter from you. The sight makes his anger falter, Sarah’s soft laughter and your voice returning his body to a copacetic state. He continues toward the two of you, breaking into a light jog when you glance over your shoulder and see him.

“Sarah Elena!”

He watches her eyes widen as she peeks over your shoulder at him, hiding her face in your neck. He rounds where you’re sat in the grass, squatting down to be eye level with you. You send him a pursed smile, only one side of your mouth lifted as your hand runs over Sarah’s back.

“Mija, can I please see your beautiful face?”

“No, I don’t want you to yell at me, Daddy,” Sarah speaks into your neck, her voice muffled as she wraps herself closer to you.

“Oh, Bug, I won’t yell at you. I promise,” his hand lays over yours on her back, a grateful smile when you drop yours and he takes its place rubbing gentle circles, “I only want to tell you that I am sorry we can’t go to Disney World today, or this summer. I know it’s a bummer, but Daddy can’t take off work that easily…”

“You really scared me when I couldn’t find you today, mija. I love you so very much and I want you to be safe at all times, and leaving without telling me isn’t very safe, is it?”

Sarah shakes her head slowly, twirling the flower you gave her in between her fingers.

“It was really scary for me, and Uncle Tommy, and Mariposa. I had to get their help to find you. We just love you all so much, we want you to be safe, yeah?”

“I love you, so unbelievably much, mi alma. You can be mad at me whenever you feel that way, but please don’t go anywhere without telling me. You can even come to see Mariposa whenever she’s around, all I need is for you to ask me first, okay?”

Sarah unfurls from her spot on your lap, standing and closing her arms around Joel’s neck. He scoops her up as he stands, holding her close and squeezing her gently.

“I”m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just sad and upset and wanted to come play with Posey to feel better.”

Joel pulls back and looks at her with a soft smile, nodding.

“Thank you for the apology, mija. I love you.” He kisses her forehead and she grins, kissing his cheek.

“Love you too, Daddy,” she looks back at you as you stand, Joel’s eyes following hers to lock with your own gaze, “Posey was talking to me about going to Disney World next summer. And I told her all my favorite characters that I would want to meet.”

Sarah looks back at Joel, a wide smile on her face as she asks excitedly, “Can Posey come with us on our trip next year, Daddy?”

Joel stutters, looking at you as his eyes widen, attempting to find a means to explain yours and his situation-ship to an eight-year-old. You step forward with an exaggerated pout, rubbing Sarah’s arm as she stays perched in Joel’s arms.

“I wish I could, sweet pea, but I’m gonna be living pretty far away soon. I have to get a big adult job like your Daddy has, so I don’t know if I could make it. But never say never, if you still want me to come, you let me know,” your smile dazzles in the evening light, your open-ended response making Joel’s chest feel lighter. Maybe you do see a future with him, somehow.

“I have to move in a couple of weeks for my adult job, but I would love to hang out with you whenever you want, Sare-Bear. You just come knocking or have your Daddy call me, alright? I should be getting inside, it’s nearly dinner time and it’s my turn to cook tonight. Y’all should get inside before the mosquitoes come out hungry.” You laugh softly and Joel echoes it, his eyes glued to you with a soft smile.

Tommy comes out then onto the porch, calling out to Joel and Sarah, sending you a friendly wave.

“Sarah, how about you head inside with Uncle Tommy? I’ll be right behind you, just gotta talk to Mariposa about something.” He sets her down and bites back a wild smile when she gives you a hug before running back home up to her Uncle, the two of them retreating inside.

He turns back to you, silence falling between the two of you.

You're the first to break it, nearly squirming under his stare and his silence.

“I’m sorry if that was overstepping to invite her to come over when she wants, I just, I did really miss her when I was at school, and I thought—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. More than okay,” he steps forward, nearly second-guessing his movements but telling himself that he needs to quit stalling with you. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against his chest tightly with a squeeze, his head resting on your shoulder.

“Thank you. That doesn’t even begin to cover it, but that’s all I can say right now. Thank you, darlin’.”

Arms around his neck, they tighten with his sincerity, your voice breathing hot whisps of air against his ear, “You don’t have to thank me, Joel. I would do anything for Sarah in a heartbeat. I’d do anything for you in a heartbeat.”

“I know. I’m just really grateful that you still have room for her in your life, and that she has someone like you around. Even for a bit…” He stands up, picking his head up from your shoulder to look down at you. His hand reaches to caress your jaw, toying with his bottom lip between his teeth before he speaks lowly, “I’m glad you’re still in my life, even if it looks different from how it was before.”

“I’m glad you’re still in my life, too. Every time we’ve been alone and get interrupted by someone or something, I have been trying to tell you that I really missed you this year, Joel. And I know I’m leaving soon, and we’re gonna be right back where we were, but I needed to tell you.”

“I want every second of time with you that you can give me, mi Mariposa. I want to be with you before you leave, even if you only can spare little moments,” his thumb brushes back and forth on your jaw, eyes dropping to glance at your lips before he brings his gaze back to yours.

“Deal. I’m yours for the month, cowboy,” you grin up at him and he matches the expression, raising his eyebrows at the nickname.

“Cowboy, huh?” His other hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles as he presses you closer to him.

“Mhmm. Gonna be trying out some nicknames for you. Especially since now you and your daughter have given me one.”

“‘M sorry she has picked up on that…It is pretty cute, though.”

“It is extremely adorable. She may have said you always talk about me.” You wink and laugh louder, his own head shaking as heat creeps along the back of his neck.

“She’s always telling my secrets…” he licks his lips, a sheepish smile turning more confident as he looks down at you, “But she certainly wasn’t lying. Missed you a lot, Mariposa.”

“Missed you too, Joel…So are you gonna kiss me or not?”

He breathes out a laugh, shaking his head as he leans in, whispering as his lips ghost against yours, “Todavía eres mi diablita (Still, you are my little devil).”

He punctuates his sentence with a slow kiss, his body falling into muscle memory as he deepens it with you, groaning softly as his tongue melds with yours and the taste of you hits him again after so long without it. His hand greedily paws at your curves, desperate to hold onto the moment, and you, for as long as he can. When you pull away for a breath, his head follows you, planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth and along your jaw all the way down your neck.

“Alright, alright, don’t want to get caught making out with you in the middle of our yards,” you push at his shoulders and he separates from you with a huff of annoyance, lips tingling and mirroring your own kiss-swollen pout.

“See you tomorrow? You could come over, Sarah’s gonna be gone for the day with her mom.”

You nod and lean up, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, cowboy. Text me whenever you’re free.”

“Expect a text at 6 A.M. then. Don’t wanna waste a second that I could have with you,” he kisses you again, hands finding your ass and squeezing it teasingly.

“Well, you’re gonna be waiting for a few hours then, sir, 'cause I am not waking up that early. Even for you,” you drag your nails along his shoulders through the fabric of his t-shirt, “Goodnight, Joel. I’ll see you in the morning. Not at 6 A.M.”

He laughs lightly, nodding as he smiles sweetly, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?” He gives you one last kiss before he sends you on your way up to your house, watching you make it inside, that familiar stirring in his stomach making his limbs feel featherlight.

taglist: @beskarandblasters @undrthelights @swiftispunk @joelsversion @clingontolife @elizabeth01585 @wandaandellie @asirenbyanyothername @ellenmunn @ja-ehyun @livinxdeadxgrl @sw33tp1xie @starsandsaints07 @marisemonteiroo @brunetteeras @whydontyoysaynodoja @beee-haw @shmaptainshmerica07 @jenna-mcgraw19 @whore-4-pedro @spursgirl14-blog @katifefe @joelmillerswifu @itsgiorgiaz @soph55 @grapejuicesny @wild-hearts-runfree @youcancallmeelle @lisa-ru @jupitren @ziggy-star @miaispunk @oneofutoo @starkovli @thatgeminigirlx @marchai @bunnyskisses @houseofballoonsth @casual-obsessions @pedro-pascal-lvr @bimbodolls-world @burningnerdchild @tuquoquebrute @mrsvedder12 @estelivi28 @helllsent @bongsrconfusing @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @angie2274 @owod3 @pedrostories @pedroholicx @theelishad @johnwatsn @sunakochansama43 @elissaaa @felicityofbakerstreet @atinylittlepain

[skyfallslayer]

Should We Stay or Should We Go? || Chapter Five - Part 1

-A ST Rewrite Feat. Steve Harrington x Henderson!OFC-

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

🎲Summary: Hopper breaks into Hawkins Lab, while Nancy and Jonathan confront the forces that took Will and Steph. The boys, and even to their surprise, Steve, ask Mr. Clarke how to travel to another dimension; All while Stephanie frantically starts looking for Will after hearing his cries.

🎲Pairings: Will x Platonic!OFC; Dustin x Sister!OC; Slow burn! Steve x Henderson!OFC (Ex-bestfriends to Lovers); Slow burn! Byler

🎲Rating: Teen-Mature

🎲Word Count: 22,544 (In Total)

🎲Date: 7/31/24

🎲Warnings: Heavy Angst; Heavy Language & Dialogue; References To Broken Friendship; Mental Strain/Breaking Down; Physical Fighting; Lying; "Death"; Funerals; Crying; Talks of Corpses; Being Drugged; Brief Alcohol Consumption; Unwanted Touching; Suggestive Dialogue; Suicidal Thoughts; Minor Blood; A Certain "Curse" Comes Into Play Early; The Byers Family's Mental Strain; Hopper Being a Great Cop & A Total Mess; Dustin Being a Gangster & A Overprotective Brother; The Harringtons' A+ Parenting; Steve's Emotional Damage & Signing Up To Be A Babysitter; Stephanie & Will Deserved All The Love, man. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

(And let me know if I missed anything)

🎲A/N: Heads up, Readers! This document is split between two parts. For some reason Tumblr said I reach my 1,000 space limit, or something like that and wouldn't let me post it because it's so long. But at the very end of this part will be a spot you can click on for the next. Hopefully where I cut it off makes sense. Hope y'all in for a treat :) - And as you probably will notice when you're reading this, I left out Lonnie, Joyce's ex-husband. I left the scene out of chapter two where Jonathan goes to meet him and inform him that Will is missing. I felt like I really did need to write that, kind of like I don't feel like writing him in this chapter either. He doesn't exactly benefit this story, and this chapter/episode, is the last appearance of the character anyway, so... I just decided to just cut him, and replace his intense "dialogue" with a scene between Joyce and Jonathan. Hope you understand, and enjoy this chapter ❤️

Hopper wasn’t sure what he was even doing or thinking anymore. He got the answers he was looking for, but there were still some follow up questions about those answers that he needed to know. When the horrible, horrible thought crossed his mind about breaking into the morgue and seeing if the poor kids’ bodies were even real, he barely even hesitated. Why he didn’t hesitate kind of scared him. I mean, did deep down he know his doubts might be real?

So he swallowed and drove over to the place, still in his street clothes, hat discarded in his seat, and smelling like cigarettes and three hour old alcohol. He got out of his car, parking illegally, and was surprised to see the receptionist outside the door.

“Hey, Patty. Heading home?” He said, and she perks up upon seeing his face.

“Oh, Chief. Perfect timing. I was just debating if I should call you or not.” She says, confusing him.

“Is there a problem?”

“I…” She sighs. “I-I don’t know. About… ten minutes ago, I would say, a young lad came in and said his brother left something behind and wanted to retrieve it. I let him do it, but I noticed he hasn’t come back. And when I try calling out to the officer in the back I get no response. Frankly, I’m a little freaked out to investigate myself.”

A young lad? An officer? That’s weird. “Did you recognize this man? The one who came in?”

“I don’t recall seeing him this morning. Just Ms. Byers, her son and of course Ms. Henderson. But that’s all I’ve seen all day.” Patty explains before pointing in the distance. “I’m assuming that’s his car.”

Hopper follows her finger, a familiar black BMW was parked a few feet away. If it wasn’t for her pointing it out, he surely would have missed it since the area had poor lighting. It didn’t take him long to realize who’s car that was.

He puts on a front to calm her. “I’ll see what’s going on. Just wait right here. I’ll make it quick. ‘Kay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Chief.”

As soon as he’s inside, his hand is already on his holster. Judging by the car, he knew the Harrington kid was here, which he’s not exactly sure why; But to be honest, him being here was his least concern at the moment. He was more concerned about another officer being here. I mean, this was a morgue, people unfortunately die all the time, whether it was just natural or part of a crime; So it didn’t make any sense why the murders of two local kids would get special treatment.

His mind of course wanders back to the bar earlier where he had to beat the crap out of O’Bannon just to get some answers.

.

“Okay…” Hopper pins him to the wall. “Let’s try this one more time.” He grabs the man by the chin, squeezing. “Who told you to be out there? What were you doing out there?” He watched for an answer, and when he wasn’t getting any, he dialed back his fist.

“I don’t know!” David shouts. “I don’t know. They… they just told me to call it in and not let anybody get too close.

“Get close to what?!”

“The bodies.”

.

The bodies. Someone told him not to get close to the bodies. There was something about Will and Stephanie’s bodies that no one was supposed to get close to, and needed a cop to guard the morgue.

And I am a little afraid to find out why though. As Hopper got closer to the back, he immediately saw something that made him draw out his gun. The cop, whom he didn’t recognize at all, was lying unconscious on the floor (At least he hoped he was unconscious). He runs over quietly, and squats down to check for a pulse. Breathing. That’s good.

Now for the real question is… why was he unconscious? Was this the teenager’s doing? He frowns and pushes open the unlock door carefully, and steps inside. The cold temperature hits him hard but he doesn’t shiver; Maybe it was the adrenaline that was pumping in his veins, and pulled his heart to his feet. It was so eerily quiet, it was like straight out of a horror movie. He had half expected someone to come through the shadows with a knife. As he move inland more, he heard some shuffling and someone muttered, ‘What the fuck’, and then decided to push open the door to the fridge.

He must have startled the other party, which so happened to be the Harrington kid, brown eyes blown wide and (Oh, the irony) a knife pointed his way. They both stared at one another in silence, both surprised to find each other here…

Both surprised that they had the same idea/doubts.

Hopper’s eyes trailed past the boy’s shoulder, landing on the table where he could see the top of the dead girl’s head. What is he–

Then he stops himself when he notices something else. In the tips of Steve’s fingers, he sees a small ball of… cotton. Afraid, but he didn’t show it, he starts walking towards the table, lowering his weapon as Steve sidesteps to give him room – Hopper’s heart almost stops. He sees the incision immediately, and the white fluff pooling out of it. The two of their gazes meet, silence was enough to tell the adult everything. 

Deciding he needed to know more, he pulls the sheet back over the body and slides her back in before searching for another one. In the drawer below, he pulls out Will’s body and pulls the sheet back. It was still a sickening sight to see, despite knowing damn well it was a fake; But he still needed to know. Still not saying any words, Hopper holds his hand out and Steve gets the message and hands over his blade.

With no hesitation, Hopper digs into the realistic flesh, the flesh that was dry and had no prior incisions like it should have, and pulls out the same fluff like the last one. 

Oh, my God. His doubts were real. The bodies were fakes. But if that was the case, where were the children? Closing the blade and handing it back, Hopper grabs the teenager by the bicep and strings him along. “Come on.”

They leave in a hurry, only slowing their pace when they see Patty outside. Hopper puts on a cheeky smile, still holding onto Steve. “Dang, teenagers. Always wanting to do a good prank.” He chuckles. “Everything’s all good. Goodnight, Patty.”

“Uh…” She stares at him, slightly confused but still waves goodbye. “‘Night, Chief.” He drags the boy back to his car, glancing back to make sure she was inside before exploding. 

“Hey, listen–” Steve begins, as he tries to wiggle out of his hold.

“What did I say about forgetting our conversation at school?” Hopper snaps, and let’s go.

He scoffs and gives him a look. “How could I forget? Especially the way you reacted? How could I forget all that?”

“Listen, son, whatever this is–” The adult gestures around. “Is dangerous. Something’s going on, and it’s a dangerous slope.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You know?” Now it was Hopper’s turn to scoff. “Then why the fuck are you running head first into this?”

“‘Cause I had doubts too. I thought about everything, and nothing’s adding up, Chief.” Steve explains, getting a groan from the man. “Nothing’s making sense. They said the two of them drowned in the Quarry, but I highly doubt that. But, who knows! Maybe they did get pushed towards the Quarry, but they also took a shotgun with them. If someone was chasing them to a cliff, why didn’t they use the gun? Why did they feel like they had to make their bodies fake? Were they actually taken and not lost? Or–”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” Hopper says, holding his hand up. “I know you have questions, I get that, but you really need to stop and let me handle it.”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m not letting this go.”

“You should. Before you get hurt.”

“They stuffed my friend like she was a fucking stuffed animal!”

“I thought she wasn’t your friend anymore?” Hopper asked, and Steve shut his mouth and looked away. His face softens a tad. Just a tad. “Listen, something is definitely going on, that’s as clear as day. But when I poked around today, I noticed someone was following me, which means I’m getting close to something that I’m not supposed to.”

“That means you’re on the right track then.”

“Yes. But that’s a track that I don’t want you on.”

“Chief–”

“Steve.” Hopper steps closer, and grabs him by the shoulder. “I know this is an emotional time, but I need you to trust me, and let me do this. Please.” He swallows the lump in his throat. “I can’t see another kid get hurt or die on me. So trust me, and stay away. Okay?”

Steve nods slowly. “Okay.”

“Good. Go home. Be safe. And please, do not do anything stupid.” He warns, because he’s about to do something stupid. But Jim Hopper doesn’t really know Steve Harrington all that well.

Because the teenager was already planning on doing something stupid too.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

|| THE OTHER SIDE ||

Besides the migraine, Stephanie wakes up to the sound of screaming. She shoots up from her sleeping form, big blue orbs blown wide and adrenaline starts to spike. Memories came in slowly, remembering the way her body basically gave her the finger and shut off on its own, falling into the deepest, but dreamless sleep. Her body felt colder than usual, and hugs herself for warmth.

What is… She winces at the pain in her temples spike, followed by a small drop of blood coming out of her nose. Slowly, she reaches up to touch, her fingertips stained red. She wonders if she hit her head too hard when she fell over. That could explain the headache, the nosebleed and the feeling of being in a fog. Hopefully she didn’t give herself a concussion. That’s the last thing she needs.

And that’s when she hears the scream again.

She felt a shiver, not from the cold, run down her spine immediately. She knows that scream so familiar now, it’s engraved in the back of her skull.

“Will.” She mutters, and looks around. Sure enough everything was here except for him. “Will?!” And then another scream, and Steph wastes no time to grab her pistol and bolt back towards the house. “WILL!!”

Completely scared – heart beating, head pounding, blood trickled down her chin – and the thought of not losing her footing was keeping her going. She doesn’t know why he was gone. Did he run off on his own? Did the monster get him? She’s not so sure, and she doesn’t care. She just needs to find him and make sure he’s safe. 

“Will!” She shouts again, completely obviously how short the run time was,  and rammed through the back door and–

Right back outside. 

She stumbled to the stop, and her eyes burned in the light, the buttercream sun and the sound of peace, and the feeling of warmth she hasn’t felt for days now. Confusion hits her now, and she suddenly finds herself on her very own lawn that was connected to her very own home. She blinks, and looks around, spinning on her heels like a twirl. Everything looked… normal. No weird snow-like substance falling from the sky, no darkness, no weird plants that pulsate, and drop temperatures close to zero. She was back home, and totally not in a scary place she’s been stuck in.

But how did I– How did I get back here? She touches her head, thinking. None of it made sense. She ran through Will’s back door and now she’s here? Back at her home? The normal version? This doesn’t–

Then, a car pulled into the driveway, making her breath get taken away. It was a 1960s station wagon, her Mom’s car, her Mom’s old car, The one that had gotten totaled in an accident years ago. 

She tilts her head, squinting like it would just change at any second. Why is it–

Then the front door opened in a flash with another shocking sight. Her grandmother, the one that passed away when she was just a kid, was standing in the doorway with a huge smile on her non-sickly face.

// Oh, baby, they’re here // She says, and that’s when she’s hit with another strike to the gut.

Stephanie watched as her barely five year old self shifted around her granny, practically bouncing down the steps towards the yellow car. Her mother gets out first, with a small bundle of cloth in her arms, which her younger self was giggling about.

// Stephanie, come meet your brother, Dustin // She said, with a smile that touched her eyes and soul.

Her younger self laughed as she showed her baby sibling. // Hi, Dustin //

Stephanie stared, the confusion intensifying by hundreds, no even sure what else to say except, “What the fuck…?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Hopper manages to sneak through the door just as a scientist left for the night. He was out of his mind, he knows that for sure, especially since he decided to trespass into Hawkins Labs that seemed more guarded the last time he was here. He was also more out of his mind when he decided to head inside the place that was blocked off and had two large hazardous signs on the entrance. Well… what do they say?

You only live once.

The hallway was short lived, leading right up to a door that was of course locked, and unable to access it without a passkey.

“Shit.” He said, unaware of the two security guards rushing up behind him.

“Hands up!” They shouted, guns drawn. “Forgot all the cameras, bub?”

Hopper decided to play it cool, his face calm with a smile as he slowly turned around, hands in the air. “Look, Dr. Brenner asked for me specifically. Okay? How else do you think I got in here?”

One of the guards raised an eyebrow, using a free hand to reach for his walkie. “What’s your name again?”

“It’s Jim Hopper.” A little chuckle. “Chief Jim Hopper.”

He presses the button. “Yeah, I’ve got Jim Hopper–”

And the Chief landed a punch across his jaw, sending him to the floor and grabbing his gun. He immediately points it to the other party, and pins both his arms against the wall. The guy over the radio shouts what’s going on, but Hopper ignores it and takes the guard’s weapon away from him too.

“Hey…” His fingers latched around the badge. “You mind if I borrow this one?” 

He plucks it off and swipes the card, never taking his eyes on the conscious guard until the door shuts. As soon as he’s in the dark room, Hopper shoots a bullet through the card reader, trapping himself inside.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, the boys were back at the Wheeler house, all lounging around in the basement, trying to process everything they heard on the radio.

“What was Will saying? Like home... but dark?” Mike said, pacing around, occasionally glancing at Eleven who was laying in a daze on his couch. He feels a bit bad that they might have pushed her too far tonight.

“And empty.” Lucas adds, face in his hands.

“Empty and cold.” Dustin says, sitting on the steps, a worried look on his face. “Wait, did he say cold? And who was he talking to?”

“Could have been your sister.” Mike suggested.

“No. He said my sister was passed out. There’s no way that was her.” Dustin groans. “That stupid radio kept going in and out.”

“Like home. Like his house?”

Lucas perks up with a snap of his fingers. “Or maybe like Hawkins.”

“Upside down.” El mutters from her spot on the couch.

“What’d she say?”

Mike was suddenly hit with realization and springs over to the table. “Upside down!”

“What?”

“Upside down.” He waves them over, and flips his upside down game board back over. “When El showed us where Will and Steph were, she flipped the board over, remember?” He flips it over again. “Upside down. Dark. Empty.”

“Do you understand what he’s talking about?” Lucas asked, meeting his other friend’s eyes.

“I’ll admit, I’m a little lost.” Dustin said, sheepishly. 

“Guys, come on, just think about it.” Mike pressures. “When El took us to find them, she took us to Will’s house, right?”

“Yeah. And they weren’t there.” Lucas points out.

“But what if they were there? What if we just couldn’t see them? What if they were on the other side? What if–” He flips the board back to its normal side. “This is Hawkins and–”  And then back to the blank side. “This is where they are? The Upside Down.”

Dustin gasps. “Like the Vale of Shadows.” It took his friends a moment to process the reality of this as he fished out his ‘unofficial’ D&D guidebook. He flips to the page he was talking about. “The Vale of Shadows is a dimension that is a dark reflection or echo of our world. It is a place of decay and death. A plane out of phase. A place of monsters. It is right next to you, and you…” He locks fearful eyes with them. “Don’t even see it.”

“An alternate dimension.” Mike realizes, terrified as well. 

“But... how... how do we get there?” Lucas asked, worriedly.

“You cast Shadow Walk.” Dustin answers.

“In real life, dummy.”

“We can’t shadow walk, but…” His blue eyes trail to their sleepy friend. “Maybe she can.”

“Do you know how we get there?” Mike asks, hopefully. “To the Upside Down?”

Unfortunately for them…

She shook her head no.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Will?” Hopper frantically called out into the darkness, frantically scanning the area with his flashlight. “Stephanie?”

From what he can tell, this area mimicked a hospital. The white walls, colorless floors, the cold. I guess he should have suspected the rooms lined in the hallway to be filled with beds, but what he wasn’t expecting was the rooms to be catered with a few stuffed animals and security cameras in them. He also got a sudden wave of sickness when he saw a drawing done by a child on the wall, one that looked pretty recent.

What the hell? And that was his last thought before he could hear alarms blaring in the distance. He was honestly surprised they didn’t sound it sooner. So with a gun back in his hand, Hopper raced frantically down the rest of the halls, checking each room he could find.

“Will? Stephanie? Kids?” He shouts, and picks up speed. Come on. Where are they?

When he reaches the end of the hallway, he finds an elevator. A slight blessing in some way, but he also dreaded what else he might find. Are the kids really here? Or is he really following a thin thread? 

“I see him!” Someone shouts just as the door opens. “Hey! Stop!”

Hopper just gives them a sharp glare as the door seals him inside, heading down yet another level. When he did arrive, this floor was a lot creeper than the last. This time it did have lighting, except only every other light fixture ‘worked’ (It was more flickering on and off), and there was something floating in the air – a substance that looked like snow, but wasn’t. 

“Will? Stephanie?” He manages to yell before breaking into a coughing fit. “W-Will? St-Stephanie? Kids!” He continued to cough, covering his mouth with his elbow as he continued his trek. “What in the world?”

When he entered the room at the end of the hall, he saw something he cannot explain. Stretching along the back wall was a very disgusting looking plant; Black veins shot out like the spiderwebs that were hanging off of them, and the middle of it, the core, seemed to glow a red hue and it was… pulsating. In a strange case of curiosity, Hopper couldn’t help but reach out to touch the stickiness.

What is this thing? And that’s when he catches something moving in the corner of his eye. He whips around, gun out again and starts looking around worriedly. And just like a fucking horror flick, a man in a hazmat suit came right out of the darkness and straight towards him. 

“Hey!” He takes a step back as a warning. “Hey! Hey!”

And then out of the depth again, only this time he did not see, another masked up individuals come from behind–

And plunges a needle into his neck.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jonathan was rushing home rather late. His little… “shopping trip” was cut short by none other than a schoolmate, Nancy Wheeler. Never in his sixteen years on the planet did he think he would get a visit from her – and over something so strange. But now, he was trying to get back home, to tell his mother that she wasn’t insane, that he finally understood what she was saying these past few days.

When he got home the first thing he noticed was there was a big gaping hole on the front of his house. Distressfully, he did his best to rush inside, finding his poor mother shivering with a conveniently placed axe by her feet. It didn’t take a genius to put two-and-two together.

“Mom, what happened?” He asked, and she didn’t even flinch – almost didn’t acknowledge he was even there. 

“Oh… hey, Jonathan.” She said, the exhaustion made her look ten times her age. “How was the shopping?”

“Forget shopping. Jesus, you’re freezing.” He replies, slugging his jacket off and placing it over her. “Just wait right here.”

It took a few minutes to retrieve a few things from the shed, but he managed to nail up a tarp to block the chilly November winds. Holding back the urge to shiver himself, he focuses his strength back onto his mother.

“Mom.” He begins, sitting down next to her (He even takes her cold hands into his own). “What happened?”

“Oh…” She shakes her head with a sniffle. “Nothing, sweety.”

“No, not nothing.” Guilt started to eat at him a bit (Why didn’t he believe his own mother in the first place?). “Why did you take the wall down?”

“Jonathan, it’s nothing–”

“Mom… that thing you saw before–” He swallows “Did it come back?”

She shakes her head again. “Who cares. Maybe it was all in my head after all.”

“No, it was not.” Jonathan reaches inside his jacket pocket, pulling a photo out. “The thing you saw, is this it?”

“Jonathan–”

“Mom, please. Just look.” He gives her a set of pleading eyes. “Please.”

It took a moment, but she did. It took another moment for her to process what she was looking at. And another for the realization to settle in. 

“W-Where did you get this?” Joyce gasps, and points at it.

Jonathan takes a second to think over his story. “Two days after Will and Stephanie disappeared, I decided to look in the area they vanished from. Somehow, I ended up at a house where one of my schoolmates was having a party; Nancy was there with her friend Barbara. Remember Barbara?”

“Yeah, I remember Barbara.”

“Well, you know she’s missing right?”

“I’ve heard. So you…” Joyce gives a look. “You saw her before she went missing?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “But before you scold me, I ended up taking pictures of the people at the party, one of them happened to be Barbara when she was alone at the pool.”

“Jonathan–”

“I know, I said wait… Please.”

“Okay.” She nods. “Continue.”

“Okay. So I snapped a picture, and as soon as I snapped it, she was gone.”

“Gone?” Her look intensifies. “What do you mean ‘Gone’?”

“It’s like she vanished out of thin air. I thought it was weird. Kind of freaked me out too, so I left.” He frowns, scared. Even when he found out what may have happened, he still couldn’t wrap his head around it. “It wasn’t until earlier today that Nancy came up to me and asked to see my photos, from there she revealed she saw something at the house. A man with no face.”

Joyce covered her mouth with her hand, processing. “Oh, my god…”

“Mom, is this what you saw? Is this what came out of the wall the night before?”

She shakes her head eagerly. “Y-Yes. This is what I saw.” She replies, ending with a small sob. “I… I couldn’t hear them, y-your brother and Stephanie, but I just…” She touches her chest, her heart. “I-I just had this feeling that I knew they were there, right next to me and–” She sighs heavily, feeling like she’s losing her mind again.

Jonathan starts rubbing soothing circles on her back, still holding one of her hands. “It’s okay. Take your time. Just… walk me through everything. Please.”

Another sigh, but this time it was for her to steady herself. “Okay. I… started hanging lights, ‘cause when I-I was in the store I felt their presence, the lights on the aisle flickered, so I thought maybe I can get some reaction here. It took a few hours and I did. I said, one blink for ‘Yes’, two blinks for ‘No’. But–” She bites her lips. “It wasn’t giving me the questions I needed, so I painted the wall.”

“The alphabet wall?” He asked, gesturing behind them with his head.

“Y-Yeah.”

“What did you ask them? What did they say?”

“I… I-I really could only get one answer. I asked them, ‘Where are they?’. Then, they gave me a strange response.”

“Which was?”

“‘Right here’.” She points to the floor. “They said, ‘Right here’.” She frowns. “I… I tried asking what that means, but then they told me to ‘Run’. And that’s when that… th-that thing came out of the wall.”

“It came out of the wall, okay. Um–” His eyes glance over to the tarp. “Is that why you took the axe to the wall? Were… were you trying to see if it was in there?”

“No.” Another shake of her head. “I heard him. I heard Will a few hours ago, so I… I peeled back the wallpaper, and… there was this– this bubble type thing inside, and… a-and I could see him, hear him. He was talking, and he was scared. I asked him where he was, and he told me he was here, but it was dark and cold. And… s-something was coming for him, so I told him to run, and…”

“You took down the wall to see if he was there?”

She nods. “Y-Yes.”

“Okay.” He says, nodding to. He was trying to process this. “Okay. Okay. Okay. Um… shit.” He starts rubbing the side of his head. “I… I don’t have an answer for this.”

Joyce laughs quietly. “Yeah, neither do I.” She sighs. “I don’t know… I do know what to do. All I can do is communicate when I can get a hold of him.”

“Yeah.” He frowns. “I guess…”

Suddenly, the lights flickered for a few seconds, and the boombox flipped on. 

.

[ ♪ –or should I go?

If you say that you are mine

I’ll be here ‘till the end of time

So you got to let me know

Should I stay or should I go? ♪ ] 

.

Jonathan had jumped to his feet when it turned on, and got all defensive. “What the–”

“See?” Joyce said, touching her son’s arm to get him to calm down. “Your brother is here.”

The eldest stared at the box, imagining his little brother laying on the floor with his legs in the air, and adding color to a drawing he’d finished. He felt a bit relieved that his brother was still “around”; But it also made him feel terrible, because…

.

.

.

He has no idea how to get Will back to them.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

|| THE OTHER SIDE ||

Will will admit… that this did not go as he planned or at least hoped it would have. He actually got through to his mother, he actually got to see his mother. Even if it wasn’t the clearest image, he could tell it was her. He wonders when the beast crawled out of the wall earlier it must have left behind some kind of doorway to the other side. The sucky part was, no matter how hard he pushed on that… disgusting bubble it wouldn’t budge. All he could do was explain where he was to her and hoping she understood before the faceless beast returned to hunt.

But Will wasn’t shaking this thing off. This thing seemed to be mad, a bit pissed off with the way the movements were, frustrated even as it let out a few growls and huffs of air. He tried to make a few runs for the door, but everytime it kept lunging and throwing him off track. He felt his heart pounding in his ears as he trips on something, losing the shotgun and literally crawling across the hallway to get away. 

He finds himself on the verge of tears at this point, wondering if this is how his life will end: By dying by a literal monster on his big brother’s bedroom floor. 

Will starts pleading quietly, the beast’s meaty hand reaching out towards him, and at the last minute, Will moves out of the way. The beast ran into Jonathan’s desk  before rerouting and stalking over his prey again. Will curls up into a ball in the corner, muttering ‘I’m sorry’ to everyone he knows…

Then his brother’s boombox fell, turning it right on, and causing the lights to start flickering like a rave. 

.

[ ♪ –or should I go? ♪ ]

.

The beast flitched hard, almost like it was hurt by the vocals coming out of the box. It made a distressful sound, Will uncurling himself to watch this turn of events unfold. 

.

[ ♪ If you say that you are mine

I’ll be here ‘till the end of time

So you got to let me know

Should I stay or should I go? ♪ ]

.

The thing lets out a shriek and starts jerking its head around, before calling it quits. It practically threw its body out the room, running frantically around the house until it finally got out and disappeared. Will followed carefully, poking his head down the hallway where he was met with silence again. The beast was gone. Like… actually gone. Scared away by The Clash? It almost seemed too good to be true.

.

[ ♪ It’s always tease, tease, tease

You’re happy when I’m on my knees

One day it’s fine and next it’s black

So if you want me– ♪ ] 

.

He comes over and shuts the boombox off with a small smile, and gets an idea. Rummaging around the filth, he started stuffing some cassettes into his coat pockets until they were full before shifting over to pick up the boombox until he remembered something. A boombox is a bit hefty to be lugging around, and what if it gets to be too much and then they have to ditch it? Then what? What could they use? That’s when he remembers his brother had a walkman lying around somewhere. He eventually finds it, and starts making his way back to Stephanie. 

Will did his best to carry everything in his tiny grip, still a little scared that the beast might make an appearance again (It’s not like he could whip out his gun quick enough ‘cause his hands are full), but now he knew it’s weakness. Who knew it was something so silly like music?

Maybe… this could be our way out? He wonders about that, and he also wonders about the way he communicated with his mom earlier. If the beast could travel to both worlds, could it also be their key to getting out of here? Could there be another gate somewhere? It was questions like these that were going to be hard to answer. Hawkins was so big, how long would it take them to search every nook and cranny for a gateway home?

This is something I got to run by Stephanie. Speaking of… When he got closer to where they settled down, he noticed she was actually awake; Sitting on her knees in the grass, looking like she hadn’t noticed his presence yet.

So, she is awake. Weird. I thought she would have run after me when reading the note I left her. But he shrugs it off. Maybe she was more understanding than he thought. With a huge smile on his face, he picks up his pace to tell her the good news.

“Hey, Steph. Before you get mad, I found a way to protect ourselves.” He explains, setting the items down next to her. “When I accidentally turned on the boombox, the monster got all frightened and ran off. I know that sounds weird, but it works! We can roam freely just by playing a song! Isn’t that crazy?”

He was expecting a scolding, maybe even a laugh, or a look of disbelief, but he certainly didn’t think she wouldn’t say anything. He doesn’t recall her being the type of person to give the silent treatment if mad. Will repeated the last sentence to see if he would get something, and that’s when he finally noticed something odd. The girl wasn’t… moving. She was just sitting there on her knees, slightly hunched over, looking like a statue.

He’s not going to lie, it was kind of freaking him out. “Stephanie?” He slowly crouches down in front of her, and brushes a few strands of hair out of her face and nearly falls back.

To his shock he finds her looking paler than the last few days, and her eyes were bloodshot red and dry, but that wasn’t what was scaring him. What was scaring him was the fact that her blue eyes looked unnatural, and that her pupils had completely disappeared from sight. To him, she looked like she was possessed. 

Will finds himself growing pale himself, completely scared of what’s happening to his friend. “Stephanie?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

|| THE OTHER SIDE ||

Stephanie couldn’t help but follow them inside. Her grandmother was saying to Claudia all kinds of loving things, as her younger self wouldn’t stop expressing how much she wanted to hold her baby brother. It all seems so surreal, it felt like it happened only yesterday, but it was in fact twelve years ago. 

She runs up the stairs and through the door, as soon as she does, the memory changes. The three of them vanished, and the house looks like it was spruced up more in this scene change. Now, she sees her younger self was a little bit older, Dustin was too, and they both were sitting on the floor in the living room, playing a game on their Atari. 

// You’re cheating // Her brother pouts as soon as the score on pong changes to double digits.

She snorts. // How am I cheating? It only has one control //

// Still cheating //

// Dustin… //

Stephanie smiles at the antics. This was pretty much the same conversation every time they played a video game of some sort. It makes her laugh and feel good every time she thinks about it. But this still doesn’t explain what’s going on.

// Ugh, this doesn’t make any sense! // Dustin, a different version, yells from the dining room table. His head lays across one of his books as his big sister looks over it, perplexed. 

// I don’t remember learning any of this // She mumbles, scratching her head. 

// I’m going to fail… //

// You’re not going to fail //

// I’m totally going to fail //

The oldest shakes her head at his antics. She remembers this too, and despite the hardship of it, he still passed with a B. It’s still better than nothing.

She then nearly jumps out of her shoes when she swears something exploded in her kitchen. She rushes over, finding herself again standing off to the side in disbelief. That’s when she saw her brother standing tall and proud with batter all over his face. 

// Pancakes are done // He said, oblivious to her shock. 

She rubs her face, cringing at the time Dustin tried to make breakfast on his own which was a complete disaster. How he managed to burn and undercook everything was beyond her knowledge. Oh, Dusty.

Then, she perks up again when her little bro is replaced by her mother. Her hair is tied back, and she’s wearing her kiss the cook apron. “Mom?”

// Hey, Ms. Henderson? //

Stephanie gasps quietly and spares a glance to the side where the entrance to the basement was. Just like she thought, she finds herself staring at a young Steve Harrington, probably about eight years old.

“Steve?” She said, taking him in. A little stripe button up shirt, shorts and small bandage on his cheek; He was also flashing a grin with a couple baby teeth missing.

// Yes, Steve? // Claudia said, not taking her eyes off the stove.

// Can we eat downstairs? Fia and I are almost done with our game //

Fia. Her heart clenched at the nickname she hasn’t heard in such a long time. I kind of… miss it. 

I mean, her brother calls her Phanie which was special to her, but that was something only he ever called her. And Steph was just a common nickname to call all ‘Stephanies’. However, Steve’s little nickname for her was really unique and special to her.

Apparently it was still special to her.

Some more was said but she didn’t listen, and before she knew it, little Steve was running back down the stairs. 

“Hey!” She shouts and chases after him. As soon as she gets off the last step she finds herself somewhere different again. She was met with a few flashing strobe lights, loud music and lots of laughter. She recognizes this place rather quickly, it was the roller rink they built in the mall a few years back.

// Steve! Stop! // Her preteen self yells, looking like a newborn colt on rollerblades. She was hanging onto dear life to her best friend who could not stop laughing at her over reaction. 

// You know you’re going to have let go soon // Steve says, as she shakes her head.

// Nope. No way. I don’t want to fall again //

// Falling comes with the practice, you know //

She sends him a look. // Easy for you to say. You haven’t fallen once! //

// What can I say? // He starts slowly pushing her away, only holding onto her hands for support. // I’m just a natural //

// Steve! Please! // She said, a mixture of panic and laughter. // Come on! //

He hums, acting like he was thinking before he lets go of one of her hands. // Oops //

// Steve! // She warns, and slouches a bit to keep herself small so she doesn’t slip.

// Relax, Fia. I wasn’t going to let you go // He replies, truthfully, warmly. // I’ll hold your hand until you’re confident enough. Okay? //

// You better, Harrington //

// I will. Relax. Here // He pulls her back, waiting for her to steady herself again before explaining. // This is what you have to do. First– //

Stephanie couldn’t help but smile. She loves that memory so much. It was so perfect in her eyes. The all American boy was the most elegant roller skater she’s ever seen, and he was so dorky and teasing, but patient while teaching her the ropes. She wishes sometimes she could go back to this day over and over again. I miss this so much. 

.

.

“Little Stevie here can’t protect you any more.”

.

.

And just like that, the scene changes again, only this time it feels more heavy and darker – like it was sucking the soul out of her. She felt so scared all of a sudden, and when she blinked she was sitting at a bar top. The smell of booze, money and cigarettes nearly knocked her over… and sent a chill through her body.

N-No. This was a painful memory she was trying to forget. What was she doing here? What was the point of–

“Are you not having fun, Munchkin?”

Now that voice almost made her die on the spot. Terrified, she slowly turns to her left, finding the only other person inside the place. He was rather tall, 

A bit lanky but built, dark hair and blue eyes. The genes that ran so strong in this family, the genes that her and Dustin hated they both had. And he’s sitting there with a stupid smirk on his bearded face, one that makes her want to crawl into a hole or slap off. She almost couldn’t speak as she felt like she lost her voice.

.

.

.

“D-Dad?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jonathan’s bitter thoughts were pulled back into reality the early next morning by his own mother, who was helping him with his tie.

“Why are we sending daggers at our home phone?” Joyce asked, heavy makeup covering her exhaustion, a black jacket clings to her body that acted like her blouse. 

His gaze follows back to the phone before back to her. “I know we agreed not to talk to him at all, besides it being pointless because Will’s body is a fake, but still. He can’t even give us a call about his own son’s death?”

She finishes his tie, frowning out of sadness with a hint of hate for her ex-husband. “Well, another reason why I’m not with your father. This should be a lesson to you, don’t just settle for the first person that gives you attention, or makes your rebellious phase feel ‘special’. I know I’m not the best mother–”

“You’re the perfect mother.” Jonathan pushes, wholeheartedly. “I know it was hard, but for someone doing it on your own, you always made time for us, loved us, and did only what you thought was best. A thousand times more than whatever dad did. I just…” He gets a bit teary eyed. “I just wished I believed you in the beginning. Maybe things would have been different.”

Joyce chokes down her own sob. “Oh.” She brushes a tear from the corner of her eye. “You’re going to make me bawl.”

He quietly laughs. “Sorry.”

“And you know, I’m not upset that you didn’t believe me. I never was, and never will be. I am glad that you came around though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “Jonathan?”

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t… don’t do anything stupid, okay? We’re going to go to the funeral, act like we’re in mourning, and when everything is over, we’re going to figure this out. We’re going to figure out what really happened with you brother. Okay?”

He puts on a good smile and nods. “Okay.” Jonathan agrees with a heavy feeling. He knows he agrees, but deep down he’s not. He’ll pretend to grieve, pretend that he mourns his not-so-dead brother, he’ll pretend that he’s not going to do anything with going through his mom first. In reality, it’s the opposite. 

In reality, he’s about to do the stupidest thing in probably his entire life. 

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Claudia Henderson had to fix her make up for the fifth time already, and she hasn’t even left the house, almost too scared to even leave the door. She was sitting on the couch, a ball tissues in one hand and her baby’s photograph in another. She was shaking all over, trying to hold down more sobs. Her son eventually appeared, dressed in black, pretty curls brushed back neatly, and had a glass of water in his palm.

She looks up, watching him silently offering it. “Oh, thank you, honey.” She replies, gesturing for him to set it down. He does, and scoots next to her. 

Dustin can’t stand that his mom is this way, and half of him wants to blurt out that something about his sister’s and Will’s disappearance doesn’t seem right, and the bodies in the caskets had to be fakes, but he can’t. He can’t go off a theory that has barely any evidence still.

“Oh… look at her face. I’m going to miss her pretty face.” Claudia continues, touching the picture. “Her little curls, her freckles, her… beautiful blue eyes, those…”

Dustin’s heart clenched. “Dad’s eyes…”

“Oh, not him. Not his.” She shakes her head, batting her honey brown orbs. “No. You and your sister’s are so unique.” She reaches up to cup her son’s cheek, him leaning into the touch. “Hers is like a sky and sapphire, and yours is like this cross of sky, this pale blue and, uh…”

He gives her a goofy smile. “A light denim jean.”

That got her to laugh. “A light denim jean, yes. That’s… that’s perfect.” She then pulls him into a hug. “It’s going to be hard, but we’re going to get through this. Together.”

Suddenly Dustin felt the wind get knocked out of him. What if… what if he and his friends were actually wrong? What if they were just imagining everything? What if his big sister was actually dead? 

What if… she really is gone? He couldn’t stop himself from tearing up, a single stray rolling down his cheeks, clenching his sister’s necklace in the palm of his hand like it would make her appear in his arms.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Now you know who wasn’t ready for the funeral? I mean how could he when he just woke up in a cold sweat and a dazed look in his eye. Jim Hopper finds himself on his couch, still wearing the same clothes (minus the jacket) that he seemed to have sweated through most of the thin material. It didn’t take long for him to remember what happened last night and immediately bolted up. He takes in his coffee table, which to him seemed way messier than he left it (Plus, there were a lot more empty beer cans than he consumed over the few days).

Grabbing his gun that was right in front of, Hopper wastes no time to run outside with it held high. But as he searched the land that he was all alone on, he didn’t see anything or anyone out of the ordinary. He almost started to doubt that last night even occurred. 

Almost. That’s the keyword.

Coming back inside, he examines himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to find the needle marking in his neck. It took a hot minute, the doubt was coming back until his finger picked up the tiniest drop of blood. Now, the paranoia was setting in, and that’s when he started tearing his trailer apart. Anything he could get his hands on, pictures frames, light bulbs, home phones, stereo system, VHS player, cookie jars, anything was torn apart in his hands. He even went so far by cutting open his couch cushions with a knife. 

In a hot, sweating, panting mess, he was about to give up until he noticed he forgot to check his overhead light. Just tall enough to reach it on his own, Hopper carefully unscrews the fixture and that’s when he saw it.

The bug. 

Plucking it off so hard that the wires ripped, he examined it close, the disbelief came first, and ended with sheer anger.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

I guess you could say that Steve “snuck out” of his home, dressed appropriately in black attire, still thinking about what his next “detective” move could be. The funerals were being held together to make it emotionally easier for the families, and everyone in town was welcome to come. His parents wouldn’t have approved, anyone associated with them wouldn’t either, but I guess the “good” thing about coming to the graveyard is that he wouldn’t have to worry about any of them. The only person he knows that will be there is his girlfriend. Speaking of…

Nancy was quick to notice after getting out of the car herself with her family. She was honestly surprised a bit, but didn’t let that weigh her down as she excuses herself to come over.

“Steve?” She said, as he flicked her a sad smile. “How… how are you?”

“I’m… I’m good. Really, um–” He replies, fiddling with his hands. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“That’s good. How’s your brother doing?”

“Mike?” She takes a quick glance back his way. “He’s coping, I guess. I don’t know. He’s been really quiet.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Steve says, nodding slowly. “Listen, Nance, I wanted to apologize for how I reacted the other night.”

Nancy shakes her head. “Steve, it’s alright. I get it. You’ll tell me about the relationship with your parents eventually. I honestly really don’t care if you do or not. It’s not my business.”

“I know, but still. I got a little snappy and–”

“Steve, it’s fine. I get–”

“My parents don’t like her.” He blurts out, silencing her. He watches her tilt her head, waiting for him to elaborate. “My parents never… approved of my friendship with Stephanie. She wasn’t up to their… ‘standards’. So…” He sighs. “My parents are probably going to gut me when they find out I’m here.”

“Gut you?” She asked, worriedly. Was it really that bad for him to be here? “Friends or not, she still was a classmate, the least you can do is show up for a quick respect.”

“Yeah, they don’t see it like that. They…” His throat felt dry. Every time he starts remembering a few things about his past, his parents, he just feels like he’s going to shut down and hide. 

“Steve?” Nancy says, pulling him out of the rut. “They… what?” She needs to know more, she wants to know more. She didn’t like that he looked like a kicked puppy. What has his parents done to him?

“She wasn’t like Tommy or Carol, or even you. Steph was sweet and caring, but didn’t dress like a girl should, she didn’t talk like a girl should, she didn’t…” He laughs, a mixture of nerves and distaste towards his parents. “She likes heavy metal, she likes to wear black and stomp around in big combat boots, and she would always do the craziest shit I’ve ever seen. She wasn’t the girl my parents wanted me to hang out with because she wasn’t a ‘girly-girl’. She fits in with the school’s ‘freaks’.”

“Steve…”

“Sometimes… I miss it. I miss going behind my parents’ backs to hang out with her.” He says, sadly. “But I… I had to end it… for her sake.”

Well that’s news. She thought, piqued. “What do you mean by that?”

“I–” His attention was caught by someone else arriving. “I… I’m going to go pay my respects. I’ll catch up to you later, Nance.”

“‘Kay.” She mumbles, watching him leave with a heavy heart.

Steve makes his way over to the family he used to call his own; The mother gets out, in her own head, while the brother immediately stops in his tracks – looking like a deer in headlights upon seeing him. 

“Ms. Henderson.” He begins, getting her attention (His throat felt tight again and his chest felt like it was being kicked in). “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Steve Harrington.”

“Steve?” It takes Claudia a moment to recognize him. “Steve! Oh, my gosh, I do remember you.” She smiles. “You’ve grown quite into a young man.”

Steve blushes a bit. “Uh, thank you. Um, listen I… I know your daughter and I had a bit of a falling out, but I thought it would be alright if I gave you my condolences. If you… approve that of course.”

“Oh, honey, I appreciate it. Friendships, I know, tend to end sometimes, and it can be hard. But I really do appreciate you coming.”

‘That’s good to hear.” He clears his throat and takes a step back. “I’ll be going now.”

“Oh, why don’t you stay?” She said, with her son perking up at the news.

“What?” Dustin said, a bit sharp for his mother’s liking.

“Dustin.” She turned and scolded. Her son gave her a shrug of disbelief, making her sigh. “Sorry. Do you mind staying for the wake? I think it would be nice if we can catch up.”

Steve was honestly lost for words. He’s guessing that Stephanie never actually told them what occurred… at least she didn’t tell her mother the truth. His gaze falls on Dustin who was pouting a bit and looking at the ground; The bitterness he probably had makes Steve wonder if he knew the truth. It was making him feel pretty shitty right now.

Jesus. If his mom wasn’t here I’m sure he would deck me by now. But Steve ignores this and just smiles. “If you insist, Ms. Henderson.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jonathan, or course, ignores his mom’s pleas not to do something stupid. Him and Nancy had both stepped off to the side to discuss their findings, hoping to form some kind of plan of action. “This is where we know for sure it’s been, right?” He says, holding a small map of the area, some places marked with a red X.

Nancy leans in closer. “So, that’s…”

“Steve’s house.” He starts pointing out each mark and their meaning. “And that’s the woods where they found Steph’s car, and that’s my house.”

“It’s all so close.”

“Yeah. Exactly. I mean, it’s all within a mile or something. Whatever this thing is, it’s... it’s not traveling far.”

Nancy locks eyes with him, realizing what he was suggesting. “You want to go out there.”

“We might not find anything.” He admits with a shrug.

“I found something. And if we do see it… then what?”

He inhales. “We kill it.”

“Kill it?” She said, surprised. “Are you serious?”

“What? You want to find this thing and take another photo? Yell at it?”

“This is a terrible idea.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the best we’ve got.”

She shakes her head. “Jonathan–”

“What? You can tell someone, but they’re not gonna believe you. You know that.” He points out as she frowns.

“Your mom believed you.”

He averts his eyes from her. “She’s been through enough. It’s time for me to worry about this thing.”

“She deserves to know.”

“Yeah, and I’ll tell her when this thing is dead.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Dustin was leaning against the wall next to a table full of snacks and drinks, ruefully chewing on some knock off brand cookies. His daggers were set on Steve who was chatting with his mom for most of the wake now. He still can’t believe he even showed up, the same boy who broke his sister’s heart and reverted her back into a bit of a hermit. Now, he loves his sister, his friends do too (probably as much as he does), but he kind of felt sad that after being disowned by Steve she decided to hang out with them more. Times at the arcade she was always driving them; The past few Halloweens she’s been stuck with them; A few times a week at school they would sneak outside for lunch and have it together. It was sad that no one else wanted to hang out with his sister, and it made him mad in more ways than one because of it. 

Stupid ass people. He thought, taking another harsh bit out of the food.

“Uh, Dustin–” Lucas says, nudging him a bit. “Maybe try to be a little more subtle on the lasers you’re shooting out at Steve.”

Dustin doesn’t answer his question, instead replying with, “These aren’t real Nilla Wafers.”

“Alright enough about him for a moment.” Mike interrupts, and tries to be the reasonable one. “How do we do this?”

“Do what?” Dustin mumbled, turning and taking another handful of cookies, making his friend sigh.

As the boys were distracted a bit, Steve had finally finished the nice chat with Claudia. He almost forgot how sweet she was, and how he remembers he wishes his own mother was like that. It could explain why he was always over at Stephanie’s house when he was young (he kind of misses it). He excused himself for something to drink, only to accidentally wander into another conversation that couldn’t help but hearing. 

Mike sighs. “Mr. Clarke. We were going to ask him our questions about another dimension.” 

“Oh, right. Another dimension.” Dustin says, nonchalantly, his friends looking at each other with confusion. 

“What’s your deal, man?” Lucas asked, confused on the sudden attitude change (and both him and Mike know it’s not about Steve). 

“My deal is what if I’m actually wrong? What if they really are dead?” 

Lucas made a look. “Dude, I’m supposed to be the skeptical one here. And besides, you’re the one who told us about hearing Will over the radio.”

“This funeral must be messing with your head.” Mike points out. “Will and Steph are alive. Where they are, we don’t know. But we aren’t going to know if we don’t ask Mr. Clarke about dimensional travel.”

“Yeah, man. Don’t be so down yet.” Lucas pats him on the back, before pointing out something. “Look. There he is.”

The Wheeler boy makes the first move, looking a bit sluggish to suggest he was sad. “Mr. Clarke?” 

“Oh, hey there.” He says, sending them a bittersweet smile. “How are you boys holding up?”

“We’re in... mourning.” Lucas replies, pretending to be glum too.

“We were wondering if you had time to talk?” Mike asks, nervously.

“We have some questions.”

“A lot of questions.” Steve says out of the blue, shocking the kids who were not expecting this. As the kids looked like they were fishes out of water, Mr. Clarke was overjoyed to see him.

“Ah, Steven. I haven’t seen you in a while. My, you’ve grown to be quite the stud.” He replies, his ex-student bowing with excitement. 

“You flatter me. Uh… the boys here were sharing a few things with me that I couldn’t really answer.” Steve points out, still having no idea where this was going and hopes he doesn’t screw it up. “But uh, hey! I always remember you were a man of answers.”

That seemed to fuel the adult’s ego a bit and got him more excited. “Oh, well, I can certainly try. Uh–” He gestures to an open table. “Let’s talk.”

Mike sits and is the first to speak, “So, you know how in Cosmos, Carl Sagan talks about other dimensions? Like, beyond our world?”

“Yeah, sure. Theoretically.”

“Right, theoretically.”

“So, theoretically, how do we travel there?” Lucas asks, getting right into it.

“Ah.” Mr. Clarke nods. “You guys have been thinking about Hugh Everett’s Many-Worlds Interpretation, haven’t you?” 

The boys subtly glanced at each other, having no clue who he was talking about; Even Steve was trying to remember if he ever learned this when was young. But they shook their heads ‘Yes’, and went along with it. 

“Well, basically, there are parallel universes.” The teacher begins. “Just like our world, but just infinite variations of it. Which means there’s a world out there where none of this tragic stuff ever happened.”

“Yeah, that’s not what they’re talking about.” Steve blurts out, before realizing he spoke. “Right?”

“Y-Yep!” Mike said, nodding eagerly. 

“We were thinking of more of an evil dimension, like the Vale of Shadows.” Dustin replies, the anger disappearing for now. “You know the Vale of Shadows?”

Mr. Clarke’s face lights up a bit. “An echo of the Material Plane, where necrotic and shadow magic—”

“Yeah, exactly.” Mike butts in, quickly. “If that did exist, a place like the Vale of Shadows, how would we travel there?”

“Theoretically.” Lucas adds.

Mr. Clarke’s gaze locks with Steve’s, who just shrugs. “Hey, I told you I couldn’t answer their questions.” He says, rendering everyone silence.

The teacher took a moment to think this over. “Well…” He picks up an empty paper plate and takes out a pen, drawing two lines and a tiny stick figure on top of it. “Picture... an acrobat… standing on a tightrope.” He shows off his drawing to everyone, before holding in a position where everyone could see.

He continues, “Now, the tightrope is our dimension. And our dimension has rules. You can move forwards, or backwards.” He drew an arrow on each side of the figure. “But, what if… right next to our acrobat, there is a flea?” He draws a tiny insect next to it. “Now, the flea can also travel back and forth, just like the acrobat. Right?”

“Right.” They boys said, intrigued. 

“Here’s where things get really interesting. The flea can also travel this way…” He draws an arrow between the two lines. “Along the side of the rope. He can even go…” And another below it. “Underneath the rope.”

“Upside down.” The boys said, in unison (Steve just flashed them a confused look).

“Exactly.”

“But we’re not the flea, we’re the acrobat.” Mike asked, everything clicking in place. 

“In this metaphor, yes, we’re the acrobat.” 

“So we can’t go upside down?” Lucas asked, an undertone of concern.

“No.”

“Well, is there any way for the acrobat to get to the Upside Down?” Dustin asked, hopefully.

“Well…” Mr. Clarke jogs his brain. “You’d have to create a massive amount of energy. More than humans are currently capable of creating, mind you, to open up some kind of tear in time and space, and then…” He folds the plate in half, and aggressively pokes his pen through it. “You create a doorway.”

“Like a gate?”

“Sure. Like a gate. But again, this is all–”

“Theoretical.” Lucas says, almost rolling his eyes at how many times this word was repeated.

“But…” Mike shifts in his seat, another question lingering around. “But what if this gate already existed?”

“Well, if it did, I... I think we’d know. It would disrupt gravity, the magnetic field, our environment. Heck, it might even swallow us up whole. Science is neat. But I’m afraid it’s not very forgiving.”

The boys were left awestruck, all three of them looking at each other and agreed on something in silence.

“Wow, uh… thanks, Mr. Clarke.” Mike replies, standing up. “You, uh, really answered our questions.”

“Any time. Is there anything else I can help you with?” He asked, as they shook their heads.

“Uh, nope! W-We’re good. We’re, uh…”

“We’re off to grieve some more.” Dustin said, his friends agreeing.

“Yep. Thanks again, Mr. Clarke. See you at school.”

“Uh–” He watches his students leave, a little thrown off by the mood swings. “See you around.”

“I… better see what’s up with them.” Steve replies, taking a stand too. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“You too.”

Steve quickened his pace to catch up with the group that was now outside, a small part of him can’t believe what he’s about to do or say. “I didn’t know you guys felt the same way.”

“Why are you following us?” Mike asked, stopping with annoyance all over his face.

“Look, I didn’t mean to bud in, but it just so happens that you guys feel the same way I do about this situation surrounding Stephanie and Will.”

Lucas rolls his eyes for real this time. “Ignore him. He probably just feels bad.” He says, and they started walking away, wanting some time alone to think their plan over.

“No, guys, come on. Listen to me.” 

“Stop following us, man.”

“Guys, just a moment of your time–”

“Leave us alone.” Mike snaps harshly. 

Steve sighs heavily, the debating he felt was necessary was suddenly over and he finally lets it out. “Her body’s fake!”

And like pressing pause on a TV, the boys immediately stopped. It took them a moment, a solid moment to process what he’d just said before turning around and staring like he was crazy.

Dustin was the first one to speak, the fierceness he spoke with earlier had returned with a hint of disbelief. “What?”

Well there’s no backing down now. Steve thought, and went along with the punches. “I went to the morgue last night, with the Police Chief. Your sister’s and Will’s bodies are fake. I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever happened to them, someone doesn’t want people to know how, what or why.”

“You went to the morgue?” Lucas said, after another moment, to process what he just admitted.

“With the Police Chief?” Mike adds.

Dustin shakes his head, not sure how he feels about this. “H-How do I know you’re not lying? You’re the reason my sister was in a rut that whole school year.”

Steve frowns, apologetically. “Listen, I’ll admit I was an asshole, but despite that, I would never, ever lie about something like this. Even if someone I didn’t know, I would never snoop that low. And…” He shifts his weight around. “And if you don’t believe me, you can call the Chief yourself. Although, he’d probably be pretty mad because he told me to forget about what I saw. So…”

Forget being gutted by my parents later, he would definitely kill me on sight if he knew about this. Steve waits anxiously as the boys look at each other, mutely communicating like they were doing earlier. 

Lucas looks between them and shrugs (Even Mike does too, as Dustin looks a bit on edge still). “I think he’s telling the truth, man.”

“If he is, why bother?” Dustin asks, looking over at the teenager. “Your friendship’s been long gone with my sister.”

“Yeah, it has.” Steve admits, heart clenching again. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I know her, and when I found out the official ruling for her death, I knew something felt off.” His frown deepens. “I was going to do a little investigation on my own, until I overheard you boys talking about how you don’t buy any of this bullshit either.”

Although I’m still a little confused on the whole other dimension thing. But he kept his mouth shut for now as the boys looked at each other again.

“Can you excuse us for a second?” Mike said, turning around and pulling his friends into a huddle. “Listen–”

“No way.” Dustin says, putting his foot down.

Lucas sighs. “Dustin, look, I understand the hate for this guy, but either way, if we take him in or not, he’s going to be snooping around too. You know, you can’t beat ‘em, you join ‘em, right?”

“Plus, he is older, and he can get away with a lot more shit when things get tough for us.” Mike points out, and they all looked back at him for a second. “Come on, man. The more the merrier, you know?”

Lucas and Mike plead with Dustin with just a look, and soon he caves in.

“Fine.” He says, arms crossed. “But the moment he disrespects my sister, he’s out.” 

“Agreed.” Lucas said, and they disassembled.

“Hey, Steve?” Mike said, getting his attention. “You think you can come over to my house afterwards?”

-To Be Continued-

Read Part 2: Here

~

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[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 9 Part 2 - Honey I'm Home

Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: Childhood memories entwine with the rest of the month spent in Lafitte as the pieces fall in place for the grand debut of Buggy's new show.

Warnings: Explicit smut, dubious consent, child abuse, violence/blood,

Word Count: 20.9k

Notes: "I didn't want to post a 20+k word chapter" lol. Part of me wishes I didn't have that bad week so this could be a cohesive but huge chapter because I think last week's was pretty weak, but hopefully this makes up for it. If you don't like the backstory thing and only want clown, ctrl+F the words 'days earlier' to read those sections+the final section.

"Father said that this world isn't for me I tried to pray for a new reality "So, come to me, we can change night into day." A tied-up moth seemed to know a different way (Don't remember it Don't return to it) Oh, Father tore out the umbilical cord There's nothing left in the bottle keeping me scored We'll abandon the scenery in the (Don't remember it Don't return to it) Rear-view mirror"

xx

23 Days Earlier

“What are you doing out here?”

“Crina!” you said, smiling despite your gloomy mood. In the sunshine, she was a radiant figure, her tawny skin practically glowing gold with its light. 

She raised an eyebrow in lieu of any greeting, sitting down on the sand next to you. 

“I’m waiting for Captain Buggy,” you told her, looking around the stretch of beach claimed by the pirates. A few members of the crew lounged around drinking or playing cards or whatever else it was that they did, but the captain was nowhere to be found. He had mentioned getting something to drink, but you weren’t sure. 

“He left you here alone?” Crina asked. 

“I think I upset him,” you told her. “I don’t really know how, though. I only asked if he wanted to go swimming.”

“Ah,” Crina said, nodding. “He probably assumed you were making fun of him.”

“Making fun of him?” 

“Because he can’t go in the water.”

“Why not?” 

She gave a confused look. “Anybody who eats a Devil Fruit is cursed. The sea rejects them. Even a splash of seawater can be debilitating. Captain Buggy didn’t explain any of this to you?” 

“No,” you said softly, taken aback. “Captain Buggy really is cursed then?” 

“Yes.”

You looked down at your feet, half buried in the warm sand, reaching up to pull down a bandana that wasn’t there. Buggy said you needed to get used to going without it, or at least wearing an eyepatch like a proper sort of pirate. Your hands dropped lamely into your lap, restless as the word ‘cursed’ pounded around in your head.    

“I’m sure he’ll get over it. How are you?” Crina asked, breaking the silence. Well, relative silence. The sea had a lot to say, whispering and roaring all at once. 

“I’m fine,” you said instinctively. “How are you?” 

She stared hard at you. In the sunlight, her dark eyes became the warmest shade of brown you had ever seen. “I heard about your dad.”

Your shoulders tensed up, curling inward. “What did you hear?”

“That he’s an infamous Marine and now you’re a valuable asset.” Crina scoffed, shaking her head. “Only Captain Buggy would accidentally find himself in a position like this.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Most people are predictable,” she explained. “You can predict their future based on their past and accounting for things like skill and experience. For Captain Buggy, it’s like… His luck is a dice roll, the only thing he’s truly reliable for is capitalizing on opportunity. I assume that’s what you are. A lucky roll.” 

You shrugged, unable to look her in the eye. “Does everyone know, then? About my dad?” 

“The senior officers do, but it’s only a matter of time until the rest find out. They already suspect. The target on your back keeps getting larger, and he leaves you here all alone.” She looked back, her brow furrowing. You followed her line of sight, shocked to meet the eyes of a familiar blunt-featured man. You looked away quickly, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. 

“Is he staring at me?” you asked softly, hunching forward as if that would protect you from his gaze.

“Ivo’s never gotten over his little grudge, and this hasn’t helped.” 

You sighed, pulling your legs up so you could put your head on your knees. 

“Are you okay?” Crina asked, her voice very gentle. 

“I’m fine.”  

“I don’t know Captain Buggy’s plan,” Crina told you, “but you know that this will end in a confrontation with your father.”

“I know,” you said, hugging your thighs tightly for some sense of stability. “Captain Buggy said he wouldn’t let Dad take me back. It will be okay. It has to be.”

Crina scooted closer to you, leaning in so she could speak very, very softly. “There are other options.”

You sat up a little, frowning. “What do you mean?”   

“It might be nice to settle down for a while,” Crina said. “I can make a living practically anywhere. You could come along and help me. I would pay you, and you could learn how to live independently.”  

“I… Um, I don’t think Captain Buggy would go for that.” 

“I’m not asking about Captain Buggy,” Crina said. “You and I could leave. Disappear. I know people who could make that happen, and you wouldn’t have to be a pawn in either man’s scheme.”

“I… don’t, um… understand.” 

“Has he apologized for what he did?” Crina asked rather than clarify, staring at you with an intense gaze.

“What did he do?”

“Sending you here alone, keeping you in the brig. Has he apologized?” 

“He doesn’t… doesn’t need to-to apologize,” you told her, drawing back into yourself. “I was the… I lied. Everything is okay now, Captain Buggy told me it is.”

“What about next time you upset him?”

You shook your head, outright refusing to think about that. “No, I won’t. I won’t lie to him ever again.” You exhaled shakily, bowing your head. “He promised he wouldn’t send me away. He won’t do that.” 

“You need to consider having a backup plan,” Crina told you. “Pirates always have one. Captain Buggy undoubtedly has several in case things with your dad go wrong.”

You nodded, trying very hard to swallow the lump in your throat. You didn’t want to think about that. 

“Ah, speak of the devil,” Crina muttered. You looked over your shoulder. Captain Buggy had a piece of paper in one hand and a bottle in the other, calling everybody over to where he stood. 

“Heya, babydoll, get over here,” he shouted at you. You stood up, brushing the sand off your butt, and approached his chair. He handed the bottle to you, motioning for you to open it up. “Check it out.” He held the paper up to show everybody, flicking the back for extra emphasis. It was his bounty poster, a photo you were very familiar with. Except, something had changed.  

“Oh,” you said, realizing the key difference. “Your bounty went up!” 

As soon as they understood what they had been called over to do, the pirates began cheering, raising bottles and whooping excitedly. The sudden assault of noise startled you, but Captain Buggy accepted their excitement and praise as if it were expected, rolling his eyes and waving it off.  Wanting to join in, you tried to open the bottle. The foil came off easily, but the cork was tough.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Buggy finally told them, bringing the cheers to a stop. “This,” he held up the poster again, “is proof that my star is rising. And you,” Buggy waved his hand in a circle around the crowd, “have all been given the very special honor of enjoying my light. Imagine it. If you’ve got the talent to make the cut, you’ll end up serving royalty.”

Everybody cheered again, toasting to Captain Buggy, King of the Pirates. 

 When the cork finally came out, it was with a loud pop that caused you to yelp in surprise, and then a fizzing stream of what you assumed was champagne. The silence that followed was the worst of it all. Nobody was going to laugh unless Buggy did, but he was just staring. You held up the bottle with a forced smile, which was much lighter given how much of the drink had ended up on your dress. “To Captain Buggy.”  

He broke, cackling at the display. Everybody else followed suit. You looked to Crina for help, but she just shrugged. 

“Alright, you’re all dismissed,” Buggy said when he was done laughing, waving everybody away. 

“I’ll talk to you later,” Crina said before departing, giving you a comforting smile that almost helped soothe your crippling embarrassment. 

“You know, babydoll,” Buggy said, grabbing the bottle out of your hand and taking a swig, “most people drink the stuff, not wear it.” 

“I didn’t know it would explode,” you said in your defense, cringing.

“Are you wearing polka-dots under there?” Buggy said, staring at your chest. Now that it was wet, the wrap dress was practically see-through. “That’s bold of you.”

“It’s a swimsuit,” you said, going around him to grab a towel, trying to clean up a bit. 

“No way,” Buggy said. “Show me.” 

“That’s… I mean, it’s for going into the water, otherwise…” You pressed the back of your hand to your cheek. The flush wasn’t going away, maybe you could pretend it was just sunburn. “It’s embarrassing.” 

“Yeah, and?” He asked, raising his eyebrows tauntingly. 

“Captain Buggy,” you said, frowning. “I… that’s really, really embarrassing. Especially after…” You looked around. Nobody was looking, of course they weren’t, but you could imagine what they were thinking. You couldn’t do anything. When you tried, you were bad at it, and embarrassed yourself. They knew the reason you were here, stripping down into glorified underwear would not help with that perception. 

He took another big drink out of the bottle before setting it on the table. 

You realized he was going for you a second later, jumping away with a yelp of surprise. You were fast enough to evade him, somehow. Which didn’t matter because Buggy just detached his hands, grabbing onto the bow’s tail keeping your dress tied and pulling hard.

“When will you quit falling for that?” Buggy asked, laughing. 

“Captain Buggy!” you exclaimed, swatting his hand away and trying to fix the dress. 

“Wrong one,” he said. “On your left.” 

You turned left, over-compensating for your blindspot, but his other hand was behind you, dragging the back of the dress to get it off. You circled around, trying to fight that one off, but something else flew past you. Another part of his arm?

“I meant on my left,” Buggy clarified. You turned right, but you tripped on what you thought was his wrist. With a squeaky cry, you fell into the warm sand on your hands and knees. When you tripped, he dragged the dress off of your shoulders, and Buggy laughed as all the pieces of his arms reattached, your dress like a white flag he waved above your head. 

“Captain Buggy!” You exclaimed, standing up and throwing yourself towards him to try and take it back. He held it up, easily keeping it out of your reach, laughing at your fruitless attempts to try to get ahold of it. Out of breath and knowing it was pointless, you gave up with a huge, unhappy huff.

“What, that’s it?” Buggy asked, lowering his hand enough to taunt you to lunge for the dress. 

“It’s too late now,” you told him, breathing hard. You thought that you were getting stronger, but the old exhaustion was always so quick to set in. Maybe it would never go away. When you nervously looked over your shoulder, nobody was looking. Nobody would. Not only was there nothing worth looking at, but Buggy would get mad if they did. 

Embarrassing. Then again, you had already done about as much damage as you could. It wasn’t going to get worse.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Buggy relax, his arms dropping as he followed your line of sight. 

You blew a raspberry at him, snatching your dress out of his hand and running as fast as you could as soon as you got it, giggling madly.

“Oh, real mature,” Buggy called.

“What?” you asked innocently, stopping about ten feet away to look at him. “That’s it?” 

“Are you sure this is the kind of game you wanna play?” he asked, taunting you. Daring you.

“You started it!” 

“S’long as you don’t cry about losing,” he said. 

You grinned, turning around and taking off. Running was not something you were very good at, and especially not when you were laughing and out of breath. You didn’t expect to get far. 

Buggy caught you about halfway down the beach. Instead of using his ability at all, he stooped down and tickled your bare sides. Which was worse. Way, way worse.

Squealing, you rounded on him, trying to slap his hands away. “No! Stop!” you told him, the words ineffective when you were laughing uncontrollably. “You can have it!” You held up the balled up dress as a peace offering. “I give up!” 

“You think I did this for that?” Buggy asked, not accepting peace in favor of continuing the attack. “This isn’t that type of game.” He finally stopped, grabbing you around the middle and pulling you close so he could talk softly in your ear. “It’s more like the kind of game where I win and we go into that changing booth over there so I can enjoy my prize.”

You, the you that lived in the world, the you that seemed so other compared to the rest, finally recognized where you were. It was the smell. His smell, that was the thing that really stuck with you. You were on Buggy’s ship, in his cabin. Although the details were too dark to make out, you understood enough to figure you were in the dining area.

Why? How? You could almost remember, faintly, from a far away place. But the world heaved and churned and your head fell back against the hard floor and you succumbed to the washing tide and the painful memories gushing out of your unguarded subconscious. 

Out of it emerged the hazy memory of another adult conversation. Even now, that’s how you thought of them. Them, not us. Mom and Dad thought you were asleep, laid out with a fever, but you weren’t asleep. Sometimes you pretended. 

“This is your fault,” Dad said. “Your lack of faith has cursed her. How can you not see that? If you were faithful to me, truly faithful, she wouldn’t be forced to suffer.”

“I am faithful,” Mom argued. “I have done everything for you, for her—I have given you everything.”

“No, you haven’t. She burns with proof of your faithlessness.”  

Mom didn’t say anything at first. All you could hear was the crackling fire and the ticking clock. Eventually she muttered something, but the only word you heard was cellar. 

You hated that word, hated it enough that you almost forgot to pretend to be asleep, hated it so much that your drug-addled brain tried to break itself out of the memory. Cellar meant rats in the dark, it meant the scent of wet rot, it meant shivering in the dank cold, it meant alone. It meant you had done something wrong and were being punished. You remembered each detail of cellar with wicked clarity. 

“What did you say?” Dad asked.

“Nothing.” 

There was silence, and you wondered if they were done talking. 

Finally, “It is your fault I have to punish her, your sin, your curse. Teaching her right from wrong is the only way to keep her pure and clean,” Dad said. “And you deign to judge me for it, but everything I do, I do because I want to save her from becoming like you. All of you—hysterical, inept, faithless women. I married an innocent, beautiful girl, and now look at you. It disgusts me to know that she may meet the same fate. I was too late to protect you, but I will not let our daughter fall as you did. If you don’t see that, you’re even less of a mother to her than I thought.” 

“It’s your hatred that poisons us,” Mom said, her voice trembling but, somehow, defiant. You knew enough to know what kind of reaction that tone of voice received. It was always the same. Thunder, and fire. Rage. 

But instead there was another long silence.   

“Hatred? No, birdie, no. I love you,” Dad finally told her, and he sounded gentle. “I love you both more than anything. That you would see my actions as hatred proves the sickness of your mind. As husband and father, it is my responsibility to do difficult things. You have no idea how much it pains me to see you suffer. I take no pleasure in punishing you—either of you, but I have no choice. I wouldn’t ask for you to understand, but you must trust me. You must have faith in me.”  

That was your mistake, wasn’t it? The reason for your suffering. Was it possible that you could try so hard to take Dad’s warnings to heart yet still make the same mistakes? Still let yourself fumble and fall, still disobey him when you shouldn’t? You didn’t want to become like the women Dad spoke of, you didn’t want to be like Mom, or to be cursed. You wanted to be good, and to be clean. You wanted to please him. 

But you didn’t. Not then, and certainly not anymore. Why? You didn’t understand that. Your actions and intentions never seemed to line up.

It didn’t begin on that day, but it was one of the first times you became aware of the filth that Dad spoke of. The taint of womanhood, the creeping intrusion of the unpleasant truths Harper had revealed to you so many years before. 

How old were you on that day? The day you had your first kiss. You weren’t sure, but you knew it was during the in-between period of your life. Possibly the only time you really felt happy, or hopeful. Dad occasionally took you out on the ships with him as a sort of helper to boil bandages or send messages or help look after basic injuries. When you were home, you snuck away as often as you could to go northside. Whenever you could, you were mapping uncharted territory in the overgrown, crumbling ruins. Finding bridges that could take you from roof to roof without having to climb down, traversing the dangerous tightropes of rusty metal beams and scaling sheer cliff sides of faded brick. It was the one thing you could do that nobody else could. Even when you got tired, or felt too weak, or realized you were too short to reach anything, you found a way. Dad forbade it, but that didn’t stop you. He struck you sometimes, or put you in the cellar, but you didn’t stop. It was the only thing in the world that actually belonged to you.

You remembered sitting on top of the old butcher building with your feet hanging three stories up from the overgrown road. The brick wall below you used to have ‘slaughterhouse’ painted on it, but the second part had faded. You dubbed the building the Slaughter, and that was where you had your first kiss.

“There you are,” he called from below. You looked down, startled and fearful it might be Dad, only to immediately melt. Randall was tall, broad shouldered, and the most handsome boy you had ever known. He smiled in a way that made your stomach explode with butterflies. “Do you mind if I come up?” 

“If you can,” you said, your voice echoing oddly in the empty streets. Sound carried in an eerie way northside. Randall didn’t blink at the taunt, easily scaling the first set of old metal stairs, and then the rusty ladder, and then the final set of steps to the top where you waited. 

“I was worried I’d find you out here,” he said as he took the final few steps up.

“You were looking for me?” you asked, trying to sound casual. To a girl in the awkward phase of life—the phase where you stagnated even after most had grown—and especially one who had yet to significantly develop in the ways that other girls had, even the handful of years between you and Randall made him seem unattainably mature. But he was nice to you, always, and he made you feel little butterflies in your stomach. You liked him. You liked him a lot. 

“It’s gonna get dark soon,” Randall said, sitting on the edge of the rusty old fire escape grate beside you. “You know how much the Major hates it when you come out here.”

Randall’s dad, Harmon, was a carpenter and since Harmon worked on the docks sometimes, he was friends with Dad. Randall didn’t want to be a carpenter like Harmon, he wanted to be a Marine, and so he took Dad very seriously. Dad liked Randall too. Sometimes you thought that he liked Randall more than you. Sometimes you wished that you could do the things Randall did. But you couldn’t. At that point in your life, you were barely out of childhood. Too small for your age and underdeveloped from a lack of healthy growth in your youth. Dad said it was normal, it only meant you were a little more frail, a little less healthy than other girls. It meant there were a lot of things you couldn’t do. 

“You won’t tell on me, will you?” you asked, trying to be casual, to seem cool. You had no idea how to talk to or impress boys. You weren’t entirely sure you even wanted that type of attention, it seemed too dangerous. But you wanted Randall to like you.

“I’ll keep your secret,” he said. “But you owe me.”

“What do I owe you?”

He thought about that for a second, his eyes rolling up to the late afternoon sky. 

“A kiss,” he finally declared.

You smiled sideways at him, struck with surprise, before giggling nervously. “Do you… Do you mean that?” 

“Yes. I like you,” he said, as if it were easy. Your heart nearly stopped, blood rushing in your ears, burning your cheeks. 

“I-I like you too,” you said, but your brain was swimming with filthy words like sex and slut and you were a little confused because you barely even needed a bra yet so you weren’t sure why Randall would want to kiss you and maybe that meant he wanted other things too but those weren’t things you knew very much about and there was nobody in your life you could ask for advice so you were certainly going to disappoint him at some point and also if Dad found out he would be furious because you weren’t allowed to date boys let alone kiss them and—

“Unless you don’t want to kiss me,” Randall said. 

“I do!” you told him quickly. It didn’t matter if that was true or not, or what you wanted. If Randall thought you were worth kissing, you would do anything to keep that. You didn’t want to disappoint him. “I’ve never kissed anyone.”  

“I don’t mind,” he said, turning to face you. “It’s easy, I promise.” You couldn’t meet his eyes for more than a couple of seconds at a time, and your nervous smile wouldn’t go away, but you felt a buzzing sense of anticipation all the way from your toes upward. Excitement. Fear.

“Okay,” you said softly. 

He held your cheek in a hand that smelled like the ladder rungs he used to climb up the Slaughter and pursed his lips in a way that you thought looked a little silly before they met yours and then you realized you were supposed to close your eyes too and that was that. Eyelid filtered red-dark and the scent of old metal and dry lips pressing against your mouth and a pit of sickness in your stomach because you knew you were doing something you shouldn’t. 

Until he ran his tongue along the seam of your lips which felt very strange and wrong and you pulled back with another nervous giggle, opening your eyes. 

Randall frowned, but let you go. “You’re supposed to open your mouth,” he told you.

“Why?” you asked. 

“That’s how you kiss.” 

“Oh,” you said, feeling very stupid. “I’m sorry.” 

“One more, and then I’m taking you home,” he said. “Okay?” 

Was it? Probably. You swallowed down the sick feeling in your throat and nodded. Girls liked to kiss boys. It was okay and normal and fine and you liked it. 

When Randall walked you home—at least part of the way, not close enough that your dad would see you were together—neither of you talked about the one kiss that had become three and a hand on your hips, and then your waist, and then your chest. It made your skin crawl, but he treated it like it was normal and so it probably was. You had no reason to be weird about something he liked. 

You were so preoccupied with trying not to think of what happened that you didn’t immediately notice the tension in the house when you got in and removed your boots and jacket. 

“You’re home late,” Dad said, standing in the doorway into the den. Your heart crashed into your stomach. 

“Sorry, daddy,” you told him, your chest clenching. When he looked at you like that, you worried that he could see everything. See that you had been northside, see that you had let a boy kiss you, see the imprint of a hand on your body in places it shouldn’t have been, of lips on your own. 

“Where were you?” he asked. 

“I took a walk,” you said. “The weather is nice.” 

Dad exhaled heavily, closing his eyes. “You’re lying to me. You were out northside, weren’t you?”

“I was just walking,” you told him again, your voice weakening. 

Dad didn’t say anything, and the silence stretched on and on and on and he just stared at you, his eyes dark. 

“I’m worried about you,” he said, approaching you with heavy steps. You resisted the urge to shrink away, trying very hard not to look guilty. “If you keep lying and sneaking around, I won’t allow you to go out anymore. You’re too sick to put that sort of strain on yourself.” 

“I’m fine, daddy,” you told him, shaking your head. “I feel good, really.” 

“You’re delicate,” he said, his voice hard. “My sweet little girl.” You flinched when he raised his hand, but he only tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Where were you?” 

“Walking,” you said in what amounted to little more than a whisper. 

“You were with a boy, weren’t you?” he asked. 

You shook your head fast, guilt and shame filling up the hollow in your chest like liquid lead. “No, daddy. No.” 

He looked down at you. You couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“You’re lying,” he said, slamming his fist against the wall behind you. You yelped, trying to make yourself as small as possible. He forcibly composed himself, breathing deeply. “Every day, I feel like I’m losing more and more of my sweet little girl. All I want is to keep you safe, and you throw it back in my face.” He heaved out a heavy, hot sigh, his eyes boring into your own. “Where were you and who were you with?”

He already thought you were lying, he already assumed the worst, but you couldn’t tell him the truth. Dad liked Randall, you would be the one to bear the sin, the blame. The curse. Maybe it was your fault. Why else would Randall want to kiss you? 

“I was walking, daddy,” you said so softly that it was almost inaudible. “By myself.” 

He struck you quickly and precisely, a single blow that knocked you back into the wall. Your ears rang and roared with the whooshing of blood and Dad grabbed you by the arm, pulling you towards the kitchen. Towards the cellar. 

You couldn’t hear yourself begging, but you were. You couldn’t hear him talking, but he was. You could practically feel the force of words like liar and filthy and disobedient. Everything else was a blurred mush of fear and shame.  

When you tripped on the stairs, he jerked you upright by the arm and pushed you past the door and into the dark. When you collapsed onto the cold stone floor, you barely had enough air to properly sob, nausea swelling up in your throat. You looked up a final time before he shut the door and locked it and saw a cruel god. The figure of justice and punishment. And then you were alone and it was dark. The sour taste of Randall’s kiss lingered on your lips, and the scalding imprint of his hand burned into your skin, and you knew you weren’t Dad’s sweet little girl anymore. That only made you cry harder. 

With some vague notion of what you were now, the things you had done and let happen, it was almost laughable that an awkward first kiss was enough to make you feel so disgusting. 

Randall kissed you a few more times after that, and you held hands, and he made promises he never had any intention of keeping, and each moment of it forged a horrible conflict within you. Being wanted by him was the most potent and intense happiness you had ever felt, it was giddy and new and bright. Being intimate with him made you want to burn your skin and never look anybody in the eye again for fear of what they might think when they looked at you. 

You were afraid that they would look at you and see a woman. Dad said that word like it was dirty. Women were impure. 

But it wasn’t Dad who told you that you were what you feared, it had nothing to do with kissing or breasts or sex. It was blood in your underwear, and Mom telling you that it meant you were a woman now. 

You remembered the ice in your stomach, the way your hands shook. You looked at her with tears in your eyes and told her, “I don’t want to be a woman.” 

“You don’t have much of a choice in the matter,” she told you. “Neither does your father.” There was a cool bitterness in those words, but also disgust. She looked so much older than she was. Her beauty hadn’t faded, not entirely, there were moments where the canary shone through her dull eyes, but right then she looked ancient. The weight of the world and a million little cuts had torn her down to the bone. Sadness etched into the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth but, most of all, she looked guilty. “Don’t tell him about this. Menstruation is women’s business, men don’t want or need to know about it. All it will do is upset him.” 

You nodded, swallowing hard. Dad got upset more and more those days. Mom was almost always nursing some sort of bruise, becoming increasingly distant by the day. Her medicine made that worse. She didn’t even sing very often. She didn’t do much of anything. 

So many things happened in your life that were regrettable or scary or bad, and you had done even worse, but for what it was worth, you did love her. Mom was a woman of incomparable beauty, and she had the voice of an angel, and she tried. You knew that now, in hindsight. She did her best. 

That’s what you remembered. 

But you also remembered the day everything changed. The two of you had taken a ship out of Barley. Dad was gone, and she said you were meeting up with him somewhere else, hastily packing up as much as possible and getting out of town without any other explanation. 

You should have been with her at the inn, but you had wanted to look around the town.

Sometimes you thought you remembered telling a stranger who you were, and where you were staying, but you weren’t sure. Sometimes you remembered a man with her, but maybe that was nothing more than the power of Dad’s suggestion. The truth was that you didn’t remember much of anything until the world ended. You were almost inside the inn when it happened. Any further and you wouldn’t have been shielded enough to survive the explosion. You remembered thinking that it smelled funny, and that you were worried about Mom, and that you were a little hungry. 

And then. 

Brighter than the sun, sharper than any blade, the light exploded the universe apart. Effulgent, radiant, deafening, and then it resolved into endless, terrifying black. An abyss of nothingness and panic and fear because you couldn’t see anything, and it hurt. That was all you were aware of. A sticky, sickly, blazing hot pain that you couldn’t understand, it was utterly incomprehensible to feel such agony. Your hands went to your face, but it was covered in plaster and bandages. Even though they were only wrapped around your eyes, you felt as if they were suffocating you. 

“It’s okay,” Dad said as he had several times before because every time you awoke, it was from the same confused nightmare. Then you were conscious and you realized that the nightmare was real. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” 

“Daddy?” you asked, your voice hoarse from screaming and smoke. That taste, acrid and foul, coating your throat in soot, was familiar, and you remembered. You were in the hospital. There had been an accident. “Daddy, it hurts.”

“I know it does,” he told you, taking your hand as it groped across the blankets in search of him. 

The pain was incomparable. It was difficult to understand anything outside of it. Dad said that’s why he waited so long to tell you that Mom hadn’t made it out, because he didn’t want to hurt you further. 

By the time you returned to Barley to bury an empty casket, your right eye had at least partial vision back. The left was ruined. It hurt, and it remained as a hideous reminder of what happened. Randall was there to help Dad, but he didn’t even look at you. Nobody did. All they could do was whisper. Whisper about Mom, about you, about what happened. 

You remembered stumbling to the hole with a fistful of dirt in your hand, nearly toppling into it with how unsteady and uncoordinated you were. You remembered looking at the empty mahogany box. You were glad Mom wasn’t there because Dad was too drunk to say anything and you were still having problems putting together full sentences and you dropped that handful of dirt into the ground with the vicious, agonizing thought that nobody in the world except you loved her. 

You really, really did.

14 Days Earlier

Around the time that the silence of the streets became noticeable, you realized that you had maybe taken a wrong turn somewhere. Lafitte wasn’t a large place by any means, but the winding structure of its layout and your poor directional skills were a bad match. According to the directions you were given, it was a straight shot to the western side of the island where you were trying to meet up with Captain Buggy. Now you were wandering amidst blocks of grungy old buildings that were closed for the day and more than a little creeped out by how dark and isolated it was. 

Maybe you should have asked if someone would walk with you. 

Maybe you had gotten off track somewhere.

Maybe you were hopelessly lost. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” somebody called from your blind left. You squeaked, startled, and whirled around to face two men that had been loitering in an alley that cut between two dark buildings. The smell of garbage and old metal and stale smoke emanated even stronger from the impenetrable shadows.

“Hi,” the other one said, smiling. It was too dark to make out almost any other feature than the glint of a gold tooth. Your heart seized up, panic flooding your system. For all that Dad had warned you of a situation like this, you didn’t ever think it would happen. You didn’t know what to do. “You lost?”

“Um, I’m…” you stammered, smiling out of an anxious habit. “I’m fine, thank you.” 

“Where’re you trying to go?” the first man asked. He was taller and lankier than his companion. In the shadows, he looked like he’d been stretched out unnaturally. 

“I’m fine, really,” you said, taking a step back. “Thank you. I just have…” You gestured to the side, meaning to walk away. 

The lanky one was faster, easily closing the distance between you and grabbing your arm before you could get away. You should have run, but by the time that occurred to you, it was too late and he was dragging you into the dark. 

You yelped, trying to yank your arm free. He pulled something out of his pocket, flipping out the blade of a knife. 

“Don’t do anything stupid, m’kay?” he asked, holding it up so you could see the silvery gleam in the sickly yellow light of the single streetlamp. 

“Make sure it’s the right girl,” gold-tooth told him. “Scar on the left eye.” 

The lanky one pressed the blade to your cheek, turning your face towards the light. You whimpered, a little sob heaving in your chest. “Mmm, ‘s her,” he said. “That’s an ugly one.” Clicking his tongue in disgust of your scar, he removed the blade to grab your waist and push you towards the other man. You stumbled, almost falling. 

“Please don’t do this,” you begged, looking between the men desperately. It was too dark to see them as anything other than hulking shadows. “Please. If you want money, I’ll—I’ll give you anything, just don’t take me back, please-”

“Can you shut ‘er up?” the lanky one asked. “He said to make it look like an attack gone wrong. Something random or, y’know, accidental. Yeah? Like we was try’na mess with her but she got too rowdy.”

You whimpered, shaking your head. Your ears were ringing so loud you could barely hear yourself beg. Gold-tooth grabbed you, stifling your pleas with a sweaty palm over your mouth and nose. You shouted, clawing at his arm, but he didn’t budge.

“He wants us to rape her?” he asked.

“Nah, just rough her up a little. Rip her clothes, make sure she’s got bruises. ‘s called staging.”

“Staging,” gold-tooth repeated, turning you around and shoving you back against the alley’s brick wall. You pulled in a deep, ragged breath and screamed. Despite your dry mouth and throat, it was a good one, so loud and piercing you could hear it blurring and ringing in your ears. 

Gold-tooth stopped it fast, punching you in the face. The world erupted into stars and the next thing you understood was that you were on the ground. Blood gushed out of your nose like a spout, your eye watering enough to blind you completely. 

“I told you to shut ‘er up!” the lanky one said, grabbing you by the hair to drag you back onto your feet. You were too dazed to struggle, leaning against the dirty brick to keep from falling. All you could taste and smell was your own blood. It flowed into your mouth, your throat. You gagged, coughing, sobbing, crying.  

“Woah, woah, woah, shhh. Someone’s…” gold-tooth’s warning trailed off. He was looking at the mouth of the alley. 

The lanky one grabbed you, pressing the knife against your throat. “Not a sound,” he told you softly, digging the knife into your skin enough to cut a shallow line. Gold-tooth stepped in front of you, almost like a shield. With the alley’s opening on your left, you couldn’t follow their line of sight, and you didn’t dare try to turn your head or make a sound, practically holding your breath.  

“What kind of lame ass party is this?” a very familiar voice called. You sobbed, relief flooding your system. “No booze and only one girl? Borrrrring.”

“We’re not sharing,” gold-tooth told him. 

“You know what you need? Entertainment. Lucky for you fellas, I’ve got a killer act.”

“Hey, friend,” gold-tooth said flatly. “Walk. Away.” 

“Hold on, he’s a pirate,” the lanky one said softly to his companion, significantly more trepidatious. He relaxed the hand holding the knife to your throat, letting you get in a good breath. Everything tasted like blood. “Look at ‘im, he’s that clown. He’s, um... Buddy or something.”

“Buggy,” Buggy said loudly, emphatically. “Buggy the Clown. My name is on the poster, why does nobody…” He huffed in frustration, you could imagine him composing himself. “Okay, here’s the deal. You give me the girl, and I let you live. Sound good? Actually, wait a sec. Hey, babydoll, you’re still alive, right?”

You groaned weakly.  

“I’ll take that as a yes. Great. You boys wanna see a magic trick?”

“Last chance, clown. I mean it.” The lanky one grabbed you, holding you in front of himself like a proper hostage with the knife at your neck again. Finally, you could see Buggy. Not much of him. The light hit him at a quarter angle. What you could see was a sharp cheekbone, the recognizable curve of his nose, and, when he moved his head, a faint glint where the light hit his eyes.

“I guess you’re up, friend,” Buggy said to gold-tooth, his smile evident in his voice even if you couldn’t see it clearly. “Show me your moves.” 

Gold-tooth pulled out a knife from his jacket, rushing towards Buggy. It was going to hit, Buggy wasn’t even trying to dodge.

“Captain Buggy!” you shouted, struggling against your captor despite yourself. The knife dug deeper into your neck, and you whimpered, going limp.

Buggy’s body separated at the last second, coming apart right where the knife would have landed. Gold-tooth had the wherewithal to try and execute a follow-up attack, but Buggy detached those parts of his body as well, letting gold-tooth rush right through him. When the sections of his torso snapped back into place, he tilted his head back to display the manic smile he wore. 

It left you feeling very, very cold inside. Your attackers might have been villains of the night, but Buggy was an unhinged madman cursed by the Devil. 

The lanky one swore, releasing you. Whether he meant to escape or attack Buggy, you couldn’t tell, but he rushed towards him. Knowing it was your only opportunity, you didn’t hesitate. Blood rushed a violent tempest in your ears. You scrambled forward, desperate to escape the alley. 

Too late, you realized gold-tooth hadn’t run away in fear of Buggy’s power. You couldn't stop your momentum, you didn’t have enough traction on the gravel. It slid out under your boots, carrying you forward even as you tried to rear back. 

He caught you with an arm like an iron bar, his other arm winding up and punching you in the stomach. The blow knocked all the air out of your lungs, leaving nothing but pain. You crumpled onto the ground with a broken gasp, a death rattle. 

All that existed was ringing in your ears and pain and confusion and you couldn’t breathe. The world went very, very dark. You squeezed your hand into a fist, feeling the painful stretch of your skinned palms, and let that stabilize you enough to open your eye. You had to blink over and over and over to clear it, coughing globs of bloody phlegm as your body tried to restart the whole breathing process, and then you raised your head to look at the scene. 

Captain Buggy was distracted with the lanky one, cackling wildly as he fought him. Even though you were accustomed to it, the sight of a shadowy man pulling himself into pieces and reforming over and over again was disturbing. Gold-tooth stood above you with his knife out, intending to try and get the jump on Buggy.

“Captain!” you shouted as loud as you could. Which, admittedly, wasn’t very. But Buggy seemed to hear you, finally turning to notice gold-tooth. The lanky one capitalized on his distraction, jumping forward with his knife. Gold-tooth moved at the same time, their movements impressively synchronized. 

You did the only thing you could think of and lunged for gold-tooth’s ankles, grabbing onto one and hanging on with all your remaining strength to trip him. He tried to kick you off, but all that did was destabilize him further. 

The men dropped at the same time. Buggy’s opponent went with a pained howl, his front criss-crossed with countless painful slashes as he stumbled and fell back into the darkest pit of the alley. Gold-tooth fell forward, going heavy and hard onto the ground. He let go of his knife. It skittered forward, stopping only when Buggy stepped on it, kicking it to the side. 

“I’m afraid that’s curtains for you, friend,” Buggy said to the downed man, approaching him with slow steps. Gold-tooth began cursing at him, scrambling to get up. Buggy beat him to it, jauntily kicking him in the head.

It was over.

You collapsed, braced on your skinned forearms, just trying to breathe. Everything, everything hurt. 

Buggy kicked the man again for good measure. And then a third time.

“Just so you know,” Buggy said, his footsteps crunching on the ground as he approached you. “I didn’t need your help. That was a test. You passed. Good job, babydoll.” 

You opened your eye to watch his boots get closer and stop. After a moment, you figured out how to get your arms beneath yourself. Buggy held out a hand for you to take, which you gratefully did. 

As soon as you were on your feet, you realized it was a mistake to move so fast, your head spinning. You stumbled sideways to lean against the brick. For a moment, you worried you would vomit. The taste of blood and bile coated the inside of your throat, the metallic tang mixing with the heavy, ripe stench of garbage that had been marinating in the humid Lafitte heat for far too long. 

Desperate to avoid that, you spit out a mouthful of thick, bloody saliva, coughing out as much of it as you could. You could breathe through your nose, luckily. The punch had landed more on your left cheek than dead center. 

“You’re not gonna pass out or throw up or something, right?” Buggy asked, nonplussed. 

“No, sir,” you said, the words scraping unpleasantly against your raw throat.

“Okay, good,” Buggy said. “Well, now that the show’s over, let’s chop chop get the fuck out of here.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Probably realizing you weren’t going to move on your own, Buggy grabbed your elbow, tugging you out of the alley and onto the street. Rather than going back the way you came, he pulled you across to cut through to the next road over. This one ran parallel to the seawall. As soon as you stumbled into the open night, a heavy wave of humid air slammed against you. The scent of trash wasn’t as intense, replaced by the stench of rotting seaweed and sulfur and acrid oil.

“What did they do, offer you candy?” Buggy asked as you tried to keep up with him, huffing and puffing and wracked with strange little half-sobs that came as much from the adrenaline pounding in your system as it did from leftover fear and pain. “I guess pops never taught you about stranger danger.” 

There were more people here, although not many. This part of the island was mostly filled with those unfortunate enough to call such a place home. Nobody paid you any mind as Buggy pulled you across the road, towards one of the sets of crumbling concrete steps going down to the beach. Well, ‘beach’ was a kind word. That would imply sand and an enticing, lapping tide and a hint of romance. The beach on this part of the island was a strip of silty grit, a thick band of seaweed clogging the tide like hair ratting up a drain, and the greasy churn of foul brown water. It was to its benefit that the night was too dark to see anything other than the gleaming sliver of a moon draping silver over the top of the water, nothing but deep shadow stretched out in between. Once the two of you reached the bottom of the steps, you were lost in the endless dark. 

“Captain Buggy,” you said, your breathing harsh and fast, your heart pounding mean and hot where you had been hit in the stomach. “Ss-stop.” 

“Really?” Buggy asked, annoyed.

Under any other circumstance, his irritation would have been reason enough for you to push yourself, but you couldn’t. “You can… go on without me,” you said, your voice distant and ragged. “I’ll catch up, I just need…” 

“Don’t be stupid, dipshit. I didn’t go through the hassle of saving your sorry ass just to abandon you here. You’d probably walk right into the ocean and drown.”

You drooped back against the grungy wall, unable to think of a response. 

“Why were you wandering on your own anyway? I gave you one rule, and you broke it. You know, I’m starting to understand how daddy dearest must have felt. If you weren’t already busted up, I think I’d go after you with a belt too.” 

You whimpered, your head rolling back.  

“This isn’t a bad look for you, babydoll,” Buggy said after a moment of nothing other than the ocean’s distant roar, tilting your chin up towards the moonlight. “Not at all. How about a little sugar for your savior?” 

You couldn’t see his eyes in the dark, he was just a shadow. Numbness permeated your body, even though you were aware of everything. Everything, everything. The soreness of your feet. The pain pounding furiously against your face, the smell of blood mixing with the briney scent of the ocean. All of it, and nothing. 

“Okay,” you said softly.

Buggy grabbed you, pulling you up and against him. Kissing hurt bad, as if it wasn’t hard enough to kiss him standing up. He had to lean down and you had to tilt your head up, holding onto his shoulders. Buggy didn’t seem to care that it hurt, or that you probably tasted like blood. He kissed you like he always did, like he was hungry, groaning into it when you whimpered helplessly. 

You didn’t fight him when he grabbed your hand to press against the front of his pants, grinding your palm against his hardening erection and moaning into your mouth at the feeling. Entranced, you mimicked the motion, getting an even rougher noise out of him. Buggy bit your lip before pulling your head away with a fistful of your hair. 

“I know last time didn’t go so great,” he said, “but whaddya say to giving the blowjob thing another try?” 

“I… um…”

“You… what?”

“I don't know.”

“Come on,” he said, irritated. “I just saved your sorry ass from two guys. I deserve more than a little peck on the lips, don’tcha think?” 

Your ears were ringing. Or maybe that was the ocean. “Okay,” you said. 

“Try that again, but with a little more gratitude,” Buggy told you. “Actually, you know what, I don’t care right now. On your knees, honey buns.”  

Since your knees were already skinned, you crouched down on your haunches rather than kneel, bracing yourself against the slimy seawall to keep from topping over. Buggy got his cock out so quickly it was almost surprising. Based on what you felt before, he was already halfway hard. With your eye slowly adjusting to the faint moonlight, you could somewhat make out its shape. 

“Say ‘aahhhhh’,” Buggy told you, swirling his cock around in front of your face like a mother with a spoonful of baby food trying to feed a difficult child. Some part of you, way deep down inside, was rightfully disgusted by that approach. But it was like trying to make out the words of somebody trapped at the bottom of a depthless well. All that you could hear was the echo. 

Unable to think of any other way to handle the situation, you did what you were told. Let it happen. Don’t think. With a palm scratched up and bloody, you reached up to guide his cock, opening your mouth. In a way, it was better like this. Nothing else in the whole world made sense, why should this? You were already free falling and helpless and confused, at least this was direction. 

Buggy groaned when you closed your lips around the head, sucking lightly like you would on his fingers. Shamefully, the scent of cock wasn’t all that unfamiliar by now, and the taste was just an extension, almost overpowered by the tangy flavor of your own blood. 

Your mouth was already overproducing saliva, slicking up his dick as you bobbed your head forward. It was easiest to brace yourself with your left hand on his thigh and one of your heels propped against the wall. Buggy released his cock so he could replace it with your hand, closing your fingers around him. He guided your fist down to pick up some of the excess saliva, easing the friction as he pulled your hand back up the shaft. Like Pippa said, a handjob. 

Thinking of that seemed so surreal, doubt of reality infecting your mind now that the numbness really set in. Everything that led you to this point in your life was some weird dream, or maybe more of a joke. A disturbing, horrible joke. Now things were quiet, and that was better. 

Buggy groaned, his hips impatiently pushing his cock deeper into your mouth. You choked a little, slurping around him. Saliva dripped from the seam of your lips. Confused, your tongue raised to slide against the underside and you could feel his cock twitch in your mouth so you did that again. 

“Good girl,” Buggy told you in a heavy, hoarse voice, continuing to guide your hand up and down the base of his dick.

When he let go of your hand to let you take care of it, you didn’t stop. This ended in Buggy coming, that was the way it was. Even you knew that.

At least until something—or somethings—got beneath the band of your panties, worming against your pubic bone and down. Your yelp of disgusted surprise was stifled by his cock. Panicked, you pulled off, and Buggy didn’t stop you. A flood of saliva followed, splashing onto the sand.

“Calm down, it’s just me,” Buggy said, laughing and holding up his ungloved hand. Or, what was left of it. A curve cut around the squishy part of his palm and to his pinky. Everything else, you assumed, was between your legs, working under the confines of your panties, he wasn’t even using his whole hand. “You didn’t think I was just gonna leave you out to dry, did you?” His disembodied fingers dug a little deeper, curling into your pussy without any warning. You shuddered, clenching hard around them. “I guess not dry. You’re soaked. Is this from earlier?”

You shook your head, completely lost. “I don’t…” 

“I bet you get off on being saved. That'd explain why you're so damn pathetic.”

The ocean roared. Sweat gathered in a sour line down your spine, beneath your bra, along your hairline. You should have worn it up, strands that had gotten in the way of your mouth were now coated with spit, sticking uncomfortably to your cheeks. “What?”

“One more time, babydoll,” Buggy said theatrically. “With feeling.” 

That was, as he often said, a laugh. You had no idea what to feel. The well only got deeper, the quiet spreading. Even the pain seemed so inconsequential, the agonizing ache from where you’d been punched in the face a mere background drone as you opened your mouth wide to take his cock. This time, you had a feel for it. He didn’t need to guide your hand along the base, which was for the best because his hand was busy in your panties. 

It kind of seemed like you should have been disgusted by the idea of Buggy using his cursed powers for your sexual pleasure, but you were cursed anyway, and sin didn’t compound, it was a flat rate to be paid in full at the Devil’s convenience.

For now, you could just accept that it was good. 

Everything was too disconnected and disjointed for there to be any coherence to the scattered sensations in your body, but the friction of his fingers drove the far away part of your living self wild. Unobstructed, they could easily curl against your g-spot, his thumb on your swollen clit. It was kind of like a choice. If you wanted yours, you would have to take it. And of course you did. If it was from Buggy, you always did.  

So you slurped and sucked and bobbed your head, striving desperately for some release from the straitjacket hold of the quiet and the pain and the sickness and the fear and the dark. If you could just feel that fast fizzle and let it consume you for a moment, that was enough. That was all there was. 

“Fuck, babydoll,” Buggy swore. “I knew you’d catch on quick.” 

The muscles of his thigh tensed and trembled against your hand, his hips thrusting restlessly against the pace you set. It was messy and unsteady and disgusting and his fingers kept hitting your g-spot in a way that had your pussy weeping around them, your hips trying to roll into a body that wasn’t there, to get more solid friction. More and more. His thumb ground down against your clit, the calloused pad catching against a spot of raw nerves that had you seeing stars.

Time didn’t really exist, so you weren’t sure how long you were held in that hellish limbo of almost. Pleasure curled and tightened around his fingers inside of you, and you held onto it with a death grip, knowing that it was the only way you could make any of this okay. Or maybe you were just selfish.

Now it was like you were the one at the bottom of the well, feeling your body finally give in to the tension stoked to a steady burst beneath Buggy’s fingers. Your body took over automatically, squeezing him so tight it hurt, your clit pulsing under his thumb, your hips rocking back and forth in a way that threatened to topple you over. 

He had to pull your head back and forth by your hair to keep you moving on his cock, but you didn’t care. Nothing mattered except for that exquisite flash, that sparkling sizzle of warmth, that moment of invulnerability. 

Too soon, it was over. You sobbed hard around his cock, feeling like the sensations had been cut short, like it wasn’t enough in the first place. Ruined. You were still falling, still quiet, still trapped at the bottom of a pit in the dark. 

“That was it, wasn't it,” he said, pleased with himself. “It totally was!” He laughed hoarsely, and then groaned. “You know, it—ah, fuck it. Get up.”

Buggy pulled you off his cock, scooping you onto your feet. He shoved your panties down your thighs to release his fingers, reattaching them at the same time he was picking you up and scraping you up against the seawall, scrubbing you into the grime. Your panties dropped down past your knees, falling to one ankle before he grabbed your thighs to wrap your legs around his waist.

His cock was coated in your bloody saliva, and your pussy was soaking, he slid in easy and smooth. Buggy groaned low in his throat, but you just gasped, and then whimpered. The way his cock filled you now that you were already sensitive and needy was almost more than you could bear, too much and yet unattainably distant. You writhed helplessly, your inner walls tightening around him to pull him deeper, to keep him with you in the only way that mattered. 

“You’re so lucky,” Buggy told you harshly, his voice like a growl. “I mean, with a pussy like this, who needs talent? My little mattress actress.” He punctuated those words with especially hard, wet thrusts. Whining, your fingers dug hard into his shoulders, grateful for the stability of his body against yours. 

Your head fell back against the wall, light as air. Buggy clearly wasn’t trying to savor the moment. This was hard and fast and sweaty and filthy and nothing but sickly need and animalistic gluttony. He pressed his nose against the side of your jaw, breathing hard into the hollow between your neck and shoulder as he fucked you. Each thrust pushed you up and down the wall, knocking your empty head against the hard surface, punching whimpers and moans out of your sore body. 

Your eye rolled up over his shoulder to the little silver curl of the moon. It blurred into a pale smear in an endless sky. You closed your eye, your mouth falling open as you moaned helplessly, holding onto Buggy as he fucked you hard and fast. 

With an open mouthed groan, he seized up, pushing his cock as deep as he could, grinding his hips against you as he came. 

Rather than pull out and release you right away like you expected, Buggy kissed your jaw with an open mouth, licking your feverish skin. Then your neck, sucking as he pulled away as if to relish in the obscene noise. Your pussy unintentionally spasmed around his cock and Buggy inhaled sharply through his teeth, pulling out and letting you drop. 

“Good lord, you're a horny little shit,” he said, fixing his pants. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but there were no words. 

He stepped back, leaving you to lean against the seawall. “Aren’t you gonna… Fine, I’ll do it.” Muttering about how he had to do everything himself, Buggy crouched down to get your ankle back into your panties, pulling them all the way up and giving your pussy a little tap. “There ya go, kiddo. Now c’mon.”  

You weren’t exactly aware when Buggy finally half-led and half-dragged you into a bar. The walk along the beach, a shortcut to get to the docks, had been a dizzy stumble in the dark. You let it happen numbly because that was easier than trying to argue. 

The light of civilization shocked and blinded you, like an unwelcome alarm pulling you from a feverish dream. The sleep wasn’t especially comfortable, but it was better than being awake. The bouncer tried to stop the two of you as soon as Buggy pulled you past the door. 

“I’m sorry, we don’t allow…” He looked you up and down, concerned. “Is she alright?” 

Buggy threw an arm around your shoulders, smiling widely. 

“She’s clumsy. I’m just looking for my—Oh, hey, Crina!” he called. “Get over here.” 

You watched dully, trapped beneath the weight of Buggy’s warm body, as Crina came over. She looked at you, clearly unimpressed. “What did you do to her?” she asked Buggy.

“Whaddya mean?” Buggy asked defensively. “I rescued her from two idiots with a death wish. Can you just give her a quick little look-see to make sure nothing's broken? I’m fine with the eye thing, but any other disfigurements would be overkill.” 

Crina sighed, giving you another look. “Let’s go to the bathroom,” she told you gently. 

“Great, I’m gonna go get us a drink,” Buggy said, releasing you and walking towards the bar. You watched him go, feeling very, very cold. Actually, you felt like you were going to pass out. Or throw up. Throw up, and pass out, and probably die.   

Crina cursed under her breath, turning to the bouncer. “Get me some rags, ice, water, and… The bar should have something like simple syrup, she needs sugar.” 

“That’s not my job,” the man said. 

Crina cursed even louder, not under her breath, and pulled out a wad of money. “Now it is.” 

The man pursed his lips, but accepted the money. “Rags, ice, water, and simple syrup. Are you gonna pay for that?” 

“Yeah, put it on Captain Buggy’s tab.” 

He nodded, turning towards the bar. Crina had to support most of your weight as she took you to the bathroom. Your head spun, your body wilting and drooping. It was hard to stay upright, and you felt sour and cold. The world trembled. 

“My… my dad's a doctor,” you told her. “If you get him then… he's a doctor, he can…”

“Hey, focus on me,” Crina said. “What’s my name?” 

“Crina,” you mumbled. 

“Okay, good. You’re gonna have to get onto the counter, can you do that?” It took an impossible amount of effort, but you managed to scramble onto the counter with her help. You fell against the wall, your body impossibly heavy. She tilted your head towards the light, but you kept your eye closed. It didn’t matter. Nothing did, you just wanted to sleep. 

“You have to stay awake,” Crina said, tapping your uninjured right cheek. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I dunno,” you muttered softly. The world swayed. That’s right, you were on a ship. “I wanna… can we go home? We’re almost there…”

“No. Hey, open your eye.” 

Through a tin can, you heard the door open. “Don’t mind me, ladies,” Buggy said brashly. “I got all the shit you asked for and one of those Dirty Sunrises you like.” You heard him set the supplies on the counter by you, but you were too tired to look. “Oh, oof. She looks rough. You hangin’ in there, babydoll?”

“She’s in shock, she can’t have alcohol,” Crina said irritably, wetting one of the rags in the sink. “This might hurt a little,” she warned you before starting to dab at your face. It hurt, but you didn’t care. You would be home soon, and Dad would help you, and then you could go to bed, and everything would be okay. “This blood is dried, what were you doing that took you so long to get her here?”

“Oh, you know how she is, I could barely get her to walk ten feet before she was whining about being tired.” 

Crina scoffed. “And you helped her with that, Captain?” 

“What?” Buggy asked, his tone thin like ice and unnervingly flat. “Is there something you wanna say, Crina?” You opened your eye to look, anxiety spiking you alert. He was smiling, but his eyes were dead. 

“Captain Buggy?” you asked weakly. 

His glare broke when his eyes flicked to you, that hard smile replaced with a smug smirk. “See? She likes it.” 

Crina shook her head, grabbing the bottle of syrup and squirting a healthy amount into the cup of water. “This is gonna taste weird, but you need to drink all of it,” she told you. 

“Don’t worry, she’s getting pretty good at the whole not choking thing,” Buggy said dryly, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.  

You opened your mouth obediently when Crina raised the cup, drinking all of it without complaint. The cold water and the sugar were more of a wake up than anything else, and it cleared the sour taste of blood and cock from your mouth. You cleared your throat, coughing again, spitting more blood and saliva into the sink. 

“Okay,” Crina grabbed your jaw, wiping at the dried blood again. It hurt enough to make your eye water, but you accepted the pain. “It looks like he caught her left cheek. Her…” She paused before saying the word, stopping herself by clearing her throat. “Everything else is fine. It’ll bruise some, but the tissue around her eye is already so damaged, you probably won’t see the worst of it.” She raised your chin more, wincing at the shallow cut along your neck.

“If you think that’s bad, you should see the other guy,” Buggy joked through a mouthful of food. He was slicing off pieces of an apple, eating it right off the blade. “You’ll know it's him when you see the guy walkin’ around with his guts hanging out.”

“Is there anything else?” Crina asked you, ignoring Buggy. 

“I dunno,” you said, frowning. You felt a little more alert, but that wasn’t better. 

“She’s fine,” Buggy said. “A little pain is good for her, maybe it’ll teach her to listen to me.” 

Crina’s lips pressed into a line, but she nodded. “Maybe. I’ll get her cleaned up and then you can take her back to the ship.” 

“Great,” Buggy said, tossing the apple and putting his knife away. “I don’t know about you, babydoll, but I’m beat.”

You remembered that, after the funeral, Dad fully retired. At first it was to help you recuperate, and then it was for your safety. You were hurt because of him, because of who he was. That’s what he said when he was sober. You were hurt because of Mom, because she cursed you. That’s what he said when he was really drunk. Due payment. The price was her life, and your eye. The truth, you thought, laid in between. You were hurt because you deserved it, it was a consequence of who you were and what you had done.

Losing an eye worsened your health significantly. Not only the headaches, and the unsteadiness, and your ability to read and write for any length of time, but it also intensified the exhaustion that plagued you. You always felt cold and weak, so much that simple tasks took all of your energy.

Even something as simple as going shopping had become a laborious and tiring undertaking. People looked at you sideways, avoiding your left eye. They whispered about you. People who had once been friendly now smiled tight, polite smiles and excused themselves from conversation. And yet, somehow, the worst part of going out was coming up the hill and seeing your house, knowing you would have to go inside. No matter how warm the weather, or how merrily the sun shined, the house had an iciness to it. The walls absorbed the cold and held it there, bleeding out any warmth or noise that entered. Dad would say that was fanciful thinking. Dangerous thinking. And yet he so readily staved off the chill with liquor. 

You walked through the silent hall and put away the groceries, setting aside ingredients for supper, before taking a moment to compose yourself. The world, and everything in it, was so, so tiring. You were tired. Worn out all the way to the marrow of your bones, your flesh itself becoming as heavy as a thick winter coat. And your head ached. Always, it ached. You began to scratch at the scar beneath your eye before stopping yourself, pulling the bandana down instead.  

No matter how tired you felt, the day was not yet over. You stood up and smoothed your hair, taking the stairs with dragging feet. Dad spent most afternoons sequestered in his office. It was the coldest place of all. The hall leading to the heavy door stretched for miles and miles. 

You walked its length and knocked lightly, opening the door at his barked invitation. 

“Can I get anything for you, daddy?” you asked, peering into his dark office. He sat in the large, imposing leather chair, a mess of documents on his desk as well as an open bottle. He didn’t bother with a glass anymore. But his eyes were sharp enough, fixing on you in a way that made you want to shrink back. 

“Come in and sit down,” he instructed. You did so slowly, thinking quickly to figure out what he was going to say so you could get ahead of it, apologize or explain or whatever he wanted from you. When you were sitting, he looked at you, folding his hands beneath his chin. He stared and stared and you squirmed, pulling your bandana down.

“You’ve gone and grown up on me, haven’t you?” he asked.

You blinked, surprised. “What?” 

“I don’t know how I didn’t notice. I’ve been too preoccupied, I suppose, and now you’re becoming a woman.” He sighed heavily, rubbing his face. “I saw the blood in the laundry,” he said. “You’re bleeding.”

Your heart sank, your thighs pressing tightly together as if you were trying to hide evidence of your shame. “Yes, but I’m not hurt,” you tried to explain. “It’s… the blood, it’s not… it-” 

“I know what it is,” he said irritably. You closed your mouth, folding your hands in your lap. “How long?”

You struggled for the right answer, your confusion worsened by the embarrassing topic. “I… I don’t understand what you mean, daddy. I’m sorry.” 

“How long have you been menstruating?” he clarified. The more he talked, the more you could hear the intoxicated slur in his voice. “I assume it began before your mother died.” 

“It did,” you said, wincing at the reminder. He was so casual about the event, like it was merely something that happened. “I guess it was just… a few months before.” 

“How often do you bleed?”

“Not often,” you said. “Every few months. It’s okay, mom told me how to take care of it.”

“It’s not healthy for a girl like you to bleed,” he said, “it’s not healthy at all. It’s a filthy thing.” 

“But mom,” you began, having to clear your throat to speak properly. “Mom said it’s normal.”

“Your mother was wrong, and she should have told me,” dad snapped. “She never appreciated how frail you are, the sensitivity you must be shown. Your body can’t handle the stress of that muck. My sweet little girl…” He looked at you mournfully, dragging his eyes over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “I just don’t know anymore. Your body is changing, you’re changing.” 

“I’m not changing, daddy,” you said. “I’m the same as always.” 

“I saw you talking to a boy out there,” he said. 

“The butcher’s son?” you asked, confused again. And scared. The interaction had been polite and short, but you never knew how dad would interpret things. “That wasn’t anything, daddy. I forgot something and he was kind enough to take it to me, that’s all.” 

“No, that’s not it. You know it’s not, that’s why you look so guilty.” 

You opened your mouth to reply, but nothing came out. You were confused, and your head hurt, and this conversation was making you feel sick. 

“You’re old enough now that men notice you as a woman. They can’t help it,” dad said. “It’s your responsibility to shield their attention, otherwise you’ll give the wrong impression. Purity is the most vital trait in a young woman. Without it, you have no value.” 

“I’m sorry, daddy. I understand,” you said quickly, bowing your head, wishing very badly to climb out of your skin. 

“I only want to protect you, sweet girl,” he said. “Your mother… There was nothing I could do for her, but I will keep you clean and healthy. I’ll keep you pure, so you never go through what she did. The hysteria, the madness… No, not you. I’ll keep you safe.”

You nodded. “Thank you, daddy.” 

For a minute, a long, long minute, he merely looked at you, and you couldn’t look at him, preferring to stare at the floor. Finally, he broke the silence. 

“Come here.”

You braced yourself and stood up to circle his desk, knowing what he wanted. He tilted his head and you pressed your lips to his cheek.

“I love you, daddy,” you told him, just like always. 

He caught your hand, squeezing it to the point of pain. His eyes were bloodshot but sharp, and he stank miserably of alcohol. “And you know that I love you. Everything I do, I do because of how much I love you. That’s why I worry so much. You’re my sweet little girl. My precious girl.” 

Your medical treatment changed after that. Things you could and couldn’t eat and in small portions, the medicines you had to take, the examinations to make sure you were healthy. He said it was for your health, but you only got sicker. Weaker. And dad drank more and more, his temper flaring at the slightest provocation because of the stress. 

After the funeral, you hadn’t seen Randall almost at all. Whatever fling you had was long dead. He hadn’t become a Marine after all, instead taking up his father’s business. Dad was the one who broke the news to you.

That’s how you ended up in one of Mom’s ill-fitting dresses sitting at a corner table with other guests invited only out of familial obligation.

Even nearing fifty years old, and looking older yet because of his affair with the bottle, the Major cut a fine figure in his Marine uniform standing at the front of the room. People began to hush, anticipating that he was going to speak. Dad had that effect on people, a shroud of command. Just by seeing him, a person got the impression that what he said was important, that there was extra value in the words of a man like him.

“It would be remiss of me if I didn’t start by pointing out the obvious. I am not the man who should be standing up here,” he said. “This honor has been granted to me in the stead of my dear friend Harmon, as today it is the marriage of his son that we celebrate. He is not able to be here, that is true, but I can speak with authority on how proud he would be of his son. I know this because, although Randall is not my son by blood, he is a treasured member of my family. The pride I feel seeing him on such a joyous day as he takes this step forward in his life is immense.”  

He paused, giving that sentiment an appropriate amount of respectful silence. Randall’s mother—Harmon’s widow—dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. Dad gestured to the newlyweds, wearing a rare smile. 

“Melody, you are one of the finest young ladies I have ever met,” he continued. “When Randall first told me of your breathtaking beauty, I could hardly believe him—and I was right not to. You are even more beautiful than his descriptions led me to believe. There are few women deserving of Randall’s love, but I suspect there are even fewer men deserving of yours. Melody and Randall, congratulations to you both.”

Everybody raised their glasses, applauding Melody and Randall. The beautiful couple.

Dad went to Melody and offered his hand for the first dance, as he had practiced. She went gladly, taking his leathery old hand and standing as the first notes of the song began to play. There was a stiffness to dad’s movements from the life he had lived, an unsteadiness from drinking too much, but she made up for it with her fluid grace. When she moved, it was as if she were floating. You stared at Randall, wishing that he would look at you for just a single second, but he didn’t. It was silly to expect him to, considering the vision that was twirling around the dance floor with Dad. 

You turned towards the table, unable to keep watching. Other people were joining in to dance, but not you. Even if you had the inclination to do such a thing, you wouldn’t know how, and dad said it would be too tiring for you to try. 

It had been a bad week. He said it was the stress that was making you sick. Excitement and change, he said, were not good for your system. Only you knew the truth. It wasn’t stress of the mind or body, it was your broken heart. That was your most precious, and most painful secret. Dad knew nothing of your brief relationship with Randall, and you hoped he never would. It likely wouldn’t affect his opinion of Randall, but you knew what he would think of you.

Slut. Even after years and years, you remembered the way that Harper said that word. Dad called mom a slut a lot, and had even accused you of being one, but it was the dismissively casual voice of a child speaking about things she didn’t quite understand that remained in your mind.

A month or so later, you remembered getting a note, and you also remembered the one you sent in response. 

Northside hadn’t changed much, although it had been years since you sat on the old metal fire escape of the Slaughter. It was the only one of the buildings you dared to climb, since it was the easiest. 

‘Easy’ was a relative term though. You remembered how to navigate your way up safely, sure, but it exhausted you in a way it never had when you were young. Even just a few years ago, you had been able to get up here without a problem. 

Sometimes you could almost forget about your eye and frailty, sometimes you got to thinking about other things so intently that it faded into the background. But then you remembered that you were weak. That you could not do things that you used to do, or things that other people could do. That hurt. It hurt really, really bad. 

So you tried not to think about it. 

From your vantage point, you spotted a familiar figure round the corner, looking around for you.

“Hello there, stranger,” you called to him, waving. Randall looked up, squinting past the low-hanging sun.

“I don’t s’pose you’ll come down to me?” he shouted.

“Nope.” 

His shoulders slumped in exasperation before he approached the building, taking the first set of rusty stairs up to the second floor. From there was a ladder, and then more stairs.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” you said as he reached the top of the second set of stairs, unable to stop from smiling. Randall didn’t match it, too busy frowning, a line forming between his eyebrows. 

“I saw your message and got worried. Are you sure it’s okay for you to be out here climbing around?”

“I’m fine,” you said defensively. “I’ve been feeling better lately. Dad says it’s okay for me to be outside.” 

“Not here, though. He’d have a heart attack if you knew you were out here,” Randall said, frowning. “There’s been rumors that strange people have been hanging around.” 

“Dad said that’s not true,” you told him. “And I haven’t seen anybody, either. Have you?”

“Okay, fine,” Randall allowed. “But what would happen if you lost your footing and fell? You could seriously hurt yourself and nobody would know. What would your dad do then?” 

“You won’t tell him, will you? Please promise you won’t, Randall,” you begged. You couldn’t imagine what Dad would do if he knew you were going northside again, but you knew it would be bad.

Maybe you could imagine, you just didn’t want to. 

“I won’t,” Randall told you, “but you have to promise me you won’t come out here anymore. I mean it.”

“I promise I won’t. I just thought, when you said you wanted to talk to me, that it would be nice to come here. Like we used to.” 

Randall sighed, finally relaxing enough to sit down next to you, his feet dangling over the edge. 

“I’ve missed you,” you told him.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been so busy with the business and settling in with the new house and Mellie.” He hesitated, shooting you a concerned look. As much as you hated yourself for it, you couldn’t exactly blame him. You hadn’t taken the news of his engagement very well. But that was a while ago, and you were fine now. It was fine. 

“How is she?” you asked, forcing yourself to sound pleasant. “Is she adjusting to life in Barley?” 

“She is, I think,” Randall said, clearly relieved by your mild reaction. “She’s a lovely woman. You and your dad should come over for dinner some time, I think the two of you would get along very well.” 

“I’m sure Dad would love that,” you said. Realizing the bitterness in your tone, you quickly added, “I would too, of course. I just mean… You’ll probably have to ask him. You know how he is.” 

“I will,” Randall said, nodding.  

You couldn’t think of anything to say after that, so you didn’t. It was strange, you had spent the better part of the last month imagining this conversation, but now that it was happening it was completely lackluster. There must have been something he wanted to talk to you about, but you couldn’t tell from his expression. 

“How are you?” Randall finally asked. 

The question took you by surprise. It shouldn’t have. It was the only thing people ever asked anymore. You dragged your bandana down, making sure it was covering the scar. “I’m fine.”

“The Major seems like he’s doing much better.”

“Yeah, I think he is,” you said, glad for the easier topic. “Dad picked up a new project he’s working on with, um, with the trade routes and everything.”

“He mentioned it when he came by earlier. He asked for my help.”

“Oh?” 

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you, actually. I would like it if we could be friends, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable when I’m around.” 

“It’s not… discomfort,” you said softly. 

“Whatever it may be, I want to settle it. Not only for my sake, but for yours.” 

“I love you,” you told him, unable to meet his eye, looking down at the ground instead. 

Randall stiffened up, you could feel it. “You can’t say things like that. I’m married.” 

“I know,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I know that. Just… May I ask you something?” You looked up at him, seeing his uncertain frown, his awkward posture.

“If you feel like you need to.” 

“Did any of it mean anything to you?” you asked softly. “If what happened with my mom and my-my eye, if that hadn’t happened, would you love me still? Would we—would you and me be together now?”

“No,” Randall said.  

Even though it was the answer you expected, and maybe even the kindest answer given the circumstances, the single word was a knife into your heart. The pain of it struck you so profoundly that it took the air right out of your lungs. You nodded, your throat too swollen to even attempt speaking. 

“I would like to make it clear that nothing that happened has anything to do with my feelings towards you,” Randall quickly explained. “I do love you, just not in the way you wish I would. You and the Major have been like family to me. I would do anything to protect you, and to see that you live a happy life.”

“You don’t have to explain anything. It’s okay,” you whispered, talking softly so your voice didn’t crack, forcing an agonizing smile to try and smooth things over. You didn’t know if it was worse to see his pity or his guilt. “It was a stupid question.”

“There’s somebody out there for you,” Randall said. “Somebody who can love you the way you deserve to be loved, who can give you so much more than I ever could.” 

You nodded, looking down at the ground so far below. “Yeah, maybe.” You cleared your throat, pulling your coat closer around you like an empty hug. “I’m not… I don’t want to make anything difficult with my dad or Mellie. I’m sorry you thought I might.” 

“Are you okay?” he asked, always so concerned. 

“Of course,” you said, forcing another painful smile. You’d rather be chewing glass, but you hated to think that you were making things more difficult for him than they needed to be.

Randall nodded. “We should head back. I need to get home to help Mellie with dinner, and the Major will get nervous if you’re out too late.” 

“Not yet,” you said. “I’m still a little worn out from the climb up. You can leave, I’ll be fine.” 

“I’ll stay with you.” 

“I just need a minute. I’m sorry,” you said, focusing on steadying your breathing. “When I was little, I could climb these buildings and run around like it was nothing.”

“I remember that.” 

“It’s strange to think about. I can’t imagine what it was like to have that much energy. Even on my best days I’m so—so tired. Everything is exhausting, no matter how much I rest, or what medicine he gives me. And sometimes it’s… it’s more than I can take.” 

“Have you told the Major about this?”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head and smiling. “He worries enough already, I don’t want him to think that I’m…” Insane. Sick. Weak. “I’ll be fine. I’m sorry for saying anything. It will all be okay.” You sniffled, wiping your nose and fixing your bandana. Your body was still weary from the climb, but you didn’t want to be here with Randall anymore, so you stood up and brushed off your butt. “Okay, I’m ready to go.”  

13 Days Earlier

Your body hurt, covered in bruises and scrapes, and if you thought about the attack too hard you felt fuzzy and vague inside, but when Buggy let you lay your head on his warm chest, you didn’t feel as bad. 

He saved you. Every time you started to feel too bad, you thought about that.

“Why were you out there yourself anyway?” Buggy asked, absently tracing patterns on your back. 

“I was asking where you were so I could meet up with you, like you said,” you told him. “And they said you were at the Cove and then I asked for directions and… The guy said it was easy to find, that there was no way I could get lost.” 

“Who said that?” Buggy asked. 

“I don’t know his name, he heard where I was going and gave me directions and…” You frowned, realizing your mistake. 

“I swear, the jokes write themselves with you,” Buggy said. “I wanna say I can’t believe you fell for that, but it’s not surprising. The only thing that’s surprising here is how you managed to live as long as you have.” 

You sat up so you could look at him. “How did you find me?” 

“I got pissed that you were taking so long so I went out looking for my missing midget. Then I heard a scream and I knew. There’s only one girl in Lafitte who could make such a god awful sound.” 

You frowned at him. 

“Seriously, I’m shocked that their ears weren’t bleeding when I got there.” 

“You’re mean,” you said, dropping your head back onto his chest as it shook with laughter. 

“I saved you, didn’t I?” he asked testily.

You sighed. “Yes. Thank you, Captain Buggy,” you said, raising your head enough to kiss his chest before laying your cheek back down. That seemed to placate him, his fingers returning to tracing aimless patterns on your back. 

“I’m surprised pops was ballsy enough to send thugs like that,” Buggy said.  

“I don’t think it was him,” you said. “Those guys… I really think they were going to kill me. They mentioned somebody else, but Dad… Dad wouldn’t want somebody else to kill me.” 

“Clearly, they were trying to bait me out so he could collect my bounty.” 

“Maybe,” you allowed, “It’s just that, they really seemed surprised that you were there.”

“Why would anybody want to hurt you if not to get to me?” 

There seemed to be several answers to that, none of them that you much liked, but his tone of voice made you think that it was better not to argue with Buggy. 

“You’re right, Captain Buggy,” you told him, holding onto him a little tighter, affection and gratitude and relief swelling in your chest. 

“Of course I am. Trust me, babydoll,” Buggy said. “I know exactly how he thinks.”  

You remembered the dress you wore. It was heavy and black and unappealing. You wore it because being a shapeless lump was better than risking Dad’s disgust, or inviting any amount of attention. And yet he still looked at you with scorn curling his lip, commenting on how unfeminine it was. You told him that nothing else fit you anymore, which only made him unhappier. 

You remembered the door opening, and the woman who stood behind it. Melody was a tall woman. Not tall comparatively—everybody was tall compared to you—but tall. Rather than seeming bulky, her height accentuated the elegance of her lithe limbs and slender build. And she was beautiful. On her wedding day, she had been radiant. Now she merely glowed, but even that was entrancing. 

She invited you inside warmly, giving Dad a hug and kiss and accepting the pan of rolls you made for dinner to take to the kitchen. Randall came out to greet you both, inviting you into the sitting room for drinks. Dad had a bottle of whiskey for the occasion, and you poured them all a glass. You weren’t allowed to drink on account of your health. 

“You have a lovely home,” Dad told Melody. “Do you think your husband will lend you out for an afternoon so you can help fix up mine? It’s been sorely lacking a feminine touch.” 

Melody had the grace to laugh off the comment while giving you an apologetic look, shrugging off the praise. “I can't take all the credit, Randy’s mother has been a great help.”

“Yes, she has,” Randall agreed. “You know, I heard all these horror stories about the wives and mother-in-law’s not getting along, but the two of them are practically inseparable.” 

“I’m the luckiest woman in the world,” Melody said. “Somehow, I found the perfect husband and another mother.”

“Do you think you could spare one?” you asked, wanting to make a joke to establish your existence. But the comment came out off-beat and awkward, too sharp to be funny. Everybody looked at you. 

Dad was the first to think of a response to break the awkward tension, forcing out a laugh. “You’ll have to forgive her manners, we don’t go out very often.”

The couple also forced laughs and Dad gave you a look. A very stern, very uncomfortable look. 

You didn’t say anything after that, only faintly listening as they spoke and joked and enjoyed the company. You were enthralled by the ring on Melody’s beautiful, manicured finger. It sparkled and flashed and winked with every gesture. Her lipstick left a pretty pink imprint on the rim of the glass. Everything about her was so softly and viscerally womanly. 

Eventually, she declared that dinner was ready and you were ushered into the dining room. 

“Oh my, this is wonderful,” Dad said as he sat down. “Are you sure you're not intending to host a king?”

“Oh, you flatter me,” Melody said. 

“Mellie is too humble to brag,” Randall said, “so I'll do it for her. She went to a fancy finishing school in the city before we met. You won't find a finer hostess in all of the East Blue.

“Randall, how in the world did you manage to find this woman?” Dad asked. “You’ll have to invest in a good beating stick to keep the men away from her. Hell, I'm half tempted myself. Perhaps she could teach this daughter of mine some proper manners.”

“Come now, Major. You’ve done a remarkable job. She's a far cry from that scrawny little scamp who was always scurrying around northside.”

Did he mean that to be funny? You couldn’t tell if it was a joke or a barbed insult, and you weren’t sure which intention hurt worse. Dad laughed at it, but you felt something inside of you wither away. 

“I’ll get our supper,” Melody said.

“Would you like help?” you asked, desperate to escape the room.

“If you would be so kind.”

You followed her into the kitchen, which was as warm and inviting as the rest of the house. Perfect. Everything was perfect. 

“I just need to prepare the plates,” Melody said, bringing a tray of steaming food to the counter. “Randy said that the Major likes fish, so I made a seafood casserole. I hope that’s alright with you.”

“I won’t be eating,” you told her. “I’m… Because of my health, I can only eat some things.” Her smile froze in place, awkwardly stuck there as she tried to think of something to say to that. “It smells delicious,” you said, hoping to smooth things over.  

“Thank you, do you mind preparing the plates while I get the peas?” 

“Not at all,” you said, picking up the spatula. The casserole steamed enticingly as you began cutting into it, the scent of creamy seafood washing the kitchen. “What’s a finishing school?” you asked to distract yourself, setting evenly shaped squares on each plate.

“A school that teaches etiquette and manners and such,” Melody told you, setting the bowl of peas on the counter. She frowned. “It seems like a bit of a waste now that I live in a tiny little town like this.” There was a distinct hint of disdain in her voice, a sharp turn from the cheery tone of before. 

“Do you want to live somewhere else?” you asked, setting a roll on each plate and then finishing it with a hearty scoop of peas. 

“Hopefully. Randall might be convinced to move after his mom passes,” she said casually, oddly cold about a woman she called a second mother. “I don’t want to raise children here.” 

“Oh,” you said. As painful as it was to see him around, the idea of Randall completely leaving Barley hurt worse. 

“I’m sure you’ll understand when you’re older,” Melody said, picking up two of the plates. 

“I’m sure I will,” you agreed passively, taking the third. You wondered if she knew you were the same age, or if she even suspected that you had once been so close with her Randy. 

“It smells divine,” Randall said as the two of you reentered the dining room. She set her plate and Randall’s and you set Dad’s. 

“I hope you like it,” Melody said as you took your chairs. “I tried a new recipe and I may have misread the numbers. I swear, I'm half blind sometimes.” She froze, looking at your covered left eye. “Ah, I didn't mean-”

“It's alright, my dear,” Dad said. “She doesn't mind.”

You smiled, nodding in polite agreement, and then you stared at the table while they ate, thinking about the purpose of going to a dinner where you couldn’t eat and nobody wanted you to talk. You understood why Dad limited your diet to keep you healthy, but not why he was so eager to involve Melody in the conversation. It wasn’t adult conversation, it was fluff. Nothing stories and overly jovial laughter. 

So what was it? Why wasn’t he offended by the way her dress hugged her curves, or the way she flirted with Randall, or her drinking liquor or eating. She even swore once, covering her mouth and apologizing demurely after the fact, and he didn’t look even slightly displeased. He called her charming and beautiful. 

Why?

When they were done eating, you were eager to get out of the room. Nobody wanted you there anyway. 

“I'll take the dishes,” you said, standing up.

“Let me help,” Melody told you.

“Nonsense,” Dad said. You could hear the slur of intoxication in his voice, making it louder, brassy. “She's glad to repay you for this fine meal. Besides, surely you wouldn't deprive an old man of such enchanting company. Genuine ladies are hard to find these days.” 

You took the plates to the kitchen and stood there, listening to them talk and laugh. Nobody minded that you weren’t there, you doubted they noticed. Choices were rarely ever made as a result of one event or feeling, you often felt as if you didn’t make choices at all, but the cold, hollow way loneliness gnawed at your heart as you stood alone in that kitchen was undoubtedly one of the many chained dominoes that led to finding yourself tied up in the dark in Captain Buggy’s cabin, swimming in a drugged stupor of sentimentality and self pity. 

The next domino of significance fell while you were at the docks. There were two reactions you usually got. Either people were hyper aware of your presence and avoided you at all costs, or you were utterly invisible. On the docks of Barley, you were invisible. Since dad was there so often, you became a familiar fixture, and over time you blended into the scenery. The Major’s poor little daughter. Or, less charitably, his one-eyed freak of a girl. 

You were not spying on the sailors, or eavesdropping. You were nearby, and you happened to hear their conversation. Sometimes you did that. You liked hearing about the world outside of Barley. 

“It was a weird Jolly Roger though,” one of the men was saying.  

“All pirates are weird,” the other countered, obviously bored with the conversation.

“No, this one was really… Here, let me show you.”

You peeked over your shoulder to see what he meant. He was sketching it out on a napkin. 

“Yeah, wow, a skull,” his companion said sarcastically.

“No, look, it had a big red nose. Like this.” 

“What is that, like a clown?” 

“Guess so, I didn’t get a real good look at it in the mist. But it was close. I’ve heard all sortsa weird stories about pirates in this area, and I’ve seen quite a few ships that shouldn’t be there, but you never hear about raids or nothing.” 

“Ah, that’s all bunk. They’ve been saying we got pirates hanging northside for years and I’ve never seen any of ‘em.” 

Feeling something very hot and anxious bubble up in your chest, you stood up to leave. And, just by happenstance, you glanced at the picture of the ‘weird Jolly Roger’ as you passed by.

And then you went out into the blinding daylight with some giddy feeling that you knew something they didn’t. It wasn’t just that the Jolly Roger was weird, but that the captain who flew that flag was a freak. That’s what Dad called Buggy. The Clown. A freak.

The risk of breaking into Dad’s safe was very, very high. He didn’t know that you knew how to do it, and you hoped that he never would. He kept lots of boring things in there, but it was also the only place you could look at pictures of Mom. Maybe they were too painful to be left out otherwise. He kept something else in there though, which was files of pirates. Retired or not, Dad hated pirates. 

You found the wanted poster with a relative amount of ease, stealing it and folding it into the waistband of your leggings, relocking the safe and setting the security so he wouldn’t know you got into it. 

That night, you looked at the wanted poster underneath your blanket and you made a list. A mental list, you didn’t really like to write anymore. Pros and cons. 

Pros:

The pirate Buggy’s wanted poster. Dad said he was a clown—Buggy the freak. That’s what dad called him. A freak. His didn’t look as scary as other pirate wanted posters you had seen, he looked younger too. Maybe a little scary. You had to fold the paper to avoid looking him in the eye. 

People didn’t mess with pirates. Marines did, but that was different. Regular people, the people who lived in Barley, would never treat a pirate like they treated you. Pirates got to talk in all conversations, even if they weren’t wanted. Who was going to stop them?

It was your best chance at getting out of Barley, at getting away from dad and Randall and the cold, awful house. If Randall was leaving soon anyway, what was the point of staying? And you had no delusions about being able to run away by yourself. You wouldn’t know how, you didn’t even know how to book passage on a ship out. And then where would you go? Where would you live? What would you do to get money? 

Cons:

The chances of the Buggy Pirates actually being nearby was incredibly low. You could go northside after dad left and check, but, really, what were the odds? Even entertaining the possibility was dangerous, fanciful thinking.

You were too weak to be a pirate, too frail. Too sickly. You refused to think you were crazy, you couldn’t believe that, but dad said you were, and maybe you wouldn’t know if you were crazy.  

Captain Buggy probably wouldn’t take on a crew member who had no skills to speak of, no talent or experience other than maintaining a household. Not unless you could think of some really good reasons.

Dad would be alone. Nobody would take care of him when he came home drunk, or make his food, or clean up the house. Nobody would fix his clothes or shave his beard or love him when he missed Mom. 

Oddly, out of all the problems you thought of that night, you didn’t think that one of them would be the simple truth that Dad would never, ever let you go. You didn’t think about the time and effort he put into your medical treatments, or the way he kept you cosseted up in the house. You didn’t think about how protective he was, how combative he got whenever you tried to be independent. Now, with a bit of space from the situation, you could recognize those things as odd. But, that night, you were only worried for him.

1 Day Earlier

There had been a fight. A mercenary sniffing around looking for a one-eyed hostage. Although you had your doubts about Dad sending the attackers from the other night, that man definitely was someone Dad sent. Ivo said it was your fault, that you were bringing all of this misfortune on them, that you were cursed from the beginning. 

Buggy said you shouldn’t worry about it. He laughed it off. 

But you couldn’t. 

So you snuck away during dinner. It was a plan you had come up with laying wide awake while Buggy slept soundly next to you. You worried. You really, really worried. There wasn’t much you could do for him, no way to repay the debt you owed him, but maybe you could help. Maybe you could do something useful, something only you could do. Lafitte was as shady as they came, but it still had law enforcement, and you knew they had a Den Den Mushi that could contact Marine lines. After you slipped them a little bribe, of course. 

The guy seemed pretty amused by the whole thing. People in Lafitte weren’t really the types that called Marines. He left his office for you, but the door hung open. You wouldn’t have expected privacy anyway. It didn’t matter.

Taking a deep breath, you dialed the number and waited. As soon as you heard it connect, your posture straightened out with a zip of electricity, your heart thundering hard in your chest. 

“Daddy?” you asked. “It’s me.” He didn’t say anything at first, and you wondered if the line was dead somehow, or maybe the number was different and it wasn’t him. “Hello?” you asked, confused and nervous that this had all been for nothing. 

“Is it really you?” he asked. His voice, even like this, was enough to make your heart ache. The feeling ran counter to your nerves, something painful and mushy and filled with longing. You missed him. 

“Yes, daddy. It’s me.” 

“Is he there? The pirate—that clown. Is he with you?”

“No, it’s just me. I wanted to talk to you. I…” You weren’t sure what to say. Tears burned in your eye, the conflict of love and fear choking you. It wasn’t the first time you regretted running away, but right then the feeling was more intense than any you had ever felt. It hurt. Physically, it hurt you. “I miss you, daddy.”   

“Does he know where you are? Are you safe?” he asked. “If you can, hide. I’ll have men there to rescue you as soon as possible and then I’ll get you home. I’ll murder that bastard for what he’s done. I need you to tell me everything.”

“No, that’s not why I called,” you told him, shaking your head. Nausea swam unsteadily in your stomach. Your hands shook violently enough that holding the mouthpiece took both of them. “I wanted to tell you that I’m safe, I’m fine. I-I love you, daddy. So you don’t—you don’t need to look for me anymore.” 

There was a long, long moment of heavy silence.

“Did he tell you to say this? What does he want?” 

“Captain Buggy doesn't know I’m calling you, but I need you to know that you don’t have to look for me anymore,” you said. “Please. I just want to… Please stop looking for me. I know you think I’m sick, but I’m-I’m not. I’m fine, I’m happy.”

“Happy?” he repeated. His tone of voice shot ice water all the way down into your gut, every single alarm bell in your head ringing at full volume. A cold sweat broke out on the back of your neck and you looked around, anticipating violence even though you knew he wasn’t actually there.

“He hired me,” you said. “I’m on his crew and-”

“A pirate crew.” 

“They’re my-my friends,” you explained, shaking your head. “And Captain Buggy is… He’s not like what you think.”

“He’s a pirate. An egotistical overgrown child with delusions of grandeur. He’s exactly what I think. Whatever he told you, whatever promises he’s made to you, they’re a lie,” Dad said, his voice hard. “He’s using you. He’s taking advantage of your weak mind. Once he’s done enjoying and exploiting the fruits of my labor, he’ll throw you away without a second thought. I imagine he’ll try to ransom you back to me, or perhaps sell you off to the highest bidder. All you mean to him is money and a warm body.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head fast. “No, that’s… No.”

“What else do you think would make you worthy of his attention? I have tried to mold you into a good, useful girl, but you’re sickly and you’re weak. You’re not smart or capable or beautiful. You’re practically a child. You need to be taken care of and given strict direction. The only reason a man would want a girl like you is because you’re easy and because you’re my daughter, don’t you understand? That’s why I’ve tried so hard to protect you. I never should have trusted you to be left on your own.” He sighed. “Help me arrest them and I will do what I can to protect you.”

“What?”

“Your Captain Buggy will be caught, and I’d wager it will happen soon. Give me information about him, and I will ask that you’re spared execution and released into my custody for treatment.” 

“I can’t do that,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you want to come home?” 

You blinked out a single tear, staring hard at the desk. “A little,” you admitted weakly. “But I… I can’t. I made a promise. I’m sorry, daddy.” 

“My sweet girl, you’re not capable of surviving out there without me. You know that you’re sick, you know that you need me. This is the only chance you will have to beg for my forgiveness and help. Give me a reason to speak on your behalf. I’m ordering you to, as your father.” 

Your stomach turned painfully. “Daddy, I know that I’m… I don’t want you to be mad at me, really. I never wanted that. I love you. But I made a promise.” 

“When that man is caught and tried, you will be prosecuted right along with him. Has he told you of his crimes? He is a killer and a thief.” 

“I know.” 

“He killed Randall.” 

You froze, your heart stopping. For a moment, you could smell the blood and the old wreckage of the crumbling building. You could hear the way he screamed, the sickening sound of the blade getting caught in his neck.  

“I know,” you said again, barely audible. “Daddy, I’m begging you to stop trying to find me. Please. I love you, I will love you forever and ever, but I can’t live like that again.”

His facade broke with a noise that barely translated, a growl like sound. You flinched hard, whimpering. 

“After everything I did to keep you clean and pure, you turned out just like her,” Dad said, almost like he was ranting to himself. “Perhaps it was inevitable after all. You still belong to me. No matter what you have allowed that man to do to you, he cannot have you. I will find you, no matter what. You are mine.” 

With those words hanging like the final, solemn condemnation of an executioner, the line went dead. 

Slowly, so slowly, you hung up the mouthpiece. 

The man who let you use his Den Den Mushi seemed significantly less amused by you after having heard the interaction. You didn’t know what he might have taken from that conversation. You weren’t sure what you took from it. Disgust? Dread? Fear? Despair? You left the office with a brick of anxiety in your gut, the slow, sinking realization of what you had done setting in. It was all true. Dad was looking for you. He would find you. Calling him like that told him exactly where you were.

The sun was setting on Lafitte, you needed to hurry back to Captain Buggy. You had no idea what you were going to tell him. Overcome with sour nausea at the thought, you stumbled into an alleyway to violently dry heave, gagging on the sour bile that you squeezed out of your empty stomach. 

“There you are,” somebody said. You stiffened, turning fast with fresh terror making your heart race. It was not the kidnapping mercenary or Marine you feared, but a familiar round, red face. 

“Newt,” you said, relieved. 

“Hey there,” he greeted you awkwardly. “The Captain wants you back on the ship.” 

“Right,” you said, nodding and wiping your sweaty palms on your thighs, trying to hide the obvious evidence of your guilt. “Lead the way.” 

He frowned. “Yeah. I’m real sorry about this.” 

The last thing you were aware of was a sharp sense of betrayal, and then the cloying scent of some powdery mist Newt sprayed in front of your face.

The rest of it, sneaking northside with the vague idea that you were going to join the circus and be a pirate, converged with the last time you woke up dazed and confused and tied up. 

And just like last time, Captain Buggy was the one to pull you out of the stupor. He opened the door and flicked the light on, blinding you. 

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” he called, shutting the door behind him. He grabbed one of the chairs from the table that was pushed aside, swinging it around so he could sit on it the wrong way with his arms crossed over the back. “Sorry about the,” he gestured around. “I was hoping to get a cage up here, but it was a bit of a rush job. Maybe another time.”  

“Captain Buggy, what’s going on?” you asked, the words coming out mushy and heavy.  The light was too loud, too violent. Your head ached with each agonizing pound of your heart. You weren’t entirely sure this was real. Maybe it was another memory, maybe you were still lost. Maybe nothing ever was real because you felt awfully disconnected and confused. “Please untie me.”

“Only if you’re good,” Buggy said. “We need to have a little talk first. You’ve been a naughty girl.”

“You… you drugged me.”

He shrugged glibly. “Technically, that was Newt.” Oh, right. You remembered that part.

“Did he tie me up?” 

“Oh no, that was me. Couldn’t risk letting you make any more stupid decisions. Although,” he leaned forward to speak conspiratorially, “between you and me, it’s hotter than I thought it would be. If I weren’t so pissed right now things would be going very differently.” 

“What?” you asked. 

“Exactly, I’m glad you asked, babydoll. Because of your little stunt, we had to leave Lafitte early.”

Stunt. That one took you a moment, but the grief and despair was quick to rush back in right alongside the fear and uncertainty. “No,” you muttered, shaking your head in denial of it. “I’m sorry, I-” 

“Do you know why your dad only told a few trusted mercenaries and Marines that his daughter had been kidnapped?” Buggy asked, cutting you off. “Because, unlike you, he’s not a moron. Plastering your name and face on missing posters would be an advertisement to all of his old enemies that he misplaced most of his most valuable assets. If the Surgeon really wanted to save you, he had to do it quietly.”

“You’re… It’s because I called him, right? I just wanted to ask him to stop looking for me,” you tried to explain, although you could hear how cheap that excuse sounded.

“Did you now?” Buggy asked, his voice dripping with condescension. “Well, dipshit, what you actually did was let him know that you left because you wanted to. Now daddy dearest doesn’t care one bit if his little girl gets roughed up, she’s used goods and he’s got a bigger prize in sight.”

“What prize?” 

“Me,” Buggy emphatically answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And you,” he pointed at you, “are nothin’ but bait.” 

You frowned, your mind lagging behind trying to keep up with what he was saying. The anesthetic still gunked up the insides of your head, made your body all heavy and uncoordinated. “I don’t… understand,” you told him. 

“The news is that the Surgeon’s beloved daughter had been kidnapped by the Buggy Pirates. I’ll give it to him, that was bold. He’s trying to get everybody else to do his job so he can come in during the third act and collect my bounty. I can see it now—” Buggy raised his hands as if to showcase a marquee. “Past his prime has-been Marine takes the stage for the final time to stop one of the most infamous pirates in all of the East Blue.” His hands dropped. “Unfortunately, it’s a tragedy. For him. Sure, we’ll have to premiere sooner than I would like, not great, but it’s gonna make waves, babydoll. All this is just free marketing.”  

“Is that…” 

“Is that what?” Buggy asked. 

“Is that why you're mad at me, captain?” you asked, hating the feeling of embarrassed, pained tears pricking the corner of your eye, making your chin wobble. 

“Oh no,” Buggy said. “I’m not mad at you for that, sweetheart. I mean, I’m a little mad, but I’m not exactly surprised that you would run off and call home. I’d even say it was convenient if you had waited a day or two. No, I’m worried about you—about your loyalty. I heard your conversation with pops and I’ve gotta say,” Buggy clicked his tongue in disapproval, “yikes.” 

“You were spying on me?” you asked. “How? Why?” 

“Because I’m not stupid. I knew I couldn’t trust that you’d be honest with me about your conversation with him, and now I see why. Seriously, I did not expect it to be that bad. Shit’s nauseating. I knew you were a little stunted—mentally and physically—but hearing it firsthand... Bleh. You know what you sounded like? Daddy’s little princess. There’s something weird going on there and since you were a virgin when I got you, I can only think that maybe you’re not nearly as dedicated to me as you keep saying you are. That’s what this is, right? You’re playing both sides, waiting to see who comes out on top?” 

“No, I’m loyal to you, Captain Buggy,” you said. 

He gave you a flat look. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“I called him because… Because I thought it would make him stop. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, right. Because you didn’t believe me when I told you that I’d take care of you, right? That’s what you’re saying. But you trusted that daddy would do what you asked if you said it real sweet. Is that it?”

“I wanted to help,” you said, trying very hard not to cry. 

“You said you love him, was that supposed to be helpful too?” 

“No, that’s… He’s my dad, Captain Buggy.”

“You chose to come to me. You wanted to leave him.” 

“He’s still my dad.”  

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Buggy exclaimed, standing up and kicking the chair away. You yelped, curling in on yourself. “You know who takes care of you now?” He demanded loudly. “Captain Buggy.” 

“He’s the only family I have.”

“What,” Buggy asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’m not enough?” 

“No, that’s not-”

“If you think about it, I’m a way better dad to you than he ever was.”

“No, he…  it’s different, Captain Buggy,” you said, struggling to get the words out because you couldn’t fight the tears anymore.

“I feed you, clothe you, look after you. I keep you safe and I let you come every single day. What did he do? Beat you? Make you feel like shit?”

“Captain-”

“Why don’t you love me more than him?”

“Please-”

“What more could you possibly expect me to do!? I swear, you’re just like the rest of them. Ungrateful, miserable little—”

“Captain Buggy, please stop yelling!” you cried desperately. “I’m so-so sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, really, I’m-” Your words cut off with a broken sob. You couldn’t even wipe your eye or nose, having to hide your face against your knees to clean up some of the mess. “You know I only want you, you ha-aave to know I do. I would do ah-anything for you. I thought if I—if I could help you, then… I’m so so-” You couldn’t finish the apology, your words cracking over one another in your incoherent, blubbering haste to get them out.

He didn’t respond right away, leaving you to sob pathetically in the ensuing silence. Now that you were crying, it was like everything was flooding out. Every memory your brain saw fit to replay, every feeling of despair and sadness and misery and pain and loss and the acute ache of disappointing the only two people in your life who had ever really mattered, all of it gushed out all at once. 

“Aw, shit. Hey,” Buggy finally said, crouching down next to you. When you looked up at him, he pulled a face. He didn’t look angry though. “Eee—yikes, that’s… Okay, look. Let’s just take five, okay? Cool down a little bit. I didn’t mean that thing I said before about you being… You know. So, um, can you just… Not do this,” he gestured to your face, “anymore.” 

You sniffed, looking up in an attempt to stop the tears. “I’m sorry,” you said again, your voice breaking. 

“Yeah, I got that part. Okay, here, let’s…” Buggy flicked out his knife and sawed through the ropes around your wrists. You sniffled, trying to mop up your face as soon as you could use your hands. “Jeez,” he said, “that is a lot of snot.” 

That just made you sob more, you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“No, hey, I don’t even mind,” Buggy said quickly, clearly trying to placate you. “C’mere, you snotty lil brat.” He grabbed you, forcibly pulling you against his shoulder. Without any hesitation, you threw your arms around his neck, clinging to him. Buggy grunted, rocking back before stabilizing himself and awkwardly patting your head.

“Yeah,” he said. “There, there.” 

“I’m ss-oo, so sorry, Captain Buggy,” you said, your voice muffled by the way your face was squished against his chest. 

“I know,” Buggy said. “This really is a disgusting amount of—you’ve only got one eye that can actually cry, where is this all coming from?”  

He settled his arm around you like a hug. Even awkward and not at all comfortable, Buggy was holding you while you cried. When was the last time anyone did that? You couldn’t remember. Every other pair of arms you had sought refuge in had been cold or hard or unwelcoming, but Buggy wasn’t. He was warm and solid and scary and cranky and cruel and funny and handsome and he was all you had and-

“Captain Buggy, I love you,” you said. 

“Aw, babydoll,” Buggy cooed. “I know you do.” 

“No—oh.” You sniffled, wiping at your face as you pulled away to look at him. “I don’t mean kissing or holding hands love, it’s…” You grabbed at his hand, pulling it up and pressing it against your chest, above your heart. “I love you. Before I talked to him, I guess I still thought that Dad was… That some part of him would—would care about me, but…” You choked down another sob, hating how hard it was to get those words out. “The Surgeon is our enemy, that’s all.”

“Do you realize what that means?” Buggy asked. 

“I know,” you said, forcing yourself to harden against the soft part of your heart that shied away from that. “I know that. But I’m a pirate, and he’s a Marine.” You looked up to meet Buggy’s eyes. “And you are my captain, so… So whatever you think is best, Captain Buggy. I trust you.” 

[artiststarme]

What If Steve Were To Leave Hawkins? Part 13

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

This was a really long chapter lol! We’re almost at the end for this fic, probably a few more parts and then I’ll start posting what I have for the next story. I hope you enjoy this and if you have any ideas for the upcoming parts, let me know!

~*~*~*~

Later that day, Steve sent Eddie to pick up carry-out from his favorite Chinese restaurant a few blocks over. He was bursting at the seams to check in on Robin and update her on his happiness. She was working the night shift at Family Video and he knew from his own past experience that it would be a slow day so there wouldn’t be too many interruptions. 

With a peck to the lips, he shoved Eddie out the door and grabbed the phone in a single movement. 

“Family Video, this is Robin speaking. How can I help you?”

“Hey Robin, it’s Steve,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He had so much to say and so little time before Eddie got back with their food.

“Steve! How are you? How’s Eddie? You haven’t called since I last saw you so I wouldn’t know. What if you were dead in a ditch and Eddie was wanted for murder again, huh? Who would tell me? That’s why you need to call.” She rambled in obvious distress. 

Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion, “How would I call you if I was dead in a ditch? I’d be dead. And I haven’t been murdered yet so I think I’m good, I obviously have a good track record.”

“What? Why did you say ‘yet’? Do not jinx yourself, Steve. If you end up murdered because of that statement, I will find a way to bring you back just to kill you myself. You’re not allowed to die, Dingus,” Robin asserted. 

“Okay!” Steve breathed through a laugh. “I won’t get murdered. At least not before I ask Eddie to move in with me.”

“What?!” Robin shrieked. “Why didn’t you lead with that, you dingus? You just started talking again and now you want him to move in? I think that might be moving a little fast. Like, no offense, but are you even gay?”

Steve hummed and scratched his chin, “I’m bisexual, everybody knows that. And I’m dating Eddie now, he’s my boyfriend. I really like having him around and I know he doesn’t like it much in Hawkins. Do you think he would say yes?”

“Okay, we’ll come back to that later. I can guarantee that not everybody knows that, Steve.  But I know he’ll say yes. He’s liked you for months even though the idiot refused to use his words to talk to you about it. I’m worried that he’ll steal my best friend roommate privileges when you ask him though,” Robin said, more serious and comforting than Steve has heard from her since their last encounter with the Upside Down. 

He thought about her words for a moment before speaking. Best friend roommate privileges? “Wait, what? Why would Eddie steal your roommate privileges? Are you planning on moving?”

Robin giggled dorkily into the phone, “My acceptance letter from University of Illinois came yesterday. I’ve been accepted into UIC! And I know a certain dingus lives really close to the campus and might hopefully be on the market for a roommate.”

“Robin, that’s amazing! Congratulations! Yeah, I’d love to get a place with you. We could get a two bedroom and ask Eddie to move in too!” Steve started thinking about the idea in excitement before his insecurities caught up to him once more. “Wait, but what if Eddie doesn’t want to move in with me? I mean, I know I’m great in small doses but I know I irritate people if I’m around too much.”

“What?” Steve heard outside of the phone’s receiver. When he looked up, Eddie was toeing his combat boots off by the door. “Steve, I want to be around you all the time. I think you’re amazing. I was worried to ask if I could stay because I know I’m annoying and I didn’t want you to get sick of me.”

Steve was in shock. How could anyone be annoyed with any of Eddie’s antics? Anytime he thrummed his fingers against the counter, stuck his tongue out of his mouth, or rambled on about DnD, Steve fell more in love with him. “No Eds, I could never get sick of you! I find all of your habits hot as hell. I’d love for you to move in with Robin and I at our new two bedroom apartment. You’ll have to bunk with Robin though.”

Eddie let out a loud guffaw at his words. He had tears in his eyes as he grabbed Steve’s face and ran his thumb along the light stubble on his jaw. “Jesus Christ Stevie, I love you so much.” 

And with that, he planted a bruising kiss on Steve’s eager mouth. He would’ve taken it further had Robin not been a cockblock that decided to cough (i.e. hack) into the phone. “Excuse me! Be mindful of the lesbian ears, please. My god, you guys are ridiculous and living with you is going to be unbearable. I can't wait! It’ll be so much better than the dorms!”

Steve laughed in her ear, “We can’t wait to live with you either! We’ll start looking for some vacancies around here in the paper to see if we can get a good deal. When do you want to move out?”

“As soon as possible,” Robin groaned. “Both of my parents are talking about trying to set me up with local guys and I need to leave before I accidentally out myself or something. Find something quickly and I’ll start packing tonight.”

“If you’re really worried about your parents, you can stay in my living room here for a while until we find a new place. Eddie and I have to head back to Hawkins to pick up his van and pack up his room. Sometime next week probably, on my next day off. Will that be enough time for you?” Steve asked. She was his best friend and he had more than enough experience with shitty parents to sympathize with her. If she wanted to get out early, he’d make that happen for her.  

“I’ll be ready. School starts next month anyways so I should probably move to the area and find another job. Thanks Steve, and Eddie too I guess. Is he still there?”

Steve looked over to Eddie sitting at the small dining room table. He had noodles dripping down his chin and his wide eyes trained directly on Steve’s ass. He snorted, “no, he’s eating our dinner. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll work out the details, okay?”

She agreed and they both quickly said their goodbyes. Steve had Chinese lo mein and more importantly, a very sexy boyfriend to attend to. 

~*~*~*~

Roughly thirty minutes after she and Steve had ended their call, Robin noticed Dustin walking up to the door of Family Video. She rarely saw just one kid, usually they traveled in hordes. But today, Dustin was all by his lonesome and was stomping alongside his bike with a dejected expression marring his face. She almost felt worry for the kid but that quickly melted into annoyance when he lugged his bike through the doors with him. 

“Hey! Leave that outside, I have to clean these floors. I don’t want you trekking a bunch of dirt in,” She said with a tone full of judgment. 

Dustin turned back around and set his old bike to rest against the outside wall before heading straight to the counter and resting his arms on the surface. “Have you heard from Steve or Eddie lately?

She sighed, “yeah, I just got off the phone with him. Why?”

He pinched his nose in a manner he adopted from Steve and mumbled, “I haven’t talked to him since he left. I just want to know if he’s okay.”

Robin was shocked. She had no idea why Steve wouldn’t have called to speak to or even just to check in on Dustin, the kid he viewed as a surrogate little brother. It hasn’t come up in their conversations but she had assumed that everything was back to normal between Steve and the others. 

“Yeah, he’s fine. I don’t know why he hasn’t called you but he’s coming back to town next week to help Eddie and I pack so you’ll be able to see him then.” She assured him. 

Unfortunately, her words did not have the soothing effect she was going for and caused Dustin’s neck to snap back so quickly in surprise, he may have gotten whiplash. “You’re leaving now? Why? What did I do to you?!” Dustin exclaimed in shock. 

Robin looked absolutely perplexed, “what do you mean? You didn’t do anything to me. I just got my acceptance letter from the University of Illinois and Steve said we could get a place together in Chicago.”

Dustin’s eyes welled with tears, “He’s in Chicago?”

“Yeah, him and Eddie. After he comes back to help us pack all of our stuff up, we’re all going to get a place. It’ll be so much better than the dorms. And we can still come back and visit! Steve says it’s only a four hour drive! Eddie says he’s going to come back every so often to visit Wayne. We’ll still be around,” She reassured. 

Dustin looked absolutely heartbroken, “What do you mean pack all of your stuff? Wayne said Eddie was just taking some time to himself, now he’s not coming back? Does Wayne even know? I feel like that’s something he should discuss with him!”

“Hey! Dustin, listen, Chicago is not that far away. I’ll be busy with classes and work and Steve will have work too, maybe Eddie, but we’ll make time to visit you and the other kids. You don’t have to worry about us. I mean, I know the Upside Down is like completely gone but just in case, we’re not going super far. We’ll still be here if you need us,” Robin rambled. She saw the tears dripping down his face and tried to reel them back in but nothing was helping. Oh god, she was not the one that should be comforting him. Every word she said caused his lip to quiver more. Oh god. Shit, should she call Nancy or something?

Dustin’s emotions reached their limit and he burst into sobs. First Steve, then Eddie, and now Robin. Did he have to tempt fate and push all of his older friends to want to leave the state? Chicago?! Might as well be a different planet for all the good it did him. He had a bike, how the hell was he supposed to visit them when they were four hours away and across state lines? His shoulders shook as the sobs ripped their way through his chest. His breath left his chest in short pants and no air was entering his lungs. 

“Oh no, oh no, Dustin. Oh no, oh god, shit. Um, Dustin, I think you’re having a panic attack and I don’t know what to do with that. Um, take a deep breath and think happy thoughts. You’ll be fine! Oh god, please don’t die. Steve would never forgive me. Wait, I shouldn’t talk about dying, that’ll freak you out now! Oh no, breathe!” Robin’s pleas became more frantic as Dustin’s breath got less and less steady. “I’m going to call Steve. He’ll know what to do, right? Let’s hope!”

She ran from her spot next to Dustin on the floor to the phone situated behind the counter and dialed his new number. “Come on Steve, pick up, pick up…”

“Harrington and Munson residence.”

“Oh thank god. Dingus! Dustin is having a panic attack and I need you to calm him down. He’s freaking out and it’s freaking me out and-”

“Dustin? Okay, give him the phone. Calm down, Robs,” Steve softened his voice and started speaking to Dustin once he heard the labored breathing through the line. 

“Hey Dustin, it’s Steve. I need you to focus on your breathing, okay? Take deep breaths and focus on your chest moving up and down. Okay? You’re doing great. You just have to calm down a little bit more,” Steve could hear his breathing becoming more regular and kept up his reassurances. “Dustin, everything is fine. You’re alright. What happened, buddy? What caused that?”

Dustin sniffled, “Everyone is leaving. You left and I couldn’t talk to you. Then Eddie left after we had a fight and I couldn’t apologize. And now Robin is leaving! Is it because of me?”

“Of course not! I left because my parents didn’t want me around anymore and I didn’t think anyone else did either. So, I left and I found a place that I really like. Eddie hasn’t been happy for a long time in Hawkins and that’s not on you either. And Robin is going to school. You can’t blame yourself man. You didn’t do anything to force us to leave, you do owe Eddie an apology though for what you told him. That was a real dick thing to say, Henderson. But, we’re not leaving because of you. We're just growing up and leaving home,” Steve explained calmly in a tone he only reserved for the kids.

“And you’re coming next week to help them pack, right? Can I see you then? I’ve really missed having my big brother around.” Dustin whispered vulnerably into the phone. 

“Of course! I’ll take you out to ice cream or something while Eddie whispers sweet nothings to his guitar or whatever else musicians do. Just stay calm and I’ll see you then, okay?” Steve promised him.

“Okay! I’ll see you then!” With that, Dustin handed the phone back to Robin and practically skipped out to his bike. He felt like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. Steve was coming to see him next week and he didn’t hold any resentment for him. Phew, what a relief. He was still leaving town but at least now Dustin knew that they would stay in touch. That was all he could ask for and all he really needed.

Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20: Epilogue

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[something-tofightfor]

Your Eyes Outshine The Town

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader (Just Too Good To Be Gone pairing)

Word count: 9,586

Rating: M - language, light sexual content, but nothing graphic 

Warnings: If you don’t want to know certain plot spoilers from The Last of Us, you shouldn’t read this. 

Summary: Joel and Ellie’s first Christmas in Jackson is going to be special for a lot of reasons - even though the town’s celebration is a tradition you’ve become accustomed to over the years you’ve spent in Wyoming.

Author’s Note: An anon asked if I was going to write something for Joel for Christmas, and even though I said no and this isn’t what I *was* working on, it’s just as important. (That other piece will hopefully be ready to go for the premiere of the show, and it is SPICY). 

This takes place about 7-8 months after Joel and Ellie return to Jackson, and a few months after Help Me Get Away From Myself. 

Merry Christmas to all that celebrate - and to those that don’t, I hope you have a safe and happy weekend! 

To get alerted when I post new chapters/stories, follow @somethingtofightfor-shares​ and turn on post notifications - you can also ask to be added to my tag list (link in bio or at the top of my taglist reblog)

Just Too Good To Be Gone Masterlist

Song Suggestion: “This Christmas” by Donny Hathaway

When he woke up to snow covering the ground in Jackson for the first time, Joel froze in front of the window in his bedroom, staring out at it. 

It wasn’t that he’d never seen snow before; he’d seen plenty. 

It wasn’t even that he hadn’t seen snow in Jackson before, because it had been spitting snow for the previous week - squalls that blew through the city, coating the remaining leaves and branches on the trees and bushes for a few hours before it dripped away, leaving everything damp. 

But it was the first time he’d seen the undisturbed streets and sidewalks, the first time he took notice of the way that it covered the roof of the house across the street from him, thin wisps of gray smoke curling from the chimney in the early morning light. 

And when he looked back over his shoulder at his bed - where you were sleeping on your side, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, blanket pulled up to your chin, he let out a slow breath, closing his eyes and nodding. This is life now.  My life. 

Instead of having to worry about what the snow used to mean  - chilled, damp clothes and waterlogged socks from moisture leaking through hastily repaired boots, a lack of dry firewood, freezing nights spent huddled around whatever small source of warmth could be created  - that morning, the snow only meant that the entire city would be a little slower… and that he could take it easy. 

So on that morning - Joel’s first real snowfall in Jackson - he turned away from the window after giving it one last look and then climbed back into bed next to you, one arm slipping around your waist as he urged you back toward him. 

You mumbled something, the man unable to make out what it was, but you settled your hand over his and squeezed, sighing out his name. “Couple inches of snow out there.” You sighed again, humming - and that time, Joel did catch your words. 

“Knew it was coming.” You yawned, body stiffening briefly. “Go back to sleep, Joel. Just for a little while.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. 

— 

That morning was the first of many snows throughout November and the beginning of December, and as the days got shorter and colder, the snow melted less between storms. 

It turned the streets into slushy messes and the sidewalks into ice. It resulted in the need for either a fire to be lit constantly, or one of the multiple space heaters he owned to be plugged in and turned on - but he didn’t mind. 

He didn’t mind because despite the chilly patrol routes and extra layers he had to put on, it was always worth it to come home to his house and see Ellie’s light on, to see smoke coming from the chimney in her roof - to know  that she was alright, and that they didn’t have to repeat the previous winter. And we never do again. 

But even the seven months that he’d been back in Jackson - the integration into the community and the gradual decrease of his anxiety over every moment of every day - hadn’t prepared him for the night he’d been heading toward the diner to meet you for dinner and he’d seen a large tree in the center of the square, multiple people working to put it upright. Is that a Christmas tree? 

He’d stopped in his tracks again, blinking slowly as he watched men with power tools constructing a base around the trunk. It’s a damn Christmas tree. Making a mental note to ask you about it while the two of you ate, he shook his head and then stuffed his hands into the pockets of his tan jacket, raising his shoulders and ducking his chin below the collar of the coat. 

— 

“Of course it’s a Christmas tree, Joel.” You sipped from your coffee mug, the steaming liquid inside warming you as you swallowed. Wish it was coffee and not tea. “Didn’t Tommy tell you? He said that he was going to ask you to let Ellie know.” 

“He didn’t say shit.” Joel leaned back in his chair, the remnants of his dinner - runny egg yolks and toast crumbs - smeared across the surface of his plate. “I was just walkin’ here and saw that they were puttin’ it up.” 

“Yeah. Some of the guys hauled it back the other day. They pulled it down off the mountain behind my place.” You rolled your eyes. “Not like anyone’s been skiing there in a couple decades, so it might as well do something for this town.” 

You watched the subtle twitch of his lips at your joke, but Joel didn’t say anything else, keeping his eyes on you. It was strange to you sometimes, to remember just how much of life in Jackson he and Ellie hadn’t experienced yet, and Christmas - likely his first safe Christmas season, and maybe Ellie’s first real celebration of the season entirely - was only the most recent thing you could think of. 

“So you should tell Ellie. It’s nothing like old Christmas celebrations used to be, but she wasn’t… she won’t remember those likewe do.” Tightening your hands around the mug, you shrugged. “She might like it.”

“She’ll love it.” He reached across the table, fingertips sliding beneath yours and urging one hand away from the mug. You let him, twisting your wrist and pressing your palm to his. “Especially if there’s lights.”

“There are.” You grinned at that, eyes moving up from your joined hands to his face. “Not a lot of them, but there are lights. And since the tree’s huge, lots of kids make ornaments every year - out of pinecones and sticks and string and all that … and the night they turn it on, everyone hangs their ornaments.”

“What happens to ‘em?” You heard the interest in his voice and it made your heartbeat surge with happiness, like it did every time Joel let his guard down and indulged in moments of normalcy. “At the end of the season?” 

“Most of the time they’re ruined. Jackson gets a lot of snow in the winter, as you can see.” You gestured toward the windows, indicating the softly falling snow outside, and he nodded. “But the ones that aren’t a mess? The kids can take them back if they want, but most of them don’t remember what they made, so…” You shrugged. “They just get tossed.” 

“Do you want to tell Ellie?” He released your hand, drawing his back toward his body. “You are coming over tonight, right?” 

“I am.” You’d been spending more time at Joel’s place ever since getting back from the trip to the cabins at the end of September, but since what you had was still new, you didn’t want to wear out your welcome. “Where’s she at right now?”

“Probably out somewhere with the kids she’s in school with.” He scratched the side of his neck. “She came home earlier this afternoon and dropped her stuff of and then ran off with that dark haired girl, Dina?” 

“They’re probably at Dina’s house, then.” You took another drink. “If we head back now, we can get a fire going before it gets too cold in your place.”

“Yeah.” He stood, reaching for his coat and pulling it on, your eyes following his movement. “Even though when you say we I know you mean me.” 

You stood, too, holding back a snort, and only a minute later, the two of you were making your way down the snowy street and back toward his house, both of you with your heads covered and ducked down. 

Neither of you spoke much as you walked, hurrying toward your destination, but when you were safely in his front hall, the door shut behind you, you groaned, shivering as you took your jacket off again. He hurried into the living room and knelt down to light the waiting fire, and you followed, perching on the end of the couch cushions. “I only meant you because you’re so much better at starting fires than I am.” 

“Yeah, sure.” He looked back at you over one shoulder, smirking. “You just like watching me like this.” 

“You caught me.” Rolling your eyes, you tried to hide the surprise in your voice at the bold way he flirted with you - the action very uncharacteristic of Joel as you knew him to be, but something that was happening more as he spent each additional day in Jackson. “How can I resist you when you’re kneeling in front of a -”

“Anybody home?” You heard Ellie’s voice before you saw the girl, and even though you caught Joel’s flinch at the sudden sound, he relaxed quickly, turning away from you and back to the fire. 

“In here, Ellie.” Leaning back, you crossed your legs at the ankle, still keeping your eyes on Joel’s broad shoulders. “Both of us.” 

— 

“Did you guys see that big tree?” He was still busy with the fire, coaxing the remaining embers from that morning alight with scraps of kindling, but he knew the girl was excited from the sound of her voice. “Dina said that Jackson’s Christmas is really cool, and that everyone goes, even the people that don’t celebrate. That means she’s going to be there too, with her family, and -” 

“Slow down, Ellie.” Tiny flames licked at the wood, and once he was satisfied  that they’d catch, Joel stood, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “Apparently my brother was supposed to tell me what was goin’ on, but he didn’t. I just found out about that tree a couple hours ago, too.”

“I’ve never celebrated Christmas before.” The girl plopped down onto the chair, leaving only the space next to you open. Oh, you little shit. “What’s it like?” 

“Well.” You leaned in, putting your feet flat on the floor and resting one elbow on the arm of the couch as Joel sat next to you. “There are cookies. Lots of cookies. And some of the adults like to sing old Christmas carols. I was telling Joel earlier that a lot of the kids like to make ornaments to hang on the big tree, so you can definitely do that, too.” 

He watched as the girl’s eyes widened, Ellie looking between the two of you in excitement. He loved seeing that expression on her face, and though he’d only had the opportunity a handful of times - seeing the sunrise on the way out of Boston, looking out and over a lake on the outskirts of Pittsburgh, and when they’d stumbled on the giraffes in Salt Lake City the three clearest in his mind - he looked forward to seeing it more often. And now I might get to. 

“Are there presents?” You laughed at that, shoulders shaking as you leaned over and toward him, Joel’s arm going around you to steady your body. “Because I’ve read that -

“Yeah, Ellie, there are presents at Christmas.” Joel heard you clear your throat, the man’s eyes narrowing in anticipation of whatever it was that you were about to say. “But most of them are handmade - scarves and socks and clothes. Food, from the people that are really good at it.” 

“What else would there be?” She blinked, frowning. “I mean, what else do people need besides -”

“Back before, Ellie…” He paused, thinking. “Christmas presents weren’t about the things you needed. People would buy stuff just because they thought someone else would like it, even if it wasn’t useful.” 

“Like movies and music and video games.” You pointed to the shelves across the room. “That kind of stuff was what people wanted, to keep themselves occupied when they weren’t at work or in school.” 

“Jewelry was another big one.” Joel smiled - showing teeth - as a memory came back to him. “I remember one year, Tommy was seein’ this woman. Had to be … I don’t know, three, maybe four years before everything changed?” Ellie leaned in closer, eyes wide and focused on him, and he felt you shift closer, your arm going around him. “And he wanted to get her somethin’ real nice for Christmas, so he tried to find a necklace for her.” Joel rubbed at his face with his hand. “And I shit you not, it was probably the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, had this big ol’ flower charm on it.” He paused, laughing. “He was so damn proud of it, and when he gave it to her for Christmas, we were all waitin’ to see what she’d say and …” 

“And?” It was you that spoke up, fingers curling into the soft flannel that covered his ribs. “What did she think?” 

“She loved it.” Joel scoffed and Ellie laughed hard, the girl’s giggle warming the room up even more than the fire already had. Oh, I love hearin’ that.  “She didn’t take that goddamn thing off for months, and then when they broke up, he found it in his mailbox and smashed into pieces even though she was the one that ended it.” 

“Was he mad” Ellie’s foot tapped on the floor, her hands gripping her knees. “Tommy? Was he -”

“No. See the damn thing was made of real gold, and so he took all the broken pieces and sold ‘em and then he and I went out and got drunk.” 

It was a good memory - one of the last Christmas gatherings that they’d had as a family, a couple cousins and one uncle driving in from various parts of the state to celebrate, but he’d forgotten all about the necklace until that moment. Wonder if Tommy ever thinks about it. “People used to make Christmas lists, Ellie.” You spoke up again, Joel turning his head to look at you. “Put stuff on them that they wanted or needed so that if people were going to get them a gift, they knew what to look for.” 

“Do you make lists here?” Ellie blinked slowly. “Since there are presents?”

“Some of the kids do. They put things on them like toys and books and clothes and so a couple weeks before Christmas, someone takes all those lists and goes through what we’ve got in storage to see if anything fits. It’s not always exactly what they asked for, but usually … usually we can get something for everyone since we have so much stockpiled.” 

“I didn’t know that.” Joel’s voice was quiet, and when you met his eyes and shrugged, he knew immediately that you were one of the ones that did the searching, even though you hadn’t told him as much. “That’s real nice.” 

“Yeah. And it works out for the kids that don’t celebrate Christmas, too. The tree in the center of town is a Christmas tree, and no one would ever say otherwise, but it’s just sort of become … a symbol of the holidays in general. Warmth and comfort and happiness and all that.” 

“Makes sense.” He gave you a small smile - and a single nod of his head before turning his attention back to Ellie. “So yeah. I guess we get to celebrate Christmas this year, kiddo.” 

“Cool.” Her smile lit up her face, eyes brightening. “So when is it?” 

“The lights will go on in a couple days, but the town celebration is December 23rd.” You sat up straight, Joel watching as you adjusted the hem of your shirt. “So you’ve got some time. And,” you continued, turning your attention to him. “Since this is the first Christmas here for both of you, if there’s anything you can think of that you want or need… let me know.” There was another pause and then you kept going, Joel barely able to conceal his laugh at the glint in your eyes. “Because I can put in a good word with Santa Claus.”

Ellie, on the other hand couldn’t stop herself from laughing and the two of you joined her moments later, Joel pulling you against his chest and kissing the top of your head.

He hadn’t given Christmas much more than a passing thought in years - but as he sat in his cozy living room, laughing with the two of you, he knew that it wouldn’t be the case that year. 

– 

“We’re going to be late if we don’t hurry up.” 

Ellie was nearly bouncing up and down as she waited for you to pull your coat on, the girl bundled up in a thick jacket of her own, along with a hat and a pair of gloves sticking out of one of her pockets. “I’m coming. It’s fine, though. We won’t be late.” 

“What took you so long to get back? I thought you didn’t work today.” 

“I didn’t. Someone took my shift so that I could make sure everything was done for tonight.” You’d gotten sidetracked checking names on the gifts that had been collected, making sure that no one was left out, and before you’d realized it, it was an hour until you were supposed to leave. “Took me a little longer than I thought it would.” 

“Joel’s probably already there. He left hours ago for Tommy’s. Radioed over to make sure I was going to leave on time, and - “

“Well you did.” Smiling at the girl, you picked up your own walkie, pressing a button on the side. “Joel? If you’re still at Tommy and Maria’s, we’re getting ready to leave now. See you in a few.” 

It took a few seconds for his response - a quick ‘Gotcha. See you soon’ - but as soon as he’d spoken, you and Ellie headed for the door, the girl walking next to you with her hands stuffed into her coat pockets. “Did you ask for anything this year?” 

“No.” It was the truth - sort of. You’d hinted to one of the bakery girls that it would be great to have an extra loaf of sourdough so that you could make Joel and Ellie a nice breakfast on Christmas morning, and you’d put your name on the list for a replacement space heater, but aside from that, you hadn’t thought of anything else that you needed. Because I’ve got exactly what I want. “What about you?” 

“You already looked at my list.” She glanced up at you and adjusted the straps on her backpack, waiting a few seconds. “I know you did, so -”

“Yeah, but I mean … did you mention anything to Joel? To Cat or Dina? To Maria and Tommy? Anything that you didn’t put on that list?” 

“No. I didn’t… I didn’t want to ask for anything because it feels… weird.” You understood where she was coming from - and needed her to know it.

“My first Christmas here was like that, too. I didn’t want to ask for anything because it just felt… weird. The world’s gone to shit, and I’m asking for presents, you know?” She nodded, quickening her steps as you reached the corner of Kelly and Cache, making a right and going north toward the center of town. “It’s ok to want things, Ellie. You’ve had a tough year and a half, and I know that you’ve been through a lot more than most of the kids that grew up here, but you do still have a couple years til you’re an adult.” 

“I’ll remember that for next year.” She reached out and squeezed your hand, keeping hold of it briefly. “Why do you think Joel didn’t want to walk with us?” You had your theories, but didn’t want to mislead the girl - even unintentionally, and so you just shrugged, urging Ellie to walk faster. 

“There’s hot chocolate, Ellie.” You fell into step with a few other residents of Jackson as you got closer to the center of town, your eyes focused forward and waiting for the first glimpse of the massive tree and booths set up around it. “Hot chocolate and cookies and music. And sometimes, someone’s doing magic tricks and -”

“Last year at Christmastime I thought Joel was going to die.” She let out a shuddering breath and stopped walking, turning to face you. “And this year we’re here and we’re celebrating, and it just seems so… so fucking wrong, and -” 

“Ellie.” You stopped, too, and then stepped closer, crouching down so that you could look her in the eye. “He didn’t die. You kept him alive. And you keeping him alive meant that he ended up bringing you back here. And yeah, I know it’s a lot to take in, especially when you grew up in a place like Boston and haven’t ever experienced this before.” She nodded, her wide eyes glistening with tears. “I’ve told him this so many times, and now I’m going to tell you. There is nothing wrong with letting yourself experience life when you have the opportunity to.”

“But -”

“No. Ellie, you’re here. You’re alive. You’re surrounded by people that care about you. You get to be a teenager. It’s not wrong. You don’t need to feel guilty. That’s why we’ve worked so hard to make things in Jackson as normal for everyone as we can.” Reaching out, you laid a hand on her shoulder. “And that means for you, too.” You couldn’t imagine what those weeks had been like for Ellie and Joel, or what had gone through the girl’s mind during them - but you didn’t want her to dwell on the past. Not now. Not tonight. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here. But tonight … don’t think about any of that, alright? You two deserve this.” 

“I… I can try.” She sniffed, using the back of her sleeve to wipe at her nose. “For him.”

“No.” You stood, hand still on her shoulder. “Don’t try for him, Ellie. Do it for yourself.” You watched her for long seconds and saw the look in the girl’s eyes change from sadness and apprehension to one of resolve, her shoulders squaring. 

“Yeah. Ok.” 

— 

He was waiting for the two of you on one of the benches just outside the square, and Joel was doing something that he hadn’t had much time to do in years: people watching. 

There were people in Jackson that he hadn’t ever met, but for the most part, Joel was able to place each person that walked by - some of them raising their hands to wave at him, others giving him a single nod of their chins as they hurried past. But each of them had a look on their faces that he hadn’t seen in such abundance since before the outbreak. Happiness. They’re all… happy. 

And he supposed that he was happy, too - content and satisfied in a way that still seemed foreign to him on most days. But it was easier as more time passed, and he was stunned to realize that he didn’t feel like he had to be on alert at every moment - even when he was out in the open and exposed in the way he was while sitting on the bench. 

But it was more than that - he didn’t feel his heart twist in his chest when Ellie was out of sight anymore, and he often found himself leaving his house without a weapon, the only thing in his pocket his house keys. 

The rate at which he’d settled into life in Jackson had stunned him - and he knew that meeting you had been a major part of it. But also.. The way Ellie took to her helped, too. He still had his days - just like anyone - but while a year ago he would have thought it impossible that he’d be in the position he was currently, Joel found that he had nothing to complain about. 

That realization was reinforced when you and Ellie came into view, the girl’s head covered by a dark knit cap and yours shrouded with the large hood of your jacket. She was walking close to you, and for long moments, he did nothing but watch, making note of the way that the girl looked up at you, her cheeks rosy from the cold - and of the way you paid attention to not only what she was saying but also your surroundings, never focusing on one thing for too long. 

Unlike many people in Jackson, you hadn’t completely let your guard down despite how often you reminded him that it was safe within the walls, and he appreciated it. You looked out not only for yourself, but for the people that you were with, and when people meant Ellie? That was worth everything to Joel. 

He pushed off of the bench and made his way toward you the two of you, weaving through everyone that was milling around. “Hey, you t-” The words caught in his throat when Ellie broke away from you and sprinted toward him, throwing her arms around his body and pressing her cheek to his chest. What’s goin’ on? “Ellie?” He hugged her back, the action almost automatic in a way that he hadn’t ever believed would be possible again, and when he felt her trembling in his arms, he looked up at you, brow furrowed. 

You shook your head, mouthing the word “later” and he understood immediately, his hands moving from Ellie’s back to her shoulders. She let go a few seconds later and then took a step back, drawing in a long breath as she tilted her head to look up at him. “Sorry. I’m gonna go find Dina and Jesse. Bye!” 

She darted off, leaving the two of you standing a few feet apart. “What in the hell was -”

“She feels guilty about being here.” Stepping closer, you reached up, touching his stomach with one gloved hand. “After what you went through last winter.” Oh. “And about more than that, too, but you were the first thing she brought up, and I think it’s … it’s overwhelming for her.” 

“I’m sure it is. It’s overwhelmin’ for me, too.” Nodding sympathetically, you gave him a tight smile. “Should I go find her?”

“Nah.” Closing the final distance between you, you leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, the tip of your nose cold against his skin. “Just let her find her friends. She’ll be alright. And I’m sure seeing you here tonight with me and Tommy and Maria will help.” He hummed in reply, unwilling to let you go - and you didn’t seem to mind. 

“Can’t take you two anywhere, can we?” His brother’s voice from behind him startled Joel, the two of you separating, though he kept his arm around your shoulders. “Always gotta be right next to …” He trailed off as Maria took her place beside him, the man wrinkling his nose. “Alright, I guess I have no room to talk.” 

“You don’t.” You put your hand on your hip, leaning into Joel’s side. “I’ve seen the two of you Tommy Miller, and Joel and I aren’t anywhere near as bad.”

“She’s not lying.” Maria winked at him, and Joel’s smile grew, the man’s posture loosening. “Good to see you here, Joel.” 

“Wouldn’t have missed it.” Clearing his throat with a cough, he looked around the square, his eyes lingering on the tree. “Never would have heard the end of that from any of you.” 

“Got that right, big brother.” Tommy was smirking and Joel rolled his eyes, the four of you heading over for the hot chocolate table, each of you grabbing a cup of it. “Don’t tell anyone.” Tommy waited til you were a few feet away before reaching into the interior pocket of his jacket and pulling out a flask. “Got the good stuff.” 

You held out your drink just as fast as Maria did, Joel joining shortly after, and once all of your cups had been sufficiently spiked, Joel was surprised to hear the other man clear his throat and ask everyone to raise their cups. “What’s this, Tommy? I thought it was Maria’s turn to -”

“Told him he could have this one.” Maria’s voice was quiet, and he watched her slip one arm around Tommy’s waist, tucking herself under his arm. “Go ahead, Tommy.”

You moved closer, and Joel watched as you raised your cup and then looked at him expectantly, not breaking eye contact until he’d lifted his hand an acceptable amount, too. They’re all in on this, whatever it is. 

“To another year in Jackson.” Tommy paused, glancing down and then back up, his eyes locking with Joel’s. “To the first Christmas with my brother in … too goddamn long.” He sucked a breath in, eyes widening, and Joel knew that you felt him stiffen, but the slow movement of your hand over his back never stopped, the motion soothing him even though Tommy’s words caught him off guard. “To all the things none of us ever thought would be possible again.” 

There was more that Tommy wanted to say, but Joel saw him falter, heard the tremble in his voice, and so with a single nod, he pushed his cup forward and clinked the edge of it with Tommy’s, you and Maria joining in before all four of you sipped the drinks. Shit, I wasn’t expectin’ that.

You took the cup from him without him having to ask, and once Maria had done the same from her husband, Joel moved forward and wrapped his arms around Tommy, hugging him as tightly as was possible through their thick jackets. Damn, I really wasn’t expecting this. They stayed locked in an embrace for a long time, Joel’s heart pounding, and when Tommy straightened up, he was barely holding his tears back, lips pressed together in a tight line. “Won’t be the last, Tommy.” 

“It better not be.” You cut in, leaning closer. “Kinda like having you around, Joel Miller.” I like being around. That was all it took - and Joel didn’t miss the silent acknowledgement Tommy shot you, or the way his chest rose and fell when he took a deep breath after taking his cocoa back from Maria. “We’ve got what, twenty minutes before this starts?”

“Yeah.” Maria checked the clock, nodding. “I’ve gotta give my little speech in about twenty, and then we pass out the presents.” She sipped her drink as the four of you walked closer to the tree, more people nodding hello as you passed. “And then the party starts. The little kids are gonna sing for us, so …” She trailed off, clearing her throat. “So we’ll see what happens.”  Smooth, Maria. 

You split off from them a minute later, tugging on Joel’s arm as you pulled him off in the direction of Ellie and her friends, but you stopped short of reaching them, the two of you taking a seat on a different bench. “Just wanted to give you a minute, Joel. After the Ellie hug and Tommy’s toast, I thought … well, I thought you needed it.” You put your hood down before turning your head to look at him. 

“I do.” He leaned in, lips finding your temple. “Thank you.” You didn’t say anything in reply, but you did lay your head down and against his shoulder … and despite the fact that Joel wasn’t used to being so open with affection in public, he had to admit that with you, it was growing on him. 

— 

The time that the two of you had sitting on the bench was cut short when Ellie ran up, Dina and Jesse in tow. She stood in front of you, her hands on her hips. “Can we stand together?” She wet her lips. “For the presents, I mean?” 

“Of course, Ellie.” The words rumbled through him, and even with the layers separating you, you could feel his chest moving, the man nodding at the girl. 

You loved seeing them together - loved watching as their relationship changed in front of your eyes, and even though the moments earlier had been difficult, they were proof that being in Jackson was the right thing for both of them. They could still be out there. Still be … alone. He would have taken care of her, you were certain of it, but you knew what could happen, and that you didn’t want to even entertain the thought of it happening to them. 

Making your way over to where the crowd was gathered, you took your places near the front, Joel’s hand holding yours tightly, Ellie on his other side. Dina and Jesse stood close, the three teenagers talking quietly between themselves. 

As you scanned the crowd, you were struck again with how normal things felt - and even though it was only for one night, it made you smile. There were still people guarding the walls, still people out on patrol - even more ready and waiting to spring into action on a moment’s notice … but inside the walls of Jackson, you could forget about that for a few hours here and there. And we do. And it’s what keeps us … going. 

Squeezing Joel’s hand tighter as Maria moved to stand in front of the tree, Tommy a few feet away with his hands behind his back, you grinned at your friend, giving her a nod. “She’s going to make this short, Joel. She hates public speaking.” 

“Not as much as my brother.”  Joel snorted, the sound quiet. “No way.”

Maria opened her speech by thanking everyone for coming and making a few general announcements - that snow removal duty lists were posted in the community center, that hours would be changing in some of the stores to coincide with the colder days and decreased amount of light, that the food pantry was going to be freshly stocked early in the new year, and that typical amounts of things were expected. 

You were used to these announcements, and so while she spoke, you watched Joel, the man taking it all in with a look of surprise on his face - which you understood. You’d heard about Boston and rationing from Tommy. You understood shortages and fighting for supplies - and you’d only had to do it for two years while Joel and Tommy had done it for many. Just another thing to love about this place, Joel. 

You gripped his hand tighter, Maria’s words changing into the holiday portion of the night. She reminded everyone that while the Christmas tree was the focal point of the celebration, it was not the only winter holiday that the residents of Jackson celebrated - and that the night was meant to honor those traditions too, both through food and other decorations that were placed around the plaza. “And it doesn’t matter what holiday you’re celebrating, there’s never a bad time for a present, right kids?” 

A chorus of cheers erupted around you, and like many of the people in the crowd, you clapped and laughed along with them. Maria thanked you by name along with the others that had acted as Santa’s elves to make sure everyone’s wishes were granted, and at that, Joel released your hand and wound an arm around your shoulders, pulling you as close as he could while Ellie leaned forward and beamed at you. “It’s no big deal,” you whispered, cheeks burning. “I just like doing it.” 

“It is a big deal and you know it.” He murmured the words into your ear, voice low. “Take some credit for once.” Alright. Agreeing with a nod, you settled back into place as Maria called out names a few at a time, the children of Jackson walking up to take their gifts from her. 

Ellie, Dina, Tara and Jesse were called as a group, and you caught the surprise in her eyes as she turned back to face you. “I didn’t ask for -”

“Go.” Gesturing with your chin, you winked. She made her way to the front of the crowd and took the box from Maria, stepping back to where you and Joel were standing, her lower lip caught firmly between her teeth. 

“You gonna open it?” Joel shifted on his feet, curiosity in his tone. “Probably should. It is a -”

“Yeah, I’m…” She frowned. “This is my first ever Christmas present, so …” It made your heart thump in your chest, and while she was focused on the gift in her hands, you and Joel shared a look, a quick shake of your head enough to keep him from speaking. You both had gifts for her to open on Christmas morning, but you didn’t want to ruin the surprise. “Who’s it from?”

“Think of it as being from Jackson, Ellie. It’s not from one specific person.” You leaned forward. “But I did pick it out.” That was all it took, the girl tearing open the paper to reveal a brightly colored box, one hand pulling the lid off while the other held it steady. 

“Oh, cool!” She grinned up at you, the smile wider than you’d ever seen it on her face. “Art supplies? This is …” She swore under her breath, looking down at what she held in her hands. “Pens and pencils? New notebooks?” She went quiet, staring into the box, and when she looked up at you, it took everything in you to keep your composure. “Thank you. Thank you so much, I… damn this is cool.” 

“You’re welcome, Ellie.” Reaching over, you squeezed her shoulder. “Just make sure you have fun using them, alright?” The girl assured you that she would and then turned around to show Dina and her other friends her present, the four of them talking excitedly about what they’d received. “That went well.”

“You made her night.” He turned to face you, setting his hands on your shoulders. “Thank you.” 

“Of course. Anything to make her smile.” He stared at you for a few seconds and then leaned in, kissing you on the forehead. “What was that for?”

“I’m gonna have to leave you here for a little while. I hope that’s alright.” He stepped backwards, watching you with slightly narrowed eyes. “Stay here with Ellie?” 

“Where else would I go?” He didn’t say anything, turning away from you and stopping next to the girl, leaning over to say something into her ear. You watched with curiosity, and when Ellie stepped next to you again a few seconds later, her eyes bright with excitement, you knew that something was up. “What’s going on, Ellie?”

“Don’t worry about it.” You opened your mouth to speak but she cut you off, opening the box she held again and pulling one of the notebooks out. “What should I draw first? I thought maybe I could go to sketch the horses in the stables, but I’ve already done that, and …” 

She was distracting you and you knew it, but you let it happen, inching closer to the girl and suggesting a few other things for her to draw - the mountains, the town square, some of the people in Jackson, Ellie jotting down a few ideas on the first page. “You know, it’d be easier for you to hold that if you put everything else in your bag.” You tapped her on the back. “Why did you bring this anyway?” 

“I didn’t know how long we’d be out and I wanted a place to put my gloves and hat so I wouldn’t lose them.” She glanced up at you. “Habit, I guess.” That makes sense. “Will you help me?” You nodded, unzipping her backpack and then taking the box from her, leaving the girl holding only the notebook and a pencil. As you tucked the box into the empty pocket and zipped it, you heard the crowd cheering again, your gaze raising from her to the space in front of the tree - where Joel was standing, holding his guitar, Tommy and Maria next to him. “Surprise.” 

 “Ellie, what -” You watched as the younger kids began to make their way toward the front of the crowd, Tommy and Maria talking to the second man, whose fingers were wrapped around the neck of the guitar, flexing every now and then. “Ellie, is he -”

“Just watch.” She pulled on your hand with one of hers, and you stepped through the crowd, too, breath caught around a lump in your throat. 

You’d heard him play before - the man’s nimble fingers strumming notes on his porch and at Tommy and Maria’s, occasionally joining in with his voice, too, but you’d never known him to play for more than a few people at a time. And nearly everyone’s here tonight. “We can’t do anything about the singing,” Maria started, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. “But Joel’s agreed to play as a live backing track for a few of the carols tonight, if everyone’s alright with that.” 

The kids cheered and some of the adults - including Tommy and Maria - clapped, but it was Ellie’s whistle from right next to you that carried the loudest, Joel’s eyes snapping immediately to her - and then to you, his gaze focused but also a little smug. 

Maria slid the microphone into the stand and then lowered it, pushing it in front of Joel, who slung the guitar’s strap around his neck, getting it into position. 

The first notes rang out over the square - Jingle Bells - and the crowd immediately joined in. But you couldn’t take your eyes off of Joel, watching as he moved his fingers over the frets and strings without lifting his head, the crown of it - and his thick dark hair illuminated by the lights on the tree. For the first time in nearly 20 years, you didn’t join in with the carol singing, one hand lifted to cover your mouth instead. “Are you ok?” Ellie nudged you. “Is this a -”

“Ellie,” You turned your head as the song ended, Joel finally looking up and giving a single nod. “He’s here because of you right now.” She sucked in a breath as he started another song - Frosty the Snowman - the man lowering his head again as he played. “Remember that, OK?” 

“Yeah.” The girl sniffed and then nodded. “Yeah, he is.” You returned your attention to Joel, making note of the set of his shoulders and the way he didn’t fumble a single note, even in the cold. 

He played a couple more - short ones like We Wish You A Merry Christmas and Deck The Halls, and then took a pause, looking up and inhaling deeply. His eyes landed on you and you nodded, gloved fingers of one hand pressed to your lips. “This is gonna be my last one.” He cleared his throat, while still strumming, his voice audible through the mic even though it was quiet since it was positioned so low. “It’s about a reindeer named Rudolph.” 

The kids cheered again, and when Joel started playing the actual song, it didn’t take them long to nearly drown him out with their voices. About halfway through the song, you watched his fingers falter, though he caught himself almost immediately. But then, out of the corner of one eye, you watched as Tommy turned away, bringing one hand up to wipe beneath his eyes. What’s going on? 

Joel finished the song and then pulled his hand away from the strings, fingers curling into a loose fist, and you watched as he steadied himself by taking a deep breath, chin still tucked to his chest. The rest of the crowd was busy clapping and cheering, so they didn’t see Joel raise his hand in the same motion as Tommy - but you did - and so did Ellie. The girl said your name and you turned toward her, uncertain. “Why is -”

“I have no idea, Ellie. I’ll go find out though.” She glanced down at her notebook - a quick sketch of a man and a guitar visible on the page - and then back at you. 

“OK. Let me know if he needs anything. I’m gonna go and work on this.” Telling her you would, you made your way toward where Joel had moved off to, partially out of view next to the tree, Tommy close by. 

You didn’t want to interrupt, but when you heard what your best friend’s husband had to say, you didn’t need to. 

“Haven’t heard you play that in 20 years. Not since the last Christmas with Sarah.” 

— 

He’d almost made it through - almost, but then his fingers had started playing Rudolph, and he hadn’t been able to stop them. It hit him harder than he’d expected, the familiar notes coaxed out with the picking of his fingers, and even though he’d heard the crowd singing along, he hadn’t really heard them, the memory of Sarah and Tommy’s voices joining his in front of a well-lit Christmas tree in a previous life had been all that he could focus on. 

He took a moment when the song ended, catching his breath, and then nodded once at the crowd before he headed for the side of the tree and found Tommy standing there, the man’s eyes rimmed with red. “Fuck, Joel.” 

“Yeah. I know.” There was nothing else to say, and so he waited, pulling the guitar from around his neck and gripping the neck of it as he held it by his side. 

“Haven’t heard you play that in 20 years. Not since the last Christmas with Sarah.” 

He heard your gasp at Tommy’s words, and when both men looked your way, Joel’s chest got tight at the sight of your expression - eyes wide and your body rigid. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

“You’re not.” Joel spoke, taking a half step toward you. “Not even close.” You moved toward him and though you were hesitant, you reached for his hand, Joel looking down as you took it. For once, your hand looked bigger than his, encased in the thick gloves you wore, and it made him smile, though the expression was gone only a few moments after it appeared. “Tommy’s right, though. Used to play Christmas songs for us after we opened presents. Rudolph was … was her …”

“It was her favorite.” Tommy cleared his throat, moving closer, and Joel only nodded again, fighting back tears. “So Joel always played it last because he knew she’d go nuts adding in all the little … whatta you call them? The extras?” He laughed. “Like a lightbulb and like Monopoly?” 

“We used to do that, too. Right after ‘Santa came to say’ it was always the biggest, loudest ‘ho ho ho’, and -”

“Yeah.” Joel interrupted, tightening his hold on your hand. “It was.” 

“It was good to hear it again, big brother.” Tommy cleared his throat and reached out, clapping a hand on Joel’s arm. “Real good.” He pointed with his free hand at the front of the tree, where the crowd had started singing again, led by Maria and a few of the other women. “But I’m gonna go sing with my wife now, if that’s alright.” Yeah. Yeah, it is. 

He nodded in reply, and when Tommy had brushed past you, telling you to have a good night, it was just the two of you left - and he didn’t know what to say. You knew about Sarah. You knew what losing her had done to him, and you never pushed him to talk more than he wanted to about her. But tonight, I want her to. I want her to … “Did you sing for her, Joel?” Still holding his hand, you led him over to the bench next to his guitar case. “Not just for Christmas, but … when you played?”

“I did.” It was the right question - and one that he was more than happy to answer, Joel nodding as he zipped up the case. “Started out when she was little - I’d sing her nursery rhymes, the ABCs… all of those. When she got older, we’d sing songs on the radio together. She could play a little by the time she was eight or nine, and it was…” He sat back up, sniffling and wiping his nose with the back of one hand. “It was nice to have somethin’ we both liked.” 

“You took her to concerts, right?” He nodded. “Bet that was fun.” 

“It was.” He looked up, the clouds all but gone and the moon and stars shining brightly. “We’d try to go to one every time a band she liked came through Austin. Took her to see shows at the fair sometimes, too.” 

“I miss the fair.” You leaned your head against his shoulder, sighing. “All that food? The games?” That got a short chuckle out of him, Joel nodding as he rested his cheek on the top of your head. “Who was her favorite?”

“Can’t remember the name now. Something Drops. Was the last show we saw together before it all happened.” It was easier to talk with you about Sarah than he thought it would be, but even though that was the case, he felt his breaking point rapidly approaching. “Sorry I didn’t tell you about tonight. I didn’t know … I didn’t want to get your hopes up and then back out last minute.”

“It’s fine. I’m really glad you played. It was nice to see. And hear.” The crowd was beginning to disperse, everyone breaking away from the main tree and heading for the booths that surrounded it, and Joel figured that it wouldn’t take long for Ellie to find the two of you. 

You shivered next to him and Joel hummed your name, waiting until you sat up to look at him. “There anything else to stay here and see?” 

“Not really, no. People are going to start heading home soon. It’s cold as shit, and once the singing’s done, it’s just socializing.” 

“We should get going then.” He looked down, eyes on his guitar case. “Want to get this back into the house.” He stood and reached out to take your hand but you surprised him, bending down and grabbing the strap of the case, rising to your feet and sliding it over one shoulder. “I can carry that.”

“I’ve got it, Joel.” He opened his mouth to protest, but you shook your head, giving him a soft smile. “Let’s go find Ellie.” 

— 

Two hours later, the three of you were back at his house, Ellie tucked into her garage for the night and you sound asleep in his bed. But even though he’d taken you to bed - the sex slow and gentle, more roaming hands and lingering mouths than anything else, Joel was wide awake. 

So he slipped out of bed, kissing your temple and coaxing a quiet sigh from your lips before he turned the space heater on and headed downstairs, pulling his boots and jacket back on. His guitar was leaning against the wall in his entryway and he grabbed that, too, carrying it onto the porch and lighting the lantern before he sat down. 

He plucked a few notes once he was settled, but his eyes were trained forward - the man staring out at the street in front of him, on the single light in the neighbor’s upstairs window, and then, finally, on the stars again, his fingers picking up speed as he continued to play. 

The notes carried out into the still night air, and even though he wasn’t playing anything in particular, Joel felt himself relaxing, the weight of the emotion from playing in front of the town and playing Sarah’s song bleeding out of him. 

He wasn’t surprised when, a few minutes later, he heard the door open and you stepped out onto the porch, blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “Didn’t mean to wake you.

“It’s alright.” Shrugging, you lowered yourself onto the railing, bracing your back on the support beam. “Unless you’d rather I go back inside.” 

“No.” He played another note and then pulled his hand away, raising it to scratch the back of his neck. “No, stay.” 

And you did, leaning back and staying quiet, content to listen to Joel strumming the guitar in the frigid darkness. He was content, too, the man humming under his breath as he played, the creaking of the rocking chair he sat on quiet enough so that the music drowned it out. 

But when he switched to a different song and started singing along as he played, he heard your sharp intake of breath, watching the way you leaned forward as he brought his gaze in from the horizon to meet yours. 

It wasn’t one that he played often - and because he’d wanted to keep things short and sweet for the kids earlier, he’d only practiced it a few times after finding the Christmas sheet music he’d used to refamiliarize himself with the songs. But it was one of his favorites, and it seemed natural to play it that night. Especially for her. 

He wasn’t the best singer - and he knew it - but you didn’t seem to mind as you listened, head tilted to one side and your eyes closing briefly as he reached the first chorus, your smile growing from a small one into one that overtook your face. Is this really all it takes? All I need to be… 

When he paused between verses to take a breath, you stood, keeping your eyes on him, and Joel found himself unable to look away. I don’t want to. He stumbled over the notes but you didn’t seem to notice, leaning back against the wood again as you resituated the blanket, drawing it tighter around yourself. 

He finished the second verse and then started another chorus but stopped abruptly, setting the guitar down and standing, taking the two steps it took him to reach you. “Joel, wh-” You breathed out the words, unable to do much because of the way the blanket was wrapped around you, and let him tip your chin up, mouth opening slightly in surprise. 

“I know I’m not the easiest person to be around.” He stroked your lower lip with his thumb, frowning. “And I know I drive you an’ Ellie crazy sometimes.”

“You do.” You winked at him, Joel scoffing and blowing out a puff of air, his breath visible, even in the low light. “But we don’t mind.” 

“Good. I hope it stays that way.” Leaning in, he kissed you, his eyes finally closing as your mouths met. You stretched your arms out and enveloped him in the blanket with you, the pressure of your hands on his upper back pulling him in even closer. 

It was unbelievable to him that a mere 8 months earlier, he hadn’t known you, and as he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue between your lips and into your waiting mouth, he groaned at the realization that whatever he felt about the timeframe of your relationship, you likely did too.”We should go inside, Joel. It’s freezing out here.” 

You spoke against his cheek, but Joel didn’t move toward the door, instead winding both arms around your body and hugging you tightly, keeping you rooted to the spot you stood in. “I think I can warm you up.” He sighed, kissing you again. “In fact, I know I can.” 

The truth was that he was in no hurry to move - and for a man that had spent two decades of his life constantly looking over his shoulder and thinking three steps ahead, it was a drastic - but welcome - change for him. 

He felt it then, the thing that had been slowly growing inside him over the previous few months threatening to spill from his lips. Oh, shit. As he stared at you, again focused on the look in your eyes, he saw it in them, too - though he knew that you were reluctant to admit it. Because she thinks it’ll scare me. 

And it did - it terrified him, after so long of keeping everyone at arm’s length - including Tess - for the sake of ease. But as the two of you made your way back into the house, Joel grabbing the guitar along the way and you locking the door behind you, he understood that the terror he felt was a very different kind than he was used to. And it feels… good.

You both headed up the steps and back into the bedroom, Joel stopping to turn off the space heater before he climbed in next to you. “C’mere.” You rolled toward him and he pressed his forehead against yours, holding you like that. I think I’m fallin’ in love with you the same way you’re fallin’ in love with me. But what came out was something else - not quite as revealing, but still just as meaningful. “Can’t wait to spend Christmas with you. Didn’t think it’d be like this again.” 

“Yeah, well…” You kissed him, then, your mouth lingering on his, and he knew that he was right - that despite all of his previous objections and promises to do everything to protect himself, he did love you. An’ she loves me, even if we can’t say it yet. “You’re stuck with me, Joel.” 

He laughed, the sound little more than a quiet huff, but it was interrupted by you pushing him onto his back and staring down at him, the smile still on your lips. Alright. This I can … this I can do. “Gonna let me warm you up now?” With a single nod, your mouth descended again, covering his. 

—

tag list reblog coming soon! 

[cafecitowriter]

Death Is Only the Beginning - Chapter 9: Johann

Summary: Agent Peggy Carter disappeared near the end of World War II, during the climactic battle with the leader of Hydra: The Red Skull. While the Valkyrie never landed and millions of lives were saved, no one ever found Agent Carter - or even what had truly happened to her.

Nearly 80 years later, Steve Rogers discovers a compass with a picture of a beautiful woman inside the lid. For a reason he can’t quite place, he decides to keep it.

A/N: For Day 7 of Steggy Week 2024 at @steggyfanevents: Free Day, I bring to you another update!

And as you may have seen, I now know how many chapters are left (which aren't many!!!). I have the next one written which I'll post next week and am working on the last one, which will hopefully be done to post the week after that.

Posting this way earlier than normal because my schedule shifted and it was the only way to get it out before the end of day. While I wasn't able to get as much done as I hoped this week, as always I've had a blast seeing what everyone has come up with!

Enjoy!

Read Chapter on AO3

Read from the Beginning

“Where the hell do you think you’re going Rogers?” Fury barked the moment he took a step to the door.

“The VAULT. Peggy needs help.”

Fury raised his eyebrow at the use of the nickname.

“If Agent Carter managed to survive nearly a hundred years in a goddamn compass, I think she can handle herself for a few more minutes.”

“Standing between us and the VAULT are hundreds of SHIELD agents,” Hill added. “And until proven otherwise, we have to assume everyone not in this room - other than Romanoff, Carter and Stark - is Hydra.”

Steve let out a controlled breath. Hill had a point, but that didn’t mean he had to be content with sitting around for a few more minutes while Peggy and Natasha were in danger.

“Is there a way from here to the VAULT that would leave us mostly out of the line of fire?” Sam asked, sensing that what Steve needed in this moment was to take action.

“You’re asking the wrong questions,” Hill told him. “We need to know why Hydra would send an agent into the VAULT right now.”

“Because they would also be looking for the Tesseract,” Bucky answered testily. “According to Carter, Schmidt had been after that thing for years before it trapped them.” 

“Stands to reason that tradition’s been passed on through the generations,” Sam agreed.

“And if there are Hydra spies in SHIELD, they would know where to look,” Steve continued, unable to hide his own irritation.

“Exactly,” Hill pressed.

At all of their quizzical looks, she shared a look with Fury before he spoke.

“Hydra has had the Tesseract for two weeks.”

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

2019, North Island Naval Base - Rooster

Chapter 2 Part 2 of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Description:

Bradley loves being able to fly and still come home every night. That's the magic, he's sure, of working at Top Gun as a part of a squadron the Navy trusts with only the most sensitive of missions. Being home, having a home to rest his head, is great. But he can't help feeling like something is missing. Then there is Tinkerbell. He can't get her out of his head. It's like they're magnets, constantly orbiting one another, inexplicably attracted to each other despite it all. It being Hangman, of course.

It all comes to a head during a routine AMDO inspection. Bradley can't figure out why he so desperately wanted to jump to Tinkerbell's rescue when even Hangman didn't look worried. She's not a damsel-in-distress and he's no knight-in-shining-armor, of course.

Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships. Sex Dream. P-in-v sex. Smut.

This content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting tag-list requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story.

Warnings: Female!Reader

Word Count: 4136 

A/N: Hey All! This is officially Rooster's perspective on the events in Chapter 2! He's a very confused man, but hopefully we can see a little bit more of his thought process here. Happy Rooster Day, Everybody!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

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It’s officially summer in San Diego. Even at 5 in the morning, Bradley can already feel the heat rising. It’s going to be hellish trapped in a cockpit for hours a day. But San Diego has nothing on the desert. Once you’ve run flight patrols in 110°F heat, San Diego feels like a breezy cool spring day. The new class at Top Gun won’t think so, of course. They’ll be complaining the entire time. The sun will also make them sloppy, easier to take down. An upward climb, put the sun in their eyes, tone lock and that’s it. That’s a Mav trick, but damn is it effective. 

Other than the pounding beat of his feet and the sweat prickling on his temples and dripping down his bare back, Bradley feels good, great, in fact, today. When he'd just started flying, he'd never wanted to teach. All he wanted to do was fly, fly until he became the best of the best. A decade of hard work and a considerable amount of skill later and he can say he's officially reached that goal. Taking the position at Top Gun, disseminating the knowledge he’s earned with blood, sweat, and tears? It feels like the perfect next step.

That euphoric feeling is a glowing ember in his chest as he parks the Bronco in his customary spot in the base parking lot and gets out. A few spots down he can see a gorgeous cherry red convertible. The sight of that classic car, obviously lovingly cared for and painstakingly restored is another indicator that today is going to be a great day. At least, that is, until he sees who gets out of it. 

It's Tinkerbell. He can see the sun shining off of her thick glossy hair, tied back today into a braided bun. She's in uniform and has on sunglasses and is carrying the biggest cup of coffee he's ever seen. She's normal so cheery and chatty. Not today. A frown mars her pretty face and he can practically see the storm clouds over her head. Maybe she fought with Bagman? Where is he? He's always around her, which makes sense, in a way to Bradley. If Tinkerbell was his soulmate, he'd never let her out of his sight. Come to think of it, for the past few months, Bradley's never seen Hangman and Tinkerbell leave together. Not at all. They come on base separately, they go home separately and even when hanging out at the Hard Deck, there's no displays of affection. No kisses or hugs, nothing to show that they love each other. 

It's a conundrum. But really, Bradley can't pretend to know what their relationship is like. Just because his mom and dad were obsessed with each other 24/7, and showed it too, doesn't mean that every soul-pairing has to be. Though he hopes that his soul knows that he's going to adore them every day, unendingly and unceasingly. The first stop he makes is into the male officer’s locker room to change into his flight suit. The rest of the guys are already in the room, and he’s sure Nat and Callie are in the ladies changing room doing the same thing.

When the Daggers walk into the hangar, they find Admirals Simpson, Bates and Mitchell all arrayed at the front of the room. Bradley lines up next to Phoenix and exchanges a questioning glance with Mav. The wink he gets back is no help. Not at all. He notes the new class lining up across the aisle in his peripheral vision. It's all quiet as the assembled twenty-four aviators await their morning briefing. The Admirals don't start, however, until one final person walks in. 

It's Tinkerbell, in a mechanics jumpsuit, with a clipboard under her arm and still carrying that colossal to-go cup. The first time he sees her smile today has his mouth going dry. She's smiling and chatting with Hondo, too low to be heard, but still obviously jovial. She even winks at Mav. Bradley's so tuned to her that he barely pays attention to the briefing, snapping to attention only when Cyclone says her name. After a brief introduction, all eyes are on her.

Bradley's captivated immediately, chewing on his lips as he takes in her form. The jumpsuit she's wearing is generally baggy and not the most flattering. But on her? It takes his breath away. Tinkerbell lights up the room without even trying to. Bradley lets her sweet voice fall into the background as he watches her lips move as she introduces herself and what the inspection today involves. He’s immediately thinking of the burgundy shade her lips had been the night he met her. He has no idea how long he’s been staring when she stops talking and takes a sip of coffee. A drop of the liquid stays stuck on her bottom lip and Bradley’s fixated on the way her tongue darts out to sweep the liquid away. He can feel his pulse jump unsteadily beneath his skin and an tightening of his boxers. He’s never been so glad that the flight suits are on the baggy side.  She’s listing out aviators and that’s when Bradley tunes back in fully, listening for his name. Tinkerbell doesn’t say it though, and when she dismisses the aviators, he makes a beeline for Maverick and the other admirals.

It’s a few minutes before Maverick can talk to him.

“Hey, kid. Are you worried about an AMDO inspection?” Bradley has missed this. For years, he kept himself from having this, talking to his godfather due to his own stubbornness.

“Nah, Mav. Just wanted to know if you wanted to head to the officer’s lounge and get a cup of coffee?” This is probably skirting the lines of propriety a bit, but after so long, Bradley’s not going to give up any opportunity to reclaim what he lost.

“Can’t, kid. Cyclone and Warlock want me rotating between the two hangars. It’s our AMDO Commander’s first inspection round since her promotion. It’s her first test. They want to see how she does. Frankly, so do I.” Mav’s looking out over the milling aviators. 

“Maybe you and the Daggers can do the rounds as well, at least when you’re not taking part in inspections yourselves?”

“You got it, Mav.” Bradley’s quick to salute and leave, briefing the others as they walk into Hangars Three and Four and splitting up into pairs. For some reason, Bradley has ended up partnered with Bagman. As they make rounds of the hangar, Bradley can’t keep from tracking Tinkerbell. He’s unconsciously been following her all day, and when the changeover happens and he ends up in Hangar Three for his own inspection, he spends the entire time intensely aware of her presence. At least, that is, until Hawk begins pitching a fit at the AMDO in charge of the inspection on his plane. 

He's not a bad kid, Hawk, that is. He's just got a traditional case of the regular aviator ailment. He's cocky, arrogant and full of himself. Bradley's seen the files. He's like Bagman used to be when they were at Top Gun, always pushing the envelope. The only difference is, while Bagman knows not to talk back to superiors, Hawk clearly hasn’t learned that lesson yet. He’s already moving before he realizes that Tinkerbell is walking right towards the yelling and will reach Hawk before he will. Hawk doesn’t even seem to care that she’s right there. Hawk’s so loud that Bradley can’t even hear what Tinkerbell says to him. Bradley moves in closer, as he keeps laying into the Lieutenant, her surname is Green, if Bradley remembers correctly.

This is some test, if it’s what the admirals were intending. Hawk’s making a scene that’s got nearly everyone in the hangar milling around. But Tinkerbell stays cool under pressure. She pulls out an air horn from her utility belt and gives it one blast. Bradley’s ears are ringing and he’s at least 3 feet away from her. Hawk was next to her when she let the horn blow. 

"That is enough." Her voice is louder than he’s ever heard it. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor. If you have a problem with a member of my team, you are to come find me. You DO NOT yell, scream, curse, or berate my AMDOs. Frankly, you do not have the authority to do so." 

A handful of words and she’s already commanding the room.

 "You have two minutes. Tell me what happened. Plain and to the point. No flowery language, no blame games, just the facts." There’s a growl in her voice now. It sends shivers down Rooster’s back, and arousal simmering through his veins. But before he can lose himself into the new grit and sex inhibiting Tinkerbell’s voice, Hawk picks up a litany again. He spits out some glossily dressed up bullshit about how Lieutenant Green has been miscrewing panels back into place. Tinkerbell stands tall, moving under the jet to examine the offending screws. Of course, just as she wheels around to let him have it, he starts up again. 

"I mean, I don't even know why the Navy trusts such important tasks to women." Those words have Bradley’s hands clenching in anger. How dare he? It’s obvious he has no idea what it takes to be an AMDO. But before he can interject and dress the little idiot down himself, there’s an arm around his shoulder. It’s Hangman, jaw clenched but nodding 'No' at him regardless of his own feelings. His eyes say ‘Let Tinkerbell handle this.’ 

"It's not like any of you know how to even use a screwdriver properly." Hawk’s voice is oily as he gives Tinkerbell a once-over and clearly finds her lacking if the disgust in his eyes says anything. That look doesn’t affect her at all. If anything she stands up even straighter and gets a few steps closer. With a deliberate cool, she pulls out the air horn and blows a burst so loud that everything, even the ambient sounds of the wind seem to fall silent. 

"Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor, enough!" Her voice is like pure sex as she gets into Hawk’s personal space, one finger pointed at his sternum.

"Lieutenant Green's work is immaculate. While you've been ranting and raving like a lunatic over there, I've been reviewing her work. I dare say that your jet is far more aerodynamic than it was before you brought it here for the inspection."

Her chest heaves as she pauses. There’s a fire in her eyes as she glares at Hawk.

"As far as your other comments, I just have one question for you. I've seen your file. You graduated from Flight School. So that means you know everything there is to know in the NATOPS for the F/A-18. Correct?"

"Damn straight!" Bradley already knows that the kid has no idea what an AMDO does.

"Lieutenant Green knows the F-18 NATOPS, too." 

He’s confused? At what? Does he not know Lieutenant Green by name? 

"You know, the officer you were just calling stupid because she's a woman? She knows the NATOPS for the F-18, F-22, and F-35 forwards and backward in addition to the E-2 Hawkeye and C-130 Hercules. That's four planes in addition to what you know, correct? You clearly have no idea what an AMDO does. We don't just inspect your planes. We inspect the maintenance protocols for them. There's nobody I'd trust more to inspect a plane I'm responsible for than her."

Rather than focus on Tinkerbell, because that is a boner waiting to happen, Bradley focuses on Hawk. He’d feel bad for the kid, but there were so many warnings that it's ludicrous that Hawk hasn’t picked up on anything. His intelligence has to be exaggerated.

"Lieutenant Junior Grade, your conduct is unbecoming when speaking to a superior officer." Hawk's gawking with his mouth open like a fish while she lays into him. "Be assured, I will be speaking at length about your conduct to Admirals Simpson, Bates, and Mitchell. As for your treatment of Lieutenant Green, I'll expect a full written apology across my desk by 10 AM tomorrow. You're to report to Chief Warrant Officer Coleman for 300 push-ups while Lieutenant Green finishes up her work."

Hawk’s staring open jawed at Tinkerbell as she stands at her highest and stares him down.

"ARE WE CLEAR, LIEUTENANT JUNIOR GRADE?!" The hangar is completely silent as Tinkerbell’s voice rings through it.

"Y-yes, ma'am." Just when Bradley thinks he can breathe again, she turns her fiery gaze on everyone else standing around in the hangar.

"Alright, folks, nothing to see here! The US Navy doesn't pay us to engage in scuttlebutt! Back to work unless you want to spend all night here. I'm not all too sure our complement of Admirals would like the thoughts of us in pajamas, braiding each other's hair as we gossip about which plane is the best!”

Bradley’s chuckling despite himself. She’s such a study in contrasts, Tinkerbell. So serious and commanding in one instance but so cheery and joyful in the next. Each facet of her personality makes her more interesting. It’s going to be a delight to have her on North Island. When she’s alone or surrounded by other pilots, she’s not so bad. But of course, as soon as Hangman walks up to her, Bradley’s reminded of exactly why he can’t get close to her. She’s taken. She’s somebody else’s girl. To make matters worse, she’s Hangman’s girl. Hangman’s not the type to let another man get close to his girl.

He's careful for the rest of the time she flits about the hangar, taking time to speak to each pilot, each member of her team, and each member of the flight crew. It's not long at all before the cacophony of power tools and drills resounds through the hangar. About an hour after the scene with Hawk, Bradley looks up and sees her walk out of the hangar. He makes an excuse about running out for a cup of coffee before grabbing a water bottle and following her out as stealthily as he can. 

If he's been tracking her correctly, and he has, he knows that Tinkerbell will be making her way over to Hangar Four. He nearly walks by her, in truth. She's scrunched up in the alley between the two hangar buildings. She's leaning against the dusty wall with her head in her hands. He doesn't want to startle her, so he clears his throat as obnoxiously as he can.

“Bradshaw.” Her voice is curt, so cold that if he didn't know any better he'd think an ice storm had enveloped San Diego.

He can't help how gentle his own voice is as he says her callsign. “Tinkerbell.” 

Bradley's got every bit of those beautiful doe eyes looking right up at him, and it makes him lose his composure in a way that nothing else ever has.“Was that - um - Was that the first time you’ve had to give a subordinate a dressing down?”

“No.” Her half-smile nearly blinds him, even as Tinkerbell stares up at the sky. Her chuckle is a barely heard puff of breath that turns into words, “I’ve given a lot of those. This is just the first one since my promotion. Each one leaves me feeling terrible after, though. I don’t know what it’s like for men when they have to do something like what I just did, but I know one thing. Taylor’s going to be all over base calling me a bitch, or any other thing which comes to mind. If it were a man telling him the same thing, he’d probably have bitched and moaned for a little bit before ultimately accepting it.”

It's true. That's exactly what Taylor's going to do. He's going to either drag Tinkerbell in front of everyone who asks him what happened or let the rumors about her tank her reputation. Her voice is thin and breathless as she continues, “H-he’s going to be swanning around for the rest of his time at Top Gun glaring at me, and he and I are going to be the center of all of the gossip and rumors floating around because of it. I’ve heard it all before, you know? She’s fucking him, she’s trying to seduce him, etcetera, etcetera.”

As Bradley stands there, just listening as Tinkerbell confides in him, he can't help making a resolution. He resolves then and there that he'll put a stop to it. That he'll keep Taylor from destroying Tinkerbell. Maybe he'll go to Mav, Cyclone and Warlock himself? There is no way Hawk's blatant disregard for authority can stand as it is. It feels so good to just be the force of her attention. 

She's a vision illuminated in gold as the late afternoon sunshine halos around her gleaming hair and drips into golden pools on her skin. When her words run out, he proffers the water bottle in his hand to her. Tinkerbell's smile at that one small gesture is enough to have every thought wiped clean from his mind. It takes an embarrassingly long time for Bradley to lead her back towards Hangar Four, trying, and probably failing to make conversation about AMDO inspections with her.

By the time he walks back to Hangar Three, a paper cup full of the Navy's finest brew in hand, Bradley's smiling from ear to ear. He’s almost too light-hearted for the rest of the day. Everytime he sees Tinkerbell out of the corner of his eye, a ridiculously giddy grin curls across his mouth. When he stops at the base gym afterwards, he plugs in his headphones and loses himself to the music. He’s jamming out so hard that he barely notices the time passing.

It’s late when he finally staggers into the locker room showers. His muscles twinge with every move he makes and the base’s trickling stream of hot water barely does the job. He throws on a pair of board shorts and a tank top and heads out the door. All he wants right now is a beer and something to eat. As luck would have it, though, just as he walks towards the Bronco, he sees Tinkerbell, scrunched down in the driver’s seat of her convertible. It looks like she’s waiting for someone? Probably Hangman, the nasty voice in his head decides to pipe in. What if he comes out and kisses her? Bradley’s not sure he can take it.

What would it be like to have her as his soul? To see that beautiful smile waiting for him in the passenger’s seat of the Bronco? To be able to kiss her until she’s breathless for him? Breathless because of him? Before he can dwell on it, he drives away, giving her a half wave. The entire time he can see the base parking lot out of the rearview mirror, he’s keeping his eyes peeled for the sight of that red car. He manages to put her out of his mind for the rest of the night, but then he dreams.

Most of his dreams are about his mom and dad and Mav. He asks them what it’s like to have a soulmate, what it means to love them, and how to be a good soulmate. Most of the time, he wakes up from those dreams feeling like he’s just been wrapped in one of his mom’s bear hugs. 

Tonight, when he dreams, it starts like no other dream he’s ever had. For one, he doesn't see anybody he recognizes in the room, if it even is one. Everything is foggy and he can feel the wet slap of it against his face, arms and calves as he trudges through it. The only other place where he has felt fog like this was in San Francisco, on the one trip he remembers taking to visit his Aunt Sarah, Pop's sister, right after his mom had died.

Out of the fog an island festooned in string lights comes up. There's a car there, his Bronco, he realizes as he walks closer to it. The doors are all closed, but there are clearly people inside. The windows are fogged and as he walks closer he can hear a bitten off gasp as a hand presses up against the window, leaving a mark on the misty surface. The closer he gets, the more he hears. He can hear himself, calling someone his beautiful, gorgeous, and lovely girl. He can also hear a voice that's immediately familiar to him.

"Bradley!" Her voice is high pitched and strung out. He is instantly captivated by those breathy moans. Bradley can feel himself grow hard as he tries to see who this pretty girl is. On the other side of the car there's an open window, and Bradley can't believe who he sees. Between one breath and the other, he finds himself in the car.

It's Tinkerbell, of course it is. She's bare, every supple inch of skin on full display as she writhes in his dream-self's lap. He's got his mouth on the soft swell of her tits and his hand buried in the wet warmth at the apex of her thighs. When he blinks, he's hit with all of the sensations, of her release soaking his hand as he fucks three fingers into her, the pinching tug of her hands in his hair, the feeling of her hard nipple against his tongue. 

When she cums again, her hips stuttering in their steady pace, he pulls away from her. She's smiling down at him, tenderly and sweet. When she laughs, it sounds like bells chiming in the distance, maybe wedding bells? He can't resist tugging her smiling mouth down to his own, kissing the sensual curve over and over again until her laughter has once again transformed into moans. 

This time, when he trails his fingers through her wet folds, he's met with soft hands over his aching length. She's so gentle as she frees him from his boxers and trails his length through her soaked folds. She feels like sin as she carefully sinks down lower and lower. Her eyes go glassy and wet as her chest heaves and she struggles to take him to the hilt.

"B, baby I can't. You're so big and thick." Her voice is a barely audible coo. Bradley can't resist reeling her in for a kiss, feeling her soft skin pressed up against his own. She's so tight wrapped around his length, like she was made for him. He can't resist scratching at her scalp, freeing the glossy strands of her hair from her braid. She smells like citrus blossoms in bloom and tastes like berries.

Bradley's so gone for this beautiful, gorgeous thing in his arms. He can't resist telling her that as well, as she adjusts, the cool breeze peaking her nipples as they graze his pecs. There's a tattoo against her ribs, something delicate and beautiful that suits her to perfection. He can't tell what it is, a flower, maybe? Whatever it is, he wants to trail his tongue over the stark black ink, to taste every inch of her skin.

Just as he's about to coax her onto her back in the backseat so he can do just that, she's moving her hips. Each undulating swell has her rising and sinking faster and deeper until she's taking Bradley's length from tip to root every time. Her tits bounce with each movement, and he can't resist tracing a bead of sweat as it trails between the pretty globes. Her mewls as he suckles on her nipples has him ready to explode. But he doesn’t, not yet. Each thrust has Tinkerbell falling apart in his lap a bit more. Already her hips are stuttering in their steady pace and she's babbling at him.

When he thumbs at her clit, Tinkerbell cums on his length with a scream. The combination of her heat and how she looks bouncing on his dick have Bradley spilling into her within just a few thrusts after her. Bradley wakes up seconds later.

It's the dead of night. His clock blinks the time in neon green, 2:40. His skin is coated in sweat and there's a damp patch in his boxers from where he'd cum in his pants like a teenager after a wet dream. But even after he's cleaned up, he can't bring himself to go back to sleep again. Tinkerbell's face as she cums is tattooed in his brain. How is he ever going to face her again? Seeing her command a room is enough to give him blue balls. Now? It'll take superhuman control to keep his composure on base.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

🛩️ @roosters-girl 🛩️ @infamous-reindeer 🛩️ @caitsymichelle13  🛩️ @mattyskies 🛩️ @cosmic-psychickitty 🛩️ @mygyn  🛩️ @julesclues 🛩️ @greenbaby12 🛩️ @bubblegumbeautyqueen  🛩️ @briseisgone 🛩️ @soulmates8 🛩️ @adoringsebstan  🛩️ @meganlpie 🛩️ @daphne-turner 🛩️ @captain-fandomwriter58  🛩️ @caidi-paris 🛩️@mazzbarnes 🛩️@devylindisguise  🛩️@super-btstrash-posts 🛩️@eli2447 🛩️@chaoticassidy  🛩️ @kmc1989 🛩️

[dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3]

The Best for Last Chapter 6

What's this? A chapter update NOT on a Sunday? It's more likely than you'd think.

Ha.

Anyway, since I'm leaving on Monday, I figured that posting early would be the best course of action here. It was a little tricky to edit it during the week, especially since I've been a bit ill the last few days, but I was able to get it done, ha. I hope y'all like this chapter! It's a big turning point, and it has a lot of backstory and partially explains why Mondo is so "oblivious."

Once again, I will not be posting for a next few weeks, as I'll be in Japan. I'll make sure to post pictures of my trip here, if anyone is interested. I'll likely just reblog posts from my main blog (@spikeisawesome456), so know if you see me reblogging from that blog, it is me, ha. I've still not finished writing chapter 8, which is the last full chapter (9 will be an epilogue), so hopefully I can finish it over the course of my trip, oof. Chapter 7 is also fairly short. It was originally going to be longer, but the second part was hella angsty, and hella out of character for the characters I was writing, so I scrapped it and just kept the shorter beginning part. I still really like it, though. :-)

You can find the chapter here.

Summary:

Five years after high school has ended, Mondo and Taka have found themselves settling into a very happy, loving, and committed relationship. It’s just too bad that no one’s ever told Mondo that.

Chapter 6

From the beginning

[theprissythumbelina]

Okay, well I can't find the darn thing after looking for days and as far as I can tell it has vanished from tumblr altogether, so I'm posting this first chapter of Mortal Sparks once again. Hopefully this one sticks around and doesn't get swallowed by the void.

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Chapter 1

Alyss

Maius 5th, 4593 AP

People are bad at describing things. My aunt fought in the first war, and she told me it was like being an ant on a running track. Sometimes you wander around doing ant things, and sometimes a trampling horde of foreign creatures run atop and leave you untrampled by chance as your fellows are smashed.

I fought in the second war, and it wasn't much like anything. It was like nothing. It was war and war is only like itself. It's surviving, and then at some point, you realize to survive you’ve ended someone’s life and you don’t even feel bad about it. And you feel bad for not feeling bad. And then everyone tells you you’re acting strange, but they’re the ones that took normal people and exploded things in their face and made them kill people whose faces they never see and they tell you you’re acting strange. 

They called it combat fatigue like I drank too much disgusting coffee and didn’t sleep right at 9:30 that night and acted grumpy the next day. I don’t have a better word. I like my aunt's word better. Shell shock. Not professional enough for the military, but it's better for me. 

My CO recommended me for leave after the incident. That’s what they call it in the military, an incident. You can’t describe it. I told my aunt that and she told me you can, if you give it time. They gave me a few months. A few months to see if I was dangerous or useful and when I was neither they threw me away. I can describe how I feel. I feel like gum. Old gum. The war was a mouth that chewed and chewed and chewed until all my flavor leeched away, then it spat me on the sidewalk. I’m on the sidewalk to this day. I’m a spot on the sidewalk.

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Here, at the end of summer, roses and wildflowers bloomed one last time before autumn’s cold. Nicolette crouched among them on the side of the road, rooting for the husks of cicadas that had already mated and died. She had fiured out long ago that clients didn’t appreciate knowing the true origins of their patience tea, though that didn’t stop housewives and schoolteachers from buying it in cans that they pretended to their husbands were coffee. 

Her apron pockets full, she stood and began to make her way back through town, past the over-decorated municipal hall, through Main Street with faded advertisements for meats, butter, and milk. At 7:40 on a Sunday, the whole town was empty, the entire populace segregated away in one of the two churches. 

Most respectable citizens sat in the Imperial Cesarian Church, a stately building of thick walls and plaster statues. They called the congregation of the newer Alastrian Church ‘rabble’ and ‘uncultured’, while the Alastrians called the Cesarians ‘esoteric’ and ‘unwelcoming’. The Cesarians were quite sure the Alastrians didn’t even know what esoteric meant, but it was a moot point trying to teach those who did not want to learn. 

Nicolette was fairly sure she did know what esoteric meant, and that the Alastrians were using it correctly, but as neither group took any notice of her beyond buying her charms and teas, she kept her thoughts to herself, and simply nodded when members of either church attempted to impart their wisdom in her earshot. No one cared what she had to say anyway. 

The last two story building marked the edge of town proper, with the pavement petering to a stop a few feet further. Still, the chipper, clean one story homes continued. Nicolette, as was her habit, paused here, her toes right at the end of black pavement. Daisy’s home sat clean and peach-colored three houses down. Her father should have returned from his business trip last night, smelling like bus and cigarette smoke. Maybe he hugged her with his briefcase in his hand. Maybe he went right to bed. Maybe Daisy had stayed up for him later than usual, worrying with a cup of tea in her hand. It wouldn’t have been Nicolette’s tea, Daisy always said it made her sleepy. It would have been raspberry, maybe, or chamomile. 

But Nicolette wasn’t welcome there anymore, father or no father, and so she turned to the right and made her way through the alley between the last store building and the first house. This road wasn’t even gravel, but dirt. A small crevsse made by spring rainwater meandered its way from one side of the road to the other, forcing Nicolette to hop across it twice before it escaped into the house’s fenced yard. She walked past the houses on the other side as well, slightly more dilapidated than the first, and through an empty lot of gravel to the backside of her own house. Houses on this row, those that were inhabited, tended toward small and grey-brown. Most didn’t have a large padlock around the low front gate. Nicolette didn’t bother unlocking it, but stepped up over a cinderblock and slid down the other side, holding her skirt taught. The yard grass had turned brown months ago. The only living thing in the yard besides Nicolette herself was half of a heritage rosebush. It had been her mother’s, and Nicolette did her best to keep it alive. 

Her door was locked as well, this one a shiny, new lock. Nicolette lifted the key from around her neck and twisted it into the hole. Her mother had never had to lock the door. People knew better than to come over uninvited. But this lock was to keep the inside from coming out. 

Inside, Nicolette faced the wall, listening to the thump, drag, thump. 

“Hi, Mama.” She said softly. She turned, and faced her mother’s clouded eyes. 

End

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As an explanation for the way the chapters are set up, each chapter opens with an excerpt from Alyss' diaries in the past, followed by Nicolette's narrative in the present day. At some future point these will converge for the climax.

Tagging those who've shown interest, let me know if you want to be removed or added

@owlsandwich @thetruearchmagos (I know you must have already seen this but I didn't want to leave you out) @amaiguri @supersumc @teacupsandstarlight

@shepardsherd @tabswrites @winterandwords

[macolethings]

Sonraun Rein Kiken Snippet

Apologies to followers of my Clexa story, "Sonraun." I'm about a month away from having a baby and the tiredness of both my brain and body have finally affected the posting of a new chapter. Only two small sections to write before I do my own editing and have it beta checked, so hopefully it will be out within the next few days!

In the mean time, here is a snippet from the upcoming Chapter 7 (untitled so far). It hasn't been edited, but I want to get something out to you all. Pretty sure there is another small trope in here...

- - -  ∞ - - - 

An eight-foot wall and wrought iron gate separated the common grounds of the tower to Lexa’s training grounds. Lexa fished a key from around her neck, unlocking the gate, and allowing them both entrance. Clarke took in her surroundings. The space was mainly grass, most of it having browned with the winter cold. Workout equipment was placed around the perimeter, leaving a large space in the middle for sparring. Clarke could find similarities in the equipment here to that of the ark thanks to her many days trailing her mother while she walked through physical therapy workouts for her patients. There was a bench with weights, bars for pullups, some weights from the old world, and a punching bag. 

“How often do you come here?” Clarke asked.

“It depends on what training I want to do that day. I come here to build my strength a few times a week, spar with Kensie, or to just practice on my own. The other days I like to run, or fight with the gona (warriors) at the training grounds.” 

After taking time to fully take in all the equipment, Lexa started Clarke off with some warmup movements to get “the blood flowing and muscles lose.” Apparently, Lexa’s warmup was an actual workout for the non-athletic types such as herself. While Lexa acted no different than they had after walking down to the space, Clarke was a different story. Her breath was harsh and fast, her body already quite warm, with flushed cheeks to prove it. 

“First, we will go over assorted defensive moves to get out the most common ways someone may try to take you. We will practice each several times, but I want to focus on introducing them all today, and we can move to memorizing next time.” 

Lexa started simple with wrist and arm grabs, explaining to Clarke that the thumb is a weak point and if she turned up towards her attacker’s thumb, they would not be able keep their hold on her. The two went back and forth, Clarke practicing to free herself from Lexa’s hold, and attempting to keep hold of Lexa in different places to view how she handled the different holds. 

Next, Lexa turned Clarke’s attention on what to do if she’s grabbed from behind. Lexa clamped both of Clarke’s arms to her own side with one arm and wrapped the other around her throat. Unfortunately for Clarke, her body was not ready to have Lexa wrapped so closely around her, and was most definitely not ready for Lexa’s whispered instruction on how to remove herself from the precarious situation. Surely, the lower octave whispers Lexa was using weren’t necessary. 

Lexa chucked. “Clarke? Did you hear me?”

She cleared her throat as best she could before muttering a simple “no,” not daring to turn her face towards Lexa when they were this close. 

Fortunately, Lexa separated her body from Clarkes before discussing, again, how to use her opponents’ weak spots to break free or cause enough pain to bring attention to herself and her attacker. It took a few more attempts before Clarke understood the mechanics of the moves, but she blamed that on Lexa and the fogginess that had taken over her mind. Especially since she was sure the Commander was doing it on purpose. 

[avastrasposts]

The British Connection - ch. 7

Summary: Grace Mallory makes a reluctant Billy Butcher and The Boys team up with an MI6 operative sent over from London to track down a dangerous supe killing people on both sides of the pond. Billy is being his usual arsehole self but maybe opposites attract?

It's 14 chapters and complete and 'll be posting a new chapter every day

Warnings: canon typical violence, smut, fluff, Butcher being his usual grumpy and unreasonable self, nasty supes, guns etc.

Butcher had left Eve’s flat the previous evening with more questions than answers after seeing the CCTV coverage of the attacks on the two UK politicians. Together they’d rewatched all the footage available, the two original attacks and the two later ones, but no matter how many times they watched it they came to the same conclusion; somehow the supe is controlling his victims with eye contact and potentially physical contact. But neither video gave them any clues to the identity of the supe. 

Finally, calling it a night at 2 am, Butcher left Eve’s place to get a few hours of sleep, the only plan they have is to get the CCTV footage from US attacks too and hopefully question the Deputy Secretary of the Department of Treasury, the one remaining person the supe controlled who’s still alive. Hopefully Mallory can provide both. 

The next morning Eve headed over to the Flatiron building to meet Butcher and the team again. She hadn’t slept well. A combination of demons crawling around her head when she tried to relax, made sleep difficult. When she got to the office she was grateful for the large coffee MM handed her as she said good morning to them. 

Butcher hasn’t turned up yet so she sinks down on the old sofa next to Kimiko when Frenchie offers her the seat. 

“Bonjour, mademoiselle Edwards, please, sit,” Frenchie ushers her to the seat next to the Japanese girl and perches himself on an upturned crate next to them with a big smile. 

“Monsieur Charcuterie is not ‘ere yet but, mais tu parles français? You speak French, oui?”

“Oui, j'ai appris le français à l'école, we started in Year 1. Marseille, non?

“Oui, oui,” Frenchie replies with a delighted smile, “you heard my accent?” 

“Our teacher was from Marseille. But you call Butcher, Monsieur Charcuterie? Not Monsieur Boucher?” 

“Why, what’s the difference?” Hughie asks, he’s also got a big coffee in hand. 

“Boucher is Butcher,” Frenchie says, “But charcuterie is the preparing of the meat, the cooking of the…charc?” He looks at Eve for the translation. 

“The flesh,” she says. “Charcuterie translates into cooked flesh.” 

“Oui! And this is what Monsieur Charcuterie does, he does not butcher, he cooks the flesh.”

“Ok, that’s a disturbing notion at 9:15 in the morning, Frenchie,” Hughie wrinkles his nose. 

Kimiko taps Eve on the arm and gestures to her notepad, James Bond is MI6? 

Eve reads the notes and laughs. “Yes, he’s supposed to be Mi6 but don’t believe Hollywood. I’ve done this job for many years now and not once has that included martinis in a casino,” Eve pulls a face at an unpleasant memory, “Although I did once spend five weeks working in a bar, but that was more Jäger shots and vomit cleanup than cocktails.”

“Sounds better than being covered in blood and gore,” Hughie says, “You don’t want to know what this job can literally throw at you.”

“Last year we crashed a speed boat into a whale,” Frenchie nods, “petite Hughie here ended up inside it with MM and Monsieur Charcuterie.”   

“A speed boat into a whale?” Eve says, her eyebrows raised in disbelief. 

“Ye, it was fuckin’ diabolical,” Butcher says, pushing the door closed behind himself, “Don’t give away all our secrets now, Frenchie.” 

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around how you actually manage to crash into a whale?” 

“Easy, you point the front of the boat at the cunt supe standin’ on top of it and give the engine full throttle,” Butcher gives a wicked grin. 

“I’ll feel like I should probably sign an NDA to hear the rest of this story,” Eve replies.

“Ye, best not ask too many questions,” Butcher says, “things might get redacted. Which brings me to me first point of order this morning.” Butcher steps up to the sofa and glares down at Eve. 

“Who the fuck is the fuckin’ Honourable Genevieve Horatia Daphne Byng Edwards? And who the fuck is your dear old daddy?” 

Eve looks up at Butcher for a few seconds. He’s towering over with a nasty look on his face, staring down at her with a sneer. “I’m going to guess you’ve seen my file then?” she says and pushes herself up, forcing Butcher to back up, but still bearing down on her. 

“Ye, I had to fuckin’ threaten Mallory but eventually she gave it up. Didn’t seem like she, CIA or the MI6 cunts at Vauxhall were too keen on me finding out who you actually are. Half your bleedin’ file’s been censored. But I did some digging this morning. Your name ain’t exactly run of the mill, darlin’.” 

He takes a step closer to her, she can feel the rage coming off him like heat. “Like I told you yesterday, I need all the information. But you and the fuckin’ MI6 is expecting me to risk me bleeding neck for some upperclass cunt like you? For what, a plot at Brookwood?” 

“I’ve given you all the information we need for this assignment, Butcher,” Eve says, “Who I am has nothing to do with the job at hand and doesn’t affect my performance in the field.” 

“It bloody well does, when the supe’s second victim was your dear old daddy and the girl who did the killin’, was your niece. Are you gonna stand there and tell me that seeing your niece slice her own throat won’t affect your performance in the field?” 

Eve has gone pale and she drops her gaze away from Butcher’s. He lowers his voice into a menacing growl, “Your niece didn’t get hit by a bus, she ripped your father’s throat out and then sliced her own neck open with an 8 inch blade, bleeding out on your brother’s patio.” 

“Butcher, that’s enough!” MM snaps, looking at Eve. She’s sunk down on the sofa again, her head is in her hands, as if she’s trying to block Butcher’s words.  

“No!” Butcher snarls at MM, “She’s withheld crucial information from us while asking us to go after an unknown supe to get her own revenge.”

“Yeah, Butcher, doesn’t that remind you of someone?” 

“Fuck off, MM, it ain’t the fuckin’ same!” 

“We’ve all got skin in this game, Butcher, it’s what fucking drives us. Yeah, she should’ve told us but that doesn’t make her any worse than you or me or Hughie for that matter.”

“I should’ve told you,” Eve says, her voice low, still cradling her head in her hands, “But I’m trying not to think about it. I’m trying to not think about her,” She looks up at Butcher, her jaw is clenched firm, “I’m trying to be just the soldier, not her aunt. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but you really didn’t need to know those details. It was easier to block it when you and Mallory didn’t know.” 

“Oh ye, speaking of Mallory,” Butcher growls, “The file she got from Vauxhall is unreadable. Half the fuckin’ file is blacked out and redacted.” Butcher kneels down in front of the sofa so he’s level with Eve’s face and his face has a menacing grin. “I’m gonna need you to tell me exactly what those blacked out parts say. And if I catch you in a fuckin’ lie again, I’m going straight to Vauxhall and I’m telling them all the classified info you so generously shared yesterday.” 

“Fuck you, Butcher, “ Eve says through gritted teeth. 

Butcher keeps grinning and stands up, “On your feet soldier. Hughie!” He turns to Hughie, “Hook the laptop to the big screen and plug this in, it’s Ms Edwards file, she’s going to walk us through it real nice and slow.” 

Hughie sets up the laptop and the file from Mallory’s USB stick appears on the big screen in the office. Eve gets up off the sofa and walks over to the desk while Butcher tabs through the security clearance briefing until he gets to the page with her personal info. He glances over his shoulder as Eve approaches him from behind. “I’m gonna assume you’ve still got that knife up your sleeve, darlin’,” he says. “Just don’t try anything, you only get the drop on me once.”

“Yes, I was just thinking the same, Butcher,” Eve replies with a dark look at him. 

“Now, don’t get all vindictive on me, Ms Genevieve, or is it M'lady? I ain’t quite up to date on the correct form of address of the upper classes and all that palaver,” Butcher gives her his best shit eating grin and waves her in front of the big screen. “Let’s begin shall we?” 

“Now, all this early bollocks we can skip I’d say, except maybe this bit,” Butcher tabs through the unredacted pages covering the beginning of her career and pauses on a page that’s blacked out. “What’s this? Injured in 2003 and a big gap in your resume all redacted?” 

Eve sighs, “That has nothing to do with the present day situation.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that, luv, spill it,” Butcher smirks. 

“Fine, have it your way,” Eve snaps at Butcher, “In the 90’s my father served as a judge in Northern Ireland, he moved the family over there too. He handled a number of high profile cases, putting several paramilitary leaders in The Maze.” 

“The Maze?” MM interrupts. 

“A British prison in Northern Ireland, used mainly for paramilitary prisoners during the conflict.” Eve explains. “It was a dangerous assignment, the paramilitary groups hated the occupying British forces and as a judge my father was a prime target for them. But after the Good Friday Agreement, and the ceasefire in -98, things calmed down. I had already moved back to England by then but my parents and my younger brother stayed in Northern Ireland.” 

Eve rakes her fingers through her hair, “Dad’s security detail was removed, no more bomb checks or safe houses were needed, the paramilitary groups had given up their weapons and The Maze had been closed. But some people never forgot. And in 2003 a break away paramilitary group broke into my parents home. Dad was away in London on a last minute trip or they would’ve probably only taken him. Instead they took my mother and youngest brother, Edward.”

Eve pauses and takes a deep breath, walking away from the table. “Butcher,” Hughie says, “is this really necessary, how is this relevant?” 

“She’ll tell us and then we’ll know if it’s relevant or not,” Butcher barks, “Go on,” he scowls at Eve. 

“They couldn’t get hold of my father, so they rang me. Told me that I need to get my father over to Ireland within 48 hours or they’d kill them,” Eve clenches her jaw, “They kneecapped my brother while I was on the phone so that I would hear it.” 

Even Butcher winces and MM puts his hand out and squeezes Eve’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, that’s fucked up.” 

“Frenchie,” Hughie whispers, “Kneecapped?”

Frenchie motions putting a gun to Hughie’s knee and pulling the trigger. 

“It’s always been the paras favourite way of punishing people,” Eve says, turning back to the table. 

“I tried going the official way, asking my CO at the time for a team but it was a no go. As far as MI6 was concerned, Northern Ireland and Ireland were off limits. Any operation could potentially derail the peace process. So I went the unofficial route and called in favours. Two of the men I’d served with the previous year came through and we set a trap at the drop off point just across the Irish border. When they came for my father, we wiped them out.” 

“How many?” Butcher asks. 

“Six hostiles, one civilian and one of ours. Jack didn’t make it, I was injured and Cochran pulled me out. He was one of the two with me,” Eve looks over the rest of the team, “Cochran is my Commanding Officer back in London these days.” 

“And your family?” Butcher asks, his voice softer now. 

“They weren’t there. I don’t think the paras meant to hand them over at all. Both my mother and brother were found a day later in a ditch outside Crossmaglen. Kneecapped and executed.”

Eve goes silent, and not even Butcher speaks. 

Eventually Eve draws a deep breath, as if she’s been biting down on tears, and continues, “I was demoted, almost discharged. Spent the next 18 months in rehab, officially, but unofficially I was out in the cold on desk duty sorting paper clips. I was eventually brought back in because there was suddenly a desperate need for operatives who could speak Arabic and Farsi after the July 7th attacks in 2005.” 

MM pushes himself up from the filing cabinet he’s been leaning on, “So, if I’ve got this right, you go off and do your own thing, using MI6 personnel and material I assume, to save your family. One of your men is killed and MI6 finds out about the whole operation and you’re punished, right?”

“Right.” 

“But why is that part censored and how’s it connected to the present day?” 

“To hide my connection to Viscount Torrington, my father. If you don’t know that our family name is Byng, you won’t make the connection. And if you don’t make the connection you won’t question the decision to have an operative with, as you said, skin in the game.” 

She looks over at Butcher, “MI6 doesn’t trust me, they think I’ll treat this as a personal mission again. But Cochran trusts me and the redactions are his way of protecting me.”

“What does MI6 think you’ll do?” he asks. 

“Kill the supe. With your help.” 

“And what does MI6 want you to do?” 

“Capture the supe, bring him back to the UK without letting the CIA get their hands on him.” 

“Million dollar question then, luv,” Butcher grins, “What do you wanna you do?” 

“Kill him,” Eve says flatly. 

“But Cochran is banking on you following MI6 orders?” Butcher crosses his arms and gives Eve a hard look, “You’re gonna betray the trust of the one man at MI6 who’s protecting you? You do that and you’re out of a job, darlin’.” 

“She was my niece and she was eight years old. I want to find the man who did that to her and I want him dead,” Eve says with a determined voice, staring at Butcher. 

“You better fuckin’ mean that, because when we find this cunt, you’d better not get in my way.” 

“Butcher, if I need to, I’m going through you to get him.” 

Chapter 8